HOLLA! I know I did say that I was going to start the next fanfic after Christmas and I feel bad that that didn't happen but I had huge exams after then and beforehand so I couldn't until now.

This is the story that used to be known as What Happens When Another 6 Come Flying By!

So I have just posted the first chapter and here is a little sneak peak!

The rain hammered down on the cobblestones as the skies opened to release the much needed water on the British countryside. It had been the hottest summer on record, with temperatures rising to nearly 30C. For once it was perhaps a better thing to do to stay in the United Kingdom than go abroad where, at some points; it was colder than the country they stayed in the rest of the year. Those who easily remembered the summer of 1995 would often draw comparisons with the summer of 2018.

But that was all over. It was mid-August and someone had finally taken pity and decided to stop torturing the small island that had such a big impact on the rest of the world. People welcomed the downpour with adulation and the wish that the hosepipe ban would be lifted, was finally perhaps a shimmering light in the distance.

It was 11pm at night and only a few lights could be seen in the street that ran in the middle of the quaint Scottish village of Lower Hampton just outside of Glasgow. The houses had withstood two world wars, an industrial revolution and a Civil War and they were only now starting to look a little worse for wear. The residents were mainly pensioners, senior citizens, the odd student passed through but the lazy and relaxed pace at which the village lived at, soon made people restless.

Most of the occupants of Lower Hampton were not aware of any unusual activity that occurred. They did not seem to notice anything different about the one family that lived in the village; they were regarded as quiet and polite. Sure the mother was rarely there and the whole family was never in the summer, but the twin boys were the darlings of the village. All the old ladies fussed over them and always spoke to each other of how nice Lorcan and Lysander Scamander were. But tonight was different. The new moon that night meant there was very little light that shone in the street where the cloaked figure glided. It could not be said in any form of the world that the figure had walked. The black cloak that encased its form was flowing and barely rustled in the gentle breeze that swept along the street with the rain. The water that seemed to hammer at and bounce off every cobblestones, every piece of the outside world that it hit, did not penetrate the figure. It was as if the figure was not there, transparent. The material of its cloak could not be any man-made or natural fibre. It was something most definitely beyond that. Something that most likely, no Muggle scientist would be able to explain.

What do you think? Go check out the rest of the chapter!