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RETURNS

These were a few of the headlines on the Sunday's Prophet which Margaret was reading on the last evening of the term.

It was quite a celebratory mood when she had got back. Margaret was happy to see that Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna, Ginny and Neville were completely all right. She was told that Ginny's ankle had been mended in a trice by Madam Pomfrey while Neville's nose had been returned to its normal size and shape.

Harry seemed to be in good spirits though Margaret noticed him zoning out into his own world once in a while. The weight he suddenly felt on his shoulders was understandable; she knew now that Dumbledore had told him about Trelawney's prophecy.

Margaret herself had been called to the Headmaster's office before the end-of-term feast. Dumbledore wanted to speak to her and let her know of the things that had happened in her absence, most of which she already knew from Sirius. Margaret, on the other hand, told the Headmaster everything that she somehow knew about dimensional travelling.

It felt absurd saying that she had suddenly woken up with the knowledge about dimensional travelling and versions of realities until Dumbledore told her that he 'had an inkling' regarding what she was talking about...

At last, as much as she enjoyed basking in the relief of Sirius being alive, Margaret knew there was one last important thing she had to do before the year ended. And so, before she left the Headmaster's office, she asked him to teach her something...

"Professor, is there a spell to store memories?"

was due to start at 7:30 AM sharp.

At 7:15 AM, Margaret was one of the last people to leave the dorms, forced to take a trip to the hospital wing earlier that morning for having cut her thumb accidentally.

"I've been thinking about something Dumbledore said to me," Harry was saying to Hermione, Ron, Neville, Ginny and Luna as they walk up to the Hogsmeade platform.

"What's that?" asks Hermione.

"That even though we've got a fight ahead of us, we've got one thing that Voldemort doesn't have," Harry replies.

"Noses?" Margaret offers as she catches up to them, causing the group to laugh.

Harry chuckled, "That; and something worth fighting for."

"Got that right, Potter," she says, smiling back as they boarded the train.

"How'd you hurt your hand again, Margie?" asks Ginny, coming up next to her.

"Oh, y'know, I'm still not used to trunks," she lies smoothly. "Cut it on a sharp edge."

It was necessary that she had to break the mirror Sirius had given Harry – she just had not expected to get hurt by it. Nevertheless, she took it with her, planning on taking its twin from Sirius in order to put them in the right place at the right time.

Ginny rolled her eyes playfully, telling her to be careful next time; but Margaret had been distracted by a certain Slytherin blonde who had been waving discretely out of a compartment window, gesturing her to come inside.

"Hey – er – you guys go on, I've to... find someone," says Margaret, unlinking her arm from Hermione's.

"Who?" asks she.

"Erm – Cho," Margaret replies quickly, pretending to look around.

"Okay, well, come find us when you're done," says Ginny, pulling Hermione past Harry who had been stopped by a D.A. member.

Margaret watched them go before slipping into compartment 102B with Daphne Greengrass.

"Hi," she greets. "What's up?"

Daphne narrowed her eyes at her, saying nothing for a moment. Outside the Hogwarts Express blew its horn loudly and the floor rumbled underneath their feet as the train started moving slowly.

Abruptly as ever, Daphne threw her arms around Margaret, taking her by surprise. Before she could even as much as pat her back, she pulled away, taking a note out of her pocket.

"I want you to know that I've always believed Dumbledore," she admits quietly, grimacing slightly. "But couldn't say that because... the other Slytherins-"

"I- I understand," Margaret tells her, mildly surprised. Daphne nodded once, looking up at her.

"A war is coming, isn't it?" she continues quickly, "The Dark Lord- He wouldn't stay quiet now... They're all mental if they think they could move on unscathed." She extends the torn parchment. "Here; I want you to write to me. I don't care if you just say hi. I'll write back too..."

Margaret took it gingerly, glancing at the address before frowning at the blonde. "Can I ask why you're doing this?"

Daphne sighed, seeming hesitant but determined. "I can't support Potter... You're the only friend of his I willingly talk to... All I want is to stay on the right side, so that when all of this blows up no matter how long from now, my family and I stay out of the harm's way... We've never been involved with You-Know-Who, but if, Merlin forbid, we're forced to..."

"You don't want them to get hurt," she finishes understandingly.

Daphne nodded, mustering a small smile as she moved to the door. "And I'll deny I ever said this but... I don't think you're too bad either... So, write to me, will you?"

"I'll try my best," Margaret says earnestly, smiling back, slightly amused.

Once Daphne left the compartment, shutting the door after her, Margaret couldn't help but think how unfair it was that mere teenagers like them were forced to face a war brewed by a madman in his lust for power. None of them deserved this...

A commotion picked up outside, grabbing her attention. Margaret slid the door open and strode out, cringing when she found the source of the noise.

Raising her wand, she shouts, "Protego!"

The three jinxes shot at once at Draco Malfoy by Ernie Macmillan, Susan Bones and Terry Boot respectively, ricocheted off her shield, one hitting Justin Flinch-Fletchley in the face by mistake. The D.A. members turned, surprised to find Margaret.

"Sorry," she says sheepishly, staring at Justin who was now clutching his flopping, Squidward-like nose.

"They ambushed Harry!" says Hannah Abbott incredulously. "Why are you helping them?"

Margaret shrugged. "I need this one," she gestures at Draco who was wandless but looked at her with a sneer. "Keep the other two," she motions at Crabbe and Goyle.

"What?" asks Harry, while at the same time Draco snarls, "I don't need your help!"

"He has something of mine, and I want it back," Margaret says simply, watching as understanding dawns on Harry's face. He nodded, passing Draco's wand to Margaret.

"Follow me, or forget about your wand," she says to Draco, making a breaking gesture with the hawthorn wand before turning on her heel.

"Mal-moy," mumbles Goyle through his swollen mouth, panicked as Draco quickly grabbed his bag.

"I'll be back," he grits out, frustratedly cursing under his breath and following Margaret. She made her way back into compartment 102B, letting Draco in before shutting the door, using his wand to close the blinds and cast Muffliato.

"What?" he snaps, red in the face.

"I want my book back," she states simply.

"You want the book back?" he asks mockingly.

For a moment, she thought he might actually explode. He was positively fuming. Throwing his bag on the seat, he took a step closer, his grey eyes darkened in anger.

"Let us have a recap, shall we?" he says lowly, his voice dangerously calm. "We had a clean deal – we find out what's in the book, you answer my questions under Veritaserum, while you can read my mind to know if I'm lying or not. Did we do that? No. I never got any questions answered while you had the liberty-!"

"That book never belonged to you," Margaret says flatly.

"Do you have proof it belongs to you?" he counters.

"It has my family tree-"

"There are ancestral records in the Restricted Section, Xenakis," he says dismissively. "That does not prove anything."

"Then neither does it belong to you-"

"Did you know it claims to know your death date?" Draco says abruptly.

"I- What?"

"Yeah," he nods, pretending to be thoughtful. "It also claims that you descend from a line of Seers – which you proved in Divination-"

Margaret let out a short disbelieved laugh. "You're insane if you believe anything that book says."

"And yet you want it back," says he, turning around, shuffling through his bag before producing Toujours Pur: La Terre and two old-looking Daily Prophets from within it. As he began to flip through the book, she scoffed.

"Draco, in the end, it's still written by a Xenakis. I can look within it – not you. Besides, whatever that book had said so far has been gibberish-"

"Is Markus Xenakis's name also gibberish?"

Margaret's heart skipped a few beats. She froze, eyes widening, which Draco did not miss. He smirked malevolently.

"Tell me, did he die on" – he glances at the book before looking up at her with a mockingly curious expression – "Christmas day of 2017?"

She said nothing, her jaw clenched.

"Why so quiet, Xenakis? Never knew you had a twin. Was he as snarky as you-"

"Shut it," she sneers.

"Aw, now, why the long face?" Draco mocks, opening one of the newspapers before thrusting it into her hand. "Oh, here, take a look for yourself at more of your family. Your grandfather, especially, was quite a man. Never went to Azkaban for his crimes, did he?"

The headline read:

Under it was a photograph of a small group of men, a swastika symbol behind them. The short article gave only some details about how Alfréd Xenakis, member of the Dark Lord's inner circle, had been seen several times with prominent German figures.

Something in his tone changed, becoming more hateful, "What will Saint Potter say when he finds out your family was a follower of-"

"It can't be," she breathes despite herself, feeling her face lose colour as she stares at the photograph on the front page. "This is a lie- It can't be."

"Für das Größere Wohl," he says in an imperfect German accent, scowling and handing her the second newspaper which had more pictures of the man called Alfréd Xenakis. "For the Greater Good, it said... We both know who we saw. That man, the other one, he was your grandfather, wasn't he? That's him in the photograph, isn't he?" Draco lets out a forced chuckle, a satisfied smirk still on his lips. "Wouldn't Dumbledore be pleased to know your grandfather was one of the most loyal followers of his greatest enemy-?"

"That is not my grandfather," Margaret speaks up but does not look up at him. Her eyes flashed red as she glared down at the book in his hand with determined hatred.

"Don't you dare lie to me," he grits out. "Better remember I still have copies-"

With a sudden jolt of recklessness, Margaret dropped the newspapers and grabbed the book in Draco's hand.

He had but a moment to yelp as this time, something terrifyingly strange happened: their feet left the solid ground and their forms disappeared inside the book, which then promptly dropped on the wooden floor of the moving train, seemingly innocent, as the symbol on it rippled.

"ARE – YOU – MAD-?!"

Draco's voice was drowned out as they landed back on their feet; however, they were definitely not in the Hogwarts Express anymore.

He looked around, wide-eyed, seeing a crowd of people dressed in lavish gowns or in crisps suits and flowing trench coats. He let out a yelp as a person passed through him as though he was a ghost. Draco touched his chest, but to himself he was tangible.

Nothing was foggy this time, it was as though they were really there.

"Where'd you bring us...?" he whispers, visibly shaken as he watched their odd surroundings.

"I merely wished for it to explain what really happened," she answers softly.

For a terrifying moment, Margaret had thought that they were back in the Chamber of Death. The place was the same, with steep stairs running around the room and downwards towards a raised dais like an amphitheatre. However, there was no archway in the centre. Instead, there stood a person.

"Is that-?" Draco breathes, stepping down a stair in shock.

He was the same man who had been lingering hauntingly in the previous visions: pale blond hair trimmed into an undercut, lavish black coat flowing behind him, lean stature exuding confidence and superiority, a small silver pendant attached to his breast pocket. As he turned around and looked up, his mismatched eyes became visible – left a normal black, whilst right a striking silver.

Margaret's breath caught in her throat.

Gellert Grindelwald was gloriously wicked.

"It is said that I hate the Non-Magique... the Muggles," says the man, and immediately the crowd makes sounds of disgusts, "the No-Maj, the Can't-Spells!"

Grindelwald slowly ducked his head and with that, the commotion decreased into an awaiting silence.

"I do not hate them..." he continues calmly, looking up slowly, "I do not; for I do not fight out of hatred. I say the Muggles are not lesser... but other; not worthless... but of other value; not disposable... but of a different disposition."

Margaret shook her head to clear her mind, her heart thudding in her chest. She was not there to listen to him, she was there to see whether the photo in the newspaper was truly him or not.

"Draco," she whispers sharply, tugging his hand. "We have to look for him."

"Who?" asks he, blinking slowly.

"Magic blooms... only in rare souls," Grindelwald speaks prominently. "It is granted to those who live for higher things."

"Alfréd Xenakis!" she answers, descending a few steps and trying to pull him along by his hand; but he did not budge, staring at the previous Dark Lord as though transfixed by the words.

"Oh and what a world we would make for all of humanity," Grindelwald continues, "We who live for freedom, for truth... and for love."

"He's sort of good at this, isn't he?" Draco says, sounding astonished.

Gritting her teeth in frustration, Margaret seized him by the shoulders and gave him a good shake, causing him to frown down at her.

"Hey! It's illegal to listen to him," she tells him. "We're not here for him, we're here for-"

"The moment has come to share my vision of the future," Grindelwald goes on, clasping his hands behind his back, "that awaits if we do not rise up and take our rightful place in the world."

"DRACO!"

"What?!"

"Stop – listening – to – him!" she exclaims, desperate.

Throwing her hands off of him, he glared down at her irately.

"This is your doing, Xenakis; how dare you use that tone with me-?!"

Draco's rambling was cut off when gunshots echoed around them followed by startled screams from the crowd as many reached for their wands. Shocked, he looked back to the dais to see Grindelwald now holding what seemed to be a skull with a hookah attached to it.

A siren rang in the air; fighter planes flew overhead where, instead of the ceiling, was a grey, smokey sky; the walls around melted into skeletons of buildings; people were running, lined to head into a beaten-up train. A split moment later the chaotic vision fused into enormous white light right above Grindelwald; it quivered then exploded with a great boom, producing a visage of a powerful blast curling upwards in fire and smoke and disaster, taking who knew how many lives with it.

Margaret stood frozen, her back to the dais.

Illuminated by the light, watching the proceedings with a frown, there he stood in the last line of people. She could see his face clear as day over Draco's shoulder.

Her brother...

No. Not her brother; but a boy who looked so much like him that for a moment she swore it was Markus...

"That is what we're fighting!" Grindelwald's voice roars through the mausoleum, anger pulsing in his tone. "That is the enemy. Their arrogance! Their power-lust! Their barbarity... How long will it take before they're turning their weapons on us?"

The boy tensed.

Behind him, a tall man with sharp feature stepped in confidently from the door. Following him was a line of wizards and witches, wands drawn and forms braced.

Suddenly, the scene changed, fast-forwarding.

The crowd around Margaret and Draco vanished in wisps of dark smoke much like the Death Eaters. The boy disappeared from sight.

"What's going on?!" Draco exclaims. Margaret whirled around.

A blue fire erupted around the raised dais as Grindelwald cast Protego Diabolica. His followers passed unhurt from it and stood next to him before disapparating.

"Aurors," says Grindelwald to his remaining audience, "join me in this circle. Pledge to me your eternal allegiance," he pauses, looking up slowly with a twitch of a smirk, "or die... Only here shall you know freedom; only here shall you know yourself."

One of the Aurors, standing right in front of Margaret and Draco, let out a roar and valiantly stepped into the fire. And right before their eyes, he cried in pain as he disintegrated into nothing.

It appeared so real that both of them stumbled back, horror-struck. However, it was of no use. All around them, the blue fire stroke down witches and wizards as though they were no more than mere objects.

"I take it back!" shouts Draco. "He's not good-!"

"Play by the rules!" says Grindelwald, smirking as his magic took lives. "No cheating, children."

Margaret spotted the boy as he accidentally crashed into the running Aurors a little way down the stairs, awfully close to the fire. A horrified scream tore through her throat as he fell into the fire and disappeared.

"WALK WITH ME!" a woman bellows at the same.

Draco looked around to see a trembling man watching a strawberry-blonde woman crossing the blue ring of fire with much struggle.

"Queenie, don't do it!"

And suddenly, she tripped.

"QUEENIE!" screams another woman, aggrieved.

Grindelwald inclined his head as one of his supporters disapparated with a dark-haired boy; he twirled the Elder wand slightly and the blue fire cleared only in the spot. The boy who looked like Margaret's brother was helping the woman named Queenie to her feet, both of them entirely uninjured. Together, they stepped up the dais towards the previous Dark Lord.

Margaret grabbed Draco's hand, pulling him through the fire to get closer to hear the conversation. He yelled but it did not harm them for it the book's visage.

"And who might you be?" asks Grindelwald, his mismatched eyes gazing at the boy intensely. Around them, the Diabolica's flames continued attacking the remaining Aurors. Grindelwald smirks, "You are not a wizard."

"No," says the boy, not a hint of fear in his voice that had always seemed so awfully familiar to Margaret.