Chapter 39
The weight of the book settled in my hands like a living thing.
Magic pulsed beneath my fingertips—not violent, not dark, but ancient. Balanced.
I swallowed hard, my breath hitching. Solara’s glow flared, then dimmed, as if she too was adjusting to the shift in energy around us. Draco was stock-still beside me, his magic thrumming too close, too charged, like he could feel it pressing against his skin.
His voice was quieter this time. “Granger.”
I looked up.
His storm-gray eyes weren’t full of their usual irritation, nor the sharp edge of fear he tried so hard to mask. No, there was something else there now—something wary, something recognizing. Like a part of him already knew what we had just found.
Or maybe, what had just found us.
I let out a slow breath. “We need to open it.”
Draco’s gaze flickered to the cover of the book, then back to me. “Or we could set it on fire and pretend we never saw it.”
I gave him a look.
He huffed through his nose, running a hand through his already-mussed hair. “Fine. But if something jumps out at us, I’m blaming you.”
With a steadying breath, I turned the book over in my hands. The title, Equilibrium: The Forgotten Balance, was barely legible, worn down by time. The cover was thick, cracked leather, the edges curling with age, but the moment my fingers pressed against it, warmth spread through my palm.
Not burning. Not painful.
Just… there.
Draco inhaled sharply, and I knew he had felt it too.
The library around us seemed impossibly still, the air too thick, like we had stepped into a moment outside of time.
I pressed my fingers into the edge of the book and—carefully—began to pry it open.
The second the cover lifted, magic flooded the space between us.
It wasn’t an explosion. It wasn’t a curse.
It was a pull.
A slow, spiraling force winding through the air, curling around my fingers, threading between Draco’s. The library torches flickered as the very foundation of Hogwarts sighed.
Draco stumbled back, cursing under his breath. “What the hell—”
But I barely heard him. My eyes were locked on the book, on the first page, where an inscription had burned itself into existence the moment we had opened it.
Not ink.
Magic.
The letters bled onto the parchment, forming words I didn’t recognize, but somehow, I understood.
Magic was never meant to be divided.
The sentence hummed in my bones, sinking deep, settling between my ribs like a truth I had always known but had never been taught.
Draco exhaled sharply beside me. “Granger.”
I turned my head, but his eyes weren’t on the book anymore.
They were on the shadows.
My breath caught.
The dark, twisting tendrils that had been lingering at Draco’s feet for days had shifted.
They weren’t curling unnaturally anymore.
They weren’t resisting him.
They were calm.
For the first time since the Chamber of Secrets, his magic wasn’t fighting against him. It had settled. Aligned.
Like it had found its counterbalance.
Like it had found me.
My pulse roared in my ears. This was it. This book, this moment—this was why Hogwarts had led us here.
Draco was staring at the shifting shadows, his expression unreadable. He flexed his fingers, slow and deliberate, testing the movement of his magic.
Then, finally, he looked at me.
His voice was quieter this time, uncertain. “What does that mean?”
I turned back to the book.
And as if in answer, more words began to form.
One cannot wield the dark without the light to temper it. And the light cannot exist without the dark to shape it.
I swallowed, my throat dry. The book wasn’t just teaching us.
It was warning us.
I looked at Draco again, feeling the weight of this moment settle deep in my chest. “It means we were never meant to stand on opposite sides.”
The torches around us flickered again, and the air shifted.
Draco’s expression hardened. “Then what are we meant to do?”
My fingers curled against the parchment.
I wasn’t sure yet.
But I knew one thing.
This was just the beginning.
The book didn’t give us an answer right away.
The words on the page remained still, as if waiting, as if assessing. The magic humming beneath my fingertips felt ancient, alive—expectant.
I exhaled sharply, my pulse still unsteady. The weight of Draco’s question hung in the air between us.
Then what are we meant to do?
I didn’t know.
But I had spent my life searching for answers. And I wasn’t about to stop now.
I turned back to the book, fingers skimming along the delicate, timeworn parchment. The magic felt warm, like an ember waiting to catch flame. Solara’s glow pulsed against my shoulder, her tiny body shifting, pressing closer. She felt it too.
Draco hadn’t moved. His magic—his darkness—was calmer than before, but I could still feel the raw edge beneath his control, waiting to be unraveled.
“We need to understand what this magic is,” I murmured. “What it wants from us.”
Draco scoffed, a dry, humorless sound. “Wants from us? It’s a bloody book, Granger. It doesn’t want anything.”
But I saw the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed like he was resisting the pull of something unseen. He didn’t believe that. Not really.
I didn’t bother arguing. Instead, I pressed my palm against the edge of the book and let my magic reach for it—just the smallest flicker, just enough to see if it would respond.
It did.
The book breathed.
The pages trembled, then flipped on their own, faster than the wind, landing on a spread in the center.
I barely had time to take in the words before the torches flickered violently.
Magic rippled outward, pressing against my skin, sinking into my bones. Solara let out a sharp trill, her glow flaring bright, and across from me, Draco hissed as the shadows at his feet twisted.
I felt it before I saw it—the shift, the pull, the magic aligning.
A symbol burned itself onto the page.
A circle.
Divided evenly down the center—half light, half dark.
My breath caught.
It was a perfect balance.
The yin and yang.
The words beneath it shifted, rearranging themselves before my eyes, the ink glowing with faint gold and deep obsidian.
The world was never meant to tip.
Magic was never meant to divide.
The Equilibrium was lost, but it can be restored.
Two forces—one light, one dark—bound by fate, must return it to balance.
A chill swept through me.
I looked at Draco.
He was already looking at me.
Neither of us spoke. The weight of the book’s words settled between us, heavy, unshakable.
Draco’s hands curled into fists. “This is a mistake.”
I swallowed. “You don’t believe that.”
His jaw tightened. “I don’t like being used.”
I hesitated. “Neither do I.”
But that wasn’t what this was. I felt that now.
This wasn’t a prophecy. It wasn’t fate deciding for us.
This was a choice.
Magic had waited for us to find it, yes. But it hadn’t forced itself upon us.
It was asking.
Draco exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. His magic still pulsed, but he wasn’t fighting it anymore. “You think this book is right? That this isn’t just some ancient theory, but an actual magic we can control?”
I glanced back at the text, heart pounding. “I don’t know.”
But something in me already did.
This wasn’t just about us.
It was about all magic.
For centuries, the world had seen dark and light magic as opposing forces—two sides in conflict, forever at odds. But what if that was never the truth?
What if the real danger wasn’t in darkness itself, but in imbalance?
Draco let out a bitter laugh. “Of course. I nearly die in the Chamber of Secrets, get infected with some ancient dark force, and now I’m apparently part of some grand, magical rebalancing.”
I bit my lip. “You’re not infected.”
His gaze snapped to mine. “Then what the hell would you call it?”
I hesitated. I wasn’t sure I had the words for it yet.
But I felt it—the difference.
His magic wasn’t unnatural. It wasn’t cursed or foreign. It was his.
It had simply changed.
And it was waiting for mine to meet it.
I took a slow breath, choosing my words carefully. “You didn’t bring something back from the Chamber, Draco.”
I lifted my hand, palm facing him, my magic humming faintly beneath my skin.
“You woke something up.”
Draco stilled.
The words sat heavy in the space between us, but I didn’t back down.
Because I knew, in that moment, they were true.
Solara pressed against my shoulder, her warmth steady. Draco’s Eidolon, Tenebris, flickered in the shadows behind him, watching with piercing golden eyes.
We weren’t just meant to balance each other.
We were meant to restore something that had been broken long ago.
I swallowed. “We need to figure out what’s next.”
Draco exhaled, long and slow, but the tension in his body didn’t leave. His fingers curled, then uncurled, his stormy eyes flicking to the book, to me, to the flickering torches overhead.
Then, finally, he gave the smallest nod.
Not agreement.
Not surrender.
But acceptance.
My stomach twisted.
This was it.
The beginning of something bigger than either of us.
And somehow, I knew there was no turning back.
The silence stretched between us, thick with magic, heavy with unspoken truths. The book remained open between us, its pages humming faintly with energy, the inscription still glowing in shifting gold and obsidian.
I forced myself to breathe evenly, though my pulse still thundered in my ears. This was real. More real than anything I had ever studied, ever understood. This was happening.
Draco’s gaze flickered between me and the book, wary but steady. He wasn’t running. Not yet.
“We need to know more,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
Draco exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You think this thing is just going to hand us answers?”
I swallowed, glancing down at the book again. “I think it’s already trying.”
His eyes darkened, and I could feel the tension still humming beneath his skin. The way his magic pressed outward, not resisting anymore, but responding. Like a living thing waiting for direction.
Solara fluttered her wings, her golden light pulsing against my cheek. A moment later, Tenebris shifted, his shadow curling along Draco’s feet, no longer jagged, no longer unnatural.
Balanced.
The thought sent a shiver through me.
I turned the page carefully. The parchment felt too soft, too warm beneath my fingertips, like it had been expecting me.
The ink shifted again, rearranging itself before my eyes.
Two forces divided.
Two forces drawn.
Two forces bound.
A balance not yet restored.
I bit my lip. The book wasn’t just giving us theory. It was telling us exactly what we were. What we had become.
Draco leaned in slightly, scanning the words, his jaw tightening. His voice was barely above a whisper. “And what if we don’t want to be… whatever this is?”
I met his eyes, pulse spiking at the rawness in his tone.
“It’s not a prophecy,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “It’s a choice.”
Draco’s expression didn’t change. “Doesn’t feel like a choice.”
I exhaled. “Then we make it one.”
His gaze flickered, just slightly. Like he wanted to believe me, but didn’t quite trust that he could.
My fingers traced the edge of the book absently, thinking. The words in front of us weren’t complete. It was as if we had only unlocked the first layer, the first piece of what we were meant to understand.
I glanced at Solara. She was watching me carefully, her glow steady, waiting.
“What if…” I hesitated, then looked at Draco. “What if we tried something?”
His brows drew together. “Tried what?”
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted, tilting my palm upward, feeling my own magic stir in response. “But I think the book responds to us. To balance.”
Draco didn’t move for a long moment.
Then, slowly, like he was daring himself to test the theory, he raised his own hand.
The air shifted.
My breath caught as the magic between us stirred—light and dark curling toward one another, drawn like gravity.
Draco’s jaw clenched. “Bloody hell.”
But he didn’t pull away.
I swallowed. My magic tingled, not in warning, but in recognition.
Balance.
Carefully, I moved my hand closer.
The moment our fingertips brushed—
The book reacted.
A pulse of energy shot through the room. The torches flared, shadows stretching long against the stone. Solara’s wings snapped open, a bright trill escaping her throat, and Tenebris let out a low, quiet growl, shifting just slightly.
But it wasn’t an attack.
It was a reaction.
My breath came fast. “Did you feel that?”
Draco’s fingers twitched against mine, but he didn’t move away. His voice was rough. “Yeah.”
The book flipped its own page.
The ink rearranged itself again, clearer now, the magic humming beneath the words.
The Equilibrium cannot be forced.
It must be chosen.
Two must stand in opposition.
Two must stand together.
Two must walk the path between.
My stomach twisted. It really was a choice.
Draco read the words, his expression unreadable. But I could feel what he wasn’t saying.
This was bigger than us.
Bigger than anything we had expected.
And whether we liked it or not…
It had already begun.
The energy in the library still pulsed around us, the book’s magic pressing against my skin like a second heartbeat. My fingers twitched at my sides, itching to turn the page, to read more, to understand.
But the book had stopped reacting. The pages were still, the ink settled.
Waiting.
I swallowed, my thoughts racing. If dark and light were never meant to be divided—if Draco and I were two opposing forces meant to balance each other—then…
Then there had to be another source.
A counter to whatever had touched Draco in the Chamber.
A source of light magic.
The answer hovered at the edge of my mind, just beyond reach. Where would magic like that be kept? Magic that had been forgotten, buried beneath centuries of division?
Hogwarts had led us here. Had led me here. Had whispered to me through Solara, had guided me to him.
And now it was silent.
Solara shifted on my shoulder, her tiny talons digging into my skin as if urging me to focus. Her glow was dimmer than before, pulsing in slow, deliberate waves. Not weak.
Reserving energy.
Waiting.
I took a slow breath, turning away from the book, letting my mind shift into patterns, into logic, into puzzle-solving.
If the Chamber of Secrets had held something ancient and dark, something tied to Salazar Slytherin’s legacy…
Then the light had to be hidden in its opposite.
A founder’s counterpart.
Draco must have caught the flicker of realization on my face because his voice was low, wary. “What?”
My pulse quickened. Where would the counterbalance to Salazar’s dark magic be?
With Gryffindor? No, too obvious. Too expected.
With Ravenclaw? Possibly, but she had been a seeker of knowledge, not a wielder of power.
But Hufflepuff—
Hufflepuff had been the foundation of Hogwarts’ heart.
A House built on loyalty, on unity, on balance.
I turned sharply, meeting Draco’s gaze. “Helga Hufflepuff.”
He blinked. “What?”
“The Chamber of Secrets held something tied to Salazar Slytherin,” I rushed, my words coming faster now. “An ancient source of dark magic, buried beneath the school, hidden away for centuries. But if dark magic wasn’t meant to exist without light, then there has to be another source—a counterbalance to whatever that thing in the Chamber was.”
His expression darkened. “And you think Hufflepuff had it?”
“Think about it.” I gestured toward the book, toward the lingering magic in the air. “Hufflepuff was the only founder who never sought control over magic—she believed in inclusion, in harmony. If anyone would have preserved something tied to equilibrium, to balance, it would have been her.”
Draco hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Alright, fine, let’s assume you’re right. Where the hell would it be?”
I exhaled sharply, thinking.
The Chamber had been hidden beneath Hogwarts for centuries, buried deep, accessible only through blood ties and parseltongue.
So where would Helga Hufflepuff have placed her own secret?
A place no one would think to look.
A place of safety. Of warmth.
The Room of Requirement had already called to us once—but it was ever-changing, adapting to the needs of those who sought it.
No, this had to be somewhere permanent. Somewhere hidden, yet constant.
And then—
It hit me.
“The kitchens,” I breathed.
Draco’s brows furrowed. “The kitchens?”
I nodded, the idea solidifying, clicking into place. “Hufflepuff’s philosophy was about home, about belonging. She built the kitchens beneath the Great Hall as a sanctuary, a place of nourishment and stability. If she had hidden something—if there was a source of light magic—it wouldn’t be in some grand, protected vault.”
“It would be in plain sight,” Draco murmured, realization dawning behind his storm-gray eyes.
“Exactly.”
We stood there, magic thrumming between us, the book open and silent at our backs.
The torches flickered again, as if responding to our decision.
And for the first time since this had begun, I felt it—
The castle approving.
It had been waiting for us to find the path.
Now, it was time to walk it.
I turned to Draco, my grip tightening around my wand. “We need to go now.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Breaking into the kitchens in the middle of the night. How very heroic of you, Granger.”
I ignored him, already moving toward the door. “Are you coming or not?”
He didn’t answer immediately. But when I looked back, his fingers were already curling around his wand, his expression set, his magic steady.
And for the first time since the Chamber—
His shadows didn’t flicker unnaturally.
They followed.
Balanced.
I swallowed down the nerves curling in my stomach, leading us into the corridor.
Because one thing was certain.
If we were right—if Helga Hufflepuff had left behind her own source of magic—
Then what we were about to find would change everything.