By March, the castle was suffocating.
Every hallway reeked of fear.
Every shadow whispered accusation.
Every portrait seemed to watch on high alert.
Classes continued, barely.
But all extracurriculars—dueling club, Quidditch practice, even the harmless Wizard Chess Society—were canceled.
The professors claimed it was for "safety."
What they really meant was: control.
No students wandering off.
No unexplained disappearances.
No more victims.
It didn't work.
Another pair of petrified students was found before the week was out.
And so, Hogwarts shrank into itself—children scurrying between lessons like mice in a maze, while the staff prowled the halls with forced calm.
All except us.
Because House Draconis didn't play by their rules.
When the rest of the school hid from shadows, we hunted them.
We returned to the forest again and again—after curfew, after dinner, when the castle had fallen silent and the only light came from the wands we carried.
Each excursion went deeper than the last.
And each time, the spiders grew bolder.
At first, it had been small nests—clutches of spiderlings, nests hanging from twisted branches.
Easy work for the girls.
But by the third week, the forest itself seemed to stir.
Webs thicker than parchment draped from the canopy like curtains.
The trees groaned under the weight of it.
The Acromantula knew we were there now.
They'd started hunting back.
"Same pattern as before," I murmured, crouching near a patch of churned mud. "Tracks. Six legs, dragging weight behind. Adults."
Daphne's wand light hovered over my shoulder. "You sound almost happy about that."
I smiled faintly. "Progress."
Hermione muttered, "Progress means they're adapting."
"Exactly."
Cho's voice came softly from behind. "And we're adapting faster."
She wasn't wrong.
Their movements had sharpened since our first training.
They no longer flinched at sudden movement or stray shadows.
Spells came quick, deliberate.
Even Astoria, though still paling at the sight of fangs, no longer froze in place.
Fear had become focus.
And the number of times i was required to step in to save then dwindled... though it did still happen from time to time, rare enough that it was almost becoming suspicous that they had done so on purpose.
Our campaign within the forest was working.
Until a quiet, dreamlike voice drifted through the trees.
"Oh, hello there."
We all turned.
A pale-haired girl stood between two moss-covered trunks, wearing radish earrings and a butterbeer cork necklace, looking as though she'd simply wandered into the middle of hell.
Luna Lovegood.
She smiled absently.
"I was hoping to meet a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, but you'll do, I suppose."
Hermione groaned under her breath. "Loon-Luna—what are you doing here?"
"Oh, just exploring." Luna stepped closer, squinting at the dark webs stretched between the trees. "You shouldn't be here, you know. The forest's full of angry thoughts tonight. Something about…"
Cho coughed. "That would be us."
"Oh!" Luna's eyes lit up. "Are we exterminating something?"
Before I could stop her, she plucked her wand from behind her ear and pointed it at the nearest thicket. "Flipendo!"
The shrub exploded.
Three spiderlings the size of kneazles went flying through the air, landing in a heap and skittering toward us with furious clicking.
Astoria yelped.
Daphne rolled her eyes.
"She's helping, apparently."
"Then she might as well commit," I said dryly. "Form up."
The forest erupted again.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of spiderlings poured from the shadows, drawn by the noise.
"Battle line!" I barked. "Hermione—fire. Cho—wind. Greengrasses, shields. Luna—"
Luna twirled her wand like it was a baton. "Oh, I'm very good at blasting things!"
"I'm counting on it."
And so began our third night war.
Flames roared to life as Hermione swept her wand in a wide arc.
Cho followed, wind fanning the blaze into a whirling inferno that carved through the advancing swarm.
Daphne stood beside her sister, silver barriers snapping into place as venomous silk splashed against them.
Sparks danced off the shields like molten rain.
I cut through the chaos, my wand tracing sigils of destruction.
"Aronia Exumai!"
White light split the darkness—each spell bursting through carapace and bone alike.
But there were too many.
The ground moved with them, waves of glittering bodies surging through the underbrush.
Their hisses blended into a single awful chorus.
Luna, meanwhile, looked delighted.
"Oh, they're beautiful!" she said, hurling a spell that sent a half dozen spiders pinwheeling into a tree. "Like fuzzy nightmares!"
"Less admiration, more fire!" Hermione shouted.
Luna nodded serenely. "Of course."
Her next spell detonated like a grenade.
The shockwave knocked back a dozen more spiders—and nearly sent Astoria sprawling.
I caught her by the collar. "Up."
She regained her footing, eyes wide but determined. "We're… we're holding!"
"For now."
But I could feel it—the tremor in the air, the pull of something bigger.
From deep within the forest came a low, resonant clicking.
Like wood cracking underwater.
The spiders froze.
Then scattered.
The girls looked at me, breathless.
Hermione asked quietly, "What was that?"
I met her gaze. "Their commander."
And then the trees moved.
A shape unfolded from the darkness—massive, hairy, armored.
Legs like pillars, each step shaking the ground.
An old one.
The patriarch, Aragog, father to all of these aracromantuals that have infested the forbidden forrest for decades.
Even Luna's dreamy expression faltered. "Oh. That's a bit more than a Snorkack."
The spider reared back, shrieking.
Webs snapped across the clearing like whips.
Daphne's shield cracked under the first hit.
"Fall back!" I shouted. "Cover fire!"
Flames flared.
Wind howled.
The clearing became a storm of color and motion.
The giant spider charged, only to meet my wand point-first.
"Incendio!"
The spell struck true—emerald fire coiling like a serpent, wrapping around its legs, its thorax, its head.
It screamed once, a sound that rattled the leaves, before turning round and retreating back into the forest depths.
The forest fell silent.
Only the crackle of green fire remained.
Cho let out a long breath. "That… was larger than last time."
Hermione sheathed her wand, brushing soot from her sleeve. "We should get back. If we're caught—"
"We won't be." I gestured for them to follow. "Disillusionment charms. Quick."
Within seconds, the clearing was empty—just the smoking remains of a fallen beast and the lingering scent of ozone.
We slipped through the forest shadows like ghosts, the castle's lights faint in the distance.
The night was cold, sharp, silent—until Cho suddenly stopped.
"Cassius," she whispered, pointing ahead. "Look."
Through the thinning trees, down the slope toward Hagrid's hut, movement caught the eye.
Figures.
Half a dozen at least, cloaked in fine fabrics that shimmered faintly in the moonlight.
Their boots didn't crunch snow—they floated, each step silent, deliberate.
Ministry perhaps, but not strictly just that.
The leader carried a staff.
Not a wand.
With a long mane of flowing silver white hair that practically glowed in the moonlight.
Seems that event of the past were unfolding once more, with the wronged hagrid being made to bear the blame once more it seems.