Shadow's In The Library
The Hogwarts library was not quiet.
Not truly.
Beneath the rows of heavy tomes and velvet silence were a thousand sounds: the rustle of parchment, the scratch of quills, the soft squeak of leather shoes, and the low murmurs of students whispering like conspirators. But none of them noticed Harriet as she moved through the shelves like a shadow, head down, face half-hidden beneath her black hood.
She hadn’t come here to study.
Not in the traditional sense.
No, she came here for answers.
And for him.
It had been two days since the Astronomy Tower.
Two days since Viktor told her: You don’t have a guard. You have me.
She hadn’t replied—not out loud. But her silence had been answer enough. He hadn’t needed her permission to stand at her side. He’d chosen it. And he didn’t demand anything in return.
Which might’ve been the most dangerous thing of all.
---
She found the book exactly where the letter said it would be.
Row C. Shelf 4. Second to last.
A copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard.
Harmless. Dry. Completely dull.
She pulled it from the shelf and flipped it open.
There, pressed between pages 112 and 113, was a folded note and a thin, flat parcel wrapped in black cloth.
She looked around—no one watching.
She slipped both into her cloak and sat at the nearest table.
Only when she was alone did she unwrap the note and read.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
There are books Hogwarts does not want you to read.
Knowledge you were never taught. Spells omitted. History rewritten.
I know where to find the real ones.
Do you want them?
—V
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the note.
She opened the cloth parcel.
Inside was a book far older than any she had ever held. Its cover was unmarked, but the spine glowed faintly with runes she only partially understood. The pages were thin as petals, but dense with ancient script.
She flipped to the first chapter.
The ink shimmered and reshaped itself into English.
“Magics Forbidden by the Light: A History of Power Reclaimed.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She turned another page—just as a shadow fell across her table.
“Granger’s been talking,” Viktor’s voice said quietly.
Harriet didn’t flinch.
She looked up slowly.
He was dressed in black again, no House crest, no school colors. Just a sharp coat, snow still melting in his hair. He looked like he didn’t belong in the castle at all.
He looked like he’d been made for the dark corners of the world.
“She says you’re slipping,” he added. “That you’re studying things you shouldn’t.”
“I suppose she thinks I should stick to my prescribed reading list,” Harriet said, flipping a page. “Maybe stay in my box. Smile. Wave.”
“You’re better at burning boxes.”
“I’m getting good at setting matches.”
He sat down across from her.
“You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“No,” she said. “They are. I’m just changing the rules.”
There was a pause.
Viktor reached out and took the book from her hands.
She didn’t stop him.
He flipped it open, skimmed, then looked up again.
“You know what this book teaches?”
“Power.”
“It teaches freedom.” He held it up. “The spells in here—they aren’t Dark because they’re cruel. They’re Dark because they’re free. Because they belong to no one. The Light doesn’t control them. That’s why they’re banned.”
“Why give it to me?”
“Because you’re already unclaimed,” he said. “They just haven’t realized it yet.”
Her breath caught.
He wasn’t talking about spells.
He was talking about her.
She looked down. “What if I go too far?”
“You won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you ask that question.”
She glanced up again.
He looked at her for a long moment, then leaned back, arms crossed.
“You asked for more than silence,” he said. “So I’ll give you it.”
She swallowed. “Then tell me this. Why do you help me?”
He didn’t blink.
“Because you don’t know how rare you are.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is,” he said softly. “You’re a storm in a world full of candles. You don’t need to be lit. You need to be unleashed.”
Harriet sat very still.
The library’s silence grew thick between them.
Finally, she whispered, “And if I fall apart?”
He leaned forward, voice like gravel and fire.
“Then I’ll hold the pieces.”
---
They stayed there for nearly an hour.
No one disturbed them.
They spoke quietly—about runes, about magic, about the spells Dumbledore had scrubbed from the curriculum and why. Viktor spoke of Durmstrang’s hidden library, of corridors beneath the school warded with blood and oaths.
“No one but staff and legacy students are allowed in,” he said. “And even then, only the ones the school likes.”
“Durmstrang schools don’t like anyone,” she replied.
He gave a faint grin. “You’d be surprised.”
“I doubt it.”
“Then visit,” he said.
She blinked. “What?”
“Not now,” he said. “Not officially. But one day. Come and see what they tried to keep from you.”
She studied him.
He wasn’t joking.
“You want me to come to Durmstrang?”
“I want you to know.”
There was a pause.
“Would I be welcome?”
He held her gaze. “You’d be protected.”
---
As the library emptied and curfew neared, Viktor stood.
“You’ll keep the book?” he asked.
She nodded. “Always.”
“Then write.”
He turned, then paused.
“And Harriet?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t think you’ll fall apart,” he said. “But if you do... you don’t have to rebuild alone.”
Then he vanished into the shadows between the shelves.
And Harriet, for the first time in weeks, felt warm.
---