BirgerJones

The Wizarding World has been exposed and forced to reunite with the Muggles. Durmstrang has been conquered by former Death Eaters led by Delphini. Now, Delphini is reaching out to the banished Dementors of Svalbard to begin her conquest of Europe.

Click here for the full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, AO3.

Through the Arctic, moved Delphini without touching the ground. Around her walked a handful of her most loyal Durmstrang followers. Behind them, bound by enchanted chains, stumbled a smaller group of students who had dared question her new order. Their eyes were wide with fear, and their breaths were visible in the frigid air.

“Where are you taking us?” one of them stammered in Swedish. “Please, Headmistress, my Lady, Supreme Leader”

Delphini did not answer.

"Crucio!" A Polish teenage girl loyal to Delphini, cursed, and the bound Swede began to scream in pain. No one questioned Delphini again for the rest of the journey.

They descended from the cliffs into the frozen caverns by the sea, where salt and ice fused into shimmering walls. The deeper they went, the more the air changed.

Shapes moved in the dark, gliding between the icy columns.

For years, the Dementors had lived here after being banished from Azkaban following the fall of Voldemort. They had been feeding on polar bears, seals, and the souls of lost wanderers who ventured too far north.

Dozens of them circled Delphini’s group like vultures around a dying flame. Even her loyal students trembled. One collapsed to his knees, sobbing. None of them could conjure a Patronus; their wands shook uselessly in their hands.

Delphini, however, stood still.

“You remember me,” she said softly. Her voice echoed in the cavern, strangely melodic. “You remember him.”

The air seemed to vibrate as the Dementors drew closer.

“I am Delphini,” she said. “Daughter of the Dark Lord, whom you served. His blood runs in me. His will continues through me.”

A sound rolled through the cave like the rustle of ancient wings. It wasn’t language, but Delphini understood. It was recognition.

“You are dying,” she whispered. “The Muggles know you only as myth. The wizards you once guarded have turned their backs. You feed on beasts now, scraps of what you once had.”

She walked closer to them, unfazed by the cold that made the others gasp.

“But follow me, and I will give you souls again. Not scraps but feasts. I will remake the world in shadow. ”

The Dementors hovered, uncertain until Delphini raised her hand. Her chained prisoners whimpered in terror.

“You will have proof,” she said, voice like silk over steel.

Her eyes flashed violet. With a gesture, the chains dissolved. The students tried to flee, but the Dementors descended like a storm. Screams tore through the icy air as souls were ripped from bodies-

The students turned away. One vomited. Another pissed his pants while others were transfixed by awe. Delphini did not flinch.

“Eat,” she whispered. “Feed and grow strong. The world will soon need you.”

The Dementors circled her, recognising Delphini as their new master. She extended her arm, and one brushed its decaying hand against hers. Frost crept up her skin, but her eyes only glowed brighter.

“We are bound,” she said. “My father ruled through fear. I will rule through despair.”

The cavern erupted with a cold wind that extinguished every torch. When it cleared, the Dementors were gone, spreading outward into the world once more

“Let the world remember fear again,” Delphini murmured. “And let it start with me.”

-

The mining town of Barentsburg had so far remained completely unaware of the Revelation and the existence of magic.

Inside the miners’ canteen, a handful of Russian and Norwegian workers sat huddled around a battered table, their laughter echoing through the dimly lit room.

“Magic?” one of them scoffed, raising his glass. “My wife reads too many fairy tales.”

“Same with mine,” said another, shaking his head. “Wizards, spells! Pah! If they were real, they’d have come here long ago. Can’t be much gold in Svalbard for witches.”

“Aye,” muttered another. “We’ve got rifles, not wands. Let’s see them try.”

Hours later, the wind howled softly through the narrow streets. The last ship had left the harbor days ago. Barentsburg was alone. That night, the air changed.

Then it appeared: A green spectral bird, vast and blazing, spread across the sky above Barentsburg. Its wings shimmered like emerald flame, its cry a sound that froze blood.

Dogs began to bark. The miners woke up from their beds.

“Что это?!”

“Hva i helvete!”

By the time the first rifle shots cracked through the air, it was already too late.

Figures in blood red robes moved through the streets. Sadistic teenagers cursed everyone in sight.

They broke through the wooden doors of the workers’ houses with spells that shattered locks and splintered walls.

“Stay back!” a miner shouted, firing a rifle, blowing the head off one young wizard.

"THAT WAS MY BOYFRIEND MUGGLE SCUM!!" A girl shouted in Estonian. "CRUCIO!"

The man fell on the ground, screaming in unimaginable pain.

Screams echoed across the harbor as the invaders herded the survivors into the square beneath the statue of Lenin. The miners’ wives clutched their crying children.

Delphini arrived last, descending from the cliffs with her cloak snapping like a banner in the wind. Around her floated the Dementors, rising from the fog, drawn by the promise of souls. Even the Durmstrang students faltered as the creatures approached.

Delphini raised her hand.

“These,” she said softly, “mock what they cannot understand. Let them learn what true power is.”

The Dementors swooped forward.

The screams lasted only moments, then stopped, replaced by a silence so vast it swallowed the sound of the sea.

When the creatures rose again, they hovered before Delphini like a dark army.

“Remember this night,” she whispered to her followers. “The world will forget Barentsburg, but you will not. This is the dawn of our dominion.”

The Wizarding World has been exposed and forced to reunite with the Muggles. Delphini, Antonin Dolohov, Rodolphus Lestrange, and other former Death Eaters conquer Durmstrang, turning it into a fortress of wizard supremacy.

Full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, ao3

The Arctic winds howled across the black waters of the Barents Sea as one massive and ancient ship cut through the ice-laden waves. The crimson sails of the Durmstrang fleet snapped in the wind, each embroidered with the school’s sigil: A raven and a wand crossed over a sword.

In the shadowed lower cabins, Delphini stood before a cracked mirror. The candlelight flickered against her silver-blonde hair as she whispered incantations under her breath. Flesh shimmered. Bone reshaped. Within moments, the infamous witch had become someone else, a tall, dark-haired student with forgettable features and a neutral accent. Around her, Antonin Dolohov, Rodolphus Lestrange, Augustus Rookwood, and what remained of their followers performed the same human transfiguration, disguising themselves as teachers and older students.

“Keep your heads low,” Dolohov muttered in Russian, his new face lined but unrecognizable. “The guards on these ships see everything.”

“They see only what I allow them to,” Delphini replied coolly. Her blue eyes, even behind a false face, gleamed with restrained violence.

"Now I'm going to find some handsome boys to play with. This is going to be a long journey, " Delphini said, dancing away from her elderly followers.

The voyage lasted a week. Through endless fog and sleet, the ship pressed north, past the ghostly fjords of Norway and into the freezing waters surrounding Svalbard. Hidden behind perpetual mist, stood Durmstrang Institute. The castle grounds roamed with Draugr, undead beings, serving as the school's guardians.

It was tradition that every year, on the first day of term, all two thousand students and staff of Durmstrang, from all over Northern, Central, and Eastern Europe gathered in the great duelling arena, an enormous, circular courtyard carved from black rock and open to the sky.

At the center stood Headmaster Silas Lange, a century-old Danish wizard in crimson robes lined with wolf fur.

“The world beyond these mountains has gone mad,” he began, his breath misting in the cold. “The Statute of Secrecy is gone. Wizards and Muggles now stare at each other across a gulf of fear. Many call it freedom. I call it folly.”

His words rippled through the ranks of students. Some nodded while others shifted uncomfortably.

“Remember who we are,” Silas continued. “Durmstrang does not bend to chaos. The world will need discipline, strength and vigilance.”

From the crowd, a young woman with black hair and green eyes, Delphini in disguise, raised her hand.

“Headmaster,” she called softly, her voice cutting through the murmur. “What of those who believe the old ways should return? Those who believe Grindelwald was right?”

The crowd gasped. The mere name of Grindelwald still carried the weight of heresy. Silas’s sharp gaze found her immediately.

"How dare you interrupt me. Leave immediately, as you'll await your punishment. "

Two older students, one boy and a girl, grabbed Delphini and led her out of the arena.

“Those who follow that ghost,” he said coldly, “chase madness. I knew the man. I fought for him once, and I watched him turn our ideals into tyranny.”

Delphini smiled faintly.

“Then perhaps he simply lacked the right heir."

Moments later, as the arena emptied, Silas walked the long stone corridor toward his office.

He froze when he saw the rebellious girl sitting in his office with two dead students on the floor.

Delphini, no longer disguised. Her silver hair spilled over her cloak like liquid moonlight, her eyes burning with serpentine fire.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said without turning.

“Oh, but I am,” the girl responded. "And I intend to make this place reach its full potential. "

“Delphini,” Silas whispered. “By the gods… you were expelled before you ever graduated.”

“And yet I learned more than this place ever taught me,” she said softly. “You taught obedience. I learned power.”

Silas’s expression hardened. “You are playing with forces you cannot control.”

“On the contrary,” she hissed, raising her wand. “I am the control. And I have come to reclaim what you and your kind lost. Grindelwald’s dream.”

With a flick, she struck. Silas’s wand met hers mid-air, a blinding clash of light destroying the headmaster's office. The floor split apart. and windows shattered in shockwaves. All over the castle, students screamed, and teachers rushed toward the sound, but Dolohov, Rodolphus, and Rookwood and his followers were already there, blocking their path. Within seconds, Durmstrang had become a battlefield.

Stone walls cracked as spells ricocheted through the halls.

Silas fought with ferocious precision as he conjured fire, lightning, and chains of binding magic. For a moment, it seemed the old man might prevail.

He caught Delphini’s wand in midair with a twisting curse. The wood burst into flame.

“It ends, Delphini!” he shouted, raising his wand for the killing blow.

However, Delphini only smiled as her eyes glowed with violet light.

“I need no wand.”

She raised her hand.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Emerald light exploded from her fingertips. The Killing Curse hit Silas square in the chest. The old wizard fell, lifeless, before his students’ horrified eyes.

The sky above the arena cracked open as Delphini rose into the air. The clouds themselves turned violet as she conjured the Dark Mark: a skull with Augurey wings. Behind it, a massive Deathly Hallows symbol appeared.

“Durmstrang is reborn!” she cried, her voice echoing over the mountains. “This will be the fortress of the new world where witches rise and Muggles kneel!”

The students stared, stunned. Then, slowly, many began to applaud. Others shouted, their cheers echoing like thunder. Centuries of militaristic pride, of discipline and superiority, flared into fanatic devotion.

Dolohov stepped forward, bowing deeply.

“Hail Headmistress Delphini,” he said. “And long live Durmstrang.”

After a devastating attack at the 2019 Quidditch World Cup Final by former Death Eaters, the International Confederation of Wizards votes to end the Statute of Secrecy and reveal the existence of magic to the non-magical world.

Click here to read the complete story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, AO3

August 2019

The summer of 2019 had been unusually fine in Scotland. The weather was perfect for Quidditch, and for the first time in history, the World Cup had come to the shadow of Hogsmeade.

Tens of thousands of witches and wizards filled the enormous new stadium, its stands soaring higher than the towers of Hogwarts in the distance. Banners flashed and rippled with charmed light: SCOTLAND VS. USA. Below, the emerald pitch gleamed like a jewel.

A low roar swept through the stands as Oliver Wood, captain of the Scottish national team, soared onto the field in his blue robes. The crowd thundered its approval. Behind him flew the rest of the Scottish squad, circling the field in tight formation.

Across the pitch, the United States team emerged. Robes of deep red and white stripes, stars shimmered faintly as they took to the air. Their captain, Samantha Cole, lifted her hand in salute before wheeling her broom into a dive that drew an appreciative “Oooooh!” from the stands.

“Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards of all nations!” boomed a magically amplified voice. British Minister for Magic Hermione Granger-Weasley stood beside her husband Ron and their children, Hugo and Rose.

Nearby stood Hermione's American counterpart, Celestia Picquery, President of MACUSA, along with her Aurors, who quietly looked out for potential threats.

Hermione raised her wand to her throat. “Welcome to the 2019 Quidditch World Cup Final!”

The crowd erupted, and flashes of light and confetti burst from wands all around.

“And now,” Hermione continued, “please welcome our mascots: symbols of unity, power, and good sportsmanship!”

A massive shadow passed over the pitch. A Hebridean Black dragon, Scotland’s chosen mascot, beat its mighty wings and let out a roar that made the enchanted barriers tremble. Across from it, materializing from a swirl of cloud and lightning, came the Thunderbird, the great North American spirit bird, wings flashing with stormlight.

The crowd gasped in awe as the two creatures circled one another in the sky.

High above in the VIP box, Harry and Ginny Potter watched with their children. James and Lily were on their feet, shouting encouragement, while Albus Severus sat beside Scorpius Malfoy, the two boys deep in conversation about something that was most certainly not Quidditch.

The whistle blew, and the game started. It was fast, brilliant Quidditch. Oliver divied through Bludgers. Cole weaved like smoke around her Chasers. Scotland scored once, then twice, and the stands shook with the roar of approval.

Then everything changed as a blinding green light flashed over the arena. A gigantic Dark Mark blazed above the stadium: the skull and serpent combined with two massive wings sprouting out from behind the cranium.

The crowd’s scream rose like a wave.

Masked figures, former Death Eaters, appeared in bursts of dark smoke. Spells arced through the air, exploding against the stands. Aurors in scarlet robes rushed forward, ready to fight the masked intruders.

“Protego Maxima!” shouted one Auror, forming a shimmering barrier.

One Death Eater raised his wand and shouted the forbidden words. "Avada Kedavra!"

Green light shattered the shield charm, and the Auror fell lifeless down the stairs, causing widespread panic among the crowd of terrified spectators. The American Aurors grabbed their president and Disapparated away in an instant.

“Dad! What?” Scorpius gasped, but Draco shoved him toward Ron and Ginny.

“Go! Both of you! Take them!”

James, Albus, and Lily clung to Gunny in fear while Hugo and Rose grabbed Ron's arm.

Ginny seized her children’s hands. “Ron!”

“I’ve got them!” Ron bellowed. He grabbed Scorpius’s arm. “Hold on tight!”

With a thunderous crack, they vanished. Hermione and Harry were already vaulting the barrier, ready to fight.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry said as he disarmed two Death Eaters at once in a burst of red light.

Hermione pointed her wand at one masked witch who tried to sneak up on Harry from behind.

"Petrificus Totalus! "

The female Death Eater froze, unable to move a muscle, and fell rolling down the stairs.

Two other masked wizards cornered Hermione, but Draco rapidly came by her side as his protective instincts took over.

"Stupefy!"

The two Death Eaters fell on the floor and were instantly crushed by the panicking crowd of wizards and witches.

Parents grabbed their children and apparated away in panic, ending up in public places all over the UK. They ended up on bridges, in public parks, on roads, and in subway stations right in front of confused Muggles who raised their phones at the strange, robed figures, who had appeared out of nowhere. Within seconds, videos were being uploaded on the internet that instantly went viral all across the globe.

Back at the arena, the battle intensified. Aurors and Death Eaters clashed as red, blue, and green jets of light filled the air.

Oliver Wood, furious at his big moment ruined, hexed a Bludger, making it fly into a Death Eater’s back, sending him spiraling into the pitch, screaming in agony.

Hermione was dueling two masked attackers at once, moving with fierce precision. Draco fought beside her, deflecting curses with a grim determination.

The dragon, freed by a burst of shattered wards, screamed and ascended, trailing fire. The Thunderbird panicked, flying up in the air, causing a literal storm. Lightning ignited the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. Centaurs, unicorns, wolves, and Acromantula fled the flames and ran out on a highway and crashed into cars.

A young woman hovered in the air, above the broken pitch. She held no broom, nor wings. She flew, carried by sheer will alone.

Draco went rigid. “No. No, it can’t be...”

Harry turned sharply. “Who is she?”

Draco’s voice was barely a whisper. “Delphini.”

Harry blinked. “Who?”

“The daughter,” Draco said, “of Voldemort. And Bellatrix.”

"Impossible, " Hermione responded, terrified.

The woman lifted her hand, and a pulse of power radiated outward. Witches and wizards were thrown backward like leaves in a gale.

Above the burning pitch, Delphini drifted down like a ghost. Aurors fired curses toward her, but they fizzled, bent, and dissolved in the air.

“Expelliarmus!” Harry shouted, sending a jet of red light. She deflected it lazily with her hand.

“Potter,” her voice echoed. “Still fighting battles that aren’t yours.”

Hermione’s voice cut through the wind. “Who are you?”

Delphini smiled. “The end you all postponed.”

She lifted her arms, and a shockwave of raw magic rippled outward, flinging Aurors, wreckage, and flame into the air. Delphini smiled and then shot into the clouds, vanishing with a crack like thunder. One by one, the remaining Death Eaters vanished in smoke.

Hermione lowered her wand. “What in Merlin’s name... have we just seen?”

Harry turned to Draco. “Tell me everything you know.”

“When The Dark Lord found out you were destroying his Horcruxes, he got paranoid and decided to have a baby with Bellatrix. He hoped that in case he would be killed, their child would find a way to resurrect him in the future.” Draco explained. “I swear to you, Potter. I’ve had nothing to do with her. Not since the war. I’ve renounced it all.”

Hermione pulled a small device from her robes, a Muggle smartphone. Its screen was already flashing with notifications. She tapped it and began scrolling.

“They’re seeing everything,” she said faintly. “Muggles have filmed it all.”

She held up the phone. Across the screen, images scrolled by: The dragon and thunderbird flying in the sky, centaurs and giant spiders crashing into cars on a highway, wizards Disapparating away from public places. A bold white line of text was now trending on the internet.

In this timeline, Voldemort won the Second Wizarding War after Harry Potter's sacrifice during the Battle of Hogwarts. One year later, the Statute of Secrecy ended, and Voldemort was forced to declare war on the Muggles.

Full story: "Dumbledore's Army and the Serpent King, " by Birger, AO3

May 1999

Rain streaked across the cracked windshield as the stolen Vauxhall rattled down an empty motorway. The fuel light had been on for thirty miles. Cho kept both hands tight on the wheel while looking out for potential threats on the road.

They never stayed anywhere longer than a few hours anymore. Too many things hunted at night and too many things hunted during the day now.

Padma sat curled slightly into herself in the passenger seat, arms wrapped tight around her stomach. She hadn’t spoken for hours, and that made Cho worried.

In the distance, another column of smoke rose into the grey sky. Somewhere to the west, jets screamed past low and fast. A second later, dull thunder rolled across the land. Cities were being flattened daily now, sometimes by Muggle forces trying to destroy Death Eater strongholds, sometimes by dark wizards retaliating, and sometimes by things neither side controlled anymore.

Cho stopped at the sight of an abandoned petrol station. Half the roof had collapsed. Windows had been shattered. The forecourt was empty except for one burned-out car.

Cho pulled in anyway.

“We need fuel,” she said quietly. “Or at least somewhere to rest for an hour.”

Padma nodded.

They got out carefully. The air smelled like wet concrete and old smoke. Somewhere far off, something howled, not quite human, but not quite animal.

Inside the station shop, shelves were mostly stripped. Cho found two dusty bottles of water and a crushed packet of biscuits.

“Still edible,” she said, forcing a small smile.

Padma didn’t respond.

After a long silence, Cho spoke. “We need to leave Britain.”

Padma’s head snapped up. “No.”

Cho flinched “Padma—”

“No,” she said again, sharper now. “I’m not leaving.”

Cho set the biscuit packet down carefully. “Padma… listen to me. Please.”

Padma shook her head violently. “Parvati is alive. Somewhere. I know she is.”

Her voice trembled. “They took her. That means she’s alive. Or she was.”

Cho moved closer. “I want to find her too.”

Padma looked at her even though her eyes were swollen.

“I do,” Cho said softly. “You know I do.”

She hesitated. “But we don’t know where she is.”

Cho ticked off on her fingers. “Azkaban. London. Some Death Eater mansion. Some place we’ve never even heard of.”

Padma’s breathing got faster.

“We don’t even have wands,” Cho said, voice breaking slightly now. “We can barely protect ourselves. How do we save her like this?”

Padma pressed her hands to her face.

“She’s my sister,” she whispered.

“I know.”

Padma made a broken sound.

“If I leave… if I leave and she’s still here… what if she’s waiting for me? What if she thinks I abandoned her?”

Cho moved forward and pulled her into a hug. Padma resisted for a second. Then she collapsed into Cho.

“I can’t lose her,” Padma cried. “I can’t. She’s all I have left.”

Cho held her tighter.

“You haven’t lost her,” she whispered. “Not yet.”

Cho stroked Padma’s hair.

“We get out,” she said quietly. “We get help. We get wands. Allies. Information.”

Her voice hardened slightly. “And then we come back for her.”

They stayed like that on the dirty shop floor, two girls holding onto each other while the world burned outside.

After a long time, Padma whispered:

“Promise me… we won’t stop looking for her.”

Cho hesitated for a second.

“I promise.”

...

The closer they drove, the greener the sky became. By the time Cho and Padma crossed into Greater London, daylight barely existed anymore. A permanent Dark Mark hovered above London, blocking the sun, turning the sky green.

London was unrecognisable. Whole districts had been flattened into grey dust. Others still stood, but were in complete ruins. Several buildings were on fire.

Dozens of Inferi staggered across abandoned roads, some still wearing police uniforms, army fatigues, and business suits.

Padma covered her mouth.

“Oh my god…”

Above them, the sky was alive. Dementors drifted like storm clouds, hundreds, maybe thousands, circled endlessly. The air felt wet and freezing at the same time.

Thestrals perched along rooftops and shattered billboards. Between skyscrapers, massive silver webs stretched trembling slightly in the wind. Giant Acromantulas moved along the threads.

Cho gripped the steering wheel harder.

“Don’t look up,” she whispered.

They turned onto a wider road heading south toward the river. Toward the harbor. Toward escape or so they thought.

Something slammed into the side of the car. Padma screamed as grey and rotting hands smashed against the windows. Faces pressed against the glass. Dead eyes stared inside. Inferi swarmed from between abandoned buses and burned-out taxis.

“GO!” Padma shouted.

“I AM!”

Cho slammed the accelerator.

The car burst forward but crashed into a lamppost. The engine sputtered then died.

“No, no, no —”

More bodies closed in around the car.

“RUN!” Cho shouted.

They threw the doors open and bolted into the street. Behind them, hands clawed at the car, rocking it violently.

Padma almost slipped on something wet but didn’t look down and just kept running.

They didn’t stop until they saw glass doors ahead. The entrance was barricaded with overturned shelves, metal carts, wooden boards.

People inside saw them. For a moment, no one moved. Then someone pulled part of the barricade aside.

“GET IN!”

They dove through and the barricade slammed shut behind them.

Hundreds of people hid inside what had been a shopping mall.

Families huddled in shop fronts. Children cried quietly into their parents’ clothes. Battery lanterns hung from railings. The smell of sweat, fear, and stale food filled the air.

Former police officers and soldiers patrolled with pistols and rifles. Two armed officers approached immediately.

“Hands where we can see them.”

Cho and Padma obeyed instantly.

“Names,” one officer said.

“Cho,” she said automatically, then hesitated. “Cho Chang.”

“Padma Patil.”

The officers exchanged a look.

"Ching Chong, " one of them muttered with a smug smirk on his face.

Cho's look hardened in frustration but she was way too exhausted to say anything.

Then the older one stepped closer.

“Question,” he said quietly.

His eyes were exhausted but sharp.

“Are you… witches?”

Padma’s mouth opened. Cho felt her heart slam against her ribs. She thought of Hogwarts, Quidditch, and of magic that once felt normal.

“Do you work,” the officer continued, “for the red-eyed flying man? The man who calls himself the 'Serpent King'?”

Padma inhaled, but Cho spoke first.

“No,” she said. “We’re normal...just like you. We have fled all the way from my home in Glasgow.”

The officer studied her face looking for lies. Finally, he lowered his weapon slightly.

“Alright,” he said. “For now.”

He nodded toward the interior.

“Welcome to what’s left of London.”

Cho nodded. Padma didn’t speak.

As they walked deeper into the mall, Padma whispered, barely audible:

“We just lied to them.”

Cho stared straight ahead. “I know.”

The temperature dropped so suddenly that everyone felt like the air itself had died. People began rubbing their arms, and every breath turned faintly visible.

Then the screaming started. The civilians didn’t know why. But Cho did. Her stomach dropped.

“Padma,” she whispered. “They’re here.”

The mall’s fragile order shattered instantly. People shoved past each other, knocking over barricades, knocking over supplies, children crying as parents dragged them blindly toward exits that no longer mattered.

Former police and soldiers raised their guns toward nothing.

The first officer collapsed as his soul was torn away by something no one else could see. Another officer fell. Then another.

Padma grabbed Cho’s arm. “We have to go!”

They ran toward a side corridor but the cold deepened. Hope drained out of Cho’s chest like water from a cracked glass. Memories blurred and faces faded.

“No…” Cho gasped, stumbling.

From shattered skylights above, shadows poured in.

Behind them came the inferi, smashing through side entrances and emergency exits. Grey bodies came crawling, running, and climbing over escalators and storefronts. The mall had become a slaughterhouse in a matter of seconds.

Cho pulled Padma forward.

“We keep moving. Don’t stop —”

Three figures appeared in a burst of displaced air.

Cho and Padma recognised them instantly as the gang of Slytherin bullies from their school years. Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, and Blaise Zabini.

Pansy’s eyes locked onto them instantly with recognition.

“Well,” she said softly, stepping forward through the chaos, “look who survived. ”

Cho felt rage explode inside her chest. Padma staggered back in fear.

Pansy raised her wand casually.

“Incarcerous.”

Ropes burst from thin air. They slammed into Cho and Padma, wrapping arms, legs, torsos, wrenching them off their feet. They hit the tile floor hard. Padma cried out.

Cho tried to fight, trying to force wandless magic to break herself free, but nothing came. Pansy stepped closer and crouched in front of Cho. For a moment, the mall around them was only noise.

“You always thought you were better than us,” Pany said quietly. "So much for 'Dumbledore's Army'..."

Cho stared back, watching her former school rival with utter contempt. If looks could kill, Pansy would already be ash.

Behind her, Nott and Zabini moved efficiently. They hauled Cho and Padma upright like luggage.

“Time to go,” Zabini said calmly, glancing toward the approaching inferi.

“His Majesty will be very interested in this,” Pansy said.

Cho felt her heart beating faster. No. No no no —

The world folded inward, and then they were gone.

The mall was left behind filled with the dying, the soulless, and the monsters feeding on both.

The world snapped back into existence with a violent crack. Cho hit polished stone flooring hard enough to knock the air from her lungs. Padma crashed beside her, both still bound tightly in conjured ropes that burned like iron against their skin.

They were inside Vauxhall Cross, which used to be the headquarters of the Muggles' Secret Intelligence Service, known as MI6.

Now it was something else entirely. Dark banners hung between steel pillars. Inferi guards armed with Muggle weapons stood motionless along the walls. The distant echo of boots and screams carried through the vast corridors.

“Move,” Nott said, hauling Cho upright.

Zabini dragged Padma to her feet.

Pansy walked ahead like she owned the building. They were pulled down a long hallway and shoved through heavy black doors into a large office overlooking the Thames.

Behind a massive desk sat Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass, who held each other tightly.

Draco looked up, irritated. Then he saw Cho.

Pansy smiled thinly.

“Found them hiding with the Muggle resistance,” she said.

Draco stepped closer, studying Cho’s face.

“…Chang,” he said quietly. “Potter’s girlfriend.”

The words hit like a curse. Cho’s vision blurred instantly.

For a few seconds she wasn’t there. She was back at Hogwarts, during her fifth year when a younger Harry attempted to ask her out for the Yule Ball. Then she remembered their first kiss inside the Room of Requirement. Then her memories shifted to a year ago when she saw Hagrid sobbing with Harry's body in his arm at Hogwarts courtyard.

Tears slipped down her face before she could stop them.

“Oh, look,” she said sweetly. “Still grieving the Chosen One, her ex—”

Behind her, Nott shifted uncomfortably. Zabini looked away toward the window.

Something inside Cho broke. She lifted her head and stared straight at Draco.

“You were always a coward,” she said loudly. “Always.”

The room went very still.

“You hid behind your father. Behind teachers. Behind Voldemort. You bullied anyone weaker than you just to feel important.”

Her voice cracked, but she didn’t stop.

“Now look at you. Still hiding. Still someone else’s weapon.”

Pansy scoffed. “Merlin, spare us—”

Cho didn’t even look at her. She stared only at Draco.

“You’re not a leader,” she said. “You’re just Voldemort’s lapdog.”

The office fell silent.

Draco froze. His hand twitched near his wand, but he didn’t speak. Because somewhere deep down, buried under fear, grief, rage, and years of lies, he knew that the girl bound before him was right.

Beside him, Daphne stood very still. Her face stayed composed. But her fingers trembled slightly against her sleeve.

Padma suddenly surged forward against her restraints.

“Where is she? Where is my sister?” she shouted, voice breaking. “WHERE IS PARVATI?”

Everyone looked at her.

Her eyes were wild. Desperate and terrified.

Draco exhaled slowly. “She’s alive.”

Padma froze with hope and horror colliding in her face.

“She’s being held at Belmarsh,” Draco continued. “You’ll be joining her.”

Padma made a choking sound.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “How touching.”

Cho exhaled in relief out of sympathy for Padma.

After wild night out at the club, Lily Evans, Severus Snape, and Regulus are arrested by the police and interrogated by the MI5.

Full story: ”Lord Voldemort and the Lost Decades, ” by Birger, AO3

July 1979

Fluorescent light hummed above Severus’s head as he sat alone in the MI5 interrogation cell. He kept perfectly still, breathing slowly, ignoring the ache in his ribs and the sting of the metal cuffs. He had no wand but he did have discipline. Voldemort had taught him enough wandless magic to survive a crisis. And this certainly qualified.

He closed his eyes. Alohomora.

It came out as a whisper in his mind, a push of will rather than sound. A click echoed in the tiny room. Severus rose immediately. The cell door swung open.

He slipped into the corridor and moved to the next cell.

Regulus was sitting on the floor, pale and shaking. The moment the door creaked open, he stood upright.

“S-Severus?” he whispered.

“Quiet. Come.” Severus touched the lock, and once again summoned the focused pressure of wandless magic. The latch jolted open. Regulus scrambled out, clutching Severus’s sleeve as though it were a lifeline.

“We… we’re not leaving Evans, are we?” Regulus asked.

Severus closed his eyes briefly. “We are getting her,” he said. “Whether she comes is another matter.”

They hurried down the dim hall toward Lily’s cell. Severus pushed his palm against her lock and forced it open.

Lily sat on the bench looking at her former childhood friend with sheer resentment.

“Come on,” Severus whispered. “We’re leaving.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Lily said sharply. “Dumbledore will come. I’m not trading one prison for another.” Her voice trembled with fury. “And I hope Voldemort skins you alive for this failure.”

Regulus flinched. Severus didn’t move.

“Lily,” he tried one last time, pleading in a way he hated himself for. “If they learn the truth—”

“They won’t believe a word I said,” she snapped. “And even if they did, I am not running with Death Eaters.”

Footsteps thundered down the corridor.

Two Muggle guards turned the corner, guns raised. Their faces showed more fear than authority.

“Don’t move!” one shouted.

Severus turned to Regulus. “Hold on.”

Then he focused, gathering every shred of his strength. Wandless apparition was unstable and dangerous. Voldemort had forced him to practice it, mercilessly, until he could at least attempt it under duress.

With a sound like air collapsing into itself, Severus and Regulus vanished.

They reappeared outside Malfoy Manor on the lawn, collapsing to their knees. Regulus retched. Severus staggered upright, vision spinning—just in time to see the great doors burst open.

Voldemort strode out, flanked by Death Eaters. His red eyes burned in the darkness.

“So,” the Dark Lord hissed, “failure.”

Severus opened his mouth. “My lord—”

But the words never formed.

“Crucio!”

The world became fire. Severus hit the ground, writhing, screaming as every nerve shrieked. Beside him, Regulus shrilled in agony, fingers clawing the dirt.

Voldemort stepped closer, voice silk over venom.

“You let the girl live. You let her speak to Muggles. You return without Potter or his wretched godbrother. And you dare to stand before me?”

The curse intensified. Even the other Death Eaters averted their eyes.

At last, Voldemort lifted his wand. The curse ceased, leaving the two young men twitching in the grass like shattered marionettes.

Voldemort smiled thinly.

“You will not fail me again.”

-

Dumbledore arrived with a sharp crack of displaced air, inside the cramped, dimly lit cell.

For the smallest moment, Dumbledore simply stared at Lily.

She looked utterly exhausted but still defiant.

“Professor,” she whispered.

Dumbledore’s looked at her with sorrow. “Lily… I came as soon as I heard.”

Lily straightened, trying to look composed. “I didn’t tell them anything,” she said quickly, far too quickly. Her voice shook. “Nothing important. Nothing they’ll remember.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, reading the lie without needing Legilimency.

“You told them the truth,” he said gently.

Lily’s lip trembled. “They asked. And I— I couldn’t stand there while they talked about extremists and foreign terrorists and… and thought we were all mad. I just wanted someone to listen for once. To believe that we’re not monsters.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Oh, Lily. Your compassion is a strength. But sometimes, compassion can also be dangerous.”

She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” he said, calmy. “And I forgive you.”

Before she could answer, footsteps echoed from down the corridor. Lily could hear the guards coming closer.

“—they're gone!”

“—cell’s torn open—”

“—they vanished, vanished, right in front of us—”

Three MI5 security officers burst into view with their guns raised. Lily saw the fear in their eyes at the sight of an elderly man in shimmering robes standing in a locked cell with the prisoner. One began shouting into a radio.

Dumbledore lifted a hand, wandlessly and nonverbally, causing the guards to freeze. Then their eyes glazed. Their arms lowered. Their memories folded in on themselves like soft paper.

“Sleep,” Dumbledore said softly.

They slumped harmlessly to the floor.

Lily felt guilt twisting inside her. “I really did make a mess of things.”

“It is not the first mess the Order has mended,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “Nor will it be the last.”

He reached out a hand. Lily stood, took it, and together they vanished. They reappeared in the dim warmth of the Hog’s Head Inn. surrounded by the entire order.

James leapt to his feet the moment she materialized. “Lily!”

He nearly knocked over the table in his rush. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her red hair. “Thank Merlin! Are you hurt? Did they touch you? Did Snape—”

“I’m fine,” Lily murmured, though she clung to him just as tightly.

Sirius stood nearby, furious at the thought of Regulus in Death Eater robes. He couldn’t even say his brother’s name.

Behind him, Mad-Eye Moody slammed his mug down with a thunderous thud.

“This is exactly why she shouldn’t have joined the Order in the first place!” Moody growled. “Telling Muggles about magic? Letting herself get arrested? Nearly handing over the whole blasted Statute of Secrecy?”

Lily flinched. James stepped protectively in front of her. “Back off, Moody.”

“I will not!” Mad-Eye’s magical eye whirled, fixing on Lily. “This kind of recklessness gets people killed. She should be expelled from the Order.”

The room erupted in protests. Dumbledore raised a hand. and silence snapped over the room like a spell.

“Alastor,” he said quietly. “Lily stays.”

Moody’s real eye narrowed. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“WHY?”

“Because Voldemort has already marked her,” Dumbledore replied. “Because she has proven courage beyond measure. And because, like it or not… he will be coming for all of them. Soon.”

The Wizarding World has been exposed and forced to reunite with the Muggles. Unfortunately, peace between the two worlds doesn't come easily, and all of Europe is descending toward civil war as riots break out all over the continent.

Full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, ao3

News of Draco Malfoy’s arrest reached Hogwarts before dawn. By breakfast, it was everywhere, whispered over meals, scribbled in letters from home, shouted across the Great Hall by students eager to be the first to break the story.

“Malfoy’s gone to Azkaban.” “For starting the riots!” “My dad said it’s all over the Muggle news!”

The story grew with every retelling: darker, crueller, and farther from the truth. By mid-morning, the Slytherin table was nearly silent.

At the far end, Scorpius sat stiffly and embarrassed. Beside him, Albus Severus tried to speak, but every word felt useless.

“I’m sure my dad didn’t want this to happen,” Albus muttered. “He must’ve...”

“You don’t have to defend him,” Scorpius said quietly without looking up. “He did his job. Just like everyone else.”

The words were calm, but the hurt behind them was raw and sharp. Albus had already lost his brother's trust; now he was losing the only person who had ever understood him.

-

Harry and Ron stood outside the Auditorium of Magical Law, where an emergency press briefing was to be held later that morning. Neither had slept for two days as they had been busy dealing with the aftermath of Draco's arrest.

The doors burst open. Two figures swept in. They were elegant, furious, and unmistakable. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had returned from exile in the French Riviera and were now outraged at their son's arrest.

“Where is he?” Lucius demanded, his voice echoing through the marble chamber. His cane clicked sharply against the floor as he approached. “Where is my son, Potter?”

Harry turned slowly. “He’s being transferred to Azkaban. The Wizengamot ruled. ”

“Don’t you dare speak to me of rulings!” Lucius shouted, his pale face twisted in rage. “You let Muggles storm magical property, and when my son defends his own kind, you throw him in a cell like a criminal?”

“A man is dead, Lucius, ” Harry responded.

“A Muggle,” Lucius hissed. “One who would have burned us alive given the chance.”

Ron stepped forward, fists clenched. “Watch it, Malfoy.”

Lucius’s cane flashed upward. “Cruc—”

Ron moved faster and shoved Lucius hard in the chest before the curse could finish. Lucius went sprawling across the polished floor.

Narcissa rushed to him, kneeling at his side.

Harry stepped between them.

“I’m sorry. Truly. But this isn’t the way.”

Lucius looked up, trembling with fury and humiliation. “You’ll regret this, Potter. You’ll all regret it. You’ve betrayed your own kind, and you’ll pay for it.”

The Aurors closed in. Narcissa turned her tear-streaked face toward Harry.

“You think you’re saving the world. But you’re only making it burn faster.”

Harry struggled to look Narcissa, the woman who had once saved his life, in the eyes. An Auror grabbed Narcissa by the arm and dragged her away along with her husband.

-

Later that afternoon, Arthur, George, and Angelina stood at Piccadilly Circus, as enchanted banners fluttered above the crowd.

“PEACE BETWEEN WORLDS — MAGIC FOR ALL, HATE FOR NONE.”

The Peace Rally had drawn thousands. Wizards and Muggles alike, flanked by lines of Aurors and Muggle police. Every building in sight shimmered faintly under layers of protective enchantments.

From a rooftop above, Harry and Ron watched silently, scanning for threats

Arthur’s gentle voice carried through a magically amplified megaphone.

“We cannot heal our world by tearing each other apart! Wizards, Muggles, we share this island, and we share its future!”

The crowd responded with uncertain applause, but among the cheers was the unmistakable rumble of division beneath the surface.

-

That same afternoon, Hermione was ushered through the black door of 10 Downing Street by armed Muggle aides. Inside, Theresa May awaited her. Her desk was buried under briefing papers and protest reports.

“Mrs. Granger,” May began sharply, “I’ve just read the morning intelligence. Riots in London, mobs in Birmingham, a policeman dead, and your people are fighting each other in the streets. How am I supposed to tell Parliament that this was under control?”

Hermione folded her hands. “Because it can be. We’re arresting agitators on both sides. Once the extremists are contained, peace.”

“Peace?” The Prime Minister’s laugh was bitter. “You call this peace? The world’s unraveling, and your Ministry has done nothing to stop it. I’ll be lucky to hold my own party together by the week’s end. Farage and Liz Truss are calling for my resignation. Johnson’s gone on television, labeling me a traitor for hiding the existence of magic since my Premiership began.”

Hermione flinched. “You can’t resign now. If the Muggles lose faith in leadership, both our worlds- ”

May leaned forward.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, Mrs. Granger, it’s that war doesn’t always begin with hatred. Sometimes, it begins with fear. And right now, everyone is afraid — of you.”

"I'm sure you know a lot about war. I know you voted for Blair's invasion of Iraq, " Hermione angrily exclaimed.

May froze at Hermione's comeback.

"That wasn't your war! This is, " she answered furiously.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other, two women on opposite sides of a chasm that seemed to grow wider by the hour.

“I don’t want this war to happen,” May said softly at last. “But I no longer believe it can be avoided.”

-

That evening, in the bustling newsroom of The Daily Prophet, Ginny sat at her desk, unable to get any work done. Around her, the press office was filled with rumors, panic, and blame.

Rita Skeeter leaned over her shoulder.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re censoring yourself again, Potter. The people want the truth. Your husband’s Ministry arrests pure-blood heroes, and you’re writing about Quidditch schedules?”

Ginny’s eyes flashed.

“A man died, Rita. There’s nothing heroic about that.”

Rita smirked. “History is written by survivors, dear. Let’s hope your family stays that way.”

Rolf Scamander looked at Ginny and Rita a few meters away but didn't say anything.

Ginny wanted to lash out at her colleague, but she didn't have the energy or motivation to come up with a proper comeback. She stood and left her desk without another word.

-

That night, 12 Grimmauld Place flickered with candlelight once more.

Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione sat around the old dining table, the same one where Sirius had once laughed in hiding, where the Order had once planned the resistance against Voldemort.

Now, the silence was unbearable. A simple dinner of stew and bread sat untouched. Rain beat against the windows. The fire crackled weakly in the grate.

“Do you remember,” Ron said quietly, “when we thought beating Voldemort meant the end of evil?”

Hermione smiled sadly. “We were children. We didn’t understand the price of true peace.”

Ginny stared into the fire. “James won’t speak to Albus anymore. Lily keeps asking if it’s true that wizards and Muggles hate each other. I don’t even know what to tell her.”

Harry felt hope draining from his mind and body. “We fought to make a better world. And somehow… we made it worse.”

For a long time, none of them spoke.

Young Gellert Grindelwald makes himself ready for another year at Durmstrang Institute in Svalbard. Unfortunately, he keeps getting visions from a distant future that serve as warnings for an upcoming war between wizards and Muggles.

Story: "Gellert Grindelwald and the Lost Future, " by Birger, ao3

August 1897

The harbor was not marked on any map. To Muggles, the stretch of water along the Elbe was empty. To the wizarding world, it was a place of quiet ceremony.

Gellert Grindelwald stood at the edge of the quay with his hands in his pockets. At fifteen, he was tall for his age, pale-haired and sharp-featured. A crimson Durmstrang robe hung from his shoulders.

Around him gathered dozens of red-robed students, boys and girls aged thirteen to seventeen, most speaking German, their accents shifting from Prussian to Austrian to Swiss. Laughter rose in bursts, quickly subdued by sharp looks from older students already trying to assert their authority.

Beside Gellert stood Lyra Ollivander. She was from South Tyrol, her Italian lilt softened by years among German-speaking witches and wizards. Her hand brushed Gellert’s as they stood together, close enough that neither felt alone in the crowd.

“Still think it looks like a floating fortress,” she murmured.

Gellert smirked. “That’s the point. Durmstrang doesn’t believe in comfort.”

“Or joy,” Lyra added, though she smiled as she said it.

Behind them stood Gellert’s parents.

Heinrich Grindelwald was an imposing figure in dark green Ministry robes that marked his rank as German Minister for Magic. This was a man accustomed to rooms falling silent when he entered them.

At his side was his wife, Eszter Grindelwald. She wore simpler robes, and her dark hair was pulled back in a loose knot. Eszter looked anything but comfortable among the crowd of pureblood parents and students.

She noticed the sneers first. Several parents cast sidelong glances her way. Their whispers were subtle but unmistakable. Eszter met none of their looks directly, but her shoulders stiffened all the same.

“I still don’t understand why,” she said softly to Heinrich, “Germany has schools. Good ones. Places where he wouldn’t be judged for blood status.”

Heinrich did not turn to her. “Durmstrang is where our family’s legacy lies.”

“Our?” Eszter echoed. “Or yours?”

Gellert pretended not to listen, though every word landed. He had heard this argument before, many times, always ending the same way.

“He is talented,” Heinrich continued. “And Durmstrang will sharpen that talent. It is the only institution worthy of his potential.”

Eszter’s gaze shifted to her son. “Potential isn’t everything,” she said. “He’s still a boy.”

Gellert felt Lyra’s hand tighten around his fingers.

Before Eszter could say more, Heinrich checked his pocket watch and frowned. “I’m late. The Kaiser will not wait for me.”

“Kaiser Wilhelm?” Lyra asked.

Heinrich nodded once. “State matters.” He placed a firm hand on Gellert’s shoulder. “Write. Focus on your studies. Remember who you are.”

Gellert nodded, unsure what answer was expected of him. “Yes, Father.”

Without another word, Heinrich stepped back. Eszter moved forward immediately, pulling Gellert into a fierce embrace.

“Be kind,” she whispered. “Even when they aren’t.”

“I will,” Gellert said, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

She kissed his forehead, then Lyra’s cheek, smiling at her. “Look after each other.”

“We will,” Lyra promised.

With a sharp crack, Heinrich apparated away. Eszter lingered half a second longer, her eyes lingering on her son, before disappearing as well.

The harbor fell suddenly quieter.

A deep horn sounded from the ship. At once, older students straightened, voices dropped, and staff members emerged along the quay.

“Formation!” a barked voice echoed.

Students snapped into lines with military precision. Their trunks floated obediently behind them. Gellert felt a strange thrill as he fell into place beside Lyra, the weight of the moment finally settling on him.

This was it. Another year. Another journey north, farther from home, closer to something he couldn’t yet name. The ship loomed ahead, its iron hull etched with runes that glowed faintly in the mist. As the gangplank lowered, Gellert glanced once more at the empty harbor behind them.

He felt no grand ambition stirring in his chest. No visions of power or destiny. Only the nervous excitement of a fifteen-year-old boy, standing at the edge of a long voyage, with his girlfriend’s hand in his and the unknown stretching endlessly before him. Together, they stepped aboard, and the ship began its slow, inevitable turn toward the Arctic Circle and a future none of them could yet see.

The North Sea was restless. Gray waves battered the iron sides of the Durmstrang ship as it cut steadily northward. Below deck, the ship was alive with voices, footsteps, and the sharp echoes of instruction.

The older students had been given their assignments the morning after departure.

“Discipline is learned by teaching,” one of the instructors had said flatly. “You will instruct the first-years. They will obey you as they would us.”

So the cabins became classrooms.

Gellert found himself standing at the front of a narrow, iron-walled room that smelled faintly of seawater and polish. Twelve first-year students, most of them barely thirteen, stood in two neat rows before him. Nearly all bore the unmistakable confidence of children who had never been told no and the nervous tension of children who were about to be.

“Wands out,” Gellert said.

They snapped into motion, a fraction too slow for his liking.

Lyra stood to his left, arms folded, her expression calm but watchful. She had a way of observing that made even older students straighten unconsciously.

“Again,” she said coolly. “Together.”

Gellert lifted his wand. “Lumos.”

“Lumos!” the first-years echoed.

Several wand-tips flickered to life. One produced sparks. Another glowed weakly, then went dark.

Gellert sighed not loudly, but enough.

“No,” he said. “Again. And this time, breathe. You’re not stabbing the spell out of the air.”

A blond boy in the front row scowled. “At Rosenheim, we only practiced charms twice a week.”

“Welcome to Durmstrang,” Lyra replied before Gellert could. “Here, you practice until you don’t fail.”

Her tone wasn’t cruel. It was factual.

They repeated the charm over and over again.

The ship rocked gently as they moved on to levitation. Feathers floated unevenly across the room, bumping into the ceiling, drifting sideways, or plummeting to the floor.

“Control,” Gellert said, pacing slowly between the rows. “Not force. If you overpower it, it fights you.”

“Wingardium Leviosa,” Lyra commanded.

The words were spoken like an order, not a suggestion.

This time, the feathers steadied—hovering at chest height, trembling but aloft. A few students smiled before quickly schooling their expressions flat, glancing nervously to see if smiling was allowed. It wasn’t.

Outside this cabin, the same scene repeated across the ship. Older students drilled younger ones relentlessly basic charms, wand posture, spell pronunciation—over and over, until mistakes blurred into muscle memory. There were no praise-filled lectures, no gentle encouragements. Only correction, repetition, and expectation.

Gellert discovered, to his own surprise, that he was good at it.

Not brilliant. Not inspired. Just… effective.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t threaten. He simply expected competence and waited until it appeared. The first-years responded to that far better than to anger. Even the spoiled ones learned quickly when they realized excuses earned them nothing.

Between lessons, Gellert leaned against the bulkhead, rolling his shoulders as the ship lurched.

“Do you ever think it’s strange?” he asked Lyra quietly. “That we’re barely older than them, and they already expect us to act like officers?”

Lyra shrugged. “Durmstrang doesn’t care how old you are. Only whether you can enforce order.”

She glanced at the first-years, now standing silently with their wands lowered, waiting.

“They’re not stupid,” she added. “They’re just unused to being challenged.”

Gellert nodded. That much, at least, he understood.

Most of these students came from money, old houses, new fortunes, families who wanted their children sharpened into something formidable. Just like him. Just like his father had wanted.

The horn sounded again, signaling rotation.

“Dismissed,” Gellert said.

The first-years snapped into a bow, awkward but sincere and filed out in tight formation.

When the cabin was empty, Gellert exhaled and slumped briefly against the wall.

“I feel like I’ve said Lumos a thousand times,” he muttered.

Lyra smiled faintly. “By the time we reach the Arctic, you’ll say it in your sleep.”

The ship pressed onward through the gray expanse of the North Sea, carrying with it rows of disciplined children, tireless instructors, and one ordinary fifteen-year-old boy unaware of his destiny.

Night came heavily upon the ship. The lamps in the third-year cabin dimmed to a dull amber glow as the North Sea rolled endlessly beneath them. Trunks were secured, boots lined with near-military neatness, and the constant hum of enchantments settled into something almost like a lullaby. One by one, the boys climbed into their bunks, two stories of iron frames and thin mattresses, until only the sound of breathing and distant waves remained.

Gellert lay on the upper bunk, staring at the dark ceiling, exhausted after a long day of duty. His limbs ached from hours of discipline. Eventually, sleep claimed him, and Gellert fell deep into his mind.

Cold, sucking mud that clung to his boots and dragged him down with every step. The air was thick and foul, reeking of rot and smoke. Gellert stood in a narrow trench, its walls reinforced with splintered wood and iron. Barbed wire twisted above him like thorny serpents.

Men screamed. They were not students or teachers. They were soldiers. Some wore uniforms he recognized vaguely. Wizards, he knew they were wizards, scrambled beside ordinary men, clutching both wands and guns that thundered when fired. Bullets ripped through the air alongside curses and hexes, sparks colliding with lead in flashes of sickening light.

“Charge!”

“Avancez!”

The sky erupted. A choking yellow-green fog spilled over the trenches, crawling like a living thing. Gellert tried to breathe and couldn’t. His lungs burned. Around him, men collapsed, clawing at their throats, eyes wide with terror. Above, witches soared on broomsticks only to be torn from the sky by streams of bullets. Their bodies fell, robes aflame, vanishing into the smoke below.

Something roared, and a dragon burst through the clouds, scales blackened with soot, ripping apart a massive floating structure of metal and fabric, its screams of tearing steel echoing like a death cry. Fire rained down as the great beast vanished into smoke.

Then came the machines. Flying things, not brooms, screamed through the sky, wings rigid, unnatural. They dropped dark shapes that whistled as they fell, exploding against shimmering shield charms below. The shields shattered. The ground shook. The world dissolved into fire, iron, and madness.

Gellert screamed. He woke up with a shock, thrashing, and fell from his bed. The impact knocked the air from his lungs as he hit the cabin floor with a clang of iron and wood. Pain flared through his shoulder. Shouts followed instantly.

“What in Salazar—?”

“Are you mad?”

“Quiet!”

Lanterns flared to life. Lyra was upright in an instant.

“Gellert!” She kneeled beside him. “Are you hurt?”

His heart hammered so hard it felt like it might break through his ribs. The images still burned behind his eyes: mud, gas, fire.

“I—I’m fine,” he said hoarsely.

A boy from the far bunk snorted. “Nightmare? Fell out of bed like a first-year.”

Laughter rippled weakly through the cabin.

“Keep your voice down,” someone muttered.

Lyra ignored them. “What did you see?” she asked quietly.

Gellert swallowed. “Nothing,” he said too quickly. Then hesitated. “Just… a nightmare. War, I think. Or something like it.”

Another student scoffed. “You’ve been drilling kids all day. No wonder your head’s full of nonsense.”

“Maybe Durmstrang finally scared him,” another added.

Gellert forced a smile. “Yes,” he said. “That must be it.”

The lanterns dimmed again. One by one, his classmates settled back into sleep.

Lyra lingered.

She touched his arm lightly. “If it happens again,” she whispered, “wake me.”

He nodded, though he wasn’t sure why.

Gellert climbed back into his bunk. He lay staring into the darkness. His body was exhausted, but his mind painfully awake.

The nightmare clung to him not like a dream, but like a memory. It was too detailed and too vast to be meaningless. He did not know what trenches were. He did not know what flying machines dropped bombs. He did not know why wizards would carry rifles alongside their wands.

But deep inside, something cold and unsettling stirred. Whatever he had seen was not fantasy. As the ship carried him farther north, toward Durmstrang and the years ahead, Gellert lay awake, haunted by a future he could not yet name, only knowing that it had looked straight at him and screamed.

The journey north seemed endless until, suddenly, the sea changed. After two weeks of gray horizons and cold wind, the Norwegian Sea gave way to something almost unreal. Jagged mountains rose from the water like broken teeth. The ship slowed as it entered the fjords of Svalbard, gliding through narrow passages where the water turned a deep, icy blue.

Students crowded the rails despite repeated orders to remain in formation.

“There! Look!” a first-year gasped.

A massive white shape moved along the shoreline. A polar bear lifted its head to watch the passing ship before disappearing behind rock and ice. Further along, a cluster of walruses lounged on a low shelf. Orcas cut through the water in sleek black arcs.

The first-years whispered in awe, their earlier stiffness forgotten entirely.

Even Gellert leaned forward, resting his hands on the cold rail. The world here felt unfinished, raw, untouched by cities, or ministries, or polite rules. It was beautiful in a way that made his chest ache.

Then Lyra inhaled sharply. Durmstrang's fortress rose ahead of them. Other ships were already docked at the harbour beneath the fortress, indicating that the Nordic, Baltic, Slavic, and British students had already arrived.

A horn sounded.

“FORMATION!”

The German-speaking students snapped into line instantly. Gellert and Lyra made themselves ready. Together with the others, they marched down the gangplank onto the stone pier, boots striking in perfect rhythm. Trunks floated behind them in disciplined rows.

As they advanced, figures emerged near the gates. They were Draugrs, tall and armored undead beings with hollow eyes that glowed faintly blue. They did not breathe. They did not blink. Each held massive weapons from the Middle Ages.

A first-year whimpered in fear.

“No talking,” barked an older student.

Gellert felt a chill crawl up his spine as he passed between the draugrs. Unlike ghosts, these were not echoes or memories. They were guards enslaved to a purpose.

He thought, briefly, of Hogwarts, of the stories his great-aunt Bathilda Bagshot loved to tell. Living portraits that argued and gossiped. Friendly ghosts drifting through corridors and a poltergeist who loved to cause mischief. Durmstrang had none of that. No laughing faces in frames. No cheerful spirits floating by. Only stone, iron, and silence.

Inside the fortress walls, students from other regions paused to watch them pass. Nordic students with pale hair and blue eyes smiled at the sight of their German comrades. Slavic witches and wizards stood in tight-knit groups. A small number of British students who were noticeably uncomfortable in the cold stared with open curiosity.

The march did not stop until they reached the heart of the fortress: the duelling arena. It was vast and circular, carved deep into the fortress, with tiered stone seating rising steeply around a central stage marked by scorched runes and impact scars from centuries of combat magic. The air smelled faintly of ozone and old spells.

At a silent command, the students took their seats in unison. The murmuring died, and the temperature dropped.

With a crack of displaced air, a blond woman dressed in blue robes apparated at the center of the stage. She was tall and unmistakably commanding. Her presence radiated control, not cruelty, not warmth, but absolute certainty.

She surveyed the assembled students with calm, assessing eyes.

Then she spoke. "Willkommen.”

Her German was flawless. 

“I am Freya Bernadotte,” she continued loudly. “Headmistress of the Durmstrang Institute. You arrive at the beginning of a new year and the continuation of an old tradition.”

Her gaze swept over the German-speaking section, lingering just a moment longer there.

“Durmstrang does not exist to comfort you,” Freya said evenly. “It exists to prepare you. The world beyond these walls is not kind. Power, discipline, and control are not optional. They are essential to survival.”

No one in the audience dared to speak.

“You are here because you were chosen,” she went on. “What you become… that is your responsibility.”

Gellert felt something stir in his chest, not ambition, not fear, but a strange sense of inevitability.

Lyra sat beside him, watching the new headmistress with admiration.

Freya Bernadotte raised her wand. The air above the duelling arena shimmered. Gasps rippled through the students as the space before them filled with living visions, if the memories themselves had been pulled from her mind and given form.

“This,” Freya said, her voice steady, “is who I am.”

The first vision resolved into a younger version of the headmistress, barely older than Gellert, standing beneath the same jagged towers of Durmstrang. Snow whipped around her crimson robes as she faced a duelling opponent.

“I stood where you sit now,” Freya continued. “Over thirty years ago. I was trained here. Tested here. Broken and reforged here.”

The image shifted.

Freya, older now, strode through the grand halls of the Swedish Ministry of Magic, clad in dark Auror leathers. She duelled a fleeing criminal through frozen forests, bound dark wizards in chains of light, and stood unflinching before shattered buildings and terrified magical families.

“After graduation,” she said, “I served as an Auror for the Swedish Ministry of Magic. I learned what happens when magic is weak and when it is unprepared.”

The vision changed again and now showed dense jungles, sun-scorched villages. and crumbling ruins overtaken by vines. Wizards and witches huddled in fear as mobs of Muggles surged forward with torches, rifles, and iron chains. The sound of shouting and terror filled the arena.

Freya stood among a group of witches and wizards from many nations, their robes marked with the sigil of the International Confederation of Wizards. Together, they cast protective enchantments, Disillusionment Charms, and evacuation spells.

“I was called to serve beyond Europe,” Freya said, “Latin America. Africa. South Asia. Regions where the Statute of Secrecy is not an abstract law, but the thin line between survival and extinction.”

The visions darkened and showed a wizard dragged from his home by angry Muggles. A witch struck down as she shielded her child. A crowd roared as magic flared helplessly against bullets and fire.

“Muggles fear what they do not understand,” Freya said coldly. “And fear turns quickly to violence. To domination. To enslavement. They have done it to each other for centuries, and they would do it to us, if given the chance.”

Gellert’s fingers curled slightly against the stone bench.

Freya’s gaze swept the arena.

“Durmstrang does not educate children,” she declared. “It forges the wizarding elite of Europe. Those strong enough to protect our kind. Those disciplined enough to act when others hesitate.”

The vision shifted once more, this time to a lone witch standing atop a windswept cliff, dark hair whipping in the storm. Ancient robes. Burning eyes.

“Nerida Vulchanova,” Freya said, reverent now. “Founder of Durmstrang.”

The scene showed fire and chaos, spellfire ripping through streets, armored soldiers bearing the insignia of the Byzantine Empire. Wizards fleeing. Homes destroyed.

“In the year 1267,” Freya continued, “Nerida fled her homeland after brutal persecution. The Byzantine Empire sought to control magic, to chain it. and to use it for imperialist purposes.”

The vision showed Nerida carving runes into stone and shaping the fortress from rock and will alone.

“She founded this school at the edge of the world,” Freya said, “so that no wizard would ever kneel to a Muggle again.”

The visions faded, and the arena fell silent.

“You are her legacy,” Freya said. “As the Muggle world expands, its empires stretching across continents, the Statute of Secrecy is more vital than ever. Not because we are weak,” she added sharply, “but because restraint is the difference between rulers and monsters.”

Her wand lowered.

“Durmstrang will teach you strength,” she finished. “And it will teach you why that strength must be guarded.”

Gellert sat very still. The visions replayed in his mind. Yet something twisted uneasily in his chest. The trenches from his nightmare. The rifles beside the wands. The sky filled with machines and death. Freya spoke of protection. Of secrecy. Of defense.

However, Gellert could not shake the feeling that she had carefully avoided something else, something darker, something unspoken: a truth buried beneath discipline and duty.

Lyra leaned slightly toward him. “What do you think?” she whispered.

Gellert hesitated.

The Wizarding World has been exposed and forced to reunite with the Muggles. Unfortunately, peace between the two worlds doesn't come easily, and all of Europe is descending toward civil war as riots break out all over the continent.

Full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, ao3

October 2019

The world that Hermione had dreamed of uniting was falling apart. Barely two months had passed since the Revelation, and already the fragile peace between Muggles and wizards had begun to crack like thin ice under too much weight.

All over Europe, from the Balkans to the Nordics, the Dark Mark twisted with the shape of the Augurey lit the skies every night. Attacks on Muggle targets rose by the week. The Ministries scrambled to respond. The ICW called for calm.

But for every attack stopped, ten more appeared elsewhere.

Descendants of Grindelwald's Army re-emerged all over the continent, burning churches and mosques alike, carving the Deathly Hallows symbol with the blood of their victims on the walls. In Rome, Italian Aurors thwarted an assassination attempt against the Pope in the middle of the day. In Spain, young Muggles were kidnapped and reappeared in illegal Muggle-baiting arenas where they were forced to fight each other under the Imperius curse. In France and Germany, Aurors and police patrolled streets in every major city together, cracking down on dark activity and stripping suspicious wizards of their wands.

Among Muggles, those who previously preached hatred against those of different faith and skin color had found a new scapegoat in wizards. Graffiti appeared overnight on subway walls in every major city:

NO MORE WITCHCRAFT. KEEP OUR WORLD HUMAN.

Mistrust was spreading faster than any curse. In Britain, there were stories of witches who used Memory Charms on their neighbours, of duelists who hexed policemen for daring to question them, and of Death Eater sympathizers who used unforgivable curses on innocent Muggles for sport.

Hermione was busy attending international meetings with NATO and the ICW, where she advocated military intervention against Delphini's takeover of Durmstrang.

While Hermione was focused on international cooperation, Harry and Ron spent their days and most nights trying to keep the United Kingdom from descending into civil war. The Auror Office had tripled in size, yet it never felt enough. Every report was urgent; every name was familiar. The cells of Azkaban were full of wizards and witches who abused their powers on Muggles.

“We can’t keep arresting our own people, Harry,” said Ron one evening, dropping a pile of parchment onto his desk. “Half of them are just scared. The other half are angry.”

Harry rubbed his eyes. “And if we don’t stop them, Ron, the Muggles will.”

It was as though the darkness of Voldemort’s age had been waiting all along.

-

The Leaky Cauldron had never seen such chaos.

Once a cozy crossroads between two worlds, it now stood under siege. From the street outside, a furious mob of Muggles shouted and jeered, men and women clutched placards scrawled with “NO MORE WITCHES!” "DEVIL' SPAWN" and “KEEP MAGIC OUT OF OUR WORLD!”

Inside, Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott stood between the mob and the frightened patrons. Tables had been overturned, glasses smashed, and the air reeked of firewhisky and fear.

“Stupefy!” shouted Neville, his spell flashing red as it struck one of the intruders climbing through the broken window. The man crashed to the floor, stunned.

“Get back!” Hannah cried, shielding a group of terrified witches huddled near the bar. “This is private property!”

Unfortunately, the mob didn’t care. They surged forward with ropes, bats, and torches in hand. Their rage drowned all reason. One grabbed Hannah’s arm, wrenching her wand from her grasp. Two other Muggles wrestled Hannah down on the floor, trying to restrain her while she desperately struggled to break free.

"HANNAH!" Neville shouted as he pointed his wand at the attackers.

"Avada..."

Before Neville could finish the forbidden words, another Muggle ripped his wand away and snapped it in two.

“NO!” Neville gasped before a blow caught him across the face.

Then came the sound that froze everyone, a single, sharp crack, followed by several more.

Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Daphne Greengrass materialized right outside the tavern.

“Get away from them!” Draco shouted, raising his wand.

A few of the Muggles screamed. Others spat and hurled stones. One bottle shattered near Draco’s feet.

“They’re animals!” Nott snarled. “They’ll never accept us.”

Draco’s eyes burned with fury. “Then we remind them who we are.”

Before Neville could protest, spells filled the night.

“Expulso!” “Sectumsempra!” “Crucio!”

The narrow street erupted in bursts of fire and shattering cobblestone. The Muggles screamed and scattered. Some fled while others struck back blindly with metal pipes and knives. The clash had become a riot. Terrified bystanders picked up their phones and started filming and uploading photos on social media.

Daphne made one Muggle levitate by the wrists. Draco stunned three Muggles at once while Nott used a purple curse to make one intruder scream in agony on the floor.

Blue lights cut through the chaos. Sirens wailed. The London Police arrived in force, shouting orders that no one could understand over the din. Officers surged forward, batons raised, trying to separate wizards from Muggles.

“Drop your weapons!” one shouted.

Zabini froze in fear. “They’re pointing guns at us!”

“BLAISE! DON'T” Draco tried to stop his friend from doing something he would regret for life.

Zabini’s hand trembled as he pointed his wand at the police.

“Avada Kedavra!”

A jet of green light shot through the smoky air. An officer fell. Lifeless before he hit the ground. The street went silent. Bystanders lowered their phones in shock. For one terrible heartbeat, no one moved. Then, cracks of Apparition echoed again. Harry, Ron, and half a dozen Aurors appeared in the street.

Harry froze as he saw the dead policeman. Then he looked at Draco and his friends. Zabini looked down in shame. Daphne looked furious while Nott's expression was unreadable.

“Merlin’s sake…” Ron muttered. “What have you done?”

Draco stepped forward.

“We were defending ourselves, Potter! They attacked us! They broke in, they took Neville’s wand...”

“An officer is dead!” Harry shouted. “You think the Muggles will see this as defense? You’ve just handed them their war!”

Zabini dropped his wand. “I didn’t mean.. I panicked, ”

Harry’s voice went hollow. “I’m sorry. You’re all under arrest.”

Ron and the other Aurors conjured handcuffs onto Draco and his friends and apparated back to the Ministry with the captives. Neville and Hannah looked on with horror as their friends arrested the people who tried to defend their home. Neville didn't know what to say, but Hannah looked Harry in the eyes with growing contempt.

The next morning, the Wizengamot convened in the Ministry of Magic’s Grand Courtroom. The purple-robed council sat in cold silence as Harry and Ron escorted Draco and his companions to the center dais. The magical chains clinked around their wrists.

Percy Weasley, now Chief Warlock, presided over the session. His secretary, Penelope Clearwater, sat beside him, locking eyes with Daphne. Percy began to speak.

“Draco Malfoy. Blaise Zabini. Theodore Nott. Daphne Greengrass. You are charged with unauthorized use of dark magic, use of an Unforgivable Curse in front of Muggles, and incitement of magical violence. How do you plead?”

Draco's eyes blazed with fury.

“I plead betrayed, Weasley. By all of you.”

Gasps rippled through the chamber.

“We protected them!” he shouted. “We stood by while they spat on us, hunted us, burned us in the streets! And now you arrest us for defending our kind?”

Harry looked down, unable to meet his gaze. Percy’s expression didn’t waver.

“This court finds you guilty. You are hereby sentenced to Azkaban Prison... indefinitely.”

The chains tightened. Zabini sobbed quietly. Nott stared blankly ahead. Daphne shouted in protest. Draco’s fury only grew.

He turned to Harry, who looked at him with shame and regret.

“You’ll regret this, Potter. Both you and Granger. You think you’re saving them, but all you’ve done is doom us.”

In this timeline, Lord Voldemort won the Battle of Hogwarts and declared war on the Muggles in pursuit of world conquest.

However, NATO proved to be a much greater rival than either Albus Dumbledore or Harry Potter for the Dark Lord. The UK was bombed into oblivion by both magical and non-magical forces, leaving Voldemort to rule a kingdom of ash.

As the US Army and MACUSA advance to "liberate" Hogwarts, Bellatrix Lestrange learns the costs and sacrifices of motherhood.

Full story: "Dumbledore's Army and the Serpent King, " by Birger, ao3

January 2001

Along the shores of the Black Lake, towering Durmstrang ships creaked against the frozen water. Hundreds of students and civilians, what remained of the Serpent Kingdom, were being rushed aboard in frantic desperation.

“MOVE! MOVE!” the Carrows shouted, herding terrified teenagers forward.

Children cried. Parents clutched them tightly. No one spoke of hope anymore—only escape.

At the edge of the chaos stood Bellatrix, her wild eyes scanning the horizon, one arm wrapped tightly around little Delphini.

Nearby, Andromeda held young Teddy close, whispering softly to calm him. Draco and Daphne stood together with Scorpius cradled between them. No one said it aloud, but everyone knew that without Voldemort, they could not win the war.

Then came the sound of distant thunder. Over the mountains, hundreds of military helicopters and Aurors flying on broomsticks appeared, flying closer and closer toward the heart of the Serpent Kingdom.

“Get inside the castle!” Draco shouted, panic breaking through his voice. “NOW!”

Before anyone could react, a missile screamed through the air, striking one of the Durmstrang ships. The explosion tore it apart in a burst of fire and splintered wood, sending bodies and debris crashing into the freezing lake.

Screams erupted everywhere. Panic consumed the shoreline. People ran in every direction, toward the castle, toward the forest, toward nowhere. Daphne turned and ran, clutching Scorpius tightly as she disappeared toward Hogwarts.

Bellatrix didn’t run. She stepped forward, holding her crying daughter with her left hand. Fury twisted her face into something inhuman.

“HOW DARE THEY!”

She raised her wand, and the sky split open as lightning shot upward like divine wrath. It struck two helicopters instantly, tearing them apart midair. Flaming wreckage spiraled down into the lake.

Around her, the remaining Death Eaters joined in lighting up the sky with curses of every color. The sky became a battlefield of magic and steel. Helicopters burned, and Aurors fell.

One Auror broke through the chaos, dodging every curse. He aimed for Bellatrix and Delphini and raised his wand.

“Avada Kedavra!”

A flash of green tore through the air straight toward the mother and daughter. Bellatrix turned around as the curse struck her in the back. The spell deflected, ricocheting wildly and striking the Auror midair. He fell instantly from his broom, lifeless before he hit the ground. Bellatrix staggered, and then she fell to the frozen ground, motionless.

“No… NO!” Narcissa screamed and rushed forward.

She dropped to her knees, pulling Delphini away from the mother's corpse just as the child began to wail uncontrollably.

The moment was shattered in an instant. From the edge of the Forbidden Forest came a new sound. Military vehicles burst from the treeline, crushing branches and earth beneath armored wheels. Hundreds of soldiers poured out with their weapons raised, shouting orders.

“DROP YOUR WANDS!”

“SURRENDER NOW!”

Red laser sights cut through the smoke. The surviving helicopters hovered above, and Aurors regrouped in the sky. The Death Eaters stood surrounded: outnumbered and overwhelmed.

The air twisted, and the sky darkened unnaturally as a figure appeared above the battlefield, flying unaided. Lord Voldemort had returned. All eyes turned upward. Even the wind seemed to stop.

Voldemort said nothing at first. His red eyes fell upon Bellatrix’s body, and something broke inside him. He raised the Elder Wand, and a pulse of magic erupted outward in a violent shockwave, tearing through the battlefield like an invisible tidal wave.

Metal twisted and melted. Rifles drooped in soldiers’ hands like wax. Tanks groaned as their armor liquefied. Vehicles collapsed into burning slag. Screams of horror spread through the No-maj ranks. Above, helicopters shuddered midair and exploded. Fireballs and burning bodies rained down into the lake and forest.

“RETREAT!” soldiers shouted in panic.

Without weapons and without any way to fight back, they fled in every direction.

“NOW!” Draco Malfoy shouted, seizing the moment.

The Death Eaters surged forward with renewed fury. Green flashes erupted across the battlefield.

The Carrows cast waves of blue fires, consuming twenty Aurors at once. Pansy, Zabini, and Nott fired curse after curse into the chaos. Rodolphus and Yaxley advanced without hesitation. Greyback launched forward, biting one Auror in the face. Even Umbridge joined the assault.

Above it all, Voldemort hovered like a god of war, setting every Auror in sight on fire. The invading forces fell from the sky, landing on the ground with broken bones.

However, chaos did not choose sides. In the frenzy, a single green flash went astray and struck Greyback. The werewolf froze mid-stride and collapsed heavily onto the ground.

Umbridge lowered her wand slowly.

“Whoops…” she muttered, almost to herself.

The battle continued until every American Auror and Muggle soldier had fled or fallen. Silence replaced chaos.

Above it all, Lord Voldemort hovered, motionless, the Elder Wand still raised in his hand. Below him stood what remained of the Serpent Kingdom. Death Eaters, students, and families looked at him while frozen in fear.

Bellatrix's body lay lifeless on the frozen ground. Delphini cried next to her, waiting for her mother to wake up.

Narcissa fell to her knees beside her sister. “No… no…”

Her voice broke as she reached for Bellatrix’s hand. Nearby, Andromeda held little Teddy tightly as tears streamed down her face. Delphini screamed in confusion and grief, reaching toward the mother who would never answer. Teddy cried in Andromeda’s arms, sensing the sorrow around him.

Nearby, Draco stood rigid, holding Scorpius close as the child sobbed against his shoulder. Daphne clung to them both.

Voldemort descended downwards until his feet touched the scorched earth. He looked at Bellatrix for a long time. Then he spoke.

“Bellatrix Lestrange… did not die in vain.”

No one dared move.

“She died… as all who are loyal should. Her sacrifice… will be remembered.”

His red eyes swept across the crowd.

“And she… will be avenged.”

He raised the Elder Wand once more, and the ground trembled. Stone tore itself upward from the earth, forming a black and jagged tomb. Bellatrix’s body lifted gently from the ground and lowered into the tomb. The stone sealed shut with a deep, final echo.

Then Voldemort turned toward the child. Little Delphini sobbed in Narcissa’s arms, reaching blindly for a mother who was gone.

Voldemort approached. For a moment, Narcissa hesitated and took a step backward. Then, trembling, she allowed him near. Voldemort looked at his daughter.

“Delphini…”

He reached out, placing a pale hand lightly against her cheek. Her crying faltered.

“You are my heir.”

The words sent a ripple through everyone present. No one had ever heard him speak like this before.

“You will grow. You will become strong. You will remember. And one day…”

His red eyes burned with something far darker than grief.

The Wizarding World was exposed in August 2019 and forced to reunite with the Muggles. Months later, war broke out between wizards and Muggles in almost every country, including the UK, USA, Russia, and India. Cho Chang, living in Hong Kong with her husband and daughter, must flee her home as the Chinese Communist Party declares a People's War on Magic.

Full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, ao3

January 2020

The bells of Fenghuang Academy, the Cantonese wizarding school, rang across the misty peaks of Lantau Island as Cho Chang paced between rows of attentive students, including her own daughter.

“Today,” Cho announced, “we continue with the Patronus Charm. A valuable defense for any witch or wizard facing despair. Back in Britain we used it to defend ourselves from dementors who served Voldemort but here in China we can use it against lethifold. ”

She tapped her wand lightly on the desk.

“And,” she added with a sly smile, “I learned Patronus Charm from my ex-boyfriend, Harry Potter, when we were in Dumbledore’s Army.”

Half the class perked up at the name.

Olivia Chang, sitting in the second row, covered her face with her textbook.

“Mum. Please,” she muttered.

Cho ignored her and raised her wand.

“It is a spell born from memory. A memory precious enough to shine through darkness. Watch carefully.”

She closed her eyes. At the moment, she thought of Olivia. Tiny, newborn, curled on her chest. Cho’s breath hitched.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Light blossomed from her wand. A luminous swan swept across the room, and the students gasped in awe.

“Your turn,” Cho said, warmth returning to her voice.

Olivia inhaled deeply. She pictured her first kiss with her boyfriend Alex, beneath a street lamp in Mong Kok.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Her wand glowed as a silver crane soared upward. The class applauded. Olivia hid another blush.

After classes ended, the sun dipped behind Lantau’s hills, and ferries moved like lanterns across the water. Cho and Olivia apparated toward Victoria Harbour, waiting for Olivia's boyfriend to arrive.

Olivia lingered with worry, scrolling through WeChat.

“Mum… look.”

Her hands trembled as videos filled the screen: Magicians in Shanghai conjured storm spells at riot police. Fire spells ignited barricades in Chengdu. Flying swords, old Daoist magic, clashed with Auror shields. Crowds shouted that the Communist Party is suppressing magic, while others demanded that Magicians be “re-educated.”

Across the screen, President Bo Xilai and Minister for Magic Zhang Mei-Ling stood stiffly at podiums giving scripted assurances about peaceful coexistence, stability and harmony between the two worlds.

Cho shook her head.

“They’re terrified,” she said quietly. “And they should be. When two governments share one land and no common truth… the cracks show.”

“Mum,” Olivia whispered, “you think… China might fall? Like Britain?”

Cho placed a steadying hand on her daughter’s cheek.

“I think China is a lake of oil, and people keep lighting matches. But listen to me no witch, no muggle, no government will ever harm you. I promise.”

Olivia nodded.

A tram clattered by, neon reflecting off the darkening water. Olivia waited by the railing until Alex, her Muggle boyfriend, came smiling.

“Liv! Sorry, I came straight from cram school.”

He grabbed her hand, and she squeezed back.

Cho stepped away, giving them space. She remembered being seventeen. She remembered fear and she remembered hope, too.

“Have fun,” Cho said gently. “And text me when you’re heading home.”

Olivia nodded, distracted by Alex’s arm slipping around her.

Cho smiled at the moment, at her daughter’s innocence inside a world edging toward catastrophe.

Then she stepped behind a pillar and turned. With a soft crack, she disappeared.

Cho reappeared in a dim, modest flat overlooking Nathan Road. The glow of street signs bled through the curtains. Books on human rights theory and ancient Chinese enchantments were stacked on the coffee table.

Her husband, Liang Wei, looked up from his chair.

“Cho? You’re home early.”

She crossed the room and hugged him tighter than usual.

Liang paused. “Bad day at school?”

“No,” she whispered into his shoulder. “Bad day for the world.”

He exhaled, brushing a thumb over her cheek.

“Is it starting?”

“Tensions everywhere,” Cho murmured. “Viral videos of duels with police. Rumors the Party might demand wand registration. The Ministry of Magic refusing.”

Liang closed his eyes.

“I’ve seen this before,” he said softly. “Different eras. Different enemies. But the same arrogance. Authorities who think fear will keep people quiet.”

Cho held him closer, heart aching with every memory of pulling him from that secret prison in Chongqing twenty years ago. A prison run by men now advising Beijing on what to do about wizards.

“Whatever comes,” Liang said, “we face it together. Magic or no magic.”

Cho nodded. She was a mother first and she could feel it like pressure behind a storm wall: China was a week, a day, maybe a single spark away from its own magical civil war. And she would burn the world down before she let it touch her family.

-

Night had fallen over the walled compound of Zhongnanhai. Inside the West Building, the air was cold as steel.

Chinese Minister for Magic Zhang Mei-Ling stood alone before a long table.

At one end sat Paramount Leader Bo Xilai. Beside him sat former President Jiang Zemin, who still radiated authority nearly two decades after his presidency had ended. Neither looked pleased.

Bo slammed a stack of papers onto the table.

“Two months, Minister Zhang. Two months of wizard mobs attacking police in Shanghai, blasting holes in Guangzhou subways, conjuring storms over Tianjin. Chaos! Panic! China was stable before magic crawled out of its cave and threw the world into fire!”

Madam Zhang did not bow, having lost all respect for her non-magical counterpart.

“Respectfully, Chairman Bo, the Party can't blame us for refusing to be your puppets. Our people must stand up to your oppression.”

Bo bristled. “You think this is about control? This is about survival! If radicals continue abusing their powers, the Party cannot protect the people.”

Jiang Zemin tapped his cane sharply.

“In my time,” he rasped, “we had Falun Gong, Tibetan and Uyghur separatists, Western-backed liberal imperialists. But you magicians… you magicians are far more dangerous. A threat greater than cults or spies. Your kind must be contained before you destroy the nation.”

Zhang felt fury boil inside.

“‘Contained’? Is that what your officers were doing when they blackmailed muggleborn wizards into ‘cooperation’? Threatened their families? Seized their wands? Ordered Aurors to swear loyalty oaths to the Communist Party?”

Bo’s patience snapped.

“Magic must serve the country. Serve society. Serve the Party. If wizards refuse responsibility, we will make them learn it.”

Zhang understood the meaning beneath his words. Re-education. Indoctrination. Control. Camp walls and electric collars around necks.

Her hand tightened around her wand.

“Then you leave me no choice.”

Security burst into the room elite bodyguards, rifles raised, boots striking the polished floor.

“Minister Zhang Mei-Ling, by order of the Central Committee, you are to be taken into protective—”

They never finished. Her bones crackled, reshaping. Arms elongated into serrated limbs as she transformed into her animagus form: a praying mantis.

The security officers fired the guns aimlessly at floor as the insect sprinted between their legs leaping into the ventilation then into the trees surrounding the compound.

Within minutes, alarms blared across the capital. Armored vehicles rumbled down Chang’an Avenue. Drones swept the skies in search patterns.

The Forbidden City, home to the Chinese Ministry of Magic, was surrounded by Beijing SWAT. Armed officers raised their weapons, aimed at enchanted pagodas.

“Move! Breach teams forward!”

The first explosions shattered the stillness of the historic courtyards.

Inside, terrified Ministry staff scrambled. Aurors abandoned offices. Archive scrolls scattered. Enchanted artifacts sparked as anti-magic grenades detonated.

Zhang Mei-Ling’s voice boomed telepathically through every mind attuned to her signal:

“All Ministry personnel, retreat immediately. Do not engage the no-magical forces. Fall back to Badaling. We hold the mountains.”

Ministry officials obeyed and fled into portals leading to safe spots all over China, as armed police stormed the headquarters.

-

An hour later, every screen in China flickered to life: televisions, phones, billboards, and station monitors.

Bo Xilai appeared behind a podium at the National People's Congress.

He looked tired. There was something like regret tugging at his expression just for a heartbeat. Then it was gone.

“Citizens of the People’s Republic of China,” he began, “peaceful coexistence with the magical community has failed.”

The words echoed like thunder.

“Recent attacks, insubordination, and violent uprisings show that certain wizards place themselves above law and nation. Effective immediately, all magical activity is classified as counterrevolutionary.”

He paused, letting the weight settle like a guillotine.

“All wizards and witches must register with local Party authorities. Any unregistered magical action must be reported. Failure to comply will be considered collaboration with enemies of the state.”

Jiang Zemin nodded approvingly beside him.

Bo’s final words were cold as winter:

“China will be safe. Order will return. Those who threaten our harmony, magician or no magician, will be dealt with.”

The broadcast ended.

After the attack on the Quidditch World Cup Final, British Minister for Magic Hermione Granger-Weasley attends a meeting with the Queen of England and the Muggle Prime Minister to discuss the end of the Statute of Secrecy. Little do they know that their discussion is monitored by the MI5.

Full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, ao3

Rain fell on Buckingham Palace as an enchanted Ministry car rolled through the gates. Inside the car, Hermione sat perfectly still. The car stopped at the side entrance. A discreetly suited aide ushered her into a private wing. There were no journalists, no cameras, and no recorders, at least none visible to the eye.

Two women waited in the drawing room. Prime Minister Theresa May stood with a sheaf of papers clutched to her chest. The other sat calmly in an armchair, holding a polished cane: Her Majesty The Queen. Even in her nineties, she radiated composure and symbolic importance.

“Minister Granger,” the Queen said. “It’s been some time since I received a visitor from your world.”

Hermione bowed slightly. “Your Majesty. Prime Minister.”

May gave a thin smile. “Yes, well. Not a social call, I’m guessing.”

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I won’t waste your time, " Hermione said. " You’ve both seen the news. Our worlds are colliding. Muggles... ”

"Don't you dare use that term again! " May interrupted.

Hermione blinked. “Prime Minister, that’s simply the technical term for—”

“—for normal people, yes, I’ve heard,” May snapped.

Hermione looked offended, but she didn't say anything.

“Dragons. Lightning storms. That green… thing in the sky, " May exclaimed. "My Home Secretary is still trying to work out how to spin it. The Scottish First Minister wants to know why she wasn’t briefed.”

She tossed the papers onto the table.

"I’ve been aware of magic since Kingsley Shacklebolt served as my security liaison. I’ve kept my mouth shut for years. But this...this is a catastrophe.”

Hermione held her gaze. “It was an accident. A breakdown of containment charms. No one expected the mascots to break free.”

“Accident?” The Prime Minister demanded. “I had half of MI5 screaming at me because a dragon flew over the M74 motorway and your ‘containment charms’ apparently don’t work on Twitter!”

“Theresa, please. We mustn’t lose our tempers, ” the Queen tried to calm the Prime Minister down. “I have been aware of the magical community for many decades. Ministers for Magic have sat in this room many times. Even my father met one during the Blitz. But rarely have we stood on such a precipice.”

Hermione inclined her head. “Exactly, Your Majesty. The world is changing. The Statute of Secrecy was crafted in an age of superstition and fear. It has outlived its purpose. If we do not act now, on our own terms, it will crumble without us.”

May stared at her, appalled. “You’re actually proposing to reveal yourselves? To the public? To Parliament? To the world? Do you have any idea what that would do to my government? To any government?”

“Perhaps,” Hermione said softly, “we should stop thinking of it as ‘your’ government or ‘ours.’ Perhaps it’s time we think of it as everyone’s world again.”

The Queen regarded her thoughtfully. “You would reunite the two worlds,” she said, more statement than question.

Hermione nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

For a moment, the Queen was silent. “I have always believed,” she said at last, “that concealment, while prudent, has its costs. It leaves people ignorant. It leaves governments blind. And it breeds fear. Perhaps transparency would bring its own peace.”

May was flabbergasted. “With respect, Ma’am, you can’t possibly—”

The Queen raised one gloved hand, and May fell silent. “I said perhaps, Prime Minister. Perhaps.” Her gaze turned back to Hermione. “It would be a vast undertaking. One that could bring great change, and great danger.”

Hermione met her gaze. “I know. But hiding has already failed. The Muggle world is watching, Your Majesty. We can either lead them into the truth or be dragged into it.”

May’s voice trembled with anger. “And what happens when they don’t greet you with open arms? When they try to seize your wands? When there’s panic in the streets? My government will collapse. And you’ll be the one who lit the match.”

Hermione said nothing.

The Queen’s expression softened. “Let us at least discuss what a managed… introduction… might look like. But I must warn you, Minister: once done, it cannot be undone.”

Hermione inclined her head. “I understand.”

The conversation turned to practicalities: public messaging, international coordination, and the shadow of the ICW vote tomorrow. None of them noticed the faint glimmer above the chandelier, a pinprick of black metal, no bigger than a matchhead. It was an MI5 listening device.

Deep beneath Thames House, Millbank, Dominic Hayes, Director General of the Security Service, stared at the audio feed streaming across his desk.

“Magic,” he whispered. “Bloody witches and dragons, right under our noses.”

His deputy shifted uncomfortably. “Sir, the Queen knew. And the Prime Minister.”

Hayes had never felt so betrayed during his entire career working for the Security Service. “They’ve been lying to me for years. To the country. To the world. We’ve been fighting ghosts and terrorists and never knew about this.”

He pushed back from the desk and stood. “Get me everything you can. Names. Places. This ‘Ministry of Magic.’ We’ve been infiltrated without even realizing it.”

Hayes boiled with fury and confusion. “No more secrets. We’re going to find out exactly how deep this goes.”

In this timeline, Lord Voldemort won the First Wizarding War in late 1979. The Order of the Phoenix was defeated, and the Marauders were forced into servitude. Severus Snape reluctantly became the new headmaster of Hogwarts with Lily Evans as his prisoner. Several months later, Lily gives birth to her son, Harry Evans, and promises him that one day he will meet his real father.

Full story: "Lord Voldemort and the Lost Decades, " by Birger, ao3

July 1980

Rain had been falling over Hogwarts since dawn. The hospital wing was sealed off from the rest of the school by spells Lily did not recognize and no longer questioned.

Madam Pomfrey moved briskly between the bed and her potion cabinet, her face tight with focus but not unkind. Lily lay pale against the pillows, sweating while holding her fingers tightly against the sheets. Pain came in waves, but beneath it all, there was a fierce will to live, survive, and protect the child.

Severus stood rigid near the foot of the bed, hands clasped behind his back as though he were awaiting judgment. Regulus lingered closer to the wall, visibly uncomfortable because of the circumstances. Slughorn stood near the door, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief and murmuring encouragement whenever Madam Pomfrey shot him a sharp look.

“Nearly there,” Pomfrey said firmly. “Just a little longer, dear.”

Lily gritted her teeth and pushed.

A moment later, the room was filled with a sharp, living cry.

Pomfrey lifted the child, wrapped him in a warming charm, and smiled despite herself. “A healthy boy,” she announced. “Strong lungs.”

Lily’s breath hitched. “Let me see him.”

The baby was placed in her arms, small and warm. His crying softened the moment he was against her, as though he recognized her heartbeat.

For the first time in months, Lily smiled without bitterness.

“My son,” she whispered.

Regulus swallowed. “Have you… have you chosen a name?”

Lily looked down at the child, memorizing the shape of his face, the way his tiny fingers curled around hers with surprising strength.

“Harold,” she said softly. “After my father.”

Slughorn nodded approvingly. “A solid name. Traditional. Very Gryff—”

Severus interrupted coldly. “Naming a child after your father. How original”

Lily shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “I didn’t ask for your opinion Snivellus.”

Severus was instantly flabbergasted by Lily's comment and didn't argue further.

After a moment, Lily sighed and looked back at her son. “But… Harold feels too heavy. Too much like a memory.” She brushed her thumb gently over the baby’s cheek. “Harry,” she decided. “Just Harry.”

Regulus repeated it quietly, as if testing the sound. “Harry.”

Severus turned away. “Harry Evans,” he said at last.

“Yes,” Lily replied. “Harry Evans.”

Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat. “You’ll both need rest. And peace.” She flicked her wand, and the bed linens smoothed themselves. “Arrangements have already been made.”

Lily was moved later that evening, escorted silently through to a smaller, warmer set of rooms once reserved for visiting scholars. There were real windows, soft chairs, and wards layered so thick Lily could feel them humming under her skin. It was still a prison, perhaps, but a gentler one.

As night settled over Hogwarts, Lily held Harry close and whispered promises that he couldn't comprehend.

In this timeline, Lord Voldemort killed Albus Dumbledore in early September 1979. The Marauders, Lily Evans, Marlene McKinnon, and Dorcas Meadowes stay with Professor McGonagall at Hogwarts to prepare for the Death Eaters' upcoming invasion. The rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin reaches new extremes. James and Lily have an intimate moment in the Room of Requirement, resulting in Lily becoming pregnant at the mere age of 19.

Full story: "Lord Voldemort and the Lost Decades, " by Birger, ao3

October 1979

Guard duty at Hogwarts had changed Lily and James more than either realized. Every night, they patrolled dim corridors, extinguished duels before they became bloodshed, separated snarling Slytherins from furious Gryffindors, and comforted frightened younger students who didn’t yet understand the weight of Dumbledore’s death.

In all that darkness, Lily and James found themselves clinging to the one hopeful thing still left to them: each other. They had talked, sometimes in whispers in abandoned classrooms, sometimes openly in the quiet hours after curfew, about what kind of future could possibly exist. A future where Voldemort hunted them. A future where Hogwarts itself felt ready to crack.

One night, after breaking up a particularly vicious hexing incident outside the library, Lily pulled James aside.

“We need… somewhere quiet,” she whispered. “Just for a little while. Please.”

James nodded, equally exhausted, equally aching for a moment without fear.

They wandered the seventh-floor corridor searching for an empty room. James even checked the Marauders Map twice.

“There should be something here,” he muttered.

Lily turned a corner and gasped. A door had appeared in the blank stone wall.

“James,” she whispered. “This wasn’t here.”

They stepped inside the hidden room. The room was impossibly enormous, filled with forgotten things: crates, dusty cabinets, half-collapsed bookshelves, tarnished armor, stacks of broken cauldrons, caged artifacts, weapons, and glittering objects half-buried in shadow.

“The hell is this place…?” James breathed.

“It feels ancient,” Lily said softly. “Older than Hogwarts. Like it’s been waiting.”

James moved through the clutter until something glinted at eye level. It was a silver hilt embedded in a wooden case. He wiped off the dust and stared at it.

“Lily.” His voice shook. “It’s the Sword of Gryffindor.”

He took the sword and began playing with it, and pretended that he was a medieval knight in shining armour.

"Look at me! I am Godric Gryffindor. I'm here to rescue you!" James said, waving the sword as if he fought a dragon.

Lily laughed at her boyfriend's silliness. "Stop it, silly. "

As James started to look for more toys to play with, Lily wandered deeper into the room, toward a high shelf where a delicate tiara carved with the words Wit Beyond Measure.

She lifted it. “It’s beautiful.”

Once she placed the diadem lightly atop her head, she froze. Her breath hitched, and her eyes widened. James stepped toward her.

“Lily? Are you all right?”

A vision slammed into her: A dark forest. A young man screaming in agony and terror. She felt colder as calculated malice pressed against her mind. Lily ripped the diadem off, shaking.

“I—I don’t know what that was,” she whispered. “There’s something wrong with this thing. Something dark.”

James took it from her immediately and set it far back on the shelf.

“You’re okay,” he murmured while pulling her close. “You’re okay.”

Lily trembled, still feeling the echo of something vile. James kept his arms around her. Slowly, very slowly, the fear disappeared and in its place came something else. A desperate, human need for warmth in a world collapsing around them.

Lily looked up at him.

“James…” she whispered. “Stay with me tonight.”

He kissed her, and all the exhaustion and fear melted into something fierce and tender. In that hidden room, unknown, unrecorded on the Marauders Map, they held each other until dawn.

-

Lily waited for James in their shared quarters. She was extremely nervous and shaking as she didn't know how to deliver the news. When he arrived, she grabbed his wrist.

“James. I have to tell you something.”

He saw her expression and his heart dropped.

“What is it? Are you hurt? Did someone—”

“I’m pregnant.”

The world stopped. James stared at her, breathless, as everything inside him turned weightless.

He had imagined many terrifying things since Dumbledore died: Death Eaters breaching Hogwarts, werewolves in the halls, and Voldemort himself tearing the castle apart. But this, this tiny spark of a future he had never dared imagine.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, voice cracking. “Lily, I don’t know if I’m ready to be a father. I don’t even know if I can protect you, protect us, while all of this is happening.”

Lily nodded as tears fell down her cheeks.

“I’m scared too. But James, this child is ours. Something good. Something innocent. Something worth living for.”

James took a long, shaking breath. Then he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and her hands.

“I’ll try,” he whispered. “Whatever happens, I’ll try. I want to do this with you. Even if I’m terrified.”

Lily held onto him tightly.

For the first time in months, hope flickered. It was fragile, and small, and surrounded by shadows but it was theirs.

-

The Knight Bus screeched to a halt outside the familiar row of brick houses in Cokeworth, tilting dangerously before settling with a shudder. Lily stepped off, one hand protectively resting over her stomach. The autumn air smelled of damp leaves and chimney smoke. For a moment, she stood there, staring at the house she grew up in. She had faced werewolves, Death Eaters, and Voldemort himself without trembling half as much as she did now.

They deserve to know. Mum and Dad will be happy. Even Tuney… maybe…

Lily pushed the gate open and walked up the path. The door swung open before she could knock.

“Lily!” cried her mother, pulling her into a tight embrace. Her father followed, smiling broadly at the sight of her daughter again.

“You’ve been gone for months,” he murmured. “We’ve been so worried, darling.”

Before Lily could answer, Petunia appeared in the doorway. Vernon Dursley loomed behind her like a particularly unpleasant thundercloud.

“Well,” Petunia said sharply, “look who finally decided to show up.”

Lily swallowed. “I—I have news. Can we sit down?”

Her parents ushered her into the living room. Petunia sat rigidly in an armchair, Vernon perched beside her, looking as if he expected the furniture to bite him.

Lily took a breath. “I’m pregnant.”

Her mother gasped, then burst into delighted tears. “Oh, Lily! That’s wonderful! Oh, Harold! Did you hear?”

Mr. Evans beamed. “That’s marvelous news, sweetheart. Congratulations.”

Petunia’s face drained of color. “You’re what?”

Lily flinched. “Pregnant, Tuney. James and I, we love each other. We’re going to have a baby.”

Petunia stared at her as though she’d announced she’d joined a cult. “You disappear for months, no explanations, no calls, nothing, and then you show up saying that?”

“Mum and Dad knew I was safe,” Lily protested, though her voice wavered. “I wrote when I could. Things have been… complicated. Dumbledore is dead, Hogwarts needs protection, and—”

“Oh, here we go again,” Petunia snapped. “That world. You’re always running off to it. You think any of us understand what you’re talking about? ‘Dark Lords’ and ‘aurors’ nonsense! And now you’re bringing a child into it? Are you insane?”

Lily’s eyes filled with hurt. “I’m doing everything I can to protect people. Voldemort—”

“Stop it!” Vernon barked. “Don’t bring your freakish business into this house!”

Lily’s temper finally flared. “This isn’t about magic, Vernon. This is about family. I wanted to tell you all because you are my family!”

Petunia stepped closer. “You think you can just flounce back into our lives and act like everything is normal? You left us behind, Lily! You always do! And now you’re dragging a baby into a war instead of doing the sensible thing and staying out of it!”

“That ‘war’ killed my headmaster,” Lily whispered. “People are dying. Children are in danger. I can’t turn my back on the school that protected me.”

“And what about your child?” Petunia demanded. “What kind of mother puts her baby at risk like that?”

Lily felt as though Petunia had slapped her.

“My child will be loved,” Lily said softly but fiercely. “My child will be brave. And I will keep him or her safe, no matter what it takes.”

Petunia’s expression flickered with fear, jealousy, something Lily couldn’t place but it hardened again almost instantly.

“I’m pregnant too,” Petunia said coldly. “But at least my baby won’t grow up in a madhouse of spells and monsters.”

Lily froze. “You… you’re pregnant?”

Her mother placed a trembling hand on Petunia’s arm. “Girls, please—”

But Petunia ripped her arm away. “Don’t look so surprised. Unlike you, I actually care about raising a child properly.”

Lily stood. Her heart felt like it was splintering.

“I came here because I wanted to share something beautiful,” she whispered. “I didn’t come to fight.”

Petunia said nothing.

Lily turned toward the door, unable to hold back her tears.

Her mother tried to pull her into a hug. “Lily. Darling, don’t go like this—”

“I’ll write,” Lily said, though she wasn’t sure it was true. “I just… I need to go.”

Vernon muttered something about “unnatural nonsense” as Lily walked out. Petunia didn’t say goodbye.

Outside, Lily wiped her tears with shaking hands. The Knight Bus reappeared with a bang and screeched to a stop beside her. As she climbed aboard, she pressed a palm to her stomach.

“You’ll be loved,” she whispered. “Even if the world is falling apart… you’ll be loved.”

The bus shot forward into the night, carrying her away from Cokeworth and from the sister she feared she might never understand.

Lily stumbled off the Knight Bus onto the outskirts of Hogsmeade, wiping angry tears from her cheeks. The night air was cold, sharp, almost metallic against her skin. She wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, heart heavy not from fear of Voldemort or the war, but from the sting of Petunia’s words. The echoes clung to her like a curse.

She made her way through the gates of Hogwarts, past the half-lit torches and the flickering silhouettes of patrolling ghosts. The castle had always been her sanctuary. Tonight it felt like the only place left that loved her unconditionally.

James was waiting for her the moment she stepped into the Entrance Hall. He saw her tear-streaked face before she could even speak. His smile faded instantly.

“Lily! What happened?”

She collapsed into his arms before answering. Sirius, Remus, Dorcas, and Marlene hurried over, sensing something was wrong, but James held up a hand. This moment was hers.

“Petunia,” Lily whispered. “She… she said I was irresponsible, that I shouldn’t bring a baby into this war. That I’m reckless for disappearing, for fighting, for… for everything.”

James pressed his forehead to hers. “Lily, look at me. You’re doing more to protect people than she can even imagine.”

Lily’s breath shuddered. “She’s having a baby too, James. We could’ve shared that… But she hates that I’m part of this world. She always has.”

Sirius crossed his arms. “Tuney calling someone irresponsible? That’s rich. Bet she’s never saved a village from a pack of werewolves.”

Remus gently elbowed him. “Not helping, Padfoot.”

“No, it is helping,” Lily whispered with a faint, watery laugh.

Dorcas placed a warm hand on Lily’s shoulder. “You’re going to be an incredible mother. We’ll all make sure your baby grows up safe.”

Marlene nodded firmly. “And loved.”

For the first time since leaving Cokeworth, Lily felt the ache in her chest lighten.

James placed a hand on her stomach, tentative but full of wonder. “We’ll make a home for them someday. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere far from Voldemort.”

She looked up at him. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

James gave a nervous smile. “No. I’m terrified, but I want this. I want you. And our child.”

Sirius grinned. “Good answer, Prongs. Ten points to Gryffindor for emotional maturity.”

Lily wiped the last of her tears and laughed, a real laugh. One she hadn’t felt in months. Later that evening, McGonagall summoned Lily and James to her office.

“I heard about your visit home," she said softly. “I am… very sorry.”

Lily nodded, grateful but exhausted.

McGonagall went on, voice steadier now. “I must be honest with both of you. A child born during wartime will be a target. Voldemort will not stop at schools or villages. He will burn down the world if he feels threatened.”

James swallowed hard. “We know.”

“But,” McGonagall added, her voice surprisingly gentle. “I also know Albus would have supported you. He believed in life even in the darkest times.”

Her gaze flicked to Lily’s stomach.

“When the time comes, Hogwarts will be here for you. Whatever protection this castle can give, you shall have it.”

Lily felt her throat tighten with gratitude.

“Thank you, Professor,” she whispered.

McGonagall nodded curtly. “Now off you go. Get some rest. Both of you.”

That night, Lily and James returned to the hidden room, drawn to it by instinct, by memory, and by something darker neither wished to name.

The diadem still rested on the shelf where Lily had left it. Its silver-blue glow pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. Lily felt its pull, a whisper at the edge of her consciousness, but she forced herself to look away.

James noticed her discomfort. “Let’s leave it alone,” he said quietly.

The Wizarding World has been exposed and forced to reunite with the Muggles. MI5 begins a top-secret program called "Division M" to recruit Muggleborns for the upcoming war.

Full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, ao3

Across Britain, newspapers blared headlines that swung from awe to alarm. THE MAGIC WITHIN US? WITCHES IN OUR NEIGHBOURHOODS!

Television pundits argued, politicians panicked, and the streets buzzed with rumour.

Deep below the polished streets of Millbank in Westminister, Britain’s most secretive agency was already at work.

The shock had not faded. If anything, it had deepened. Every television, newspaper, and online feed in Britain still pulsed with speculation, some awestruck, some furious, most terrified.

But while the public debated the truth, another branch of government had already decided what to do about it.

Director General Dominic Hayes stood before a wall of photographs. Harry Potter shaking the Queen’s hand, Hermione Granger addressing the crowd, stills of Diagon Alley flooded with curious Muggles.

Hayes’s face was unreadable. “We are now living beside an entire civilization that can wipe memories, fly, and summon fire out of thin air,” he said. “And yet, they kept it from us for centuries.”

Across from him, Agent Marianne Keller shifted uneasily. “The Prime Minister’s office insists on diplomacy, sir. Cooperation.”

“Cooperation?” Hayes raised his voice. “We were lied to. We need leverage before these "people" decide we’re expendable.”

His gaze drifted to a folder marked CLASSIFIED: NORMALBORN SUBJECTS.

Inside were photographs of a few carefully chosen individuals, ordinary citizens with extraordinary backgrounds. People who had quietly lived double lives.

The first wizard brought in was a middle-aged wizard named Dennis Creevey, who had been a journalist for the Daily Prophet. Now he was sitting beneath fluorescent lights, while his wand had been confiscated.

“We only want to understand,” Keller said kindly. “Tell us about your world.”

Dennis hesitated. “You… you can’t just learn magic like that. It’s not a weapon.”

“But it’s been used as one,” Hayes interrupted through the intercom. “Tell us about these names. Albus Dumbledore, Gellert Grindelwald, Lord Voldemort.”

Dennis blinked, astonished. “You, you know them?”

“Only that they existed. Tell us what happened.”

Dennis didn't know what to say, but then he began to speak, even if reluctantly.

"Voldemort's followers, the Death Eaters, killed my brother, Colin."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. Who were these 'Death Eaters' and why did they kill your brother?" Keller asked, trying to appear sympathetic.

"In our world, Muggleborns like me and my brother used to be discriminated against by so-called 'purebloods'. Voldemort was an evil wizard whom we were not allowed to refer to by name. He wanted to kill all Muggleborns. He conquered the Ministry 20 years ago. Me and my brother were forced to flee persecution, " Dennis explained uneasily. "However, my brother's bravery cost him his life. Our dad didn't want me to associate with our world after learning about his death."

Hayes didn't know how to respond properly. Keller listened with great curiosity.

"That is awful, " Keller said. "Please tell us more, Mr. Creevey."

And he did. He talked about a world at war twice over, about a boy who had faced down evil while adults hesitated, and about a headmaster who had defeated a dark wizard who nearly conquered all of Europe during World War II.

When the recording ended, Hayes leaned back in disbelief. “So,” he said, “you’re telling me that the magical equivalents of Hitler were defeated by a boarding school principal and a schoolboy? And their governments, their Ministries, let it happen?”

Keller shifted uneasily. “It appears so, sir.”

Hayes’s expression hardened. “Then they’re fools. Or liars. Either way, they’re not fit to be trusted.”

The second subject, Calvin Purkiss, sat stiffly beneath the fluorescent lights. His wand lay on the table, sealed in a glass case.

Hayes regarded him like a puzzle he meant to solve. “How did you acquire your powers, Mr. Purkiss?”

Purkiss frowned. “Acquire? I didn’t. Magic isn’t something you learn. You’re born with it.”

Hayes’s brow furrowed. “So it’s hereditary?”

“Not always. It can appear anywhere. No one knows why.”

“And it can’t be… replicated?”

Purkiss gave a small, nervous laugh. “You can’t just make someone magical, sir.”

Hayes tapped his pen against the folder, deep in thought. “Then those who are will have to serve in ways others can’t.”

He smiled thinly. “I trust you understand what’s at stake. Cooperation will ensure your family remains...comfortable.”

Each of the selected Muggleborns was quietly issued a government summons. Unofficially, they were being watched, every letter and phone call monitored, every family member “placed under discreet observation.”

When one witch, Mara Dalloway, hesitated to sign her cooperation order, an MI5 officer slid a folder across the table. Inside was a photo of her elderly father leaving his flat.

“For his protection,” the officer said mildly, “we’d prefer to keep this arrangement… harmonious.”

Mara signed. So did the others.

Within days, they were escorted into the newly established Division M, deep beneath Thames House, a lab disguised as a data research wing. Here, the Muggleborns demonstrated spells such as levitation, warding, and minor healing for government-approved scientists. Every spell was timed, catalogued, and measured.

Hayes justified it easily to himself, “They kept our existence secret for centuries. We’re simply returning the favour".

-

It was raining when Agent Sebastian Denver pulled up outside Number Four, Privet Drive. The street looked painfully normal: trimmed hedges, neat driveways, not a hint that it had once been home to the boy who’d saved the world.

Denver adjusted his tie, took a deep breath, and knocked. The door swung open with a snap. An angry Vernon Dursley stood in front of Denver. “What is it this time?”

“Mr. Dursley, I’m from the government,” Denver said smoothly. “We’re conducting a follow-up about your nephew, Harry Potter.”

Vernon's face became red with anger. “That name is not spoken in this house!”

Petunia appeared behind him. “We’ve told you, people, everything we know. Leave us alone.”

“It’s vital we understand his background,” Denver pressed. “His powers—”

Whatever he planned to say was cut off as Vernon’s fist struck his face.

“OUT!” the man roared.

Denver stumbled back down the steps, barely catching himself. Then Dudley, broader and taller than his father now, appeared in the doorway.

“You heard him, mate,” Dudley said, voice low. “You don’t want to mess with my family. Or Harry’s..”

He shoved Denver through the gate.

The agent stumbled back to his car. “So much for cooperation, ” he muttered while covering his swollen eye with one hand.

His report, though brief, reached Hayes’s desk the next morning.

Subject: Dursley Family — Uncooperative. Observation: Hostile to both magical and government authorities. Recommendation: Cease contact. Maintain surveillance.

Hayes skimmed the note and exhaled. “Fascinating,” he murmured. “Even without magic, they resisted us more than the wizards did.”

He closed the folder marked Potter and then turned to the other marked Containment Strategies.

The Wizarding World has been exposed and forced to reunite with the Muggles after 300 years of separation. After peaceful coexistence failed, the UK government outlawed magic and began a nationwide persecution against wizards and witches.

The Ministry of Magic fell because of Muggleborn officials who had been coerced into compliance by the MI5. Minister for Magic, Hermione Granger-Weasley, was taken into special custody by the Prime Minister at 10 Downing Street.

Now it is up to Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, along with Padma and Parvati Patil, to save Hermione and the wizarding world before the magic dies.

Full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, ao3

December 2019

Police helicopters thundered through the night sky over London, their searchlights focused on a stolen police car that tore through the empty streets.

Ron gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. “Tell me again why I’m the one behind the steering wheel!”

“Because I’m the one who can deflect bullets,” Harry said from the passenger seat while holding the Elder Wand in a tight grip. "And because you're the only one with a driver's licence. "

In the back seat, Padma and Parvati clung to each other as blue and red lights flashed in the rearview mirror.

“Ron, they’re gaining on us!” Padma cried.

“I see them!” Ron snapped, swerving sharply. A police van skidded sideways, crashing into a lamppost.

Overhead, a helicopter followed them. Harry rolled down the window, aimed the Elder Wand skyward, and shouted,

“Stupefy Maxima!”

A blinding wave of red energy exploded from his wand. The helicopter’s engines coughed and went silent as it spun out of control, crashing into the street behind them.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered in complete shock. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Harry didn’t answer. His gaze was already fixed on the approaching lights of Whitehall and the dark silhouette of 10 Downing Street.

By the time they arrived, the Prime Minister’s residence was surrounded. Police cars blocked every road, and armed officers were forming barricades around the building. No warnings were heard, and it looked like they were about to pull their triggers.

Before a single shot could be fired, Harry stretched out the Elder Wand from the window and whispered an incantation.

“Stupefy Omnium.”

The ground trembled. A wave of invisible energy burst outward, rippling through the air like thunder underwater. Every officer in a hundred-yard radius dropped where they stood, stunned but alive.

Harry raised his wand again toward the sky.

“Protego Maxima.”

A blazing golden shield encased 10 Downing Street, like a bubble, sealing it from the outside world. One helicopter collided with the shield before crashing onto the ground outside the gates.

Harry, Ron, and the Patil sisters ran out of the car immediately.

"Alohomora!" Harry said, opening the door to the Prime Minister's residence.

Ron and the Patil sisters followed him up the steps and into the dark corridor.

“Stay behind me,” Harry warned, pushing open the heavy door.

The hall was empty. They moved slowly, searching for any threats.

As they reached the corner leading to the Prime Minister’s office, the sharp crack of a gunshot split the silence. Harry stumbled back, clutching his arm as the Elder Wand dropped on the ground. Blood seeped through his sleeve.

“Harry!” Ron shouted, catching him.

At the end of the corridor stood the Prime Minister, Kavita Patel, with her pistol aimed straight at them. Her other hand clutched Hermione in a tight grip. “Don’t come any closer!” Kavita screamed. “Drop your wands!”

Ron froze. Parvati and Padma gasped in horror.

“Kavita, please,” Hermione begged. “It doesn’t have to end like this—”

“Oh, it ended long ago,” Kavita hissed. “The moment your kind decided you could play gods!”

She took a step back toward her office, dragging Hermione with her. “Throw them here! Now!”

Harry could see the despair behind Kavita’s rage, the years of fear and grief, but before he could speak, a sudden chill filled the air. The lights flickered. A voice, smooth and sharp as a blade, echoed through the hall.

“How dramatic.”

A swirl of silver smoke materialized between them, and Delphini stepped out of it.

Kavita blinked, momentarily stunned. “Who—?”

Delphini raised her hand, and the gun in Kavita’s grasp disintegrated into dust.

Then, with a flick of her wrist, an unseen force flung Ron, Parvati, and Padma backward against the wall. They slumped, stunned on the floor, unable to move a muscle.

Harry desperately tried to reach the Elder Wand, but the pain from the bullet in his arm prevented him from moving forward. Delphini merely smiled while watching him bleed.

“Potter… you’ve made such a mess while I was gone.”

Her eyes turned black. Kavita lifted into the air, kicking and gasping as invisible fingers tightened around her throat. Hermione fell to her knees while watching her captor become the captive.

Delphini's voice became cold with curiosity. “Let’s see who you really are, Kavita Patel.”

Her eyes flashed, and Kavita let out a strangled cry. Visions flickered in the air: a young girl forced to levitate upside down by her sister. A young woman forced to watch her husband being murdered, and her daughter taken by masked men in black robes. A tragedy in a foreign country. A grieving mother holding the lifeless body of her daughter.

Delphini smirked. “So that’s it. A squib… a grieving mother. How poetic.”

“Stop it!” Hermione screamed, struggling against her restraints.

“Don’t pretend to pity your kidnapper, Granger,” Delphini hissed. “She deserves to feel it. All of it.”

She raised her hand for the killing blow, but then a fierce voice rang out.

“Avada Kedavra!”

A jet of green light cut through the air. Delphini turned too late. The killing curse hit her square in the chest. She froze as her heart stopped beating, and then she fell to the floor, lifeless.

Parvati stood holding the Elder Wand. She took a deep look of contempt at her cousin as her eyes swelled with tears.

Kavita collapsed to the floor, defenseless and shaking. “You… saved me?”

Parvati’s eyes blazed with fury. “You don’t deserve saving.”

She stepped forward, shaking with anger. “Crucio!”

Kavita screamed in pain while rolling around on the marble floor.

“Parvati, stop!” Padma cried, grabbing her sister’s arm. “It’s over!”

Parvati hesitated and then let her wand fall. The curse ended. Kavita lay sobbing on the floor, broken and terrified.

Hermione stumbled free as Padma shattered her handcuffs with a spell. The collar sparked once and fell to the floor.

Harry, pale and sweating, was clutching his arm. Hermione rushed to him, pressing her hands over the wound. “Hold still. Accio bullet!”

The bullet left Harry's arm, and bleeding worsened. Hermione pressed her hand on the wound to stop the bleeding. Padma came closer and stretched out her hand over Harry's wound.

"Episkey!"

A warm and golden light sealed the bullet wound.

Parvati pointed the Elder Wand at Ron's stunned body.

"Finite!"

The stunning spell lifted, and Ron pulled himself up and looked at Hermione with unimaginable relief. Then he ran forward and pulled his wife into a shaking embrace. “You’re okay. You’re actually okay.”

Hermione smiled weakly, relieved to be finally reunited with her husband. “I am now, " she cried.

Harry looked down at Kavita, who sat trembling on the floor. Her authority meant nothing now.

“You’ll answer for everything,” Harry said quietly.

Parvati conjured a pair of glowing magical cuffs, clasping them around her cousin’s wrists.

Ron handed Hermione a Gryffindor house tie, their final portkey.

“Let’s go home.”

The five of them gathered around it. Padma held her cousin in a tight grip. Kavita didn't say anything and didn't have the energy to fight back. Parvati took one last look at Delphini’s body, then at Kavita. Her voice was cold and final. “Some monsters make themselves.”

The tie glowed bright scarlet, and in a whirl of light, they vanished, leaving the ruins of Downing Street behind.

In the next instant, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Parvati, Padma, and Kavita appeared before the great gates of Hogwarts.

It was dawn, and the castle grounds were packed with hundreds of refugees from all over the United Kingdom.

The massive gates creaked open. McGonagall, Neville, and a crowd of teachers and students rushed forward. Disbelief turned to joy as they saw who had returned.

“Harry!” Ginny cried, running toward him. He caught her in his arms, holding her tight. Behind them, James, Albus, and Lily came sprinting down the path. Harry dropped to his knees, pulling them into a fierce embrace.

Nearby, Hugo and Rose threw themselves into their mother’s arms. Hermione fell to her knees as she clutched them both.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she cried in relief.

“Neither did we,” Rose said through tears. Hugo refused to let go.

All around them, teachers and survivors gathered: Hagrid, Luna, Slughorn, Nearly Headless Nick, and dozens of others who had fought to defend the castle. The mood shifted from disbelief to relief until they saw who else had arrived.

'Parvati and Padma dragged Kavita forward in magical shackles. The Prime Minister's once-imposing presence was now reduced to silence. Yet even now, her dark eyes still burned with defiance.

McGonagall’s expression hardened as she stepped forward.

“Kavita Patel, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, you will answer for your crimes against wizardkind. For the invasion of Hogwarts. For the lives you’ve destroyed.”

Kavita met her gaze. “You think I fear your judgment, Headmistress?”

McGonagall boiled on the inside. “You should.”

The Patil sisters each took one of Kavita’s arms and marched her through the corridors. Everywhere they passed, people stopped. Students, families, healers, and ghosts watched in fury, sorrow, and disbelief. Mothers clutched their children as they recognized the face of the woman who had ordered their persecution. Murmurs filled the halls. Some shouted, others wept.

When they reached the Great Hall, it was already packed. Every seat and staircase overflowed with survivors, teachers, and students from every House. Portraits of former headmasters lined the walls. Dumbledore's portrait watched the spectacle with pity. Snape's and Black's portraits watched with contempt.

McGonagall took her place at the high table, flanked by Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the heads of house. Kavita stood in the center of the hall, bound by enchanted chains that glowed blue.

The noise in the hall was deafening, filled with shouts and insults. Some called for justice while others called for revenge.

McGonagall raised her wand. “SILENCE!”

The room quieted instantly.

“This emergency council is hereby convened. Kavita Patil, you stand accused of crimes against wizardkind: unlawful imprisonment, torture, murder, and the attempted destruction of Hogwarts. How do you plead?”

Kavita's voice was calm and cold. “I plead guilty to nothing.”

A wave of outrage rippled through the crowd.

McGonagall was outraged. “You deny what we all witnessed? You ordered soldiers to march on children.”

Kavita’s gaze swept the room. “You speak of children,” she said, her tone rising, “yet you sent your own children into war once before. You trusted teenagers to face Voldemort while the Ministry hid behind lies and cowardice.”

The words cut through the hall like a blade. Even Harry froze.

“My parents were killed in the Department of Mysteries,” Kavita continued. “They were killed by Death Eaters. It could've been easily prevented had it not been for your Ministry's neglect and incompetence.”

No one spoke. Hermione could only feel pity and empathy for the same woman who had deceived and kidnapped her only a few days ago.

“And later,” Kavita went on, “my husband was killed by the same wizard nazis for trying to protect my daughter. They intended to use her as a weapon. Years later, when we lived in India with our family, my daughter was killed by Aurors when she lost control over her powers. They killed her for her own safety, their Ministry said. ” Her voice cracked for the first time, and tears swelled in her eyes. “Tell me, Professor, tell me, how many of you would forgive that?”

McGonagall’s hand tightened around her wand. Around the room, some faces softened, others hardened further. Harry felt the words crawl under his skin, echoing the memory of his own childhood; a life shaped by fear and loss.

Kavita looked around at the crowd watching her trial. “You call it magic. I call it a disease. One that infects children, twists them, destroys families. I only wanted to cure it.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Then McGonagall stood.

“Your grief does not excuse genocide,” she said firmly. “You sought to erase what makes us who we are. For that, and for the blood you’ve spilled, there can be no mercy.”

Kavita's eyes burned. “Then you’re no better than I am.”

McGonagall’s voice turned to steel.

“Kavita Patel, you will spend the rest of your life in the dungeons beneath Hogwarts. You will have food, warmth, and silence, enough to remember every life you destroyed.”

The hall erupted; some shouting approval, others demanding death. Hermione looked away. McGonagall struck her wand against the table, sending a sharp crack through the air.

“Enough!”

The Patil sisters stepped forward. Without a word, they seized their cousin and dragged her down into the depths of the castle. Students parted silently as they passed, many whispering curses under their breath. Down in the dungeons near the Slytherin common room, they stopped at an empty cell of cold stone, iron bars, and no windows.

Kavita said nothing as Parvati pushed her inside. Padma closed the heavy door with a metallic clang. Parvati looked at her cousin one last time.