Chapter 44
By morning, the world had returned to something that resembled normal.
The corridors hummed with the usual shuffle of students. Books floated between shelves. Quills scratched parchment. House-elves whispered their way through cleaning charms. If you didn’t know better, you’d think the castle had always been this still.
But I knew better.
Because underneath it all—beneath the routine, beneath the walls and the wards and the neatly ordered lives—Hogwarts was holding its breath.
Waiting.
Solara rested quietly on my shoulder, her glow dim and steady. We hadn’t spoken since the book. Since the tether between Draco and I had sealed itself in magic older than our names. She didn’t need to say anything. Her silence was answer enough.
She was conserving energy.
For what came next.
My fingers brushed the inside of my bag, checking for the book again—Equilibrium: The Forgotten Balance. Its presence still pulsed faintly through the worn leather, like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to either of us but kept time just the same.
In my other hand, I clutched a folded note.
A lie, mostly.
Just enough truth to make it believable.
Professor McGonagall, it began, I’ve discovered a source of ancient magic that may explain the energy we encountered in the Chamber. I’m going to investigate with a partner.
No names. No location. Just vague enough to be dismissed as academic pursuit. Just bold enough that she’d know not to follow.
I wasn’t ready to tell her everything. Not yet.
Not until I understood it myself.
I crossed the courtyard as quietly as possible, keeping my head down, my pace quick. The last thing I needed was Harry spotting me. He’d ask questions I couldn’t answer yet. And he’d see right through me.
He always did.
I made it to the edge of the viaduct before I heard someone behind me.
“Hermione.”
I froze.
Not Harry.
Ginny.
I turned slowly.
She stood just a few steps back, arms crossed, wind catching in her hair. Her brow was furrowed, and her gaze locked straight onto mine.
“You’re leaving.”
It wasn’t a question.
I hesitated. “Just for a few days.”
Her eyes narrowed. “With Malfoy?”
I winced.
“That obvious?”
“Only to people who know you.” She stepped forward. “You’ve been different. Since the Chamber. Since him.” Her voice didn’t hold accusation—just concern. “What’s going on, Hermione?”
I should have lied.
I wanted to lie.
But she had that look in her eye—the same one she wore when she cornered me in fourth year after Rita Skeeter wrote that article. The look that said she wouldn’t back down.
So I told her the truth.
Some of it.
“There’s a kind of magic we didn’t know existed,” I said, voice low. “Or maybe we forgot it. Something… older. A balance between dark and light. And Draco—he’s part of it. So am I.”
Ginny’s brow furrowed. “You mean… like opposite ends of a spectrum?”
“More like pieces of a whole,” I whispered.
Her eyes searched mine, then drifted to Solara, who blinked slowly but didn’t move.
“And this magic,” she said slowly, “it’s why the castle’s been acting strange. Why people feel on edge. Why the shadows move.”
“Yes.”
“And it’s why you have to leave.”
I nodded.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me.
The sudden warmth of her magic pressed against mine, familiar and steady. Fire and steel. Courage and defiance. Ginny Weasley in every sense of the word.
“Be careful,” she whispered. “Don’t let him get into your head.”
I pulled back, giving her a tired smile. “It’s not his head I’m worried about.”
She looked like she wanted to ask more—but didn’t.
Instead, she handed me something small and silver.
A pendant.
Simple. Circular. A lion curled in quiet defense.
“Take this,” she said. “It’s not enchanted. Not powerful. Just… grounding. In case you forget who you are.”
My throat tightened. I nodded, clutching it tightly. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” She smirked. “Just come back in one piece.”
Then she turned and walked away, as quickly as she’d come.
I watched her disappear into the archway, then looked down at the pendant.
The lion gleamed faintly in the morning light.
Grounding.
A reminder.
Because I had a feeling this journey was going to test every part of me.
And I couldn’t afford to forget who I was.
Not when the world was about to ask me to become something else entirely.
The forest greeted us with silence.
Not the usual kind—no rustling leaves or distant hoots of owls. Just silence. Complete and reverent, like the trees themselves were watching, listening, waiting.
Draco stood beside me, half a step behind, his cloak drawn tight around his shoulders. His eyes scanned the trees, wary but unflinching. I could still feel the hum of his magic—low, restrained, threaded through the air like static before a storm.
Solara fluttered once on my shoulder, then stilled, her wings tucking close. She hadn’t spoken since we left the castle gates.
The path had appeared the moment we stepped beyond the boundaries.
A narrow break in the trees, almost too clean to be natural—but too wild to be man-made. I hadn’t known where to go until I saw it. Until I felt it.
Light magic.
Old, powerful, and buried.
And now—it was calling.
I took a step forward.
The path seemed to breathe beneath my boots, the moss shifting slightly underfoot like the earth itself had awakened. As we moved deeper into the forest, the air grew thicker, warmer. The leaves above shimmered with faint pulses of magic, like veins glowing beneath skin.
Draco said nothing, but I could feel his unease.
His magic flinched at the light.
Mine steadied.
Balance.
We walked in silence for several minutes, the trees arching higher above us, forming a canopy so dense it should have blocked all light—and yet, it didn’t. The path glowed faintly, lit from beneath, as if the forest itself remembered the way.
I caught Draco glancing at it, frowning.
“It’s not Lumos,” I said, quietly.
He didn’t answer. Just nodded, stiffly.
We passed a circle of stones etched with runes neither of us could read, their surfaces humming as we approached. Solara’s glow brightened in response, as if recognizing them. As if they were part of her.
“Light magic used to be alive in places like this,” I murmured. “It wasn’t about power or control. It was harmony. Symmetry. Connection.”
Draco scoffed softly. “Sounds very Gryffindor of you.”
I glanced at him. “It’s older than the Houses. Older than Hogwarts.”
He didn’t argue.
Because he knew I was right.
We pressed on, the forest deepening. The trees shifted color subtly as we moved—faint hints of gold and white creeping into their bark, like veins of moonlight frozen in wood. Magic pulsed steadily now, warming the soles of my boots, threading up through my spine like it had found something familiar inside me.
My fingers curled around the pendant Ginny had given me.
A grounding point.
Because part of me was beginning to feel less like myself.
And more like something else entirely.
We reached a break in the trees—a small glade with a pool at its center. The surface shimmered silver-blue, like starlight trapped in water. And at its edge, a stone pedestal.
Solara stirred.
So did something inside me.
This was it.
The first threshold.
I stepped forward slowly, the pendant heavy against my chest, the book pressing into my side where I had tucked it beneath my cloak.
The pedestal was covered in moss and ancient carvings. I reached out, brushing my fingers against the surface—and the magic surged.
Not painfully. Not violently.
But entirely.
It filled me.
And I understood.
This was the first trial.
A test of light.
Behind me, Draco stiffened. His shadows recoiled slightly from the edge of the glade, unable to follow.
I turned to him.
“You can’t come with me,” I said quietly.
His jaw tightened. “You’re not going in there alone.”
“I have to. This part is for me. The light magic—whatever this place is—it won’t let you through.”
His expression hardened. “That’s convenient.”
I didn’t flinch. “It’s balance.”
Draco said nothing for a long moment. His hands clenched, then relaxed.
“Fine,” he muttered. “But if something tries to kill you—”
“I’ll scream very loudly,” I finished, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “You’ll hear it.”
He didn’t smile back.
But he nodded.
And that was enough.
I stepped toward the pedestal, Solara leaping from my shoulder to hover beside me, her light growing brighter with each step. The water pulsed, glowing now, alive with something old and waiting.
My fingers brushed the stone.
The world blinked out.