Dothehippogriff

The house on the hill had sat silent for many years since the death of its last occupants. Fifty years ago, it was the home of the Riddle family, a rich and not altogether well-liked family. They had never bothered to get involved in the local village’s affairs, a state of things both sides were content to keep. The son, Tom Riddle, was even less liked than his father, who had at least the decency to not insult the villagers. It was whispered in the pub that Riddle Jr. had once eloped with a strange girl from the Gaunt hut. This had been some time ago, the boy returning with whispers of being bewitched, a claim the Riddles strongly refuted. In the end this was as nothing compared to the mystery which occurred some years later. One morning, the cook had entered the dining room to find all three members of the Riddle family dead on the floor. The police were quickly called, but their investigation pulled few leads, as the doctor could find nothing wrong with their health, apart from them

“Urgh, I hate shopping.” Ronnie groaned to all who could hear. Heracles sighed. “Are you’ve said already.” It was the annual pre-Hogwarts shopping trip of late August, and Ronnie hated it. Thankfully she wasn’t alone. For all that they knew it was necessary, Hamish and Ginny grumbled their agreement with Ronnie. Shopping could be dreary at the best of times, shopping for school things took the proverbial biscuit. Ronnie’s brothers, Fred and George, and Hamish’s sister, Morag, were in their fifth year, which meant they would be sitting their OWL exams at the end of the year. The trio of soon-to-be fifth years were just as morose as Ronnie. For the past few hours, they had sighed and grumbled through every shop. As a result, Ronnie and Hamish’s parents had grown weary, and tensions were beginning to flare. “Well, if it’s all the same to you then, we shall do the shopping without you!” snapped Mum. Mr Weasley didn’t look too pleased with that, but Hamish’s parents were murmuring their

The lingering warmth of summer never lasted long enough in Ronnie’s opinion, particularly now that she was signed on to four gruelling classes. Though they had no exams to content with this year, every teacher had impressed on them the fact that many of the classes would be assessed towards the end of the year through lengthy coursework assignments. Ronnie was only glad that the subjects needed to become an Auror were largely practical, meaning she had very little written work to do. The same could not be said for Heracles or Hamish, both of whom had opted for Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures respectively, alongside their common classes of Potions and Defence. Many an evening would see Hamish retreating to an alcove in the common room to make notes on the following weeks’ set of runes, while Heracles brought his arithmantic charts to lunch so he could take up half a table with whatever impossible formula had been assigned for homework that week. And just

Farsi placed the second letter on top of the first. Her mood, previously buoyed by news from Ronnie, had been soured by the contents of this second missive. The news of what had occurred in the Ministry of Magic had come alongside the morning’s copy of the Daily Prophet, itself bursting with rumours and hearsay about a clash between Holly and a group of Death Eaters. While many of the claims in the article were demonstrably outlandish, Ronnie’s letter had confirmed in broad strokes the events. The same could not be said about the second piece of correspondence. As Farsi looked out of the window onto the sea, she allowed the fear and anger to wash over her like the waves washing onto the sand. It had taken some time to decode the message sent to her by her father’s associate, but it had only confirmed her anxiety: her father had been captured by the Red Cloaks, charged with treason against the revolution and was being held awaiting a sham trial. Farsi let out a snort. Some revolution