𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐈 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 | f. w

10

The imposing atrium of the Ministry of Magic was both awe-inspiring and oppressive. Gilded fireplaces lined the walls, spewing out witches and wizards who strode purposefully across the polished floors. The golden fountain in the center—a new sculpture featuring witches, wizards, and magical creatures standing side by side—glittered under the soft, enchanted light.

Erin stood between Fred and George, feeling like an intruder in a place she was supposed to belong. The faint hum of magic buzzed through the air, and though it made her skin tingle in a way that was oddly familiar, she couldn't quite shake the feeling that they were being watched.

Fred glanced around, hands shoved in his pockets. "Feels like we should be sneaking in here for a prank, doesn't it?" he muttered, leaning slightly toward Erin.

George smirked, crossing his arms. "Yeah, but for once, I think we're the ones being played."

Paisley walked ahead, her Auror badge clipped neatly to her robes, her posture straight and commanding. She led them to the far side of the atrium, past curious glances and whispered conversations.

"Why do I feel like we're the attraction of the day?" Fred murmured, his gaze flicking to a group of witches who were trying—and failing—to look inconspicuous as they whispered behind their hands.

"You are," Paisley said flatly, not bothering to look back. "You're the trio who forgot who they were. People love a mystery, especially when it comes wrapped in gossip."

George's grin widened. "Think we can charge for autographs?"

Paisley shot him a look over her shoulder. "Try not to embarrass yourselves. Or me."

"Too late for that," Fred said, but there was a tightness in his voice that Erin didn't miss.

As they entered a small, circular chamber, Paisley turned to face them, her expression serious. "This is where they'll assess you. They want to see how much of your magic is intact."

Fred's brow furrowed. "Assess us? What are we, dangerous animals?"

"No," Paisley said, her tone sharp. "But you're wizards and a witch who've lived without magic for years. They need to know if you're still capable of controlling it."

Erin swallowed hard, a wave of nerves washing over her. "What if we can't?" she asked quietly.

"You can," Paisley said firmly. "Muscle memory is a powerful thing. Magic is as much a part of you as breathing. Trust yourself."

The door behind them opened, and a tall, thin wizard in emerald-green robes entered, his expression neutral but calculating. "Ms. Bigham, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Weasley," he said, his voice clipped. "This way, please."

Fred shot Erin a glance, his lips quirking into a faint, reassuring smile. "After you."

(...)

The testing room was stark, its stone walls bare except for faint, glowing runes that pulsed gently. Three long tables stood in the center, each lined with wands resting on soft, velvet cushions.

"Choose," the wizard instructed, gesturing to the tables. "We've selected wands similar to those you once used. Let's see if your magic still responds."

Fred stepped forward first, scanning the wands with a casual air. But Erin noticed the way his fingers twitched slightly at his sides, the tension he was trying to hide.

He picked up a wand with a dark, polished finish, its handle carved with intricate swirls. The moment his fingers wrapped around it, a spark of golden light shot from its tip, and he let out a startled laugh.