LIFE IS ON

Alison had been given the task of writing an entire essay on every magical creature ever known to have existed in the wizarding world. The only condition was that she could not take help from anyone. So Alison turned to the library instead, juggling between books for the entire night. Smith, Miranda, and Stewart were not happy about it, and they were determined not to let her detention go in vain. Snowman had grown considerably closer to Miss January after what had happened that morning, but he seemed to have forgotten the promise he had made them. Snowman did not reach out to them the entire morning, while Alison remained buried in the library, reading page after page from every book on magical creatures she could find. She didn’t return to her dormitory, nor did she reach out to any of her friends, which was beginning to make them worried. Once the night had passed, Smith, Miranda, and Stewart made up their minds to visit her in the library first thing in the morning. The next mornin...

  “Hmm.” Marcus Ollivander held Peter’s wand between both hands, gripping it carefully from end to end. He brought it close to his ear and listened to it for several seconds, as though expecting it to whisper something only a wandmaker could understand. Finally, he lowered it. “The wand seems to have lost its true master,” Marcus said. “As far as I can tell, it belongs to Edward Black now.” Black frowned. “I’ve disarmed Peter plenty of times during lessons. Maybe that’s why.” “I don’t know. Maybe.” Marcus handed the wand back to Peter. “Too bad. I wish I could help you folks.” Peter looked at the wand in his hand before putting it away. He and Professor Black had spent nearly the entire week travelling from one healer to another, but none of them had been able to explain what had happened to him. They were finally in London now, and it had been Black’s idea to visit Ollivander before going any further. Peter, however, remained fixated on finding Salazar’s shack....

“I’ve never seen anything like this before!” Professor Flamel exclaimed. Nearly every teacher and senior member of staff had gathered inside the Headmaster’s office. Peter sat on a chair in the centre of the room while the professors surrounded him, examining him as though he were some strange magical artefact. Everyone seemed to have a different theory about what had happened. Peter himself had none. “It could be all the stress you’ve been under since yesterday,” Black suggested. “Everything with your mother, your career, the Tournament…” Peter stared ahead blankly, still struggling to understand what was happening to him. “No, I don’t think so,” Flamel said. “Stress isn’t known to cause something like this. Although different bodies do react differently.” He paused. “I read that in a Muggle health magazine.” A few professors looked at him. Peter finally spoke. “Could it be because my mother is a Squib?” Flamel immediately shook his head. “What? No. I don’t think that’s possible.” “On...