By the ti August 1st dawned, nearly every wizarding household in Sylas's territory had a Floo Network fireplace. Through it, they could travel directly to Diagon Alley in a flash of green fire.
Because of this convenience, the Portkey badges that accompanied the Hogwarts acceptance letters were of limited use to many families. So, unwilling to wait for the Portkey's activation or to brave the inevitable rush on August 1st, had already taken their children to Diagon Alley ahead of ti to buy wands, robes, and other supplies.
Still, there were others, families who loved the thrill of shared excitent, or who simply wished to experience the Portkey's magic firsthand, who patiently waited for the appointed hour.
For families like the Dúnedain and the elves, who lacked Floo-connected fireplaces, the Portkeys were their only option.
Among them was the Anlomir family of the Dúnedain in Riverhorse Valley. After receiving their Hogwarts letters, they decided to wait for the Portkey activation. Their chieftain, Aragorn, had promised to accompany them personally.
That morning, the Anlomirs rose before dawn. They packed lightly, checked their children's belongings twice, and laid out the silver Portkey badge on a table. Every few monts, their eyes drifted toward the door, waiting for Aragorn's arrival.
In Middle-earth, tikeeping had always been imprecise. People marked hours by sunlight, sandglasses, or dripping water, and "minutes" and "seconds" were hardly known. But the world had changed since the founding of the Ministry of Magic.
Under Lord Sylas's vision, the wizards of the Departnt of Mysteries began delving into ti magic. These researchers, known collectively as the Silent Ones, were a devoted and secretive order, magicians sworn by unbreakable oaths of loyalty to Sylas alone.
They were scholars who lived for discovery, shunning politics and luxury, their minds fixed on the very foundations of reality: death, ti, souls, prophecy, and the universe itself.
It was the Silent Ones who had been entrusted to study and preserve the legendary artifacts of wizardkind, the Deathly Hallows, Ravenclaw's Diadem, Hufflepuff's Cup, Gryffindor's Sword, and even the mysterious Philosopher's Stone. Sylas charged them not rely with understanding how these relics worked, but why, to uncover the hidden principles that bound magic and existence together.
And under Sylas's guidance, the Silent Ones thrived.
He had always believed that one person's wisdom was finite, but the collective insight of many minds could approach the infinite. This was why he had established the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to raise generation after generation of wizards, alchemists, and scholars who would carry the torch of discovery further than any one mage could.
As long as new minds continued to rise, the light of magic would never fade.
Returning to their research on ti, the Silent Ones made a breakthrough. They successfully rged enchantnts with chanism, creating the first magical clock capable of asuring hours, minutes, and seconds with perfect precision.
Soon after, an enormous grand clock was erected in the Ministry of Magic's central hall, its ticking enchanted to resonate across the territory. It served not only as a tikeeper but as a magical warning system, its chis able to alert the Ministry to spells gone awry or portals malfunctioning.
The innovation spread quickly. Magical clocks and pocket watches began appearing in Diagon Alley shops, accurate to the second and equipped with helpful enchantnts: soft tones to remind owners to eat, sharp buzzes to wake them, gentle chis to mark appointnts.
Even non-magical folk admired them, and soon chanical versions, crafted without magic, beca widespread. Elven and dwarven artisans, captivated by their elegance, created their own refined versions: intricate, jeweled, and everlasting.
To honor this new standard, all clocks across Middle-earth synchronized their ti with the Ministry's central clock.
Therefore, the entire Middle-earth adopted a unified ti.
Among those carrying a piece of this shared progress was Aragorn, who owned a silver pocket watch forged by elven hands. The craftsmanship was exquisite; its gears moved in harmony with subtle enchantnts of preservation. It never rusted, never faltered, and was said to be indestructible.
Aragorn glanced at his silver pocket watch. The delicate hands ticked toward ten o'clock, only a few minutes remained.
Turning to the Anlomir family, he said calmly, "It's almost ti. Everyone, get ready. Hold hands tightly and don't let go. Keep your eyes on the badge."
The Hogwarts Portkey badge, lying quietly on the table, shimred faintly with a blue hue as if sensing the approaching mont.
When the clock struck ten, the badge suddenly flared with bright blue light and began to tremble.
Aragorn's expression hardened. He grasped young Anlomir's hand with his left and called out, "Everyone, hold on tight! Don't let go, no matter what happens. We're leaving!"
The family obeyed instantly, tightening their grips until their knuckles whitened.
Then, Aragorn reached forward with his free hand and touched the vibrating silver badge.
At that exact instant, a powerful suction force burst forth. It yanked at his arm, and before anyone could react, the invisible pull seized all four of them by the gut, as though an unseen hook had lodged in their stomachs and was dragging them forward.
There was no ti to scream. The world twisted violently. Colors and light swirled together in a dizzying blur, and a roaring wind filled their ears. The four travelers were spinning, tumbling, and compressing through sothing like a rubber tunnel.
Then-thud!
They were thrown out the other side.
Anlomir and his parents collapsed onto the cobblestone floor, dazed and nauseous. Aragorn managed to stay on his feet, though his head swam from the disorienting transit.
"Ugh… that was horrible," he muttered, pressing a hand to his temple. "Is there truly no better way to travel than this cursed thing?"
He eyed the Portkey badge in his hand with visible distrust. It had done its job, yes, but the experience was brutal.
It took several long monts before the dizziness faded. When they finally recovered, they looked around, and their jaws dropped.
They had arrived at the far end of Diagon Alley.
The street stretched before them like a river of magic and light. The cobblestones glowed faintly beneath the afternoon sun, and every inch of the bustling street was alive with sound, color, and wonder.
Anlomir could hardly contain himself. His eyes sparkled as he spun in a slow circle, taking in everything:
Shops lined both sides of the street, their signs swinging gently in the warm breeze. One displayed shimring robes, another glittering telescopes and enchanted silverware. Behind polished glass, heaps of spellbooks and cauldrons were stacked high beside jars of potion ingredients, bat spleens, dried mandrake roots, and glistening eel eyes.
Everywhere they looked, magic shimred. Ribbons of colored light danced lazily through the air.
Owls soared overhead carrying packages in their talons. Young witches and wizards pressed eagerly against shop windows, staring at the latest flying broomsticks displayed on stands. Animated dolls outside the toy shops waved their little hands, calling out to custors with cheerful voices.
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