Morning light streamed through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, painting the Hufflepuff table in warm autumn gold. Chris spread blackberry jam on his toast, listening to the excited chatter that buzzed around him like disturbed bees. The troll incident from Halloween night had transmuted overnight from potential disaster to legendary tale, growing more outlandish with each retelling. He caught Susan's eye across the table and raised an eyebrow, both of them fighting smiles as a second-year described McGonagall transforming into a cat to confuse the troll.
"That's nothing," interjected a fourth-year boy, leaning forward conspiratorially. "My brother's friend overheard Professor Sprout telling Madam Pomfrey that Snape defeated the troll by flicking his hair at it. Apparently, his hair is so greasy that the troll slipped and knocked itself unconscious."
Hannah nearly choked on her pumpkin juice. "That can't possibly be true," she spluttered, dabbing at her chin with a napkin.
"Well, I heard," a prefect offered from several seats down, "that Professor McGonagall pulled Gryffindor's sword right out of the Sorting Hat and beheaded the troll in a single swing." She demonstrated with her butter knife, nearly taking off a nearby first-year's ear.
Chris finished constructing his perfect toast triangle and took a deliberate bite, chewing thoughtfully as he surveyed the gossip-hungry crowd. The Halloween feast had resumed normally after the professors' return, but speculation had bloomed like night-flowering plants once students retreated to their dormitories. Now, in the harsh light of morning, those speculations had grown wilder, each more improbable than the last.
"You're awfully quiet, Chris," Susan observed, nudging his foot under the table. "Don't you have a theory about what happened?"
A mischievous light sparked in Chris's eyes. He leaned forward, lowering his voice just enough to make those nearby strain to hear him. "Well," he began, injecting his tone with grave seriousness, "I wasn't going to say anything, but..."
Nearby conversations died as heads turned toward him. Chris's recent elevation to minor celebrity status after challenging Dumbledore's evacuation plan had granted his words special weight.
"You see," he continued, suppressing a smile, "that wasn't actually a troll at all. It was Dumbledore's secret brother, Aberdour Dumbledore, who's been kept locked in the dungeons for decades after a failed experimental charm left him with troll-like features and a terrible temper. He escaped yesterday and was seeking revenge on the Headmaster for his imprisonment."
Susan's eyes widened, catching on immediately. "Of course," she whispered dramatically. "That explains why the professors were so quick to contain the situation. Can't have family scandals becoming public."
Hushed murmurs spread outward from their position like ripples in a pond. Chris watched with satisfaction as his fabricated tale travelled from ear to eager ear, embellished with each telling. By the time it reached the Ravenclaw table, Aberdour Dumbledore had acquired a tragic backstory involving forbidden love and experimental transfiguration.
"You're awful," Hannah admonished, though her twitching lips betrayed her amusement. "People are actually believing that nonsense."
Chris shrugged, sipping his tea. "They'll hear the truth eventually. In the meantime, a little harmless storytelling helps distract from yesterday's tensions." His gaze drifted toward the Gryffindor table, where three particular students had drawn his attention.
Harry Potter sat between Ron Weasley and, surprisingly, Hermione Granger. Despite Chris's intervention changing the sequence of events, the trio appeared to have formed their friendship anyway. They huddled close, speaking in low voices that suggested shared secrets. Harry looked up occasionally, scanning the room with newfound vigilance that hadn't been present before Halloween.
Following Chris's line of sight, Susan asked, "Are you watching Potter again? You seem oddly interested in him."
"Not just Potter," Chris replied. "Look who's watching him too."
Across the Hall at the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy glared at Harry with the intensity of a raptor tracking prey. The blond boy's pointed face contorted into an expression of pure disdain whenever Harry laughed or spoke animatedly with his friends.
"That's been going on since the first week," Hannah noted. "Malfoy can't seem to go a day without making some comment about Potter. Yesterday he was practically shouting about 'Saint Potter and his fan club' when they passed in the corridor."
Chris cut his sausage into perfectly even pieces, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Did either of you hear about their midnight duel?"
Susan's eyes widened. "Midnight duel? Between first-years? That's ridiculous, and against about a dozen school rules."
"Exactly why it never happened," Chris explained. "Malfoy challenged Potter, then tipped off Filch to catch Potter and Ron out of bed after hours. Pure Slytherin tactic, let someone else do the dirty work while you stay safely tucked in bed."
"How do you know all this?" Hannah asked, her brow furrowed.
"The portraits talk," Chris answered with a casual wave of his fork. "And people discuss the most interesting things in the library when they think no one's listening. The duel was supposed to happen in the trophy room, but Potter and Weasley ended up running from Filch and accidentally discovering the third-floor corridor, the forbidden one."
Susan leaned closer. "The one Dumbledore warned would cause a painful death? What did they find?"
"A three-headed dog," Chris whispered. "Massive, drooling, apparently standing on a trapdoor."
Hannah paled slightly. "Why would something like that be in a school full of children?"
"Excellent question," Chris replied, his tone light despite the serious subject. "Almost as excellent as why Malfoy seems physically incapable of ignoring Potter for more than five minutes."
As if on cue, Draco's voice carried across the Hall: "Look at Potter, thinking he's so special just because he can stay on a broomstick. Wait until Father hears how Dumbledore bent the rules to let a first-year on the Quidditch team."
Chris observed the exchange with amusement. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "in Japanese manga, they have this term, 'tsundere', for someone who acts hostile and cold toward the person they secretly have feelings for."
Susan's brow wrinkled. "What are you suggesting?"
"I'm simply saying," Chris continued, his eyes twinkling, "that Draco Malfoy spends an awful lot of energy trying to get Harry Potter's attention. Perhaps all that anger is just misdirected passion. 'Potter, your hair looks stupid!' might really mean 'Potter, I can't stop looking at your hair!'"
Susan stared at him for one silent moment before erupting into peals of laughter so loud that several nearby students turned to stare. Hannah joined in, clutching her sides as tears formed in her eyes.
"Malfoy and Potter!" Susan gasped between fits of giggles. "Can you imagine? The star-crossed lovers of Hogwarts!"
Chris maintained his serious expression for as long as possible before his own laughter bubbled up. "Their children would have terrible hair, Potter's unruliness with Malfoy's excessive product."
Hannah was nearly sliding under the table with mirth. "Stop it! I can't breathe!"
Their laughter proved contagious, spreading to nearby Hufflepuffs who joined in without knowing the cause. Across the Hall, Draco Malfoy glanced their way with suspicion, which only redoubled their amusement.
As breakfast concluded and they gathered their bags for the day's classes, Chris felt a pleasant warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the tea he'd consumed. These moments of genuine connection and laughter with Susan and Hannah were becoming increasingly precious, a reminder that even amid his complex plans and foreknowledge, the simple joy of friendship remained powerful magic in its own right.
December transformed Hogwarts into a snow-globe kingdom, its towers frosted with white, corridors whistling with drafts that smelled of pine and cinnamon. Chris traced equations for their Charms essay on parchment, his quill scratching in rhythm with the crackling fire in the Hufflepuff common room. Across the table, Susan chewed thoughtfully on the end of her own quill, reference books spread around her like the petals of an academic flower, while Hannah practiced the wand movement for a Warming Charm, her confidence having grown from timid flicks to assured motions over their months of classes.
"Professor Flitwick said the incantation needs to be precise," Hannah murmured, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Calefacto, not Calefacio."
"And the wand motion is more of a spiral than a circle," Chris added, demonstrating the subtle difference with his wand. "Think of it as wrapping warmth around an object rather than just heating it."
Susan looked up from her essay. "That's not in the textbook."
"No," Chris admitted. "But it helps with visualization. Magic responds to our minds as much as words."
This had become their routine in the months since Halloween, three study sessions a week, each dedicated to a different subject. Chris guided them through Defense Against the Dark Arts on Mondays, compensating for Quirrell's increasingly incoherent classes. Wednesdays were devoted to Potions, preparing for Snape's exacting standards. Friday afternoons belonged to History of Magic, transforming Binns' soporific lectures into engaging discussions.
Outside their study sessions, Hogwarts prepared for Christmas. Twelve towering fir trees appeared in the Great Hall, decorated with glittering frost and tiny fairies that hummed carols when students passed. Suits of armour had been enchanted to sing when anyone walked by, though they often forgot the words and had to be prompted by nearby portraits. Hagrid could be seen pulling massive bundles of holly and mistletoe through the corridors, leaving a trail of berries and needles in his wake.
"I still can't believe I managed a full grade higher than Ernie Macmillan on that last Transfiguration test," Hannah said, setting down her wand to flex fingers cramped from practice. "He nearly exploded with jealousy when McGonagall announced the results."
Susan grinned. "Your hedgehog-to-pincushion was practically perfect. Mine still had whiskers."
"And made squeaking noises when you stuck pins in it," Chris added, earning a wadded parchment thrown at his head, which he caught easily before it could hit him.
These were the moments Chris treasured most, the casual banter, the shared triumphs over academic hurdles, the comfortable silences filled only by quill scratches and turning pages. He had expected to find allies at Hogwarts, perhaps even strategic connections, but the genuine friendship that had developed between them sometimes caught him by surprise with its warmth.
Later that evening, as Hannah headed to the dormitory for an early night, Susan lingered by the fire, her expression thoughtful as she watched the flames dance.
"You're different, you know," she said quietly, not looking at Chris.
His hand paused over his Astronomy chart. "Different how?"
"You knew that charm would work better with a spiral motion. You knew the exact counter-curse when that Ravenclaw got hit with Jelly-Legs last week. You always seem to know things that aren't in our textbooks." Her eyes finally met his, curious but not accusatory. "It's like you've studied all this before."
Chris felt a flutter of concern beneath his ribs. He'd been careful not to appear too advanced, but Susan was observant. "My family's library was quite extensive," he replied carefully. "And I read a lot before coming to Hogwarts."
Susan nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer, though something in her eyes suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. The interaction stayed with Chris as he completed his homework, a reminder of the delicate balance he maintained between honesty and necessary secrecy.
That night, lying in his bed with the curtains drawn, Chris made a decision. If he was to truly build the trust and connection his plans required, he needed allies who could eventually know the whole truth, well, aside from dying and all that. Allies whose minds were protected against intrusion. The Christmas holiday provided the perfect opportunity to set that foundation.
The next morning, Chris penned a carefully worded letter to Gringotts, requesting that certain rare volumes be retrieved from the Ambrosia vault and delivered discreetly to Hogwarts. His status as the last heir granted him access to books that had disappeared from public circulation centuries ago, books on ancient mental arts that predated the modern term "Occlumency."
Three days before the holidays, a nondescript brown owl arrived during breakfast, carrying a small package wrapped in plain brown paper. Inside his dormitory, Chris unwrapped two identical volumes bound in soft leather, their pages yellowed with age but preserved by protective charms. The title, "Mindscape: The Ancient Art of Mental Architecture," was embossed in faded silver on the covers.
That evening, he called Susan and Hannah to a quiet corner of the Hufflepuff common room. Most students were in the Great Hall for dinner, leaving them relatively private space among the hanging plants and copper lamps.
"I wanted to give you your Christmas presents before we leave," Chris explained, handing each girl a carefully wrapped package. "These are somewhat special."
Susan's eyebrows rose as she unwrapped her gift, fingers tracing the ancient lettering on the cover. "This looks incredibly old," she murmured, carefully opening to the first page. "And rare."
Hannah examined her copy with equal reverence. "Mindscape? I've never heard of this type of magic."
"It's largely forgotten," Chris explained, choosing his words with care. "It teaches you how to organize and protect your thoughts and memories, like creating a fortress for your mind. The practice helps with memory retention, emotional regulation, and protection against certain types of mental magic."
"Like what?" Susan asked, already skimming the introduction.
"There are spells that can extract memories, read surface thoughts, even implant suggestions," Chris said. "They're rarely used, and highly regulated by the Ministry, but the protection these techniques offer is valuable regardless."
Hannah looked up from her book, her expression curious. "Why give us these specifically? They seem very... advanced."
Chris smiled, the gesture genuine despite the calculation behind his choice. "Because I trust you both. Because you're my friends. And because I think we could all benefit from clearer, more protected minds. Especially with exams coming up next term."
The small joke broke the seriousness of the moment, earning smiles from both girls. But Susan's eyes held a perceptiveness that suggested she recognized there was more to the gift than Chris was saying.
"Thank you," she said simply, clutching the book to her chest. "I'll study it over the holiday."
"Me too," Hannah agreed. "Though I think my gran might be confused when she sees me reading ancient mental magic instead of the latest issue of Witch Weekly."
They separated the next morning in the entrance hall, trunks packed for the holiday break. Susan and Hannah would be taking the Hogwarts Express back to London, while Chris had arranged to Floo back directly from Hogsmeade, avoiding the lengthy train journey.
"Happy Christmas," Hannah said, hugging him impulsively. "Thank you for the book, and for everything else this term."
Susan's hug followed, her whisper meant for his ears alone: "Whatever you're not telling us, I hope someday you'll trust us enough to share it."
The statement caught Chris off-guard, her intuition sharper than he'd anticipated. As he watched them join the crowd of students heading for the carriages, the books safely tucked in their trunks, he wondered if he'd made the right decision. Trust was a precious commodity, easily broken and difficult to repair.
But as he turned toward Hogsmeade, snowflakes catching in his white-blue hair, Chris allowed himself a moment of optimism. Perhaps, in these two loyal Hufflepuffs, he had found not just friends, but the trusted confidantes his second chance at life would eventually require.
Green flames erupted in the grand marble fireplace of Ambrosia Manor, spinning Chris into existence on the hearth. He stepped forward with practiced grace, brushing a few specks of ash from his traveling cloak as the fire behind him returned to its normal golden hue. The entrance hall welcomed him with the scent of pine boughs and spiced cider, evergreen garlands draping the curved staircase and enchanted icicles hanging from the crystal chandelier, catching the winter light and fracturing it into rainbow patterns across the polished floor. He had barely set down his trunk when two distinct pops announced the arrival of his welcoming committee.
"Master Chrissy is home!" Bouncy proclaimed, vibrating with such excitement that his patchwork uniform seemed to blur at the edges. The excitable elf performed what looked like a spontaneous dance of joy, his large ears flapping with each hop. "Home-home-home for Christmas!"
Beside him, Jilly maintained her dignified posture, though her amber eyes shone with unmistakable warmth. "Welcome home, Master," she said, her voice steady despite the slight twitch of her ears that betrayed her own excitement. "We have been preparing for your arrival since dawn."
Chris felt the tension he'd carried for months melt away like snow in sunlight. At Hogwarts, he maintained constant vigilance, moderating his magical abilities, calculating his every response, navigating the complex social dynamics of the school. Here, in the sanctuary of Ambrosia Manor, he could simply be.
"I've missed you both," he said, kneeling to meet them at eye level, a gesture that made Jilly's ears twitch with pleased surprise. "Hogwarts has excellent house elves, but none compare to you."
Bouncy beamed at the compliment, his chest puffing out proudly. "Master's room is ready! Fresh sheets and warming charms and special pillows that smell like lavender to help Master sleep after long learning of magics!"
"Your trunk will be unpacked while you refresh yourself," Jilly added. "A light luncheon awaits in the small dining room whenever you're ready."
As Chris followed them through the manor's corridors, he noticed the subtle but festive transformation of his home. Ruby-red poinsettias bloomed in enchanted urns, their petals occasionally ruffling as if caught in a gentle breeze. Delicate ice sculptures, a dragon, a phoenix, a unicorn, stood in alcoves, glittering but never melting. The portraits of distant Ambrosia ancestors had donned their holiday finery, several raising crystal goblets in welcome as he passed.
His chambers had been prepared with Jilly's meticulous attention to detail. A fire crackled in the grate, casting dancing light across the midnight-blue walls. His favorite books had been arranged on the bedside table, bookmarks indicating where he'd left off months ago. On his desk sat a steaming mug of hot chocolate topped with cinnamon-dusted cream, a perfect remedy for the chill of December travel.
After a quick shower in his private bathroom, far more luxurious than the shared facilities at Hogwarts, Chris changed into comfortable clothes that felt like a second skin after months of school uniforms. The soft cashmere sweater and tailored trousers reminded him that here, he wasn't just another Hufflepuff first-year, but Christopher Emrys Ambrosia, heir to an ancient magical lineage.
The "light luncheon" Jilly had mentioned turned out to be a feast that could have satisfied half of Hufflepuff House. Roast pheasant, winter vegetable soup, fresh-baked bread still warm from the oven, and at least three different desserts were arranged on the small dining table. Chris ate with appreciation, regaling the elves with carefully edited tales of his first term.
"The classes are interesting, though some professors are more effective than others," he explained, deliberately avoiding specific mention of Quirrell's deteriorating condition. "I've made good friends in Hufflepuff, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott. They're loyal, trustworthy."
Jilly nodded approvingly. "The Bones family has always been respected for their integrity. Master chooses his companions wisely."
The day slipped into evening with comfortable ease. Chris spent hours in the family library, reacquainting himself with books too rare or valuable to take to Hogwarts. When darkness fell, he joined the elves for Christmas Eve dinner in the main dining room, where they ate by candlelight beneath a ceiling enchanted to show gently falling snow.
Christmas morning dawned clear and cold, sunlight reflecting blindingly off fresh snow that blanketed the manor grounds. Chris woke to the sound of Bouncy practically jumping off the walls with excitement.
"Christmas morning! Presents and surprises and special breakfast with cranberry pancakes shaped like stars!" the elf announced, zipping around the room while Jilly entered at a more sedate pace, carrying a tray with hot chocolate and cinnamon rolls.
"Happy Christmas, Master," she said, setting the tray on his bedside table. "When you're ready, there are gifts awaiting you in the Blue Salon."
After breakfast, Chris followed the elves to the Blue Salon, where a magnificent Christmas tree reached toward the vaulted ceiling, its branches adorned with ornaments that changed colour with the shifting daylight. Beneath it sat several packages wrapped in silver paper that shimmered like captured starlight.
"This is from both of us, Master," Jilly said, indicating a long, slender package leaning against the wall. "We hope it pleases you."
Chris approached the mysterious gift with genuine curiosity. While he had planned most aspects of his new life meticulously, he had given the elves complete freedom in choosing his Christmas present. The package was too large and distinctively shaped to be a book or clothing.
The silver paper fell away to reveal a sleek, gleaming Nimbus 2000, its polished handle catching the morning light, the gold lettering of its name shimmering against the perfect mahogany. Chris felt his breath catch in his throat. He had practiced on a serviceable Comet during his flying sessions at the manor, but this, this was the finest racing broom currently available, the same model Harry Potter had received after making the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
"How did you...?" he began, running his fingers reverently along the perfectly streamlined twigs.
"Jilly contacted the Nimbus Racing Broom Company directly," Bouncy explained, practically vibrating with delight at Chris's obvious pleasure. "Used master's special account! Very exclusive! Very fancy!"
"We observed your enjoyment of flying during summer practice," Jilly added more precisely. "And noted that the school brooms at Hogwarts are... inadequate for someone of your abilities and station."
Chris felt a surprising tightness in his throat. The gift was perfect, practical yet indulgent, chosen with thoughtful observation of his interests. More importantly, it represented the elves' desire to see him experience joy, not just success.
"Thank you," he said simply, the words inadequate to express the warmth spreading through his chest. "It's perfect."
Unable to resist the broom's call, Chris convinced the elves to let him test it briefly in the snow-covered gardens. The Nimbus responded to his slightest touch, accelerating with breath-taking speed and turning with precision that made his old Comet feel like a child's toy in comparison. The winter air stung his cheeks as he executed a series of tight spirals and dives, the broom an extension of his body rather than a tool.
Later, settled before the fire with a new book and a mug of spiced cider, Chris felt the final knots of tension from the term unravel. The constant vigilance required at Hogwarts, the careful moderation of his abilities, the strategic calculations behind every interaction, had exacted a toll he hadn't fully recognized until now.
Here at Ambrosia Manor, with Jilly's quiet efficiency and Bouncy's irrepressible enthusiasm, he could set aside the mask of the precocious first-year, remove the glamour and simply exist as himself: Christopher Emrys Ambrosia, reincarnated adult in a child's body, heir of Merlin, with all the complexity that entailed.
Tomorrow would bring planning and preparation for the term ahead. But today, today was for comfort, for genuine rest, for the simple joy of being home.
December 30th brought a sullen grey sky that pressed against the leaded windows of Ambrosia Manor's east wing. Chris sat at the massive oak desk in his lord's study, Merlin's journals spread before him like ancient islands in a sea of parchment. His finger traced the faded ink of his ancestor's handwriting, following the flowing description of a unicorn healing ritual performed centuries ago. Outside, the wind carried snowflakes in spiraling dances, but Chris barely noticed, his mind occupied with increasingly troubling memories of Professor Quirrell's trembling hands and haunted eyes during the final Defense Against the Dark Arts classes before the holiday break.
The professor's deterioration had been subtle at first, a slight increase in his stutter, an occasional wince when turning his turbaned head too quickly. But by December, the signs had become impossible to ignore. Quirrell's skin had taken on a grayish pallor, his body had grown thinner, and dark shadows had formed permanent residences beneath his eyes. During one particularly disturbing lesson on counter-jinxes, his hands had trembled so violently that he'd dropped his wand twice. When retrieving it the second time, his turban had shifted slightly, revealing an angry red irritation on the back of his scalp.
"Possession," Chris murmured, turning a page in Merlin's journal. "A parasitic connection draining the host's life force."
He knew what came next. As Voldemort's possession taxed Quirrell's body beyond endurance, the Dark Lord would seek alternative methods to sustain himself. Unicorn blood, with its powerful life-preserving properties, would become his target. The Forbidden Forest's unicorn herd would suffer for Voldemort's desperate grasp at continued existence.
Chris closed his eyes, massaging his temples as he considered the implications of interference. He had been cautious thus far about changing major events, preferring small adjustments that wouldn't dramatically alter the timeline or even completely staying out of it all together. His intervention during the Halloween troll incident had been reactive, motivated by immediate concern for his fellow students. This would be different, a deliberate deviation from the path he knew history would take.
If he rescued the unicorns, Voldemort would be forced to rely solely on Quirrell's diminishing life force, potentially accelerating his plans to obtain the Philosopher's Stone. The confrontation between Harry and Voldemort might occur earlier, under different circumstances. The butterfly effect could ripple outward in unpredictable ways.
And yet, the alternative, allowing magnificent, innocent creatures to be slaughtered for their blood, felt unconscionable. Not when he had the power to prevent it.
The soft pop of apparition interrupted his thoughts. Jilly materialized beside the desk, balancing a silver tray with a steaming mug of hot cocoa, the rich chocolate scent cutting through the dusty parchment air of the study.
"Master has been working for hours," she said, setting the tray on a clear corner of the desk. "Jilly thought refreshment might be welcome."
"Thank you, Jilly," Chris replied, reaching for the mug. The warmth seeped into his fingers as he took a sip, the sweet chocolate laced with a hint of cinnamon and something else, a calming draught, subtle enough to take the edge off his tension without dulling his thoughts. Jilly's silent thoughtfulness never ceased to impress him.
The house elf remained by the desk, her eyes studying his face with quiet concern. "What troubles Master?" she asked finally. "Your eyes have the shadow of difficult decisions."
Chris hesitated only briefly before responding. Jilly and Bouncy were the closest things to family he had in this world, and their loyalty was absolute. "I'm concerned about the unicorns in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts," he explained. "They're in danger from... a dark presence at the school."
He explained his knowledge of Quirrell's possession and Voldemort's likely plans to hunt unicorns for their blood. Jilly listened with growing concern, her large ears drooping slightly at the mention of such a desecration.
"Unicorn blood sustains life, but at terrible cost," she said when he finished. "To kill something so pure, so innocent... it creates a half-life, a cursed existence."
"Exactly," Chris agreed. "Voldemort is already less than human, so he considers it an acceptable sacrifice. But I can't allow it, not when I have the means to prevent it."
He set down the mug and began sketching his plan. "I need to relocate the unicorns before Voldemort can reach them. Ambrosia Island would be ideal, there's already a small herd living in the protected forest there. But the challenge is transportation. They're too magical for standard methods, and I can't exactly lead a herd of unicorns through the Hogwarts gates without drawing attention."
"Master needs a portable sanctuary," Jilly observed thoughtfully.
"Yes, something like a magical trunk with an expanded interior," Chris continued, warming to the idea. "If I could create an environment large enough for them to enter comfortably, with sufficient space and food to sustain them during transport..."
Jilly's expression shifted from concern to purpose. "Master need not create such a thing," she said, straightening with dignified confidence. "The family collection already contains precisely what you require."
Without waiting for a response, she disappeared with a soft pop, leaving Chris momentarily surprised. Within minutes, she returned with a confident "Master, please follow Jilly to the artifact vault."
Three floors below, in a chamber protected by ancient wards that recognized Chris's bloodline, Jilly led him to a large black leather trunk adorned with silver clasps shaped like ivy vines. The trunk appeared unremarkable at first glance, the kind of luggage a wealthy wizard might use for extended travel, albeit with an old-fashioned aesthetic.
"This belonged to Callum Ambrosia, your ancestor from the 7th century," Jilly explained, running a reverent finger along one silver clasp. "He was a magizoologist before the term existed, studying magical creatures across continents when such travel was difficult and dangerous."
With a snap of her fingers, the clasps unlocked simultaneously. "Master should see for himself," she suggested, stepping back respectfully.
Chris approached the trunk and carefully lifted the lid. Instead of the expected storage space, he found himself looking down into what appeared to be a sprawling forest vista, complete with towering trees, lush undergrowth, and a clear stream winding through the center. The habitat stretched for what seemed like miles, though logically he knew it must be a masterful example of extension charms and spatial manipulation.
"An entire ecosystem in a trunk," he murmured, genuinely impressed. "How is this possible?"
"Callum Ambrosia created seven such environments for different climates," Jilly explained. "This forest habitat was designed for woodland creatures of Northern Europe. The magic draws from the surrounding environment to maintain appropriate seasonal conditions and sustains essential elements like water and air circulation."
Chris leaned farther over the open trunk, marveling at the details. The trees swayed gently in a breeze he couldn't feel from his position. Sunlight dappled the forest floor despite the gray winter day outside the manor. The stream bubbled over smooth stones, its sound barely audible from his vantage point.
"Perfect," he breathed, already envisioning the unicorns within this protected space. "Absolutely perfect."
"The trunk can be carried normally when closed, despite containing such a vast space," Jilly continued. "And creatures within don't experience any sensation of movement."
Chris straightened, mind racing with the possibilities this solution offered. Not only could he rescue the Forbidden Forest unicorns, but he could transport them directly to Ambrosia Island without involving the Ministry or exposing his actions to Dumbledore's notice.
"Jilly, you're brilliant," he said, closing the trunk with careful reverence. "This solves the most challenging aspect of the rescue."
The house elf's ears quivered with pleasure at the praise, though she maintained her dignified posture. "Master's ancestors created many wonders. Jilly merely remembers where they are kept."
As they returned to the study, the trunk now shrunk to pocket size until needed, Chris felt a renewed sense of purpose. Tomorrow night, New Year's Eve, would provide ideal cover for his mission, a time when the castle would be minimally staffed, with many students away for holidays and the remaining ones distracted by festivities.
He settled back at his desk, pushing aside Merlin's journals to make space for maps of the Forbidden Forest he'd collected. With Jilly's assistance, he began planning the details of tomorrow's rescue mission, timing, approach vectors, contingencies for potential obstacles. The unicorns would not fall victim to Voldemort's desperate thirst for survival, not while Christopher Emrys had the power to intervene.
His hands moved across the parchment with renewed confidence, sketching flight paths and marking known unicorn grazing areas. For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, he felt the full weight of his second chance at life, not just the burden of foreknowledge, but the power to make meaningful changes to the future that awaited them all.
The moon hung like a frozen eye above the Forbidden Forest, its cold light barely penetrating the dense canopy of ancient trees. Chris adjusted the black leather trunk tucked securely in hi pocket, his breath forming ghostly clouds in the December air as Bouncy completed their silent apparition to the forest's edge. The transition from Ambrosia Manor's warm entrance hall to this biting cold was jarring, but Chris had prepared for the elements with warming charms woven into his dark clothing. Behind them, Hogwarts Castle loomed against the star-strewn sky, most of its windows dark save for a few that spilled golden light onto the snow-covered grounds, the skeleton crew of staff remaining over the holiday and the handful of students who, like Harry Potter, had nowhere else to go.
"Is Master sure Bouncy shouldn't stay?" the house elf whispered, his usually exuberant voice subdued by the forest's ominous presence. His large eyes reflected the moonlight as he glanced nervously at the wall of darkness before them.
"I'll be safer alone," Chris assured him. "Less magical signature to detect. But thank you for bringing me, Bouncy. House elf apparition truly is remarkable, bypassing Hogwarts' wards is no small feat."
Bouncy's chest swelled slightly with pride despite his concern. "Elf magic is different magic. Wizards forget this often." He tugged anxiously at one ear. "Master will call Bouncy the moment the rescue is complete? Bouncy will come instantly, no matter the hour!"
Chris nodded solemnly. "The moment the unicorns are secure in the trunk, I'll call you. Now go, Jilly will worry if you're gone too long."
With evident reluctance, Bouncy bowed low and disappeared with a pop so soft it might have been mistaken for a twig snapping underfoot. The sudden absence of the loyal elf made the forest's silence press more heavily around Chris, broken only by distant sounds that raised the fine hairs on his neck, the mournful cry of something that was neither wolf nor human, the heavy beating of unseen wings overhead, the slithering rustle of creatures moving through the underbrush.
Chris turned to face the forest, drawing his Yggdrasil wand from its holster. The night called for multiple layers of protection, beginning with the most basic: "Lumos," he whispered, but instead of allowing the light to bloom at his wandtip, he executed a complex modification, twisting his wand in a tight spiral. The light separated from the wand, forming a softly glowing orb that hovered at eye level.
"Averto Notitia," he continued, casting a Notice-Me-Not charm over himself, followed by a Disillusionment charm that caused his body to fade into near-invisibility, taking on the texture and color of whatever lay behind him. "Silencio Vestigium," he added finally, muffling all sounds he might make, footsteps, breathing, even his clothing's whisper as he moved.
The layered spells settled over him like a second skin, each reinforcing the others. Such comprehensive concealment was typically beyond the abilities of a first-year student, but Chris was no ordinary first-year, and the Trace that detected underage magic was already removed thanks to Jilly and here years of knowledge.
Protected and concealed, Chris tucked the shrunken trunk into an inside pocket and withdrew his new Nimbus 2000. The broom practically hummed with eagerness as he mounted it, responding to his slightest touch as he pushed off from the frozen ground. He rose steadily through the frigid air, the forest receding beneath him until he hovered above the canopy, surveying the dark expanse that stretched toward distant mountains.
From this height, the Forbidden Forest revealed patterns invisible from ground level, ancient clearings forming rough circles, paths worn by centuries of centaur migrations, areas where the trees grew unnaturally dense, suggesting magical boundaries or hidden inhabitants. Chris's enchanted light floated slightly ahead, guiding his way while remaining detached enough not to immediately identify him as its source.
"Find open spaces," he murmured to himself, recalling what he knew of unicorn habits. "They prefer clearings with access to running water, especially on clear nights."
He began a careful grid search, flying low enough to see through gaps in the canopy but high enough to maintain a broader view. The forest beneath him was a patchwork of shadows, the occasional gap revealing glimpses of the forest floor. His light globe drifted downward at his silent command, illuminating these openings briefly before moving on.
The forest's denizens reacted to his passing, birds startled from sleep took flight in agitated flurries, creatures on the ground froze or scurried for cover. Something larger crashed through the underbrush in the eastern section, its heavy footfalls suggesting one of the forest's more dangerous inhabitants. Chris gave that area a wide berth, adjusting his search pattern.
Twenty minutes into his search, a howl pierced the night, long, mournful, and distinctly inhuman. The sound raised gooseflesh along his arms despite the warming charms.
His attention sharpened as his light passed over a small clearing near a narrow stream. There, almost imperceptible from above, a faint silvery shimmer distinguished itself from the mundane moonlight. Where moonlight was cold and distant, this glow had a warm, pulsing quality, like starlight brought to earth. Unicorn horns, their magic visible only to those sensitive enough to perceive such things.
Chris descended carefully, guiding his Nimbus into a tight spiral that brought him closer to the canopy. Finding a gap between massive oak trees, he slipped through, entering the forest properly for the first time. The temperature dropped immediately as he passed beneath the protective barrier of leaves and branches, and the sounds intensified, water gurgling over stones, leaves rustling in the winter breeze, the soft padding of unseen paws.
He hovered several feet above the ground, still concealed by his layered spells, and directed his light forward to illuminate the path ahead. The forest floor was a treacherous maze of protruding roots, thorny undergrowth, and deceptive patches of ice where the meager sunlight never reached. Flying eliminated these obstacles, allowing Chris to move swiftly and silently toward the silvery glow he'd spotted.
The trees began to thin, suggesting the approach of a clearing. Chris slowed his broom to a near hover, advancing with increased caution. The protective spells would hide him from most forest creatures, but unicorns possessed their own ancient magic, including senses that could potentially penetrate wizard concealment. His approach needed to be respectful, non-threatening.
He extinguished his floating light with a soft "Nox," relying now on the natural illumination from above. The forest canopy opened above a small glade beside a narrow, ice-rimmed stream, and there, drinking from a break in the ice, stood three unicorns, their coats so brilliantly white they seemed to glow from within, their spiraling horns casting prismatic reflections on the dark water.
Two more unicorns lingered at the edge of the clearing, maintaining a watchful guard while their companions drank. The largest unicorn, clearly the lead mare with her more prominent horn and watchful stance, raised her head suddenly, nostrils flaring as she sensed a new presence. Her ears swiveled forward, seeking the source of the disturbance her magical senses detected despite Chris's concealment.
Chris remained motionless on his broom, barely breathing as the mare's piercing silver eyes swept across his position. Though his concealment held, he felt distinctly that she knew exactly where he was, what he was, perhaps even why he had come. There was wisdom in that gaze far beyond what any merely mortal creature might possess.
After a long, tense moment, the mare returned to drinking, though her posture remained alert. Chris released his breath slowly, preparing for the delicate approach that would determine whether his mission succeeded or failed. The unicorns' trust couldn't be forced or coerced, it had to be earned, their cooperation freely given.
He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing the shrunken trunk that contained their sanctuary. With careful movements, he descended to the forest floor at the clearing's edge, his feet making no sound as they touched the frozen ground. The time had come to reveal himself and make his offer of protection to these magnificent creatures before Voldemort's servant could find them.
Chris released his concealment charms with silent wandwork, allowing his true form to materialize at the edge of the moonlit clearing. The unicorns reacted instantly, the drinking pair lifting their heads in perfect unison, water droplets catching the moonlight as they fell from their velvety muzzles. The three guardian unicorns shifted position, forming a protective half-circle around their companions. None fled, but their muscles tensed, ready for swift departure if the human proved threatening. The lead mare stepped forward, her silver hooves leaving momentary impressions of luminescence in the frost-covered moss, her ancient eyes regarding Chris with intelligence that transcended animal understanding.
With deliberate slowness, Chris lowered himself to one knee, placing his wand on the ground before him, a universal gesture of peaceful intent among magical beings. He bowed his head, exposing the vulnerable nape of his neck, his white-blue hair gleaming with an almost unicorn-like quality in the moonlight. The posture communicated what words could not: I come without threat; I acknowledge your power and sovereignty.
For nearly a full minute, neither Chris nor the unicorns moved. Then the lead mare took three precise steps forward. She stood close enough that Chris could feel the warmth radiating from her pearlescent coat, smell the distinctive scent of her, like fresh mountain air after lightning, with undertones of herbs no human had ever catalogued.
Chris raised his eyes slowly, meeting the mare's silver gaze directly. He focused his concentration inward, accessing the rare gift that had manifested alongside his Merlin bloodline, the ability to communicate mentally with magical creatures of sufficient intelligence. Unlike crude Legilimency that forced entry into others' minds, this was an invitation, a delicate bridge extended between consciousnesses.
"I come as a friend and protector," he projected, keeping his thoughts gentle and transparent, allowing the mare to sense his sincerity. "I mean no harm to your herd, but rather seek to prevent harm that approaches."
The mare's ears flicked forward with interest, her nostrils widening as she inhaled Chris's scent more deeply. For a moment, he feared the connection had failed, then her consciousness touched his, and Chris nearly gasped at the sensation. Where human thoughts were linear and structured, the mare's mind moved in spirals and starbursts, her thoughts not words but complex impressions layered with emotion, memory, and instinct accumulated over a lifespan far longer than her physical form suggested.
"Young-old one," came her response, her mental voice like crystal bells harmonizing with distant flutes. "You carry two lives within your eyes. We see both the child and the ancient." The message arrived not as English words but as pure meaning, automatically translated by Chris's mind.
"Yes," he acknowledged, surprised by her perceptiveness but maintaining the connection. "I have lived before and been granted a second chance. That previous knowledge is why I've come tonight."
The mare dipped her horn slightly, an accepting gesture. "Our kind has dwelled in these woods since before stone was laid upon stone to build the human nest on the hill," she communicated, sharing fleeting impressions of the forest throughout seasons and centuries, younger trees, different paths, generations of unicorn foals growing beneath these same stars. "We have known peace here, usually. The centaurs respect boundaries. The giant spiders keep to their hollow. Even the werewolf that howls is predictable in its territory."
Her mental tone shifted, darkening like clouds passing before the moon. "But a new darkness walks these paths. It leaves no footprints yet disturbs the very soil with its passing. It hungers with a hunger that cannot be satisfied by leaf or flesh alone. It seeks life-force itself."
"Yes," Chris confirmed, relieved she already sensed the danger. "A corrupted human carries a fragment of a dark wizard within him. This parasite grows stronger by consuming its host, but the host is failing. Soon the parasite will seek unicorn blood to sustain itself."
The mare's reaction was immediate, revulsion and alarm rippling through the mental connection like ice water. The other unicorns shifted uneasily, picking up on their leader's distress. "To slay a unicorn and drink its blood is to commit a crime against magic itself," she communicated, her mental voice now sharp as winter wind. "Such an act grants a half-life, a cursed existence."
"The parasite is already less than fully alive," Chris explained. "It fears true death above all else and will accept any curse to avoid it. That is why I've come, to offer your herd sanctuary before it can find you."
He shared images of Ambrosia Island, its protected forests and meadows where another small unicorn herd already lived in peace. He showed the mare the magical trunk and how it contained a suitable habitat for safe transportation. "I can take you somewhere beyond this parasite's reach, a place where your magic will be honoured and protected."
The lead mare stood motionless, absorbing his offer. Then, without breaking their mental connection, she turned to the herd. No visible signal passed between them, but Chris sensed a complex exchange occurring, the mare sharing his proposal, other unicorns responding with questions, concerns, their own observations of the growing darkness.
The youngest unicorn, a half-grown male with a horn not yet at full length, stepped forward nervously. The mare allowed his question to channel through their connection to Chris: "Will we return to our ancestral forest when the darkness passes?"
It was a crucial question that deserved complete honesty. "I don't know," Chris admitted. "The darkness may linger for years. But you would be free to choose your home once the threat is truly gone."
His candour seemed to carry weight with the herd. The mare turned back to him, her gaze penetrating layers of intention and truth that no human deception could have withstood. "We have sensed your kind before, those who carry the old magic in their blood. Rare now, almost forgotten. The forest remembers when your ancestor walked these paths, seeking understanding rather than dominion."
An image flashed between them, Merlin himself, younger than in any portrait Chris had seen, communing with a unicorn herd much like this one. The memory wasn't the mare's own but had been passed down through generations of her kind, preserved with perfect clarity.
"You honour his legacy with your warning," she concluded. "The herd will accept your offered sanctuary."
With that decision made, she tossed her elegant head, silver mane catching moonlight like spun glass. The gesture needed no translation, the other unicorns immediately gathered closer, moving with the synchronized grace of beings who shared a collective awareness. Even the young male who had questioned the plan fell into formation, trusting his herd's judgment.
"Thank you," Chris projected, relief washing through him as he stood carefully, retrieving his wand with slow movements. "I will create the passage to your temporary home now."
He withdrew the shrunken trunk from his pocket and restored it to full size with a tap of his wand. The black leather container seemed almost ordinary until he unlatched the silver clasps, which moved with fluid grace under his touch. As the lid swung open, the clearing filled with a gentle glow emanating from within, the simulated twilight of the pocket dimension, its forest environment visible as if they were looking down through an impossible window in reality.
The mare approached the trunk, her curiosity evident in the tilt of her head as she peered into the magical space. Inside, tall trees swayed gently, a stream glittered in dappled light, and lush vegetation promised abundant grazing. The climate within remained perfect early autumn despite the winter chill surrounding them in the real forest.
"This will transport you to your new home," Chris explained, gesturing toward the open trunk. "A sanctuary where another herd already thrives in peace."
The mare nodded her elegant head, a surprisingly human gesture from a being so magical. She stepped forward with deliberate grace, her hooves making no sound as she passed through the portal into the pocket dimension. The transformation was breathtaking, her luminous form seemed to gather additional light as she entered the magical space, her coat gleaming even more brilliantly against the backdrop of the twilight forest.
One by one, the remaining unicorns approached the open trunk, each pausing briefly at the threshold between worlds before stepping through. A stallion with battle scars etched in his silvery coat entered next, his powerful muscles rippling beneath his hide as he passed effortlessly into the magical space. Two younger females followed in perfect tandem, their movements so synchronized they might have been mirror images, their spiral horns catching identical prismatic flares as they crossed the boundary. The forest around Chris grew incrementally darker with each unicorn's departure, as if they had been the true source of light all along, not merely reflecting the moon's glow but generating their own luminescence from within.
The last unicorn, a young foal with a barely-formed horn like a pearl-white nub protruding from his forehead, approached with visible trepidation. His slender legs, still possessing the gangly proportions of youth, trembled slightly as he reached the trunk's edge. He lowered his head to peer into the magical dimension, ears flicking nervously back and forth. Inside the trunk, the lead mare turned, her silver eyes finding the hesitant foal. No sound passed between them, but Chris sensed a gentle encouragement flowing from mare to foal, patience, reassurance, maternal certainty that this strange passage was indeed safe.
The foal pawed the frosty ground once, twice, gathering courage. Then, with the impulsiveness of youth, he suddenly leapt forward in a single bound, sailing through the opening with more drama than necessary. His abrupt entry caused a spray of ethereal light to ripple outward like disturbed water, the magic of the pocket dimension responding to his energetic arrival.
Chris knelt beside the trunk, peering into the transformed world within. The unicorns had gathered in the central meadow, their combined presence creating a phenomenon of breathtaking beauty. Each unicorn's natural luminescence interacted with the others', creating patterns of light that danced between them like living constellations. The magical space itself seemed to respond to their presence, the simulated twilight intensifying to match their radiance, flowers blooming spontaneously where their hooves touched the ground.
The lead mare turned toward Chris, her gaze finding him across the dimensional boundary. "We thank you, young wizard," her thoughts reached him, her mental voice clear despite the distance. "Our herd will remember your kindness. When darkness passes and light returns to the ancient forest, we will know it was preserved in part by your action this night."
Chris bowed his head in acknowledgment, humbled by the ancient wisdom behind her words. "Safe journey," he replied simply, knowing no grandiose response was needed. The unicorns understood intention better than elaborate promises.
With reverent care, he closed the trunk's lid, the silver clasps sealing automatically with soft clicks. The clearing, now devoid of unicorns, felt suddenly ordinary, just another frost-covered glade in a dark forest. Even the moonlight seemed dimmer, as if mourning their absence. Chris shrunk the trunk back to pocket size, handling it with extreme care despite knowing the unicorns within would experience nothing.
Mission accomplished, he stood in the silent clearing, listening to the forest's sounds returning, the distant howl of of a wolf, the rustling of creatures in the underbrush, the whisper of wind through ancient branches. He had altered the timeline significantly. Quirrell would find no unicorns to slaughter, forcing Voldemort to rely solely on his host's diminishing strength. How this would affect future events remained to be seen, but Chris felt certain that preventing the needless death of such magical creatures was worth whatever adaptive planning he would need to do.
He touched the Ambrosia Lord Ring on his finger, a heavy silver band set with a sapphire that matched his eyes, inherited along with his title. Unlike common portkeys that required Ministry approval, this family heirloom bypassed all of that, unknown and undetected.
"Home," he whispered, picturing the entrance hall of Ambrosia Manor with perfect clarity.
The forest blurred around him as the portkey activated, compressing him through the tight tunnel of magical transportation. Unlike the jarring discomfort of standard portkeys, the Ambrosia Ring's magic wrapped around him like a protective cocoon, ensuring a smooth transition through space. A heartbeat later, he materialized in the entrance hall, the familiar scent of Christmas and nutmeg replacing the wild forest smells.
"Master Chrissy has returned!" Bouncy's voice rang out as the elf appeared with a soft pop, his large eyes immediately searching Chris for any signs of injury or distress. Finding none, his expression transformed to jubilation. "The mission was successful?"
Chris patted the pocket containing the shrunken trunk. "Completely successful. The entire herd is safe inside. I need to release them immediately into their new home."
Jilly appeared beside Bouncy, her demeanour calmer but her eyes equally bright with anticipation. "The eastern meadow has been prepared, Master. The existing herd has been contained to the southern groves until introductions can be made properly."
Without delay, Chris moved through the manor and out onto the grounds, the elves following at a respectful distance. Though well past midnight, the air on Ambrosia Island carried none of winter's bite, magical climate protections maintained a perpetual spring-like atmosphere across most of the private island. The eastern meadow stretched before them, a gentle slope of lush grass leading down to a crystalline stream, beyond which ancient oak and elm trees formed the boundary of thicker forest.
"This should be perfect," Chris said, withdrawing the trunk and restoring it to full size. "The environment in the trunk is similar enough that the transition shouldn't be jarring."
He unlatched the silver clasps, throwing the lid wide open. For a moment, nothing happened, then a silver hoof emerged, followed by the lead mare's elegant head and neck. She paused half-in and half-out of the trunk, surveying her new surroundings with regal assessment. The scents of open meadow reached her nostrils, the feel of true starlight and genuine breeze confirming this was no longer a magical construct but real sanctuary.
With a graceful leap, she emerged fully from the trunk, her hooves touching Ambrosia soil for the first time. The others followed in the same order they had entered, the scarred stallion, the synchronized females, the remaining herd members, and finally the young foal, who this time showed no hesitation but bounded out with exuberant energy, kicking his heels into the air with what could only be described as joy.
As the last unicorn emerged, Chris detected movement at the forest's edge. From between the ancient trees stepped the easter fields resident unicorn herd, smaller in number, just six individuals, led by a stallion whose horn spiralled in tight, elegant coils that spoke of great age. The two herds regarded each other across the meadow, assessing, curious, cautious.
The lead mare from the forest herd stepped forward, meeting the island stallion at the meadow's center. They stood face to face, horns almost touching, silent communication passing between them. Around Chris, the air seemed to thicken with magical potential, the very fabric of reality responding to the concentration of such powerful magical beings.
After what seemed an eternal moment, the two leaders stepped back, then moved to stand side by side, facing their respective herds. The gesture needed no interpretation, acceptance had been granted, territory would be shared, knowledge exchanged. The younger unicorns from both herds approached each other with increasing curiosity, some of the foals already beginning the prancing movements that presaged play.
"They will be well here," Jilly said softly, her amber eyes reflecting the unicorns' silvery light. "The island's boundaries are unplottable, and the defensive wards recognize unicorns as protected beings."
Chris nodded, satisfaction warming his chest despite the night's chill that had followed him from Scotland. "And Voldemort will find no innocent victims for his desperation." He shrunk the now-empty trunk and returned it to his pocket, making a mental note to thank Jilly again for remembering its existence among the heirlooms.
As they walked back toward the manor, Chris allowed himself a moment of reflection. His intervention had changed more than just the unicorns' fate, he had altered the sequence of events leading to Harry's confrontation with Quirrell. Without unicorn blood to sustain him, Voldemort might accelerate his plans for the Philosopher's Stone, or his host might deteriorate faster, forcing different strategies altogether.
The timeline was now officially in flux, branching away from the future he had once read about in a different life. But watching the two unicorn herds begin to mingle, their horns glowing like earthbound stars against the night sky, Chris couldn't bring himself to regret the deviation. Some changes were worth whatever adaptations they might require.
Beside him, Bouncy practically skipped with happiness. "Master has saved the shiny-horned ones! Very heroic, very noble!"
Chris smiled at the elf's enthusiasm. "It's just the beginning, Bouncy. Just the beginning."
As they reached the manor's entrance, he glanced back one last time at the distant unicorns, their forms now moving in graceful patterns as the two herds truly began to merge into one community. His second chance at life had granted him power, knowledge, and resources that few wizards could imagine. Tonight was the first time he had used those advantages not merely for strategic advantage, but to protect creatures who deserved to live free from darkness.
It felt right. It felt like the true beginning of what Christopher Emrys Ambrosia was meant to become in this new world, not just a player in the coming magical conflicts, but a protector of magic itself, in all its beautiful, ancient forms.