Sigils in Silence
The library was nearly empty when Samaira ducked inside. Morning mist still clung to the windowpanes, casting the rows of bookshelves in a gauzy hush. It wasn’t even half-seven yet, but her thoughts had buzzed her awake long before the bells. A restless mind was a dangerous companion.
She padded softly past dusty tomes and long-forgotten manuscripts, her fingers brushing leather spines as if they might speak to her. Something inside her itched—an unspoken instinct, like being pulled by invisible thread. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for until she found it.
A thick, dark volume sat askew on the shelf, as if recently disturbed. The title, Magical Echoes: Traces of Forgotten Lives, was etched in silver. She slid it free, feeling the weight of it settle into her palms.
When she opened it, a slip of parchment fluttered out—aged and delicate, marked with a curling sigil unlike any she’d ever seen. It was inked in iridescent threads that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Samaira froze. The symbol tugged at something deep in her, like a chord struck on a piano in another lifetime.
She didn’t remember seeing it before. And yet, she knew it.
“Already revising for exams?” a voice drawled from behind.
She turned to see Sirius Black leaning against the nearest shelf, arms crossed, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips—but his eyes were sharper than they should have been at this hour. He looked like he hadn't slept well either.
“Light reading,” Samaira said smoothly, sliding the parchment back into the book.
Sirius stepped closer, glancing at the title. “Bit niche for light reading.”
She tilted her head. “Says the bloke who probably dreams in Quidditch statistics.”
“Touché.” His smirk deepened, but his eyes flicked to her hands. “You always get up before sunrise to hunt down obscure magical theory?”
She didn’t answer immediately. He noticed that too.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she finally said.
Sirius didn’t press, but something about the silence that followed felt weighted. Then he shifted, casually nodding toward the sigil still peeking from the book’s edge. “What’s that symbol?”
“I don’t know,” Samaira lied.
He didn’t call her out—but he didn’t look away either. Instead, he gave her a slow, unreadable smile. “Funny. Looks like you do.”
Before she could respond, a voice called from the archway. “Oi, Black! Breakfast!”
It was James, of course, waving impatiently.
Sirius gave a mock bow and turned to leave. But as he did, he shot her one last glance over his shoulder.
“I’m good with secrets, you know,” he said casually. “I just don’t usually ask permission before figuring them out.”
And with that, he vanished between the stacks.
She blinked, breath catching as the sigil shimmered faintly—just for a heartbeat—then stilled like nothing had happened. She ran her fingers over the ink, half-expecting it to burn or vanish. But it remained there, cold and flat, like a whisper pressed to the page.
A note pulsed in her mind. Not a word—just the echo of something ancient, like the first hum of a forgotten melody.
Madam Pince’s footsteps echoed distantly. Samaira closed the book with care and stepped back to the front desk, her fingers still tingling. “I’d like to check this out,” she said.
The librarian gave her a long, thin-lipped look—clearly noting the restricted sigil in the corner—but Samaira handed her a permission parchment, already signed by Professor Whitmore. She left the library with the book tucked in her satchel and something strange flickering inside her chest. The feeling lingered for hours—like something had brushed past her soul, waking a thread of memory still tangled in shadow.
Later that evening, the Gryffindor common room buzzed with energy. The Marauders had returned victorious from a post-dinner prank involving enchanted chess pieces that shouted insults in bad French. Mary was recounting the chaos to a laughing crowd near the fireplace, while James was still beaming like he’d personally discovered a new spell.
Samaira sat on the rug beside Lily, her back against the sofa. She was holding a mug of cocoa and trying to ignore the way Sirius kept glancing at her from the other side of the room, where he and Remus were talking in low tones. Every time their eyes met, he’d look away—but never in embarrassment. It was more like… he was studying her.
“So,” Marlene said, plopping down beside Samaira, “tell us the truth—did you actually come from some secret high-level academy in India, or are you just naturally that good at Transfiguration?”
Samaira grinned over her cocoa. “Maybe I’m just very good at pretending.”
“Or lying,” Sirius said suddenly, cutting in with a teasing edge—but his eyes were sharp.
“Oi,” James elbowed him. “Down, Black. She's been here five minutes.”
Samaira tilted her head. “I don’t mind the question.” Her tone was even, but she met Sirius’s gaze directly. “Lying takes skill too, doesn’t it?”
Sirius smirked. “Depends on the lie.”
Their eyes held for a second too long, until Lily nudged Samaira and the tension broke in laughter. The others didn’t seem to notice, but Sirius’s brows furrowed just slightly as he turned away, the gears still turning behind his eyes.
Samaira lingered even after yawns spread and everyone drifted upstairs. The fire had burned low. She cast a glance around the empty common room, then carefully checked that the enchanted book was still in her satchel and stepped out through the portrait hole.
She didn’t know where she was going exactly—only that the energy inside her needed air, sky, silence.
The Astronomy Tower called to her like a song half-remembered.
The wind was cool on her face when she stepped onto the platform. The stars were sharp and silver, and the grounds of Hogwarts stretched in solemn shadow below.
She wasn’t alone.
Sebastian stood near the railing, hands tucked into his sleeves, gaze lost in the sky. He didn’t flinch at her footsteps—just turned slowly, like he had already known she was coming. He looked tired. Paler than usual. His dark hair was disheveled, and his eyes were unreadable.
“I could ask what you’re doing here,” she said, “but I suppose that’s a bit hypocritical.”
He gave a faint smile. “Could say the same to you.”
Samaira leaned against the opposite side of the stone rail, watching him through narrowed eyes.
“I’ve been dreaming,” he said, quietly. “Not normal dreams. Magical ones. Places I don’t recognize. Symbols. Fire. And… you.”
Her breath caught.
“You were standing at the center of it. The flames didn’t hurt you—they shaped you.”
She didn’t speak for a moment. The wind tousled her curls, brushing them against her cheeks.
“You think I’m part of your dreams?” she asked, voice low.
“I don’t think it,” Sebastian replied. “I know it.”
The way he said it—like a memory, not a guess—sent a shiver down her spine.
He turned to face her more fully. “There’s something about you, Samaira. Something old. Familiar.”
Their eyes met, and for once, there was no sarcasm or suspicion—just quiet, cautious recognition. Like two mirrors tilted toward one another, reflecting things too vast to name.
He straightened. “Be careful,” he added, voice softer now. “There are things in this castle that remember magic deeper than we’re taught. And they’re watching.”
Then he left.
Up in her dormitory, Samaira lit her wand with a whisper and pulled out the book. She sat on her bed, the curtains half-drawn, heart still unsettled.
The sigil on the page was still there, etched like a brand. This time, as her fingertips brushed the ink, something pulsed beneath her ribs. Like her magic recognized it before her mind could catch up. And this time… the page whispered.
Not with words.
With memory.
A girl—herself?—in a burning grove. A voice crying her name. A golden light pouring from her chest like wings.
She gasped, yanking her hand back. The book snapped shut, the flicker gone.
But the echo remained.
She pressed her palm to her chest, heart racing and closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe.
Something is waking up.
Not just inside Hogwarts.
Inside her.