# Later That Night – The Leaky Cauldron
The Leaky Cauldron's upper floors creaked like they'd been built before gravity was properly invented, but the rooms were surprisingly cozy in that way that only centuries-old magical establishments could manage. Four-poster beds with emerald hangings adjusted their mattresses to the exact level of comfort their occupants didn't know they desperately needed, while the diamond-paned windows showed impossible views of magical London that definitely weren't visible from ordinary Charing Cross Road. Floating candles bobbed gently near the ceiling, providing just enough golden light to read by without being intrusive, and the oak-paneled walls seemed to pulse with centuries of accumulated magic and whispered conversations.
Not that anyone was sleeping.
Because through the thin walls of four adjoining rooms on the third floor, five not-quite-first-years were loudly engaged in the kind of cross-room shouting conversation that only kids experiencing their first night in a magical inn could justify. The kind of conversation that would've gotten them in serious trouble at home, but here felt like the most natural thing in the world—like the ancient building itself was encouraging their excitement.
The kind of conversation that was about to wake up a certain famous wizard next door.
---
"Okay, but *seriously*," MJ's voice carried through the wall with that rich, passionate intensity that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her chest—the voice of someone who believed art could change the world and wasn't afraid to say so. She was curled cross-legged on her four-poster bed, copper-red curls catching the candlelight like spun fire, green eyes bright with the kind of artistic inspiration that usually led to three-day creative binges. "I can't just keep calling her Luna. That's like... that's shop default. Generic magical cat name number seven in the handbook. She needs something *ours*. Something with actual *meaning*."
The silver-furred half-Kneazle sprawled across her lap lifted her head at the sound of her temporary name, amber eyes gleaming with what could only be described as polite offense.
"See? She agrees," MJ said, scratching behind the elegant creature's ears. "You're too special for Luna, aren't you, beautiful girl?"
From the next room over, Peter's voice carried with that familiar nervous energy that made him sound like he was perpetually three seconds away from either a breakthrough or a breakdown: "Meaning like... symbolic meaning with historical precedent, or like... inside-joke meaning that'll be funny in five years, or like... cool-sounding superhero alias meaning that sounds good when you're introducing her to people? Because honestly, I'm good with any of those options. Well, maybe not the inside-joke one because we all just met like a week ago, but—"
"*Yes*," MJ shot back immediately, cutting off his rambling spiral with the kind of fond exasperation that suggested she was already getting used to Peter Parker Logic.
"That's not an answer, MJ!" Peter protested, and they could practically hear him gesturing wildly with both hands, probably pacing around his room in those too-big pajamas that made him look even younger than his eleven years. "You can't just say yes to multiple choice questions! That's not how logic works! That's not how *anything* works! There are scientific principles involved here!"
"Logic is overrated, Parker," MJ called back, grinning as she continued stroking the purring half-Kneazle. "Sometimes you just have to feel your way through it. Let the art speak to you."
"Art doesn't *speak*, MJ, that's the whole point of it being art instead of—"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence with 'instead of science,'" MJ warned, though she was still smiling.
Ned's voice boomed from Peter's room, carrying that natural confidence that made him sound like he was born to be either a radio DJ or a game show host: "Okay, okay, timeout. She's a cat, right? Silver fur, magical, very elegant? Can't you just name her 'Cat' like in that musical? You know, the one my mom's obsessed with? Simple, elegant, gets the job done efficiently. Plus it's super easy to remember when you're panicking because she's stuck in a tree or hanging from a chandelier or whatever cats do."
There was a pause that felt exactly like the calm before a very sarcastic storm.
Then Gwen's deadpan voice drifted from MJ's other side, dripping with the kind of bone-dry wit that could cut through steel: "Please never name anything again, Ned. Ever. Like, we should probably take away your naming privileges as a group decision and maybe issue you a permit system."
"*Hey!*" Ned protested, his voice jumping a full octave in indignation. "It's a classic! It's simple! It's iconic! Very practical for emergency situations! And it worked for the musical, didn't it? Cats was a huge success!"
"The musical was about *humans* pretending to be cats, Ned," Gwen replied with the patience of someone explaining basic addition to a particularly slow toddler. "Broadway performers in costumes. Not actual magical cats with actual magical abilities. There's a rather significant difference."
"Details, details," Ned waved off, though they couldn't see him doing it.
"Important details," Gwen muttered.
"The *most* important details," came a new voice—smooth as silk and twice as confident.
Felicia's voice floated across the narrow hallway from her room, carrying that self-assured quality that made her sound like she'd stepped out of a fashion magazine and decided to grace them all with her presence: "You're all overthinking this entire situation. Naming isn't science—no offense, Peter—it's not logic—no offense, Gwen—and it's definitely not musical theater references—*major* offense, Ned. It's art. Pure instinct. You just *know* when the right name hits you. Like fate calling your name across a crowded room. Like destiny knocking on your door. *Boom*."
She punctuated this with what sounded like a dramatic finger snap.
"Not everyone can live their entire life like they're starring in a walking fashion magazine, Felicia," Gwen shot back, appearing suddenly in MJ's doorway with her leather-bound notebook already in hand and approximately six different colored pens tucked behind her ear. Her tawny owl perched primly on her shoulder, amber eyes scanning the room like she was already gathering evidence for a case that hadn't been assigned yet.
Gwen looked exactly like someone who'd been taking detailed notes on the entire conversation—which, knowing Gwen, she probably had been.
"I don't live like I'm in a fashion magazine," Felicia said, slipping gracefully into the room with her sleek black Matagot draped around her neck like the world's most expensive and elegant scarf. Her platinum-blonde hair caught the candlelight in a way that definitely wasn't fair to the rest of them, and she moved with the kind of unconscious poise that suggested she'd been born knowing exactly how to make an entrance. "I live like destiny is personally invested in my success. There's a significant difference."
"Same difference," Gwen muttered, but her owl bobbed its head in solemn agreement, which somehow made the entire exchange even funnier.
"Your owl agrees with me," Felicia pointed out smugly, settling onto the edge of MJ's bed with fluid grace.
"My owl has questionable judgment in matters of fashion," Gwen replied without missing a beat, though there was no real heat in it.
The owl hooted once, indignantly.
"See? Questionable," Gwen repeated.
---
Peter emerged from his room mid-argument, clutching his snowy owl carefully on one arm like he was worried she'd fly away if he loosened his grip even slightly. His brown hair was doing that impossible thing where it stuck up in twelve different directions despite his obvious attempts to flatten it, and his striped pajamas were already wrinkled beyond recognition despite having put them on exactly ten minutes ago.
"Okay, so if we approach this scientifically," he began, then paused as everyone turned to stare at him. "What? Why is everyone looking at me like that?"
"*Here we go*," MJ groaned theatrically, but the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth completely ruined the effect.
Peter's face scrunched up in confusion. "What do you mean, 'here we go'? I haven't even said anything yet! I was just going to suggest that if we combine systematic analysis with instinctual input patterns, we could achieve the optimal outcome through collaborative problem-solving. Basically... teamwork. But with scientific methodology. Scientific teamwork. Which is objectively the best kind of teamwork because it has data."
Everyone stared at him in that special way reserved for moments when Peter said something that was simultaneously brilliant and completely ridiculous.
The silence stretched for exactly three seconds.
"Peter," MJ said gently, clearly trying very hard not to laugh, "you're suggesting we invent the scientific method... for pet names."
"Yes!" Peter replied with the kind of absolute, unwavering sincerity that could power a small city and probably solve world hunger. "Why is that weird? Everything's better with science! Science makes everything more efficient! More accurate! More... more *scientific*!"
"Because it's a *name*, not a hypothesis that needs peer review," Gwen said, though she was already pulling out a fresh notebook page and uncapping one of her pens. "Though... I mean, systematic analysis isn't the *worst* idea you've ever had."
"See!" Peter said triumphantly, pointing at Gwen with his free hand. "Gwen gets it! Gwen understands the value of methodical approaches!"
"I didn't say I *agreed* with you," Gwen clarified quickly, already writing something in her neat handwriting. "I just said it wasn't the worst idea. There's a statistically significant difference."
The other four answered in perfect unison: "Sure there is, Gwen."
Peter scowled for exactly two seconds—the kind of scowl that was meant to be intimidating but just made him look like an indignant puppy—then broke into that ridiculous, completely genuine grin that made him look about five years old and innocent of every crime ever committed.
"You guys are absolutely the worst," he declared cheerfully.
"We really, truly are," Felicia agreed with sparkling eyes.
"The actual worst," Ned confirmed from the doorway, where he'd appeared holding his purple Pygmy Puff like it was a particularly important scientific specimen. "But we're *your* worst."
"Aw," MJ said, pressing a hand to her heart. "That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me."
---
MJ looked down at the silver-furred half-Kneazle sprawled contentedly across her lap, who was purring like she'd just solved world peace and decided to celebrate by vibrating at a frequency that could probably power the entire inn. The sound was almost hypnotic, filling the room with warmth and contentment.
"What do you think, beautiful girl?" MJ asked softly, running her fingers through the impossibly soft fur. "Want to help us out here? Any preferences? Veto power? Artistic input? Professional opinion?"
The cat cracked one amber eye open—the color of liquid sunshine, absolutely stunning in the candlelight—regarded MJ with the kind of unblinking feline judgment that suggested she was evaluating not just her soul but her entire life's choices, and purred even louder.
"She says she likes being called 'beautiful girl,'" Ned observed seriously, holding up his Pygmy Puff like it was part of an important council vote. The little purple creature was currently doing what appeared to be synchronized swimming through the air, though there was definitely no water involved and probably no logic either. "He here agrees with her assessment. Don't you, buddy?"
The Pygmy Puff did an impressive barrel roll, complete with what might have been a tiny bow at the end.
"See? Democratic process in action," Ned said proudly. "Very official. Very legitimate."
"That's not how democracy works, Ned," Gwen started, but Felicia cut her off with an elegant wave of her hand.
"Of course she likes being called 'beautiful girl,'" Felicia said, smirking as her Matagot stretched luxuriously around her shoulders like living jewelry. "Look at her. She's absolutely gorgeous. Like starlight caught in silver fur. Like moonbeams made solid and given the power of purring."
"*Starlight*," MJ repeated, and her entire face lit up with the kind of artistic inspiration that usually led to her disappearing into her room for three days straight with nothing but art supplies and pure creative energy. "*That's*... wow. That's actually really, really good, Felicia."
"I have my moments of brilliance," Felicia said, preening just a little bit.
"Rare moments," Gwen muttered, but she was already writing it down.
"I heard that, Detective Stacy."
"You were meant to."
"Stella!" Gwen offered immediately, her pen already moving across the notebook in neat, precise letters. "Latin for star. Classical etymology. Elegant. Literary precedent going back centuries. Plus it sounds appropriately dignified when you're calling her for dinner or attempting to coax her out of whatever trouble she's inevitably gotten herself into."
"Ooh, or Celeste!" Peter added, practically bouncing on his toes with excitement. His owl ruffled her feathers in what might have been approval. "From celestial—meaning heavenly, star-related, cosmic in origin. It's got scientific accuracy *and* poetic beauty! Best of both worlds! Perfect synthesis of art and science!"
"Argent," Felicia suggested with a casual wave of her hand that somehow managed to look like a royal decree. "Means silver in French. Rolls off the tongue like silk. Very chic. Very sophisticated. Very... *her*."
She gestured elegantly at the silver-furred half-Kneazle, who seemed to pose slightly at the attention, lifting her chin with obvious pride.
MJ tried each name aloud, watching her Kneazle's ears twitch and turn like a live polygraph test. The cat seemed politely interested in Stella, moderately pleased with Starlight, but when MJ said "*Celeste*" in that soft, wondering voice she used when she'd found exactly the right shade of paint, the purring kicked up to what could only be described as turbo mode.
"*Celeste*," MJ whispered, smiling like she'd just painted the Sistine Chapel and the Mona Lisa simultaneously. "Yeah. That's... that's absolutely the one, isn't it, beautiful girl?"
The newly-christened Celeste stretched elegantly, yawned to show tiny pink fangs, and settled more firmly into MJ's lap with an air of supreme satisfaction and royal approval.
"Celeste it is," Peter confirmed with scientific certainty, because proper methodology had been followed and the results were conclusive. "Welcome to the team, Celeste."
"I still think Starlight was appropriately poetic," Felicia muttered, but she was smiling as she said it.
"You can call her that as a nickname," MJ offered generously. "Starlight can be her... stage name."
"Deal," Felicia said immediately.
Celeste purred her approval of this arrangement.
---
"Alright, my turn!" Ned announced, lifting his Pygmy Puff like he was presenting Simba to the Pride Lands and the entire Circle of Life was watching. The little purple creature immediately began what could only be described as an interpretive dance routine that defied several laws of physics. "This guy's whole deal is... organized chaos. But *funny* chaos. The kind that makes people laugh instead of cry. He just... makes everyone smile. Like, constantly. I don't think he's stopped moving since I got him at Magical Menagerie, and that was six hours ago."
As if to prove his point, Felix launched into what appeared to be a tap dance routine across Ned's palms, complete with what might have been jazz hands.
"Then call him Jim Carrey," MJ deadpanned from her bed, not looking up from where she was scratching behind Celeste's ears.
"*NO!*" Ned yelped, clutching Felix protectively to his chest like MJ had just suggested naming him Voldemort. The Pygmy Puff seemed equally horrified and began vibrating in what was clearly protest. "He deserves something *noble*! Something with dignity and gravitas! Something that captures his artistic soul and creative spirit!"
"His artistic soul?" Gwen raised a perfectly skeptical eyebrow, looking up from her notes. "Ned, he's basically a furry ping-pong ball with ADHD and delusions of grandeur."
"A *talented* furry ping-pong ball with ADHD and delusions of grandeur," Ned corrected with complete seriousness. "There's an important difference. He's got *style*."
"Style," Gwen repeated flatly.
"Major style," Ned confirmed. "Watch this. Felix, show them your signature move."
Felix immediately launched into what appeared to be a combination of break-dancing and figure skating, ending with a dramatic pause that lasted exactly two seconds before he started the whole routine over again.
"...Okay, that's actually kind of impressive," Peter admitted.
"Right?" Ned beamed. "He's an artist!"
"Felix," Felicia said suddenly, snapping her fingers with dramatic flair. "Latin origin, means happy and lucky and fortunate. Perfect balance of cute and dignified. Plus it sounds like the kind of name that belongs to someone who makes people smile just by existing."
The Pygmy Puff—Felix—launched into an Olympic-level cartwheel sequence across Ned's hands, ending with what could generously be called a bow and enthusiastic jazz hands.
"Yeah," Ned said, wide-eyed and slightly breathless with amazement. "That's... that's a definite yes. Major yes. Felix it is, buddy!"
Felix did three more cartwheels in rapid succession, apparently in celebration, then settled into a dignified pose that lasted approximately four seconds before he started doing loops around Ned's wrist.
"I think he likes it," Peter observed, grinning widely.
"Either that or he's having some kind of sugar rush from pure excitement," Gwen muttered, but she was writing the name down anyway with what might have been a small smile.
"Sugar rush from joy," Ned corrected proudly. "The best kind."
---
Peter carefully set his snowy owl on a makeshift perch he'd constructed out of lamp parts, textbooks, and what appeared to be pure determination and engineering instinct. She settled with the kind of dignity that suggested she was already planning her next strategic move and possibly judging everyone else's life choices.
"She's... brilliant," Peter said seriously, looking at his owl with obvious pride and maybe a little awe. "Like, ridiculously smart. Scary smart. But in a good way, not a 'plotting to take over the world' way. The kind of smart that sees everything, remembers it forever, and probably knows things I haven't even figured out yet."
"*Minerva*," Gwen said before he could even finish the sentence, looking up from her notes with absolute certainty. "Roman goddess of wisdom and strategic warfare. Also Professor McGonagall's first name. Perfect for an owl who clearly thinks she's already graduated from Hogwarts with honors and is just waiting for everyone else to catch up."
Peter's entire face lit up like she'd just handed him the answer key to life, the universe, and everything. "Minerva. That's... yes. That's absolutely, completely perfect. Right, girl?"
Minerva—because she was clearly Minerva now and had probably been Minerva all along—ruffled her pristine white feathers and looked supremely smug, which made Ned whisper conspiratorially:
"Yeah, she definitely knows she's a goddess now. Look at that attitude. She's going to be impossible to live with."
"She was already impossible to live with," Peter said proudly. "Now she just has a name that matches her personality. Don't you, Minerva?"
Minerva hooted once, regally, and settled into her perch like it was a throne that had been specifically constructed for her royal comfort.
"She's going to be absolutely insufferable now," Gwen observed, but she sounded fond rather than annoyed.
"She was already insufferable," Peter replied cheerfully. "Now she's just insufferable with *classical education* and *mythological precedent*."
Minerva preened, clearly pleased with this assessment.
"I like her," Felicia declared. "She's got style."
"She's got everything," Peter agreed.
---
Gwen turned to her own owl, who had been watching the entire proceedings like she was taking detailed notes for a very important case file that would later be used to solve several major crimes. The bird's sharp amber eyes missed absolutely nothing, tracking every movement, every gesture, every word with the intensity of a detective gathering evidence.
"She's... observant," Gwen said thoughtfully, reaching up to scratch gently behind the tawny owl's head. "Always thinking. Always two steps ahead of everyone else. Detective energy. The kind of mind that solves puzzles other people don't even know exist yet."
"Sherlock," Ned offered helpfully, Felix doing supportive backflips in his palm.
"Female bird, Ned," MJ pointed out patiently.
"...Lady Sherlock?" Ned tried again, hopefully.
Everyone groaned in perfect unison.
"Please stop," Gwen said. "For the sake of literature everywhere, please stop."
"What about something from the actual stories?" MJ leaned back against her pillows, Celeste purring contentedly on her lap. "Like... what about Irene? As in Irene Adler—the one person Sherlock Holmes couldn't beat. The woman who was always one step ahead of the world's greatest detective."
Gwen's eyes lit up like Christmas morning, New Year's Eve, and her birthday all happening simultaneously. "*Irene Adler*. Yes. Strategic. Brilliant. Always underestimated by everyone until it's far too late." She looked at her owl fondly. "What do you think, girl? Ready to be the smartest bird in the entire castle?"
Her owl tilted her head thoughtfully, considering the proposition with obvious seriousness, then hooted once in what could only be described as dignified acceptance of her new identity and possibly the responsibilities that came with it.
"Irene it is," Gwen said, looking proud and just a little bit smug. "Welcome to the detective business, partner."
Irene preened elegantly, clearly pleased with her new identity and career prospects.
"Great, now we have *two* insufferable genius birds," Felicia observed with amusement.
"The best kind of insufferable," Peter and Gwen said simultaneously, then looked at each other in surprise.
"Jinx!" they both said at exactly the same time.
"Double jinx!" Peter added quickly.
"That's not how jinxes work, Peter," Gwen protested.
"You guys are all completely weird," MJ said fondly, but she was smiling as she said it.
"The best kind of weird," Felicia agreed.
---
That left Felicia, who had been gracefully scratching behind her Matagot's ears while the sleek black creature purred like it owned not just the room, not just the inn, but possibly the entire street and maybe all of magical London. The sound was rich and deep and almost hypnotic, like liquid contentment made audible.
"She's... elegance incarnate," Felicia said thoughtfully, her voice taking on that dreamy, philosophical quality it got when she was really considering something important. "But also... fortune. Good luck. She makes things work out the way they're supposed to. She's not just random luck, though. She's... mystery. She's the secret that makes everything else make sense. The missing piece that completes the puzzle."
"Fortuna?" Gwen suggested immediately, pen poised over her notebook. "Roman goddess of fortune and luck."
"Serendipity?" Ned threw in enthusiastically, Felix doing encouraging backflips in his palm. "Happy accidents that turn out perfect?"
The Matagot opened one crystal-blue eye and gave them both a look that clearly translated to: *Try harder, peasants. I have significantly higher standards than this.*
"She's got high expectations," Peter observed with a grin.
"As she absolutely should," Felicia said proudly. "She's extraordinary."
"What about..." MJ paused, studying the elegant black cat with artistic intensity. "Mystique. Mysterious. Elegant. Powerful. Like she knows all the secrets of the universe and isn't telling you because you haven't earned them yet."
The Matagot's purring immediately increased in volume and intensity, and she curved more tightly around Felicia's shoulders like she was settling into a crown made of shadows and starlight and pure satisfaction.
"*Mystique*," Felicia breathed, grinning like she'd just won the lottery and been crowned queen of the world simultaneously. "Obviously. How did I not see that immediately? It's perfect."
"Because you were overthinking it," MJ said smugly. "Sometimes the obvious answer is obvious because it's absolutely, completely right."
"Wise words from the girl who almost named her cat Luna," Gwen teased, not looking up from where she was writing 'Mystique' in her notebook.
"Hey, Luna was a placeholder!" MJ protested with wounded dignity. "I was waiting for proper artistic inspiration!"
"Sure you were," everyone chorused in perfect unison.
"I hate all of you," MJ declared.
"No, you don't," Felicia said serenely.
"No, I don't," MJ agreed immediately.
---
By the time all the names were officially settled—Celeste, Felix, Minerva, Irene, and Mystique—the entire group was practically buzzing with pride and excitement and the kind of satisfaction that came from a job very well done. The magical companions seemed equally pleased with the results, each settling into their new identities with varying degrees of dignity, showmanship, and obvious approval.
"That," Peter declared with the kind of deep satisfaction usually reserved for successful scientific experiments and perfectly solved equations, "is a legendary lineup. Like, historically legendary. Future generations are going to write epic songs about this exact team."
"*The most magical lineup in history*," MJ corrected dramatically, holding up Celeste like she was presenting the crown jewels to assembled royalty. "This is the kind of group that changes the world. This is destiny."
"Definitely cooler than any Quidditch team that's ever existed," Ned added with complete seriousness, Felix doing victory laps around his wrist in celebration. "I mean, Quidditch teams just play sports and win cups. We've got *style*. We've got *class*. We've got *substance*."
"We've got absolutely everything," Felicia agreed, Mystique draped around her shoulders like the most expensive and elegant jewelry ever created. "Brains, beauty, talent, perfect naming instincts, and probably the best committee in magical history."
"The dream team," Gwen said with satisfaction, closing her notebook with a decisive snap.
And then—
From the other side of the wall came a voice that was trying very hard to sound casual and failing completely. It was young and amused and just a little bit smug, with the kind of confidence that suggested its owner was used to being the smartest person in any given room:
"Finally. Took you long enough."
"*HARRY?!*" they all shouted in absolutely perfect unison, loud enough to make the floating candles flicker and probably wake up half the inn.
There was a beat of complete silence that stretched exactly long enough to be dramatic.
Then Harry Potter—nine years old, perpetually tousled black hair, emerald eyes that seemed to see everything, and sounding far too pleased with himself for someone who was supposed to be sleeping—said with carefully practiced innocence that fooled absolutely no one:
"I was *trying* to sleep, obviously. But you were yelling about star names and goddesses and Jim Carrey and scientific naming committees and democratic processes. So obviously I had to supervise the situation. Someone had to make sure you didn't completely mess it up."
"You were eavesdropping!" Peter accused, though he was grinning widely as he said it.
"Eavesdropping implies I wasn't invited to participate," Harry replied with the kind of flawless logic that would make a lawyer weep with pride. "I was just... quality control. Making sure you didn't embarrass yourselves. Very important work. Someone has to do it."
"For how long?" Gwen demanded, though she sounded more amused than actually annoyed.
"Since about 'shop default,'" Harry admitted cheerfully, and they could practically hear the grin in his voice. "MJ's got an excellent point about generic names, by the way. Very artistic observation. Very insightful."
"I like this kid already," MJ declared with approval.
"*Don't call me kid*," Harry shot back with wounded nine-year-old dignity that was probably supposed to be intimidating. "*I'm nine*. That's practically double digits. That's basically adult."
Which made everyone crack up so hard that Felix started doing celebratory somersaults, Minerva hooted in what sounded suspiciously like actual laughter, and even Mystique opened both crystal-blue eyes to watch the chaos with apparent amusement and possible approval.
"Sorry, sorry," Felicia managed between giggles. "You're very mature for your age, Harry."
"Thank you," Harry said with prim satisfaction. "I try very hard to be sophisticated."
"It shows," Gwen assured him solemnly.
"So?" Gwen called toward the wall a moment later, still smiling. "Professional opinion from our expert consultant? Did we do okay?"
There was a pause, and when Harry spoke again, his voice had gone soft and warm and somehow wise beyond his years:
"They're perfect. All of them. Celeste, Felix, Minerva, Irene, Mystique. That's not just a team, that's... that's family. You guys are going to do amazing things together. I can tell. I can see it."
There was something in his tone—ancient and knowing, like he'd seen things they couldn't imagine and knew secrets that hadn't been told yet—that made them all exchange meaningful glances in the golden candlelight.
"Thanks, Harry," MJ said softly, and something in her voice suggested she understood that this was more than just a compliment. "That... means a lot. Really."
"You're very welcome," he replied, and they could hear the genuine smile in his voice. "Now get some sleep, all of you. Tomorrow's going to be brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."
As if summoned by his words, yawns began rippling through the group like a contagious spell. Felix curled up in Ned's palm, purring softly. Celeste stretched elegantly across MJ's lap with a contented sigh. Minerva tucked her proud head under her pristine wing. Irene settled into watchful rest, one eye still slightly open. Mystique draped herself more comfortably around Felicia's shoulders like a living shawl made of shadows and starlight.
"He's absolutely right," Peter said around a yawn, carefully settling Minerva on her perch. "Tomorrow's going to be incredible."
"The official start of everything," Gwen agreed, closing her notebook with deep satisfaction.
"The beginning of the legend," Felicia added with dramatic flair.
"*Our* legend," MJ corrected, and somehow, in the flickering golden candlelight with their newly-named companions settling into peaceful sleep around them, it felt like the truest thing any of them had ever said.
Through the wall, they could hear Harry settling back into his bed with obvious contentment, and for a moment, the ancient inn was blissfully peaceful.
Then Ned's voice piped up one last time, soft but clearly audible:
"So... Jim Carrey was really *that* bad an idea?"
"*NED*," four voices shouted in perfect, exasperated unison.
"*Go to sleep, all of you*," came Harry's amused voice through the wall, fond and patient and maybe just a little bit magical. "*Now*."
And finally, thankfully, gratefully, they did.
But not before MJ whispered, just loud enough for everyone to hear: "Best first day ever."
"Best friends ever," Peter added sleepily.
"Best names ever," Gwen murmured.
"Best everything ever," Felicia agreed.
"Best family ever," Ned concluded with satisfaction.
And through the wall, so quietly they almost missed it, came Harry's voice one final time: "Yeah. It really is."
---
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