The flash of green was blinding. Hasel Potter, her wand clenched tight in her hand, clung to Hermione, the familiar stone of the Department of Mysteries dissolving beneath them. The taste of ozone burned her throat as they hurtled through a dizzying vortex. Finally, they landed with a sickening thud, not on the polished Ministry floors, but on rain-slick cobblestones.
Gasps echoed in the darkness around them. Hasel forced her eyes open, squinting against the dim flicker of a gaslight. Figures emerged from the shadows, cloaked in black robes, some with strange, gleaming blades hidden up their sleeves. A tall woman, her emerald eyes fierce, stepped forward, arms crossed.
"Who in the blazes are you?" she demanded, her accent sharp and distinctly Londoner.
"We...we don't know," stammered Hermione. "There was an accident, a portal...we're…" But before she could finish, the woman drew her blade, its cruel, serrated edge glinting ominously.
"Explain later, bleedin' die now," she growled.
Hasel's heart thundered in her chest. These weren't Death Eaters, but they were clearly a threat. Instinct kicked in, and she did what came naturally. With a silent flick of her wand, a shield of shimmering blue light sprang to life, deflecting the blade as it swiped towards them.
A ripple of shock ran through the gathered figures. The woman's eyes widened. "Magic? You're witches? Templars in disguise?"
Confusion washed over Hasel. "Templars? We're not... what's going on here?"
The woman lowered her blade slightly, suspicion still burning in her gaze. "This," she finally said, gesturing grandly with a sweep of her hand, "is a meeting of the Rooks, and you've just stumbled onto something you shouldn't have."
Hasel exchanged a worried glance with Hermione. "Rooks" meant nothing to them, but the tense atmosphere and the sight of those blades spoke a language they understood all too well. With a deep breath, Hasel straightened. "Our names are Hasel and Hermione Potter. We came here by accident. We just want to understand what's happening."
A murmur arose, a mix of hostility and curiosity. The woman scrutinized them, a silent interrogation in her eyes. Finally, she sheathed her weapon. "Fine," she conceded gruffly. "But if you're lying, you'll regret it. I'm Clara Thorne, leader of the Rooks. Explain yourselves."
Hasel took a shaky breath. "It's a long story," she began hesitantly, plunging into a tale of Hogwarts, wizards, and an inexplicable journey through time. Clara, the picture of stoicism, never flinched. Only her narrowed eyes gave away her inner turmoil.
When Hasel finished, a tense silence filled the air, broken only by the insistent patter of the rain. A tall man with a roguish grin broke the tension. "Witches you say? Fascinating! Imagine the uses for that kind of power in our fight."
"Fight?" Hermione echoed, her voice laced with unease.
"Against the Templars," Clara explained grimly. "Those who seek to control the world through artifacts they call Pieces of Eden."
A chill ran down Hasel's spine. It was a familiar tale, power-hungry villains and ancient relics. She glanced at Hermione, a silent promise passing between them.
"We want to help," she declared, surprising even herself with the conviction in her voice. "We know what it's like to fight for freedom, to fight against unchecked ambition. We stand with the Rooks."
A flicker of a smile played on Clara's lips. "Welcome to the fight, then, Miss Potters. Tonight, we show the Templars what the Rooks are truly made of."
With that, Hasel and Hermione found themselves thrust into a world far removed from the halls they had once called home. Their fight against a relentless evil had taken an unexpected turn, yet a defiant spark ignited within them. Perhaps, even in this strange new world, they could stand against darkness once more.