The thing about raising demigod children, James Potter was discovering, was that the parenting books' section on "Managing Your Toddler's Emerging Abilities" became significantly less helpful when those abilities included manipulating fundamental forces of reality before learning to tie their shoes.
Case in point: It was a Tuesday morning in March, and James had just walked into the living room to find his five-year-old son sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by what appeared to be every piece of gold jewelry in the house arranged in geometric patterns that definitely hadn't been there ten minutes ago.
"Harry," James said with the careful calm of someone who'd learned that panicking only made magical incidents worse, "did you bring all of Mummy's jewelry downstairs?"
Harry looked up from where he'd been studying a particularly elaborate necklace with the focused attention of a jeweler appraising a rare gemstone. His green eyes—still so much like Lily's—held that distant quality that James had learned meant he was perceiving things on levels that normal people couldn't access.
"Not bring," Harry corrected with the precise diction of a child who'd been learning both English and ancient Greek simultaneously and took language very seriously. "Called. Gold wanted to come."
"The gold... wanted to come," James repeated, testing whether this phrase made more sense when said out loud. It didn't.
"Yes," Harry confirmed matter-of-factly. "All gold in house. Some silver too, but silver not as interested. Gold always interested."
Shadow the Phoenix, perched on the back of the sofa as usual, created a gentle cascade of sparkles that fell around Harry like cosmic approval. The bird had been adjusting remarkably well to both Potter children's developing abilities, though it did seem to find Harry's new talent for summoning precious metals particularly entertaining.
"Harry," James began carefully, "when you say the gold 'wanted to come,' do you mean you could feel where it was in the house?"
"Feel everything metal," Harry explained, his small hands moving to arrange the jewelry into new patterns without actually touching the pieces. The gold responded to his gestures like it was being manipulated by invisible strings, flowing into spirals and geometric shapes that definitely didn't occur in nature. "But gold feels... warmer. Like it wants to be moved. Silver is colder, more stubborn. Copper is very chatty. Iron is grumpy."
"The metals have personalities," James said weakly, because apparently his morning routine now included learning that his son could perceive emotional resonance in various elements.
"Not personalities exactly," Harry corrected with the pedantic precision he'd inherited from his mother. "More like... tendencies. Gold tends to want to move, wants to be shaped. Iron tends to want to stay still, wants to be left alone. Is like when Shadow wants attention versus when Shadow wants quiet time."
Shadow trilled softly, apparently approving of this comparison.
From the doorway, Lily appeared holding three-year-old Rose, who was making happy baby noises and reaching toward something that definitely wasn't there. Or rather, something that was there but invisible to everyone except Rose, if the way she was tracking movement through empty air was any indication.
"James," Lily said with the patient tone of someone who'd also had an interesting morning, "I think Rose is seeing things again."
"Seeing things or Making Things Appear?" James asked, because there was an important distinction between enhanced perception and active reality manipulation, especially when the child in question was three years old and had inherited more divine essence than her older brother.
"The second one," Lily confirmed, settling into the armchair with Rose still reaching enthusiastically toward invisible phenomena. "We were upstairs getting dressed, and she kept giggling at something I couldn't see. Then she said 'puppy' very clearly—which is concerning because we don't have a puppy—and pointed at empty air. When I looked where she was pointing with my magical senses active, I could perceive some kind of illusion trying to form."
"Puppy!" Rose announced proudly, as if to confirm her mother's assessment. "Big puppy! Fluffy puppy!"
"That's wonderful, sweetheart," Lily said with the kind of strained enthusiasm that came from praising accomplishments that were simultaneously impressive and deeply concerning. "But we need to talk about only making puppies that other people can see, remember? Otherwise Mummy and Daddy might trip over invisible puppies."
Rose's face scrunched up in concentration, and suddenly there was a shimmer in the air where she'd been pointing. For just a moment, James could see the outline of what appeared to be a very large, very fluffy dog that looked like someone had asked a three-year-old to design the perfect pet and then rendered it in translucent magical energy.
Then the illusion dissipated like smoke, and Rose looked extremely disappointed.
"Puppy went away," she observed sadly.
"Puppies are hard," Lily assured her. "You're doing very well for your first time making things appear. Most people can't do that at all, let alone at age three."
Harry had abandoned his jewelry arrangement and was now watching his sister with the kind of intense interest that suggested he was analyzing her technique for future reference. "Rose doing Mist work?" he asked James.
"Looks like it," James confirmed, settling onto the floor beside his son's metallic mandala. "Though I'm not sure 'Mist work' is the proper term. That's usually for Greek demigods who can manipulate what mortals perceive. Rose seems to be creating actual illusions that have some substance."
"Hades say Mist is about making people see what you want them to see," Harry pointed out with the careful citation of someone who'd been taking his divine grandfather's lessons very seriously. "Rose making puppy she want people to see. Is same thing, just more."
"That's actually remarkably insightful," James admitted, impressed by his five-year-old's logical analysis. "Rose's ability is like an enhanced version of standard Mist manipulation—instead of just changing perception, she's creating semi-real constructs that have actual magical substance."
From her perch, Rose made a frustrated sound and waved her chubby hands at the empty air where her puppy had been. This time, instead of a shimmer, there was a small burst of silver light and suddenly there was a tiny kitten where the large dog had been moments before.
The kitten was considerably more solid-looking than the puppy had been, though it still had that translucent quality that suggested it existed partially in multiple dimensions simultaneously. It looked around with the solemn attention of a cat conducting very important observations, then began grooming itself with the dedication of something that either didn't know it was an illusion or had decided that illusions deserved proper hygiene.
"Well," Lily said after a moment of watching the semi-real kitten clean its ears, "at least she adjusted scale appropriately. A translucent three-foot-tall puppy would have been considerably more alarming than a six-inch kitten."
"Kitty!" Rose announced with obvious delight, clapping her hands together. The kitten responded by looking up at her with what appeared to be genuine affection, despite being a magical construct created by a toddler who still needed help getting dressed in the morning.
Shadow had left its perch to investigate this new addition to the household, hopping down to study the illusion-kitten with the careful attention of a cosmic being evaluating whether this construct was friend, foe, or entertainment. After a moment of mutual observation, Shadow created a small sparkle of light, and the kitten batted at it with transparent paws.
"They're playing together," James observed with the bemused tone of someone whose life had ventured so far past normal that he'd stopped being surprised by anything. "The cosmic phoenix and the illusion kitten are playing together in our living room."
"Add it to the list of 'things we probably shouldn't tell other parents about,'" Lily suggested dryly. "Right below 'our son can summon all the gold in the house with his mind' and above 'we're consulting with Greek gods about proper demigod education.'"
Harry had returned his attention to the jewelry, though now he was doing something different with it. Instead of arranging the pieces in patterns, he was... changing them. The gold flowed like liquid under his concentration, reshaping itself from necklaces and bracelets into simple geometric forms—spheres, cubes, pyramids—that rotated slowly in mid-air while he studied them with scientific interest.
"Harry," James said carefully, "are you aware that you're transmuting Mummy's jewelry into geometric solids?"
"Not transmuting," Harry corrected without looking away from his floating shapes. "Just reshaping. Still same gold, just different shape. Can put back if Mummy wants."
"That would be appreciated," Lily said with remarkable composure considering her wedding jewelry was currently part of a three-dimensional geometry demonstration. "Though I'm more concerned about where this ability came from. Hades didn't mention anything about gold manipulation during his last training session."
"Is shadow work," Harry explained, finally looking up from his floating sculptures. "Gold is heavy, makes shadows inside itself. Can feel the shadows, can move them, gold moves too."
James exchanged a glance with Lily that contained approximately seventeen layers of parental communication, all of which basically translated to "our five-year-old just developed a completely unexpected ability by creatively interpreting his training in shadow manipulation."
"That's brilliant," James said honestly, because it genuinely was. "But we're going to need to talk to Hades about this, because I'm pretty sure 'manipulating precious metals through shadow work' isn't standard umbrakinesis."
"Shadow work plus gold sensitivity," Harry clarified helpfully. "Can feel where gold is, can feel shadows in gold, can move shadows so gold moves. Is logic."
"It's extremely creative logic," Lily agreed. "Though we're going to need to establish some ground rules about summoning jewelry without asking first."
"And creating solid illusions," James added, looking at where Rose was now attempting to make the kitten bigger, with results that suggested her control was still developing. The kitten had grown to roughly the size of a small dog and was looking distinctly concerned about its sudden size increase.
The doorbell rang with the melodic chime they'd installed specifically because normal doorbells kept getting confused by the ambient magical energy in the house and playing random snippets of music instead of proper door-announcing sounds.
"That'll be Hades," Lily said, checking the magical signature through the wards. "I contacted him this morning when Rose started making invisible puppies. He said he'd come by to observe."
James moved to answer the door while Lily stayed with both children, who were now apparently collaborating on some kind of joint project that involved Rose's illusion-kitten and Harry's floating gold sculptures. The kitten was batting at the geometric shapes while remaining mostly solid, which suggested Rose was getting better at maintaining her constructs.
Hades stood on their doorstep looking exactly as unruffled as always, dressed in his usual impeccable dark robes that seemed to be cut from expensive night itself. His eyes, however, carried the sharp focus of someone who'd been looking forward to observing interesting magical phenomena.
"James," he said with warm courtesy, stepping inside with the fluid grace of someone who moved through space like a suggestion rather than a requirement. "I understand the children have been demonstrating new abilities."
"That's putting it mildly," James replied, leading him toward the living room. "Harry's apparently figured out how to manipulate precious metals through some kind of hybrid shadow-work technique, and Rose is creating semi-solid illusions that can interact with physical objects."
Hades's expression shifted to genuine interest mixed with what might have been pride. "Both children are developing secondary abilities considerably earlier than expected. That's remarkable progress."
They entered the living room to find that the situation had evolved during James's brief absence. Harry's gold sculptures had been joined by what appeared to be actual coins that he'd presumably summoned from elsewhere in the house, and he was now arranging them in complex three-dimensional patterns that rotated with the kind of mathematical precision that suggested he was conducting advanced geometric research.
Meanwhile, Rose's illusion-kitten had been joined by what appeared to be a butterfly—still translucent but considerably more detailed than the kitten, with wings that actually seemed to catch the light as they moved. The butterfly was currently landing on Harry's nose, which he was tolerating with the patient resignation of an older brother who'd learned that little sisters' magical experiments occasionally required cooperation.
Shadow was supervising the entire operation from its perch, creating occasional sparkles that both the illusion-creatures seemed to find fascinating.
"Well," Hades said after a moment of observation, "that's certainly... comprehensive."
"Papa Hades!" Harry announced, temporarily abandoning his geometric research to greet their visitor. The gold coins immediately settled gently to the floor in neat stacks, apparently responding to his shift in attention. "Look! Can make gold move! And Rose make animals!"
"I can see that," Hades replied with warm approval, kneeling down to Harry's level. "You've discovered chrysokinesis—the ability to manipulate precious metals and gems. It's very rare, usually associated with children of Hephaestus or Plutus. You must have inherited it through my aspect as Plouton, god of wealth."
"Chryso-what?" Harry asked, trying to wrap his five-year-old pronunciation around the Greek term.
"Chrysokinesis," Hades repeated slowly. "It means 'gold movement' in ancient Greek. Though from what I'm seeing, your ability extends beyond just gold—you're able to sense and manipulate all precious metals through their connection to shadow and earth energy."
He turned his attention to Rose, who was making her butterfly perform loop-de-loops in the air while giggling with delight. "And young Rose has developed mistweaving considerably earlier than anticipated. Most demigods don't manifest that ability until at least age seven or eight."
"Papa!" Rose greeted him with the enthusiastic pronunciation of a three-year-old who'd been calling him that since she first learned to talk. "I make kitty and butterfly! They friends!"
"They're beautiful," Hades assured her. "Though I notice your constructs are considerably more solid than typical Mist work. You're not just changing perception—you're creating actual semi-corporeal entities."
"Semi-what?" Rose asked, having no better luck with Greek terminology than her brother.
"Partly real," Hades simplified. "Your animals are more than just pictures that fool the eye—they have actual substance, can interact with physical objects. That's much more advanced than standard Mist manipulation."
Lily had been watching this assessment with the sharp attention of a mother who needed to understand exactly what her children were capable of so she could help them develop safely. "Is this dangerous?" she asked directly. "Should we be concerned about either ability manifesting this early?"
"Not dangerous," Hades assured her, straightening from his crouch to address the adults properly. "Unusual, certainly. Remarkable, absolutely. But not inherently dangerous as long as we provide proper training and establish appropriate boundaries."
He moved to examine Harry's gold arrangements more closely, his divine senses analyzing the technique. "Harry's chrysokinesis is actually quite sophisticated for someone his age. He's not just summoning and moving metals—he's reshaping them, understanding their properties, working with their inherent characteristics rather than forcing them against their nature."
"Harry says the metals have personalities," James offered. "Gold wants to move, silver is stubborn, iron is grumpy."
"That's an excellent way to describe material resonance," Hades said with approval. "Different metals have different magical properties, different ways they interact with divine and mortal energy. Harry's perceiving those differences intuitively and adapting his technique accordingly."
He turned to observe Rose's creations, which had now multiplied—the butterfly had been joined by what appeared to be a small bird that was even more solid than the other constructs. The bird was singing, producing actual sound that definitely couldn't be explained by standard illusion work.
"Rose's mistweaving is operating on a fundamentally different level than typical Mist manipulation," Hades observed with the tone of someone conducting fascinating research. "She's not just changing what people perceive—she's temporarily bringing imagined things into partial existence. It's closer to creation magic than illusion work."
"Creation magic?" Lily repeated with the careful tone of someone cataloging information that would definitely be appearing in future training sessions.
"The ability to manifest concepts as temporary reality," Hades explained. "Most mistweaving tricks the observer's perception without changing actual reality. Rose is doing something considerably more complex—she's imagining something in sufficient detail that her divine essence gives it temporary substance. The constructs exist because she believes they should exist, and her power is strong enough to make reality accommodate that belief."
"For how long?" James asked practically. "The kitten and butterfly have been maintaining themselves for about ten minutes now. Is there a limit to how long these constructs can stay manifested?"
"That depends on Rose's concentration and power reserves," Hades said. "Currently, I'd estimate she can maintain one or two constructs for perhaps an hour before exhausting herself. As she grows older and her power develops, she'll be able to create more complex constructs, maintain them longer, and eventually even give them semi-permanent existence."
"Semi-permanent?" Lily's voice carried both fascination and concern.
"Constructs that can exist independently of constant attention, though they'd still require occasional reinforcement to prevent them from dissipating," Hades clarified. "Think of it like... magical automation. Rose creates something, gives it basic instructions or behaviors, and it can operate on its own until its power runs out or Rose dismisses it."
Harry had been listening to this explanation with the focused attention of someone filing away information for future application. "Can Harry make things too?" he asked hopefully. "With gold or shadows?"
"You can certainly shape and manipulate materials," Hades assured him. "But true creation requires a different type of power than what you currently have access to. What you're doing with metals is closer to advanced manipulation than actual creation—you're working with existing materials rather than manifesting new ones from nothing."
He paused, then added with the kind of careful honesty that James appreciated: "Though I should mention that chrysokinesis at your level could potentially extend to summoning precious metals from considerable distances, or even sensing deposits underground. That's essentially detection magic combined with material manipulation, and it could be extremely useful for various purposes."
"Like finding buried treasure?" Harry asked with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old who'd just discovered his superpower might have practical applications.
"Like finding buried treasure," Hades confirmed with amusement. "Though we'll need to establish very clear rules about when and how you use that ability, because randomly summoning gold from underground could cause some interesting geological complications."
"What kind of complications?" James asked with the wary tone of someone whose son's abilities had already required multiple property repairs.
"Well," Hades said with the diplomatic tone of someone about to describe potential disaster scenarios, "if Harry sensed a large gold deposit and tried to summon it without proper control, he could accidentally trigger earthquakes, collapse mines, or cause unexpected sinkholes as underground materials shift to accommodate the missing metal."
The silence that followed suggested everyone was imagining the kind of property damage that could result from enthusiastic five-year-old treasure hunting without proper supervision.
"New house rule," Lily announced firmly. "No summoning gold from underground without adult supervision and proper geological surveys first."
"Yes, Mummy," Harry agreed with the solemn acceptance of a child who'd learned that breaking house rules resulted in reduced magic practice time.
Rose, meanwhile, had apparently gotten bored with butterflies and birds and had moved on to attempting something more ambitious. She was making complicated hand gestures while staring very intently at empty air, and James could feel magic gathering around her with the kind of intensity that suggested something significantly larger than a kitten was about to manifest.
"Rose," Lily said carefully, "what are you trying to make, sweetheart?"
"Dragon," Rose announced with the confidence of someone who hadn't yet learned that some things were considerably more difficult than others. "Big dragon like in story books. With wings and fire."
"Perhaps we should start with smaller projects," Hades suggested quickly, moving to kneel beside Rose with the gentle authority of someone who'd seen what happened when powerful children attempted creations beyond their current control. "Dragons are very complex, with many moving parts and detailed features. Why don't we practice making simpler creatures first, and work up to dragons when you're older?"
Rose's face scrunched up in concentration, apparently having already committed to the dragon project. Magic continued gathering around her with concerning intensity, and James could see the air beginning to shimmer where she was focusing her attention.
"Rose," Hades said with more urgency, "I need you to stop what you're doing and release the energy slowly. Making something too big too fast can hurt you."
But three-year-olds weren't always great at stopping once they'd committed to an action, especially when that action involved proving they could do something impressive. Rose's concentration intensified, her small face set with determination, and the shimmer in the air began taking shape.
What manifested was definitely dragon-adjacent, though not quite what Rose had been attempting. It was roughly the size of a large cat, with wings that looked like they'd been designed by someone who'd seen pictures of birds and bats and decided to combine the most interesting features of both. Its body was translucent like Rose's other creations, but it moved with surprising grace, turning its head to regard its creator with what appeared to be genuine curiosity.
Then it opened its mouth and sneezed, producing a small puff of silver sparkles that drifted around the living room like very magical dust.
"Dragon!" Rose announced proudly, apparently considering this close enough to her original vision to count as success.
The dragon-construct made a sound that was somewhere between a purr and a chirp, then began investigating its surroundings with the cautious curiosity of a cat in a new environment. It sniffed at Harry's gold coins, batted gently at Shadow (who regarded it with what might have been amusement), and eventually settled on Lily's lap with the comfortable trust of something that recognized family.
"Well," James said after a moment of watching the translucent dragon make itself comfortable, "that's new."
"Rose's power is remarkable," Hades said, though his tone carried concern alongside admiration. "But we need to be very careful about how we develop it. Creation magic at this level, especially in someone so young, can be dangerous if not properly controlled."
"Dangerous how?" Lily asked, instinctively protective despite the dragon currently purring on her lap.
"Magical exhaustion is the immediate risk," Hades explained. "Creating something this complex requires enormous amounts of power. Rose is running on pure divine essence and natural talent right now, but if she attempts something even more ambitious without understanding her limits, she could drain herself completely and cause serious harm."
He moved to examine the dragon more closely, his divine senses analyzing its construction. "This is actually quite impressive work for someone her age—the construct has internal consistency, logical structure, even basic behavioral programming. But it's also taking a considerable toll on her power reserves."
As if to demonstrate this point, Rose had gone from enthusiastic creator to sleepy toddler in the span of about thirty seconds. She was leaning against Lily's side with the boneless exhaustion of someone who'd just expended more energy than they'd realized they had.
"I think someone needs a nap," Lily observed, though she was smiling at her daughter with obvious pride. "Making dragons is very hard work."
"Big dragon," Rose mumbled, already half-asleep. "Made big dragon."
"You made a beautiful dragon," Lily assured her, carefully gathering her drowsy daughter without disturbing the construct that was still purring on her other knee. "And when you wake up, we'll talk about practicing with smaller animals first, okay?"
Rose made a small sound of agreement, then fell completely asleep with the sudden transition that only young children seemed capable of achieving. The dragon-construct shimmered slightly, its outline becoming less defined as Rose's attention and power were directed toward rest rather than maintenance.
"Will it disappear when she's sleeping?" James asked, watching the construct with concern.
"Eventually," Hades confirmed. "Though the fact that it's maintained this long while she's unconscious suggests Rose's creations have more independence than typical Mist constructs. I'd estimate it has perhaps twenty minutes before it dissipates entirely."
Harry had abandoned his gold arrangements to study his sister's dragon with scientific interest, apparently analyzing her technique for future reference. Shadow had joined him, and both seemed to be conducting some kind of joint investigation of Rose's construction methods.
"Harry," Hades said gently, "I know you're curious about Rose's ability, but chrysokinesis and mistweaving are very different skills that require different types of power. You won't be able to create living constructs the way your sister does."
"But can make other things with gold," Harry said, not sounding particularly disappointed by this limitation. "Can make tools, weapons, art. Different useful."
"Exactly right," Hades agreed with approval. "Your ability to manipulate precious metals will be extremely valuable in ways that are different from but equally important as Rose's creation magic."
He turned to address James and Lily more seriously. "Both children will need intensive training now that these abilities have manifested. Harry's chrysokinesis requires understanding of material properties, geometric principles, and earth magic. Rose's mistweaving needs careful power management, creative visualization, and reality anchoring techniques."
"We're already doing weekly sessions," James said. "Should we increase the frequency?"
"I think that would be advisable," Hades confirmed. "Perhaps twice weekly, with different focus for each child. Harry can work on controlled manipulation and sensing techniques. Rose needs to learn proper power regulation and construct stability before we let her attempt anything more ambitious than small animals."
"No more dragons until she's older," Lily agreed firmly, looking down at her sleeping daughter with mixture of pride and concern. "Though I have to admit, the dragon she did create was remarkable."
As if responding to this praise, the dragon-construct raised its head and chirped softly before finally beginning to fade. Within moments, it had dissipated completely into silver sparkles that drifted down like snow before vanishing.
Shadow made a soft trilling sound that might have been approval or farewell or cosmic bird commentary on the nature of temporary existence. Then it returned to its usual perch on the sofa back, apparently satisfied that all excitement had concluded for the moment.
"I should prepare training materials for next week's sessions," Hades said, moving toward the door with the efficient grace of someone whose schedule was packed with divine responsibilities. "In the meantime, James, I'd recommend keeping track of when and how Harry uses his chrysokinesis. Patterns of use will help us understand his natural limits and identify areas where he needs additional guidance."
"And for Rose?" Lily asked, still holding her sleeping daughter.
"Rest, mostly," Hades replied. "She's going to need significant recovery time after that dragon creation. And when she wakes up, gentle reinforcement about starting with smaller projects and asking for supervision before attempting anything complex."
"So basically standard parenting advice," James observed with amusement. "Just with the addition of 'and don't try to create semi-real dragons without asking first.'"
"Essentially," Hades agreed with dry humor. "Though I suspect that's advice that most parents don't need to give their three-year-olds."
After Hades departed and Lily had taken Rose upstairs for her post-dragon-creation nap, James settled onto the floor beside Harry, who'd returned to his gold arrangements and was now creating what appeared to be a scale model of Hogwarts castle using coins he'd reshaped into tiny architectural elements.
"That's beautiful," James said honestly, watching his son work with focused concentration that belied his age.
"Is practice," Harry explained without looking up from his construction. "Hades say good to practice with small, detailed work. Makes control better for big, simple work later."
"Smart," James agreed. "And you're being very patient about Rose getting to create living things while you work with metals."
Harry paused in his castle-building to consider this observation. "Rose's magic different than Harry's magic," he said with the philosophical acceptance of someone who'd been taught to appreciate differences rather than resent them. "Rose make things that move and think. Harry make things that last and work. Both good. Both important. Just different."
"That's very mature of you," James said, feeling a surge of parental pride at his five-year-old's emotional intelligence.
"Is what Papa Hades teach," Harry replied. "Everyone have different skills. Different good at different things. Important to know what Harry good at, help Rose be good at Rose things, work together when need both kinds of magic."
James watched his son return to his meticulous castle-building, each tiny gold element placed with careful precision, and felt that particular combination of awe and responsibility that came with raising children who were simultaneously remarkably normal and completely extraordinary.
After all, most five-year-olds couldn't summon precious metals through shadow manipulation or build scale models of castles using telekinetically controlled coins.
But they could learn patience, appreciate differences, and take pride in their own unique abilities while celebrating their siblings' accomplishments.
And really, James reflected as he watched Harry add tiny golden turrets to his castle, those were probably the more important skills anyway.
Even when they were being learned by a boy who could sense gold deposits from three miles away and was currently making architectural elements float through willpower and shadow work.
Some families were just built differently.
And the Potter family was definitely at the far end of that spectrum.
But they were also, James thought as Harry added miniature golden windows to his creation, exactly what they needed to be—loving, supportive, and prepared to handle whatever cosmic complications their children's abilities brought to their lives.
Even when those complications involved translucent dragons, floating jewelry, and weekly training sessions with the Lord of the Dead.
It was, by Potter family standards, a perfectly normal Tuesday morning.
---
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