Aurora intercepted a slice and took a bite. Despite the fragrant smell, she made a face— clearly unused to how coarse and chewy the bread was compared to the food in her home country.
"These are gifts made by my younger brother and sister," Ian said with a small smile. He had indeed received presents from the Wootton Orphanage, but the little ones who didn't have access to owls had enlisted Snape's help to deliver their handmade offerings.
At Ian's request, Snape had made a rare visit to the orphanage. Judging by the letter their Matron sent along afterward, Snape hadn't shown any of his usual harshness there— at least, not outwardly.
"You actually grew up eating this?" Aurora asked in mild disbelief, holding the coarse, toasted bread in her hand and inspecting it like an artifact from a bygone age.
"Hardly all the time," Ian replied, pushing open a mossy stone panel that led out of the secret tunnel. They emerged from beneath a concealed slab behind a row of shops. Outside, the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade were blanketed in thick snow.
"We only ever had proper meals during the holidays. On normal days, we had to stretch whatever was available. When someone donated, we'd get bread like this— dense, rough, barely good enough to stay fresh."
As his wand dimmed, clusters of snowflakes drifted down, collecting gently on their shoulders and settling like stardust on their woollen robes.
"Those who have the courage to face their past are often the ones who can shape a better future," Aurora said softly, in a rare moment of solemn clarity as she gazed out over the charming, medieval-style village.
The festive spirit in Hogsmeade rivalled that of Hogwarts itself. In fact, with the sheer bustle and glimmering decorations, it even surpassed the castle's atmosphere in some ways.
Nearly every shop glistened with strings of twinkling lights, floating baubles, and spellbound tinsel that shimmered without wind. Snowmen enchanted with mobility waddled around merrily, waving to passersby and singing carols out of tune to draw customers in. Several wizards had donned Santa Claus outfits, but Ian privately thought the one he'd seen near the Shrieking Shack—dubbed the Haunted Zone by students— looked even more authentic.
"Young witches and wizards, fancy a snowflake tart?"
Just as they reached the main street, a cheerful wizard dressed in scarlet stopped them. He wore a fluffy white beard and jingling boots— classic Santa gear. As Aurora reached for a sweet, he gently touched her hand to stop her.
"Careful with those," Ian said, eyeing the tray of cakes. "Mr John, lacing your confections with hallucinatory fumes is still illegal under Magical Trade Law."
He didn't need to unwrap a single tart; his nose alone was enough. Ever since a strange potion accident, Ian's sense of smell had rivalled that of Hagrid's boarhound, Fang.
"So that was a hallucinogen?" Aurora looked genuinely startled. She was halfway to pulling her wand when Ian deftly reached into her robes and retrieved it first, reading her intent like a book.
"It's just a teensy pinch of Muggle botanical— old Eastern spice blends," Said the wizard, John, clearly oblivious to the trouble he'd narrowly avoided. Grumbling, he packed up his tray of dubious sweets and shuffled off.
"He should really move his cake cart to Knockturn Alley. He'd make a fortune down there," Ian muttered, steering Aurora toward The Three Broomsticks.
"I think I finally understand why Hogsmeade has an age limit," Aurora mused aloud, casting a lingering glance back toward her favourite bookshop. "It's not just to keep first-years out... they sell dodgy goods here."
She trailed off in thought, clearly pondering what sort of curious merchandise her Acolytes could get away with peddling.
"Here. Drink this."
Ian pulled her into a quiet alley between two closed shops and produced a potion bottle from beneath his cloak. He had prepared it especially for this day.
Aurora sniffed the rim of the bottle and narrowed her eyes. "Chaga mushroom... powdered turtle shell... sliced caterpillar... bat tongue. This is an Aging Potion, isn't it?"
"Hoot hoot, gurgle~" She added, mimicking the bubbling noise of the potion in amusement, her eyes sparkling as she guessed Ian's plan.
With a smile, she took the first sip, the warmth of the brew coursing through her veins.
Ian downed his own flask right after. As the potion made its way down his throat, it felt as though time folded in on itself— rushing forward like a fast-forward charm gone wild.
In mere seconds, their bodies underwent a remarkable transformation. The two of them, once small and youthful, now stood at full adult height, faces matured and features reshaped with the illusion of age. Eleven-year-olds no more— at least, for the next few hours.
Like the Polyjuice Potion, the Aging Potion altered only the outward appearance of the drinker, making them look older without any true transformation. Its effects lasted far longer than Polyjuice's and didn't require hourly sips. Brewing it was also far simpler, though it lacked any deeper magical transfiguration.
"Well, at least I don't look like Malfoy," Ian muttered, pulling out a small, brass-framed mirror enchanted to stay smudge-free. He admired his reflection— his features, once soft and boyishly charming, had sharpened slightly with a mature edge. His emerald-green eyes now glowed with a richer hue, filled with something strange and difficult to name.
Alluring. Almost magnetic.
"Who's Malfoy?" Aurora asked, far less concerned with vanity. She simply borrowed Ian's mirror to examine herself. Under the moonlight, her skin looked impossibly smooth, and her silvery-blonde hair flowed like a spellbound waterfall, curling slightly at the ends as they framed her now striking, cool-toned face.
She frowned at the sight and, with a touch of irritation, began to twist her hair up into a practical bun. Her newly aged figure had taken on the elegance and curves of a young witch in her prime, radiating a certain composed grace.
"Just a nuisance who shows up now and then," Ian replied vaguely, clearly not eager to elaborate. He couldn't wait to strut into The Three Broomsticks and prove something—to whom, he wasn't entirely sure.
Perhaps it was the Christmas cheer, but the tavern was far busier than when Ian had last visited. Though not shoulder-to-shoulder packed, the buzz was infectious—boisterous chatter and warm laughter rising above the music of clinking glasses.
Floating lanterns that usually stayed tucked away for ordinary evenings now hovered above the bar, casting soft golden light. Wizards from all walks of life were raising their goblets and flagons in merry toasts, using the holiday as an excuse to test who could drink whom under the table.
And, of course, being wizards, there were more than a few… enhancements to the contest.
Not all of them are legal.
"New faces, are you?" Came a familiar, lilting voice.
Madam Rosmerta, the long-standing proprietor, greeted them with a knowing smile. Though her beauty was no longer in its bloom, she had the kind of full figure that drew many an appreciative glance. The fine lines at the corners of her eyes told of years filled with laughter, and the warm gleam in her gaze spoke of experience, not age.
The number of heads that turned her way proved she still had her share of admirers.
"Is there anything fun to do here?" Aurora asked, feeling the weight of some stares and shifting uncomfortably. Thankfully, most of the curious glances weren't aimed at her.
Ian gave a half-smirk. "Give it a minute. The real fun's just warming up."
He stepped up to the polished bar and slid a few silver Sickles across the counter. "One non-alcoholic Butterbeer for her, and I'll take the tiniest glass of Firewhisky you've got." Ever since the ghost's Deathday party, Ian had become very aware of his… limitations.
He just wanted a sip.
"Why do you get to drink alcohol, but I don't?" Aurora's eyes narrowed. She addressed Madam Rosmerta directly, folding her arms. "I want the same whisky he's having."
"And make mine a large one."
Her tone brooked no argument, a quality common to determined German witches.
(To Be Continued…)
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