The next Meeting happened a few days later with the full WIX team present.
The sitting room of Lovelace Manor had become an impromptu war room, papers and ink bottles scattered across the polished mahogany table. The crackling fireplace cast long, flickering shadows against the grand bookcases, and the air was thick with the scent of parchment, tea, and ink. The meeting had started with excitement, but as plans solidified, it became clear that this was no longer just a fun school project—it was a full-fledged business venture.
Aurelia Lovelace, perched elegantly in her chair with a glass of elf-wine, tapped her fingers against the armrest. "Let's break this down properly. If this is going to work, we need an airtight strategy in every department. No more running it like a student club. This is a real business now."
Henry Bell, who had spent the last few weeks studying magical duplication charms and business practices, straightened in his chair. "First problem: we don't have enough printing capacity. Right now, we're barely producing enough copies for the student body, and if we want to meet external demand, we need industrial-level duplication."
Aurelia nodded, tapping her chin. "I can acquire a proper printing press for the external operation. Hogwarts can't house a full-scale production facility, but Lovelace cottage,Artemis' previous home at Sheffield, can serve as a temporary print hub."
Madam Pince adjusted her spectacles. "Within Hogwarts, however, we'll need something manageable that doesn't draw too much attention. A second printing press in the unused wing we've been assigned should suffice."
Fenny, standing dutifully near the fireplace, gave an eager nod. "Fenny will make sure all prints outside Hogwarts are delivered properly! Owl routes will be arranged!"
"Excellent," Artemis said, making a note. "We'll need an enchanted tracking system for subscriptions. No mix-ups in order."
Henry added, "And we need to think about stockpiling raw materials—parchment, ink, Twine. If we don't secure a steady supply, we could hit delays."
"I can make a few discreet bulk purchases through contacts at Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop," Aurelia said smoothly. "That should keep you well-stocked for the next six months."
Elizabeth Bell, ever the sharp legal mind, opened her folder and laid out a series of documents. "If we're expanding into external distribution, we need to ensure The Daily Prophet—or the Ministry—can't shut us down."
Rosaline Dawson frowned. "Can they do that? I mean, technically, we're not breaking any laws, right?"
Elizabeth's lips quirked. "Technically. But The Daily Prophet has deep ties to the Ministry, and they won't like competition—especially from a student-run paper. We'll need publishing permits, a legal business structure, and contracts in place to protect our editorial rights."
Aurelia glanced at the documents. "You're proposing we register The Wixen Chronicles as an independent publishing entity under Wizarding Business Law?"
"Exactly," Elizabeth confirmed. "With you as the official owner, since the WIX are still minors. This ensures the Prophet can't cry foul about 'unregulated' journalism. It also means we can negotiate official distribution channels without relying on Hogwarts connections."
Eliza Dawson smirked. "That means if they come for us, they're coming for Lady Lovelace herself."
Aurelia's smirk matched her niece's. "And that would be a very bad idea for them."
Magnus Kane, their resident numbers expert, leaned forward. "Alright, let's talk about sustainability. Right now, we rely on Artemis' aunt for funding, but we can't depend on that forever. If we're expanding, we need a solid revenue model."
"We've been charging students one sickle for four copies, which is a steal," Henry added. "We could increase pricing slightly for external subscribers without losing interest."
Eliza flipped through her notes. "We could offer a premium subscription tier—exclusive content, deeper investigative pieces, world news section and extended Quidditch analysis. People love exclusive content."
Elizabeth Bell nodded. "I'll draft subscription agreements that clearly outline the benefits of each tier. We can also add advertising opportunities."
Artemis looked thoughtful. "Advertisements?"
Elizabeth shrugged. "Businesses pay to have their services mentioned. Flourish & Blotts, Quality Quidditch Supplies—if they see how widely The Wixen Chronicles is being read, they'll want in."
Gwenog Jones grinned. "We should charge The Daily Prophet double if they ever try to place an ad."
The group burst into laughter.
Magnus Kane, ever the strategist, tapped the table. "We need to talk about secrecy. Right now, the student body thinks Madam Pince is running everything. That works in our favor. The moment they realize it's us, everything changes."
Vivian Delacroix nodded. "If the Prophet or Ministry finds out, they'll start digging. If Lockhart finds out, he'll whine about us 'stealing' his idea."
Artemis sighed. "Which is ironic, considering how much he steals from others."
Aurelia leaned forward. "Then the best course of action is to keep it that way. Madam Pince remains the official editor-in-chief, and the WIX continue to operate under the guise of 'student volunteers.'"
Madam Pince sniffed. "I suppose I can maintain the illusion for now. As long as it remains organized."
Artemis smirked. "Oh, it will be."
"I think we need to broaden our reach," Iris Lawrence said. "Investigative journalism, deeper political analysis—maybe even an international section."
Vivian perked up. "I could tap into my family's connections in Beauxbatons. Maybe we can collaborate with foreign wizarding schools and compare how different magical communities function."
"That would be brilliant," Magnus said. "We could build The Wixen Chronicles into something even bigger—a paper that covers the whole wizarding world."
Gwenog crossed her arms. "And we definitely need an expanded Quidditch section. More in-depth player stats, strategies, behind-the-scenes coverage."
Eliza added, "And a dueling column! Students love the unofficial dueling circuit."
Artemis smiled. "We'll need to make some hires for investigative work. If we start looking for talented younger students now, we'll have a solid foundation by the time we leave Hogwarts."
Rosaline jotted down a note. "We can start scouting during the next few weeks."
As the discussion wrapped up, Aurelia took a sip of her tea and surveyed the eager faces before her. "One last thing," she said smoothly. "If I'm investing in this, I expect professionalism. That means official editor positions, accountability, and financial tracking."
Artemis smirked. "You're saying we need to run this like a real newspaper."
"That's exactly what I'm saying," Aurelia confirmed. "You're playing in the big leagues now. You have investors. You have customers. You will get paid. No more flying by the seat of your robes."
Elizabeth Bell added, "That also means Proper salary, deadlines, budget reports, and business meetings."
Henry paled slightly. "Business meetings?"
Rosaline grinned. "You love numbers. You'll be fine."
Artemis leaned back, the weight of responsibility pressing against her shoulders—but it wasn't unwelcome. She had always loved challenges. "Then we'll just have to prove we're up for it."
Aurelia lifted her teacup. "To The Wixen Chronicles—soon to be Britain's best independent newspaper."
Everyone raised their glasses, their voices joining in unison.
"To The Wixen Chronicles."
And with that, the next chapter of The WIX's ambitious journey had begun.
The corridors of Hogwarts hummed with the energy of summer's approach. The oppressive weight of war had begun to lift, and with it came the emergence of something resembling normalcy. Students no longer flinched at loud noises, no longer whispered about missing families quite as often, no longer glanced at the sky searching for the Dark Mark. The wounds of war remained, but life had a stubborn way of moving forward.
For The WIX, however, life had been anything but ordinary.
The Wixen Chronicles had become an institution in its own right. What had begun as a stolen idea had turned into a true, professional publication. No longer was it a mere school newspaper—it was a full-fledged media outlet with a growing readership beyond Hogwarts. With its headquarters officially established in Hogsmeade, professional adult journalists now worked alongside the student-led editorial board, ensuring that content was not only accurate but also met journalistic standards.
More importantly, the paper had done what no other publication had—it had bridged the generational gap between students and the larger wizarding world. Parents subscribed, young adults sought out its analysis, and its investigative reports were cited in conversations among Ministry officials. The first signs of a legitimate rival to the Daily Prophet were forming.
And yet, amid all this success, it was still exam season.
The Great Hall was filled with the scent of summer fruits and fresh pastries, the usual Hogwarts end-of-year feast in full swing. It had been a particularly good year for Ravenclaw, who had won the House Cup for the last three years, thanks to the academic prowess of its students—particularly the WIX.
"Highest scores across the board," Henry Bell announced with satisfaction, scanning the final exam results list that had been pinned up outside the hall. "Not just for Artemis, but for all of us."
Rosaline Dawson smirked, nudging her sister Eliza. "I told you studying with us would pay off."
Eliza rolled her eyes but grinned. "Fine, fine. Maybe WIX study sessions are more than just an excuse to eat biscuits and brainstorm newspaper headlines."
Sol Moonfall snorted. "More like an excuse for Artemis to assign us work we never signed up for."
Artemis raised an eyebrow. "And yet, here we are. Highest grades in our year. Coincidence? I think not."
Vivian Delacroix raised her goblet in a toast. "To academic dominance, journalistic success, and ensuring Lockhart remains eternally irrelevant."
A round of laughter spread through the group as Gwenog Jones added, "Speaking of which, he's been trying to get into the paper all year, hasn't he?"
"Oh, he has," Iris Lawrence confirmed with a smirk. "But since we've made it policy to never print his name, he remains 'a certain Ravenclaw upperclassman.'"
Henry chuckled. "At this point, I think he suspects something."
"Well, he can keep suspecting," Artemis said, taking a bite of treacle tart. "We have bigger things to think about."
Three days after the Hogwarts Express had pulled into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, the WIX were back together—not in the dusty study room at Hogwarts or the comfortable chaos of the Lovelace Manor sitting room, but somewhere entirely new.
The building, once a long-abandoned storefront on the quieter end of Hogsmeade, had been transformed. Fresh paint covered the weathered walls, and a gleaming new sign hung over the door: The Wixen Chronicles Headquarters. Inside, the air thrummed with purpose.
The scent of fresh parchment and enchanted ink mingled with the faint aroma of tea and pastries—because, of course, someone (probably Fenny) had already set up a snack station. Enchanted typewriters clacked furiously, self-writing quills bobbed up and down as they scribbled notes on floating scraps of parchment, and a rack of pristine, color-coded filing cabinets stood proudly along the back wall, already groaning under the weight of half-organized story drafts.
A small network of perches had been set up near the ceiling, where a few sleepy delivery owls dozed, waiting for their next assignment. On one wall, a massive chalkboard displayed the Weekly Editorial Plan, divided into sections like Investigations, Campus Reports, International, Quidditch, and Opinions, each section scrawled in increasingly chaotic handwriting as the WIX fought for space.
It looked like someone had tried to color-code it. It had failed.
"Alright, before we get to the serious stuff, let me give you the grand tour," Artemis announced, leading her friends through the maze of desks, storage closets, and workspaces.
They had barely taken five steps before a loud BANG echoed through the room, followed by the shrill screech of a rogue typewriter. The ancient machine was clattering across the floor, wildly spitting out parchment with incoherent sentences like "Mysterious Hogwarts Banana Cult Exposed—Exclusive!"
"WHO gave it caffeine?" Artemis groaned, lunging for the runaway typewriter. "Sol! I know this was you."
"Not entirely!" Sol protested, though his grin betrayed all guilt. "I only gave it a minor 'Productivity Boost' charm. How was I supposed to know it had unresolved trauma?"
"Someone grab it before it types us into bankruptcy," Rosaline said, expertly sidestepping as the machine nearly took off her ankle.
Henry, already halfway under a desk, managed to pin the thing down. "Got it! Sort of—no, wait—ACK!"
The typewriter shot out one last piece of parchment, right into Eliza's face. "'Ten Ways to Charm Your Professor Into Giving You Extra Credit,'" she read aloud, deadpan. "I hope this isn't our investigative piece."
"Call it… early brainstorming," Sol said with a wink.
Artemis rubbed her temples. "If this thing ends up sentient, we're feeding it to the Whomping Willow."
They made it to the next room, where a small, round-faced woman was carefully unpacking a crate of enchanted quills.
"This is Edwina Fleetwood," Elizabeth Bell introduced, following close behind them. "She's our new Office Manager and makes sure this place doesn't descend into total chaos."
"Hello, dears!" Edwina beamed, her silver spectacles slipping down her nose. "It's so exciting working with such young visionaries. And don't worry—if any of you need extra ink, tea, or a soothing charm after dealing with typewriters, just call me!"
"She's a Hufflepuff," Elizabeth added, as though that explained everything.
"House loyalty guaranteed," Edwina said brightly.
"We need more of that," Artemis said, eyeing Sol meaningfully.
The tour ended in the corner office—the space that had been set aside specifically for the student editors when they weren't at Hogwarts. A large, polished desk sat in the middle, cluttered with parchment, prototype layouts, and three empty teacups that had apparently appeared out of nowhere. But what drew everyone's attention was the framed certificate hanging on the wall.
In elegant, official script, it read:
Certificate of Registration
The Wixen Chronicles
Authorized Independent Wizarding Publication
Under the Laws and Charters of the Wizarding Press Authority
Beneath that were the names of every founding member of WIX, written in their own handwriting—a magical clause Aurelia had insisted on.
The room went still.
It wasn't just a school project anymore. It wasn't just an elaborate prank on Lockhart. It was real. They were part of history now, the first truly independent student-to-professional publication in Wizarding Britain.
Artemis stepped closer, tracing her finger along her name, barely breathing. For a moment, all the late nights, all the frantic editing, all the arguments over fonts and headlines felt like they had led to this.
"We did this," she said softly. "We actually did this."
"And we're not even old enough to buy our own Firewhiskey," Gwenog added with a snort, breaking the silence.
The laughter eased the weight, but only a little.
They returned to the main floor, where Elizabeth Bell, now officially the CEO, stood before the assembled team—students, a few newly hired adults, and Madam Pince, who stood near the back, arms folded, expression as stern as ever.
"It's official," Elizabeth said, her voice clear and certain. "The Wixen Chronicles is no longer just a student paper. We are now the first truly independent wizarding newspaper in Britain."
The room erupted into cheers, with Fenny clapping so enthusiastically her tray nearly went flying.
Aurelia, lounging at the back with her usual air of detached amusement, raised her glass. "I knew you lot had ambition, but I didn't expect this much progress in half a year."
Henry leaned closer to Artemis. "This was your idea, you know."
Artemis folded her arms, unable to suppress the smile tugging at her mouth. "No, it was Lockhart's idea. We just did it better."
Madam Pince, now officially employed as Faculty Liaison and Hogwarts Bureau Chief, stepped forward. Her presence alone quieted the room.
"If we are to maintain this level of professionalism," she said, her voice sharp enough to cut through paper, "I expect discipline. No gossip masquerading as journalism. No fabricated stories. And above all—"
She glared directly at Sol, who tried his best to look innocent.
"—deadlines must be met."
The WIX exchanged amused glances, but under the humor lay real understanding. Without Madam Pince shielding them, keeping Hogwarts staff at bay, and quietly guiding them through their roughest editorial growing pains, they wouldn't have survived their first term.
They owed her far more than they could ever repay.
Later, after the speeches and the toasts, The WIX gathered in the private office space upstairs, leaning against the wide windowsill, watching the soft, golden sunlight bathe Hogsmeade.
"I can't believe how much has changed," Rosaline said, her voice quiet, awed.
"A year ago, we were just trying to pass our Transfiguration essays," Eliza added. "Now we've got a legal department."
Gwenog stretched. "I'm still going pro after Hogwarts. But I'll always have a hand in the sports section."
Sol was uncharacteristically thoughtful. "I want to focus on more investigative work. There's a lot people don't ask—especially about the Ministry."
Vivian sighed dramatically. "I just want my own fashion column. I have priorities."
Iris, quieter than the rest, stared out at the streets below. "We spent so much time moving forward, I don't know what normal's supposed to look like anymore."
Henry's voice was soft. "Same."
Artemis looked at them—her friends, her family. "Whatever comes next," she said firmly, "we face it together."
The sun slipped lower, bathing the office in gold and shadow.
The future wasn't certain.
It was theirs to write.