Swedish Ministry of Magic, Department of Mysteries
Incident Report:Time: 10:34 AMEvent: Unauthorized incursion into the Department of Mysteries.Casualties: No Unspeakables injured.Suspected Attacker: Unidentified Obscurus.
The Swedish Minister of Magic stood in the center of the chaos, surveying the wreckage strewn across the chamber floor. His voice was tight with irritation.
"An attack on the Department of Mysteries… Was anything stolen?"
An Unspeakable stepped forward, face calm, expression unreadable. "The Spear of Gungnir and the Eye of Odin."
The Minister's brow furrowed. "What... are they used for?"
The Unspeakable replied evenly, "According to Department protocol, a magical confidentiality contract must be signed before I can disclose the specific functions of either item."
"I'll consider it," the Minister said stiffly. "In the meantime, give me anything that can assist the Aurors. Details. Direction."
"There's one more thing," the Unspeakable said. "The Obscurus displayed a focused trajectory. He seemed to be guided to it by something. Which means we cannot rule out the possibility… that he's mastered the use of primordial magic."
At those words, the Minister's eyes narrowed. "Primordial magic? You mean... some kind of ancient spellwork?"
"You'll need to sign the confidentiality contract before I can elaborate," the Unspeakable said coolly.
"Loki's tongue…" The Minister exhaled sharply. "Is there anything you can tell me without invoking that blasted contract? Something useful. Something actionable. Something that doesn't have the word classified stapled to it."
"I suggest contacting the British Ministry of Magic. Specifically their Department of Mysteries. Mention 'the reappearance of primordial magic.' They will know what it means — and they will take it seriously."
The Minister's expression darkened. "So you're saying this involves other nations? Diplomacy? A potential international crisis? Was it the English who did this?"
The Unspeakable gave a subtle shrug. "Without a contract, all I can say is… the greatest wizard of our era might know more than we do."
As the Unspeakable turned and disappeared down the corridor, the Swedish Minister of Magic muttered under his breath, "Unspeakable? More like a Riddler in a robe…"
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Fortunately, Vizet and his roommates had finished their homework on the train, which meant they could now devote themselves fully to the holiday.
About a week later, Vizet received a reply from Professor Snape. The letter was brief — two short lines in Snape's sharp, angular handwriting:
"Whatever. Don't embarrass yourself. Otherwise, don't use it."
Tucked inside the letter was a folded piece of parchment: the recipe for the Wiggenweld Potion.
It was detailed, with precise instructions for ingredient preparation and a clear standard for what qualified as a properly brewed Wiggenweld — written in the same unmistakable hand.
Vizet understood the implication immediately: if the potion wasn't brewed to that standard, he'd better not credit Snape at all.
After securing the wizard passport, Xenophilius turned his attention to planning the family's travel itinerary.
Wizards, having their own travel protocols, naturally had dedicated travel agencies.
One such agency, located at No. 59 Diagon Alley, was called Horror Journey.
As the name suggested, Horror Journey specialized in adventure tours — thrilling, unpredictable, and occasionally life-threatening. Destinations ranged from the Amazonian Basilisk Ruins to the infamous Bermuda Triangle.
The agency's travel contracts were famously toothless. They took no responsibility for any injuries, accidents, or, as was not uncommon, mysterious disappearances. Signing one of their contracts was, in effect, signing a magical waiver of liability — or more bluntly, a certificate of life and death.
Naturally, Xenophilius, who adored Luna beyond words, dismissed such an option without hesitation.
Instead, he begrudgingly began collecting recent issues of the Daily Prophet in search of reputable wizard-run hotels and travel packages.
The word 'begrudgingly' was well-earned.
Xenophilius despised the Daily Prophet — believing it to be nothing more than Cornelius Fudge's mouthpiece. In his eyes, the newspaper served only to glorify the Minister while suppressing any truths that might threaten the establishment.
To purchase the Daily Prophet, then, was in Xenophilius's mind equivalent to directly funding Cornelius Fudge's propaganda machine.
Still, his love for Luna outweighed his principles — for now.
Over the next several days, Xenophilius was either hunched over a table at home planning routes, or hopping aboard Muggle buses to visit wizarding travel agencies scattered across London.
He often returned with wide-eyed observations about the cleverness of the Muggle world, and occasionally even praised its technological 'magic'.
While Xenophilius was busy visiting agencies and poring over brochures, Vizet took the initiative to look after Luna.
In the meantime, he made a trip to Flourish and Blotts, where he browsed and memorized titles related to household magic — books like Practical Home Magic, Conjure a Feast!, and Enchant Your Cheese were all committed to memory with ease.
Alongside his continued training in Occlumency and deeper study of Primordial Magic: Shield, most of his free time was now dedicated to the mysterious and often-overlooked art of domestic wizardry.
After a few days of reading and experimentation, he developed a much clearer sense of how household magic operated.
Cooking magic, in particular, was a revelation.
Unlike charms or jinxes that relied on strict verbal incantations, cooking spells had no fixed formulas. In many ways, it resembled transfiguration — intuitive, intent-driven, and highly personalized.
The books offered almost no complex incantations. Instead, they referenced simple, instinctive commands like "rise," "fall," "knead," and "cut." The real art, however, lay in the wizard's intention: what the spell felt like, what the food should do, and how the kitchen should respond.
It was a magic of rhythm and flow, not rule and structure.
With enough practice, a skilled wizard could eventually do away with commands altogether — simply thinking of what needed doing would be enough to send ingredients flying, slicing, or stirring of their own accord. The process also required a high mastery of the Levitation, Summoning, and Banishing Charms.
It also explained why many wizards struggled with household magic.
The reliance on intuition rather than incantation also made it difficult to learn through repetition alone. Those without a feel for it often gave up early or stuck to the basics.
Xenophilius, for instance, had only mastered a handful of magical recipes — mostly stews — and thus, stews were the only dishes he ever made at home.
Fortunately, Vizet had already had some experience of this kind of intuitive casting during his time at the Hog's Head. The skills he'd picked up there proved invaluable now, and household magic came more naturally to him than he expected.
Just as he set down Conjure a Feast! and was about to call Luna back inside, the door creaked open.
Luna stepped in, holding a net bag and umbrella in one hand and a small bucket in the other.
Ripples danced across the clear water in the bucket, and her soaked trouser legs clung to her ankles.
The midday sun shone behind her, casting a golden halo across her shoulders and hair. Her small, delicate ears glowed faintly in the light — so translucent they looked almost like the ears of an elf.
"Next time you go fishing, call me along," Vizet said warmly, quickly stepping forward to take the bucket from her hands. With a flick of his wand, he cast, "Expurgare!"
Water and dust swirled up, gathered into a single ball, and flew out the open door to land gently in the garden.
The Flitterbloom, delighted by the offering, shivered its vines in delight, and its blossoms trembled like they were laughing.
Luna's eyes sparkled as she tilted her head. "I want to eat fish today. Can you make something… different?"
"Ballfish, hmm?" Vizet peered into the bucket, then nodded with a smile. "If you're tired of stew, I'll make fried fish. I just learned it today."
He raised his wand again. "Up!"
The ballfish levitated cleanly out of the bucket, flopping and wriggling in the air before landing with a plop into the sink.
Luna hummed a soft tune as she carried the empty bucket upstairs, water droplets trailing in her wake.
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