The end of March brought the promise of spring, but inside Hogwarts, the air still buzzed with the steady hum of voices, all revolving around the same subject—the latest edition of The Wixen Chronicles.
Every Sunday morning, the paper was delivered through a carefully arranged system of discreet owl drops and house-elf assistance. Students eagerly snatched up their copies at breakfast, some even waking early to get their hands on it before supplies ran out. By lunch, issues were tucked under arms, passed around between corridors, and spread across tables in common rooms. By dinner, speculation about the next edition had already begun.
The plan to make every student buy their own copy had worked beautifully. Between the hidden puzzles that only revealed solutions on individually enchanted pages, the gossip sections laced with just the right amount of intrigue, and the serialized mystery story that ended each week on a cliffhanger, demand had surged. Even professors had started to take note, with some skimming through the editorial pages, raising their eyebrows at particularly sharp commentary on Hogwarts affairs.
But something unexpected was happening.
Sol Moonfall had first noticed it in the Great Hall one evening. He had been attempting to finish his Astronomy essay before the class—though in truth, he had been watching the last embers in the fireplace more than his parchment—when a conversation nearby caught his ear.
"I sent the last three issues to my dad," a second-year Hufflepuff was boasting. "He says it's better than The Daily Prophet! Thinks it's got more real news."
"My sister wrote back and asked if I could send more," a Ravenclaw added excitedly. "She's training to be a Curse-Breaker and thinks the Hex & Curse Trends column is actually insightful."
Sol frowned. That was new.
Students had been enthusiastic about The Wixen Chronicles since its first issue, but up until now, it had been contained within Hogwarts. The idea that copies were being sent outside the castle was something entirely different.
By the time The WIX gathered in their study room in the library that weekend, the trickle of rumors had turned into a steady stream of evidence.
Magnus Kane tossed a crumpled letter onto the table with a look of mild disbelief. "My cousin just asked me if I could send him a monthly subscription form. He works at the Department of Magical Games and Sports and says our Quidditch Analysis section is miles ahead of The Prophet."
There was a pause before Vivian Delacroix raised an eyebrow. "Are we… getting popular?"
"Oh, we've been popular," Eliza Dawson smirked, leaning back in her chair with an air of satisfaction. "This is something else. We're being taken seriously."
Henry Bell leaned forward, eyes wide with excitement. "This is huge. If students are sending copies home, we're already expanding beyond Hogwarts—unofficially, at least. That means we need to start thinking bigger." He glanced around at the group, his voice rising slightly. "We're not just a school paper anymore. We're turning into something real."
Artemis Lovelace drummed her fingers against the wooden surface of the table, lost in thought. "If we want to print more copies, we need more resources," she said finally.
Rosaline Dawson adjusted her glasses. "And legal protection. If we start distributing beyond Hogwarts, we'll be competing with The Daily Prophet, Witch weekly etc.—and they won't like that."
"Not to mention the Ministry," Sol Moonfall added grimly. "Right now, our main advantage is that we're operating under the school's protection. Dumbledore agreed to this because it was contained within Hogwarts. The moment we expand, the Ministry might start paying attention."
A silence settled over the group.
Then Iris Lawrence, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. "That's why we need to talk to Aunt Aurelia and see what's actually possible. A small school paper is one thing. A full-scale publication? That's business."
Artemis nodded. "Agreed. Easter break is in a week. We'll go to Lovelace Manor and work out a plan with my aunt." She turned to Madam Pince, who had been observing the discussion with an unreadable expression. "And you should come, too, Madam Pince. You're the official faculty advisor, and you deserve a say in this."
The librarian sniffed, her sharp gaze sweeping over the gathered students. "It would be irresponsible not to oversee this expansion, Miss Lovelace." But there was something else in her tone—a glimmer of something like approval.
Gwenog Jones grinned. "So, it's settled. We're going to take The Wixen Chronicles from a school newspaper to something real."
The atmosphere in the study room shifted. What had started as a project of passion was now turning into something bigger than any of them had anticipated. And for the first time, they weren't just students running a paper—they were young entrepreneurs stepping into uncharted territory.
Even as the meeting ended and they went their separate ways for the night, Artemis could feel a thrill of excitement mixed with the familiar weight of responsibility.
This was no longer just about outmaneuvering Lockhart or proving a point.
This was about building something lasting.
Something that could change the wizarding world.
And Artemis Lovelace had every intention of seeing it through.
The spring air was crisp as the Hogwarts Express pulled away from the station, carrying students home for the Easter break. While many excitedly chattered about their holiday plans, a particular group of second and third-years sat in a compartment, their conversation entirely focused on business.
"This feels… momentous," Henry Bell said, stretching his legs.
Artemis Lovelace, staring out of the window as rolling hills blurred past, hummed in agreement. "It is momentous. But that's why we need to handle it properly. If we rush, we could ruin everything."
Rosaline Dawson flipped through her latest edition of The Daily Prophet with a scoff. "We can't afford to go slow either. If the Prophet catches wind of this and sees us as a threat, they'll do everything in their power to bury us before we even make it out of Hogwarts."
Eliza Dawson stretched her arms behind her head. "Let them try. We have Aunt Aurelia on our side, and now we have Henry's mum, who, might I add, is a terrifyingly good lawyer."
Henry rolled his eyes. "She's not terrifying."
Eliza smirked. "You're just used to it."
The group laughed, and the tension of impending business discussions lifted slightly. The plan was set—tonight, they'd rest at their respective homes, and tomorrow, they would gather at Lovelace Manor, where Aunt Aurelia would be waiting for them, along with Madam Pince and Henry's mother, Elizabeth Bell.
The moment Artemis arrived at Lovelace Manor, stepping out of the grand Floo fireplace, she knew this meeting would be different from any they'd had before.
The afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of Lovelace Manor, catching in the carved edges of ancient wood paneling and the silver trim of the tea set resting on a side table. Artemis Lovelace stood in the front hall, her hands clasped behind her back, projecting the calm confidence of a hostess — though her fingers twitched with the anticipation of what was to come.
The sharp crack of the Floo sounded from the receiving parlor, and the first of her friends stumbled through, coughing slightly at the swirl of green smoke. Rosaline Dawson, followed closely by her sister Eliza and Henry Bell, stepped into the grand room, brushing soot from their sleeves with the casual ease of those who had been visiting Lovelace Manor for years.
Fenny, the ever-diligent Lovelace house-elf, appeared at once, balancing an enormous tray piled high with shortbread biscuits and a steaming teapot nearly as large as her head. "Miss Artemis' friends are most welcome!" she chirped, her ears flapping excitedly.
"Fenny, you spoil us," Henry said, grinning as he plucked a biscuit from the tray.
"We'd never get service like this at home," Eliza added, already making herself comfortable in one of the high-backed chairs.
"Welcome to the center of operations," Artemis said with a wry smile. "No luggage necessary — just your brilliant minds and your thirst for world domination."
"That, we have," Rosaline said, though her expression was a touch more serious. "Are they here yet?"
Artemis shook her head. "Soon."
The crackling of the Floo answered her, and a heartbeat later, Madam Pince stepped into the room, her severe black robes somehow even more imposing against the light, floral wallpaper. She took in the assembled students with the same stern, assessing gaze she used on anyone daring to mishandle a library book, though there was no mistaking the glint of something more — not quite approval, but perhaps, investment.
"Miss Lovelace," Pince greeted, her voice clipped but formal. "And… entrepreneurs."
Artemis had spent enough time around her to recognize the subtle shift in tone. That was practically high praise coming from the Hogwarts librarian, who had not only guarded their secret but had held back a tidal wave of faculty suspicion, confiscated nosy first-years' notes, and quietly corrected any slip-ups that might reveal the paper's origins.
"Madam Pince," Artemis said, giving her the courtesy she had long since earned. "Thank you for coming."
"I am merely here to ensure your ambitions do not run ahead of your capabilities," Pince replied, though her eyes softened, just a touch.
That, too, was the librarian's way of saying: I see what you've built, and I care what happens to it.
Before anyone could respond, Lady Aurelia Lovelace stepped into the room with effortless grace. Dressed in sleek navy robes with silver fastenings at her throat, she radiated both authority and the faint, knowing amusement of someone who had long since accepted the fact that her niece and her friends were destined to cause trouble — the clever kind, the dangerous kind, the world-changing kind.
Her gaze swept over the assembled students before settling on Artemis. "I hope you haven't gathered everyone here for another harebrained scheme involving a secret passage, a levitation charm, and a teacup full of doxy eggs."
"No doxy eggs this time," Artemis said brightly. "Just the future of wizarding journalism."
Aurelia's brow arched, but the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth was unmistakable. "Well, that's even more dangerous."
Then, the Floo flared for a final time, and Elizabeth Bell stepped into the room with the calm precision of someone who was not just accustomed to high-stakes negotiations — she thrived on them. Her emerald green robes were crisp and tailored, her dark hair swept back in a no-nonsense twist, and the sleek leather folder under her arm might as well have been a weapon.
"Ah," Aurelia said, her smile widening into something warmer. "And here comes the cavalry."
Elizabeth's gaze swept the room, and for a moment, her sharp features softened when she saw Henry. It was a look that only came from years of watching her son grow up alongside Artemis and the Dawsons, their summers filled with chaotic sleepovers, secret forts, and whispered plans for the future. She had always known these children would either revolutionize wizarding society or be its downfall — possibly both.
"Lady Lovelace," Elizabeth said, inclining her head in that polished, professional way that still carried a note of familiar affection.
"Elizabeth," Aurelia returned, her voice smoothing into the same blend of formality and warmth. "It's been a while since we had both of our clans in the same room. I trust your son has been thoroughly keeping you informed?"
Henry, bright red, mumbled, "Mum, I just—"
Elizabeth patted his shoulder fondly, the touch light but full of history — the same hand that had helped him practice his first levitation charm, that had tucked him into bed after playdates at the manor, that had reassured him when ambitions felt too big for his small hands.
"My son," Elizabeth said smoothly, "has been insistent that I listen to this particular business venture."
Aurelia's smile turned knowing. "He's persistent. He gets that from you."
Elizabeth settled into the chair beside Aurelia, setting her leather folder between them with a quiet, ominous thud. "Now," she said, her professional mask sliding into place. "Let's talk business."
For a moment, the room held the weight of something far larger than the Wixen Chronicles themselves — it held the weight of legacy. Not just for Artemis and Henry, but for their parents. Elizabeth and Aurelia had once stood at similar crossroads, though their ambitions had been shaped by a different war, a different world. And now, they were watching their children step onto the same path — but this time, with the power of information in their hands.
Aurelia glanced sidelong at Elizabeth, and her smile deepened into something almost conspiratorial. "You remember when we caught them sneaking into the east wing with a bag full of fireworks and a book on experimental charms?"
"I seem to recall we were very understanding," Elizabeth said innocently.
"We bribed them with cake," Aurelia corrected. "And then warded the entire east wing."
Elizabeth's laugh was brief but genuine, before she composed herself. "Now they've moved from fireworks to publishing." Her gaze turned sharper, though no less proud. "That's an escalation."
"More dangerous than fireworks, if we do this right," Aurelia agreed softly.
Madam Pince cleared her throat sharply — the subtle reminder that the future of Hogwarts' only independent newspaper was in her hands too.
"Let's be clear," Pince said, her voice cutting through the room's warmth. "I have spent the last year ensuring that no curious student, overzealous professor, or meddling ghost uncovered the source of that paper. If we expand, my ability to protect you shrinks."
"And we appreciate everything you've done," Artemis said earnestly. "The Wixen Chronicles wouldn't exist without you."
Pince merely inclined her head, her thin mouth twitching at the praise — though she said nothing more.
Aurelia settled back, fingers steepled. "Then let's not waste any more time."
Elizabeth opened her folder with a precise flick, parchment rustling like a whisper of fate. "Let's build something that lasts."
And just like that, a school project became a legacy.
Artemis straightened, her fingers laced tightly in front of her as she faced the assembled adults — her aunt Aurelia, Madam Pince, and Elizabeth Bell, the sharp-eyed solicitor whose reputation in wizarding legal circles was the kind that caused even Ministry officials to reconsider their decisions.
"We need to expand," Artemis began. "The demand is already there — students are sending our papers to their families, and we've even received interest from people outside the school. If we start printing extra copies for external distribution, we could create the first independent newspaper Hogwarts has ever seen."
Aurelia arched a perfectly sculpted brow. "And how do you plan to do that?"
Before Artemis could answer, Eliza Dawson leaned forward, her elbows resting on the polished table. "That's where you come in. Right now, The Wixen Chronicles only operates within Hogwarts walls. If we want to expand, we need legal ownership, a larger budget, and a way to print enough copies to reach beyond the castle."
Elizabeth Bell, who had been silent so far, flipped open her sleek leather folder with the crisp efficiency of someone who spent her life dissecting contracts. "And we need to do it in a way that won't have the Daily Prophet or the Ministry breathing down our necks."
Aurelia leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers, her expression unreadable. "So, you want me to bankroll this little revolution."
"Not alone," Henry Bell said quickly, voice breaking the slightest bit under the weight of his mother's and Aurelia's combined scrutiny.
Elizabeth laid a parchment onto the table with a soft but deliberate sound. "If we work together, we can create a proper distribution network. You already own The Wixen Chronicles as its legal entity, but that ownership is informal, protected under Hogwarts' umbrella. If we want to go public, we need to register it as a formal publishing entity with the Wizarding Press Authority, apply for a Guild License, and preemptively defend against legal challenges from established papers."
Aurelia's brow lifted. "The Prophet won't take kindly to competition. Especially from a group of children."
"We're not children," Rosaline Dawson said, quietly but firmly. "We're publishers."
That earned her a flicker of something from Aurelia — not quite approval, but respect for the nerve.
Aurelia's gaze slid back to Elizabeth. "You're a lawyer, aren't you?"
"A very good one," Elizabeth replied, her smile thin but confident. "I specialize in magical publishing law, intellectual property, and regulatory compliance. I've fought off the Prophet's legal team before. I can do it again."
Artemis bit her lip to suppress a smile. This was already going better than she'd dared hope.
Aurelia's fingers drummed softly against the table. "Alright. If we do this, I'll fund the expansion — equipment, owl contracts, licensing fees, and enough cushion for a year of proper operations." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "But we need to establish a secondary office outside of Hogwarts. The school protects you now, but once you step beyond its walls, you'll need infrastructure and somewhere safe to work."
"We already discussed that," Eliza said, quick to reassure. "It would need to be somewhere secure — discreet, but accessible for contributors."
Elizabeth tapped her quill against the parchment. "I can handle the legal formation, set up protections on the office, and handle contributor contracts. We'll start with a few trusted external correspondents. You'll still be the core team."
Aurelia studied Elizabeth for a long moment — two formidable women, opposite in style but identical in their quiet power.
"Partners?" Elizabeth offered, her hand extended.
Aurelia's mouth curved into a smile — sharp, almost predatory, but touched with real humor. "Partners." They shook hands, and the deal was sealed.
Madam Pince cleared her throat, and all eyes turned to her. "If we are truly moving forward with this… expansion," she said in her usual clipped tone, "I will require an official contract of employment."
Artemis blinked. "Employment?"
Pince's expression was unreadable, though her hands were neatly folded over her lap. "I have provided cover, ensured your secrecy, and intercepted no fewer than fourteen curious inquiries from both students and staff this year alone. If I am to continue in this capacity — as advisor, editor, and shield — I expect to be formally recognized."
Aurelia inclined her head. "That's only fair." Her gaze sharpened slightly. "You've done more than I realized."
Pince's thin smile did not reach her eyes. "I have done more than they realize."
There was a beat of silence as the students exchanged awkward glances, half-guilty at how much work they had unknowingly left in Pince's hands.
"You'll be compensated," Aurelia promised. "Formally hired as Editorial Oversight and Faculty Liaison. You'll also have the power to veto anything you deem too dangerous to print."
Pince's lips pressed into a line, but she nodded once. "Then I accept."
Elizabeth leaned back, folding her hands. "Before we finalize anything, there's something you all need to understand — especially you children."
The students stiffened slightly, bracing for a lecture.
"This is not a game," Elizabeth continued, her voice cool and precise. "The Prophet has been the unofficial mouthpiece of the Ministry for decades. It's not just a newspaper — it's a tool. A tool for controlling public opinion, feeding approved narratives, and burying inconvenient truths."
"The Prophet isn't just a rival," Aurelia added. "It's a cornerstone of power in Britain. What you're proposing — an independent paper, built outside their control — is a threat. Not just to their revenue, but to their influence."
"You could become heroes," Elizabeth said softly. "Or targets."
The room chilled slightly, the weight of the words sinking in.
"And if the Ministry takes an interest?" Eliza asked, her bravado dimmed slightly.
"They already will," Aurelia said. "But there's a difference between curiosity and fear. The moment you publish anything that undermines their authority, that line gets crossed."
Henry swallowed. "And then?"
"And then," Elizabeth said, "you'll learn that the Ministry does not fight fair."
Rosaline flipped open her notebook. "So we need layers between us and the paper."
Elizabeth nodded. "Exactly. The paper itself will be owned by a newly formed company, which will be independent from Hogwarts but held in trust under Aurelia's name until you all come of age."
"Contributors will be anonymous when necessary," Madam Pince added. "Pseudonyms will protect your identities."
"And we need trusted adults outside Hogwarts to act as public faces," Elizabeth finished. "If anyone asks, this will be a small start-up venture supported by alumni. Nothing more."
"We'll also need informants," Rosaline said, glancing at Eliza. "People inside the Ministry, Gringotts, the major departments."
"I can get us a few names through family channels," Eliza said. "Vivian and other family's, too."
"I can handle the legal part of that," Elizabeth offered. "We'll draft contributor agreements that keep their names out of public records."
The room shifted again, the conversation no longer just a group of ambitious students dreaming aloud — it was a structured negotiation, one step shy of an actual war council.
"We're not just running a paper anymore," Artemis said softly. "We're building the first independent press in modern wizarding Britain."
"And if you do it right," Aurelia said, "you'll be more than journalists."
Elizabeth's voice was quiet but firm. "You'll be the first real counterbalance to Ministry control this country has seen in fifty years."
There was a long pause before Aurelia raised her glass of elf-wine.
"To The Wixen Chronicles," she said, "and to the reckless, brilliant minds who started it."
The students raised their goblets of butterbeer and pumpkin juice in unison, but the adults' toast carried a far older weight.
Because they knew — this wasn't just a school project anymore.
This was a spark.
And in the right hands, it could set the whole wizarding world aflame.