The late August sun of 1950 cast long, benevolent shadows across the cobblestones of Starfall. It was a warmth that settled deep in the bones, a perfect English summer day that promised a gentle transition into autumn. For Lord Jason Mikael Ashworth, it was the kind of day that made his responsibilities feel less like duties and more like privileges. At twenty-five, he had borne the title of Lord Ashworth for nearly a decade, since the sudden passing of his parents in a tragic curse-breaking accident when he was just sixteen. Many in the Wizengamot had whispered, some with pity and others with predatory anticipation, that the burden would be too great for a boy. They had been wrong.
Jason had never considered it a burden. He thrived on it. The intricate dance of politics, the complex tapestry of finance, the tangible satisfaction of governing the town his ancestors had built from the ground up—it was his lifeblood. He found a profound joy in stewardship, in nurturing the legacy of the House of Ashworth, a legacy defined not by the purity of one's blood, but by the strength of one's magic and the prosperity of their community.
His family had always been an anomaly amongst the Ancient and Most Noble Houses. While they held their pure-blood heritage with pride, they viewed the obsession with it as a pointless and counterproductive distraction. The so-called "Sacred Twenty-Eight," a list cobbled together by the notoriously bigoted Cantankerous Nott, was a frequent source of private amusement at Ashworth Manor. They didn't openly disparage families like the Blacks or the Lestranges for their beliefs—that would be impolitic—but they simply didn't subscribe to the notion that a witch or wizard's worth was etched into their genealogy. To the Ashworths, magic was the great equaliser. Heritage was about the magical traditions you upheld, not the names on a family tree. This philosophy was the very bedrock upon which Starfall was built, a truth that became self-evident to any outsider who spent more than five minutes within its protective wards.
Today, Jason had forsaken the exquisite but predictable fare of his House Elves for something more grounded. A stroll down Blackwood Way, the town's vibrant entertainment district, was in order. The air here was always thick with a symphony of enticing aromas: the sweet scent of caramelised sugar wafting from a confectioner's shop, the savoury perfume of roasting meats from a traditional pub, and the rich, dark fragrance of freshly ground coffee from a dozen different cafes.
He walked with an easy, confident stride that belied his noble station. He wasn't a distant lord surveying his domain; he was a neighbour out for a bite to eat.
"Morning, Lord Ashworth!" called out a portly wizard with a flour-dusted apron, leaning out of the doorway of 'The Golden Crumpet'.
"Good morning, Alistair," Jason replied with a warm smile. "How are the scones today? Did Martha finally let you use her grandmother's secret clotted cream recipe?"
Alistair let out a booming laugh. "Not on your life, my lord! She guards that recipe more fiercely than the Goblins guard their gold. But the standard fare is still the best in Britain, you can be sure of that!"
He continued his walk, exchanging pleasantries with restaurant owners, food vendors, and citizens out enjoying the day. He knew most of them by name, knew their children, and knew their businesses. It was this connection, this sense of shared community, that fuelled his dedication. He finally settled on a small, cosy cafe called 'The Daily Grind', tucked between a bustling theatre and a lively music venue. He ordered a hearty full English breakfast and a pot of strong tea, losing himself in the simple pleasure of a meal well-made and well-earned. An hour later, feeling blessedly full and content, he left the cafe with a cheerful wave to the owner, his mind already shifting from leisure to labour.
Walking off the meal, he made his way toward Everwood Square, the civic heart of Starfall. The architecture here was a proud and elegant blend of old and new. The Town Hall, his destination, was a grand stone building, its foundations laid in the 16th century, but with expansions and magically reinforced additions from every century since. It stood as a testament to Starfall's enduring prosperity, flanked by the impressive Healers Hall, the local Auror Office, and the town's public library.
His office was on the third floor, a spacious room with a large oak desk and a window that overlooked the entire square. The scent of old parchment, ink, and lemon polish was a comforting familiarity. His inbox was, as always, full. The first few hours were a blur of routine governance. He dispatched a team of magical maintenance workers to repair a stretch of road near the Stonewick Block that had been damaged by a misfiring enchanted carriage. He reviewed and approved the latest plumbing schematics for a new wing of the Healers Hall, ensuring the enchantments for water purification and waste disposal were up to the town's exacting standards. He perused the weekly report from the local Auror detachment; crime rates remained enviably low, a testament to the community's stability and the efficacy of the town's wards. Everything was in order.
Then he came across a missive that made him sigh. It was a formal petition, sent by owl from the Ministry but clearly originating from a private party, regarding a plot of land on the southern edge of the residential district. Lord Selwyn of the House of Selwyn wished to purchase the plot to construct a new manor. The request had been escalated to Jason's office because Lord Selwyn was, in no uncertain terms, attempting to throw his weight around, citing his family's noble standing and implying that a simple land purchase was a mere formality for a man of his stature.
Jason leaned back in his chair, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He remembered the plot in question. It was a lovely piece of land, with a view of the rolling Kentish hills. He also remembered signing the deed of sale for that very plot not three weeks prior. With a flick of his wand, a specific filing cabinet drawer slid open and a folder zoomed into his hand. He opened it, confirming his memory. The land had been purchased by a Mr. and Mrs. Finch, a delightful Muggle-born couple who had moved to Starfall five years ago. They had been renting a small house in the Stonewick Block, saving every Knut they could. Mrs. Finch was a talented potioneer who worked at the Greengrass Apothecary, and Mr. Finch was a magical architect's apprentice. They were precisely the kind of hardworking, contributing citizens that Starfall was built to support.
This sort of nonsense from the old-money pure-bloods was a recurring headache. They would suddenly decide they wanted a piece of Starfall, a fashionable address to add to their extensive property portfolios, and expect the world to bend to their will. They didn't understand the town's ethos. They saw its prosperity and wanted to own a part of it, without ever contributing to the culture that created it. They had countless homes, manors, villas, and cabins scattered across the country and the continent. They didn't need property in Starfall.
Jason dipped a quill in a pot of official black ink and penned a response on Town Hall letterhead. His script was elegant but firm.
My Lord Selwyn,
Thank you for your inquiry regarding Plot 7B on the southern ridge of the Stonewick District. I have reviewed the relevant files and must inform you that the plot in question was sold three weeks ago to Mr. and Mrs. Elias Finch.
As per the long-standing laws of Starfall, all property sales are final and operate on a first-come, first-served basis, regardless of the station of the interested parties. I am afraid you were simply too late in this instance. I trust you understand that the prior purchase must be honoured.
I wish you well in your future endeavours.
Sincerely,
Lord Jason M. Ashworth
Mayor of Starfall
He sealed the letter with the Ashworth crest and sent it off with an office owl. It was a polite but unambiguous message: your title means nothing here when it comes to the law.
He shook his head, gazing out the window at the bustling square. He didn't understand why they even bothered trying to intimidate their way in. Starfall was a tapestry woven from every thread of their society. The pure-blood population, which constituted a significant 40% of the town's 3,500 residents, was largely composed of the branches of noble families, not the main lines. There were Abbott cousins who ran a charming little bookshop, the nephew of the current Lord Avery who was a respected researcher at the Healers Hall, and even the second son of Lord Yaxley, a decorated veteran of the war against Grindelwald, who had chosen Starfall's peace to settle down and raise a family.
The other 60% was a vibrant mix of half-bloods and Muggle-borns, the lifeblood of the town's economy and culture. Starfall was also home to a small but cherished community of Squibs, who were welcomed warmly and given opportunities to work and live with dignity within the magical world they had been born into but could not fully wield. The very concept of blood purity seemed absurd here, especially when one considered that many of the town's oldest "pure-blood" families had started as Muggle-borns or half-bloods centuries ago. They had simply lived, worked, and married within Starfall for generations, their consistent magical legacy solidifying their status over time. Starfall was the ultimate meritocracy.
Prejudice had no place here, but competition certainly did. Other noble houses had understood this. The Blacks owned a lavish penthouse atop one of the luxury hotels on Greendale Place, used for entertaining and business. The Longbottoms kept a modest but comfortable apartment in Stonewick for when they had business in Kent. The Greengrasses, always shrewd investors, had not only opened a flagship apothecary on Horizon Alley but had also invested in several other local businesses. They hadn't demanded; they had participated. Selwyn was simply late to the game. It wasn't Jason's fault he hadn't seen the value in Starfall until now. In fact, Jason knew for a fact that the town's realtors subtly prioritised selling residential land to new families, especially Muggle-borns. It was a sound economic strategy: it brought in fresh workers, new money, and clients for the established businesses, strengthening the entire community from the ground up.
With the day's administrative tasks complete, Jason had one final, crucial duty to perform. He locked his office and descended, taking a magically-lit staircase deep into the sub-levels of the Town Hall. The air grew cooler, carrying the ancient scent of earth and raw magic. He arrived in a circular chamber, the walls of which were covered in glowing runes that pulsed with a soft, silver light. In the center of the room rested the heart of Starfall: the Wardstone. It was a massive, smooth obelisk of obsidian, humming with centuries of accumulated power.
This was his true work, the work that combined his Masteries in Defence and Curse-Breaking. For months, he had been developing a new warding scheme, a complex matrix of runes and intent designed as an ultimate failsafe. If Starfall ever faced a direct, overwhelming assault, he needed the ability to lock the town down completely. The new scheme, when activated, would create a blanket nullification field across the entire district, neutralizing all forms of magical transportation—Apparition, Portkeys, and the Floo Network would all fail the moment they crossed the town's borders. It was a monumental undertaking, weaving the new enchantments into the existing ancient wards without causing a catastrophic collapse.
He approached the Wardstone, his wand held loosely in his hand. He took a deep, centering breath, clearing his mind and focusing his intent. He began to trace the new rune sequence in the air around the stone, his wand tip leaving trails of golden light. He murmured the incantations, his voice echoing in the silent chamber. It was a delicate, draining process, requiring immense concentration. For nearly an hour, he worked, weaving the final threads of his creation into the stone's powerful matrix.
Finally, he spoke the last word of power and touched the tip of his wand to the obsidian surface. For a heart-stopping moment, nothing happened. Then, the Wardstone began to warm beneath his touch. A faint, golden glow emanated from within the black stone, spreading through it like blood through veins. The humming intensified, rising in pitch for a few seconds before settling back into its steady, powerful rhythm, now with a new, deeper resonance. It worked. A wave of relief and profound satisfaction washed over him. His town was safer than it had ever been.
He ascended back to the surface, feeling the pleasant exhaustion of magical exertion. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. He Apparated from the designated point in the square directly to the gates of Ashworth Manor. The ancient house stood proud and welcoming against the twilight sky.
Inside, he sank into a comfortable armchair by the fire in his private study, a glass of Ogden's finest in hand. He loved this. All of it. The weight of responsibility, the challenges of governance, the ancient magic thrumming beneath his feet. At twenty-five, he was Lord Ashworth, Mayor of Starfall, a steward and caretaker of a legacy of protection and prosperity. He had found his purpose, his flow. He had accomplished so much. His life was, for all intents and purposes, perfect.
He took a slow sip of the firewhisky, the warmth spreading through his chest.
Now all I need to do is find a wife...
Jason let out a long, theatrical groan that echoed in the quiet of his study. Ugh.