Chapter 45
The moment my hand touched the pedestal, the world vanished.
Not in a rush or a pull—no force, no violence. Just stillness. Like someone had closed a door without a sound.
I wasn’t standing anymore.
I wasn’t walking.
I was… floating.
The air around me felt weightless, suspended in soft golden light that pulsed like a heartbeat. There was no sky, no ground—only shimmer and warmth, like sunlight through gauze. It should have felt comforting.
It didn’t.
Because I wasn’t alone.
A whisper brushed across my ear—not words, not sound, but memory. My own voice, echoing back at me:
“I always have to be the one who knows. If I don’t, who will?”
The light shifted.
And in front of me, she appeared.
Me.
But not just me. The version of me I never let anyone see—the one made of strained smiles, sleepless nights, and spine-breaking pressure.
Her expression was tired.
Not cruel. Not angry. Just… worn.
“I don’t have time for riddles,” I whispered. My voice sounded too loud in the golden air.
She didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Just stared.
“You think you have to hold all the answers,” she finally said. “You think if you drop even one thing, everything will fall apart.”
My breath caught. “I do hold everything.”
She tilted her head. “Do you?”
I opened my mouth—but the words failed.
The light brightened around her.
Solara appeared beside me, wings glowing, but she didn’t move forward. She hovered, watching. Waiting.
My reflection stepped closer.
“You think the light is about knowledge,” she said. “About logic. Control. Clarity.”
“It is,” I snapped. “It has to be. If it isn’t—what’s left?”
“Grace.”
The word struck me like a blow.
She raised her hand, and suddenly, I was surrounded by flashes—snapshots of moments I had buried beneath my resolve.
Ron bleeding in the Department of Mysteries. Harry screaming in the Forbidden Forest. My mother’s confused eyes as I wiped her memory to protect her.
The cost of always being the one who carried the weight.
“You shine so brightly,” she whispered. “But you don’t let yourself rest. You wield light like a weapon.”
I wanted to deny it.
But I couldn’t.
Because she was right.
“You’re afraid if you stop—if you soften—you’ll fall.”
The space around us darkened slightly. Not in danger, but in truth. The kind of shadow cast by firelight—warm, but honest.
“You think you’re here to temper him,” she said, softer now. “But who tempers you?”
My throat tightened.
“I don’t need—”
“You do.”
She reached out—and her palm pressed against mine.
And just like that, the light shifted again.
Not away from me.
Not out of me.
Through me.
I could feel it—golden and warm and gentle. Not the searing light of knowledge or control. Not the blinding blaze of perfection.
But balance.
Acceptance.
Peace.
I didn’t have to be perfect.
I didn’t have to have every answer.
I could just be.
The reflection faded.
And the golden air began to dissolve.
Solara trilled softly and drifted closer. She touched her forehead to mine.
And something unlocked.
A second heartbeat, bright and sure, fluttered to life beneath my ribs.
The light was not above me.
It was not behind me.
It was within me.
The trial had not asked for power.
It had asked for truth.
And I had answered.
The shimmer receded.
The forest returned.
I stood again at the pedestal, my hand still resting on its smooth stone surface. The glade was silent, the water calm. Overhead, the torches in the trees—magic-woven—burned steadily with white-gold light.
Draco was standing exactly where I left him.
But something had changed in his eyes.
He felt it.
I stepped forward slowly, the magic humming beneath my skin gentler now, settled.
Balanced.
His eyes narrowed. “That was fast.”
“It wasn’t.”
He tilted his head. “You look… different.”
I smiled faintly. “I feel different.”
Solara landed gently on my shoulder, her light calmer now. She looked toward Draco’s shadows, and for once, they didn’t recoil. They shifted slightly—as if in greeting.
And his magic didn’t push back.
We stood there, facing each other again.
Still on opposite ends of the spectrum.
But something between us had shifted.
The pedestal behind me began to glow again, its runes brightening like sunrise through fog.
One trial down.
The light had answered.
And now…
Now we had to find its other half.
The source of the dark.
“Ready to see where your side leads?” I asked softly.
Draco’s smirk was slight—but real.
“Lead the way, Granger.”
The path before us didn’t exist—until it did.
One moment, we stood in a still, golden glade, the air calm with the aftershocks of light. The next, the earth beneath the pedestal rumbled softly, and a ribbon of stone unfurled into the forest, carving its way into the darkness between the trees.
It didn’t feel like Hogwarts anymore.
Or maybe, it didn’t feel like the Hogwarts we knew. The castle had always held secrets, but this… this was older. Quieter. Like the school itself had pulled back its skin and let us see its bones.
Draco stood beside me, gaze fixed on the path. His magic pulsed faintly around him, slower now, but still thick and shadowed—like it was anticipating something.
I tightened my grip on the book still clutched in my arms. Equilibrium: The Forgotten Balance had closed on its own when I returned from the trial, but it radiated warmth against my ribs. Not glowing, not humming. Just present. Like a quiet heartbeat.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I asked, softer than I intended.
Draco didn’t answer immediately.
His eyes shifted to mine. “No.”
I blinked.
“But I’m going anyway,” he said, and started walking.
Solara shifted on my shoulder, letting out a small, uncertain chirp, but didn’t protest. Her light, once brilliant and erratic, was now steady—like she trusted the path, even if I didn’t.
I followed him into the dark.
The trees grew closer here, their branches tangled like reaching fingers. The magic in the air was different—not malevolent, but dense. Like something waiting to be spoken aloud. Every step we took made the shadows stretch a little longer, a little deeper. And yet, they didn’t touch me.
Draco’s magic ran just ahead of us, slipping into the spaces between the trees. It wasn’t pulling away from him now.
It was guiding him.
I tried not to hold my breath, but the deeper we walked, the more the forest changed. The torches behind us faded. The light thinned.
And then—
The path ended.
We stood before a stone archway, carved into the base of a hill that hadn’t been there seconds before. The structure looked like part of the earth itself—jagged, time-worn, and humming with low, vibrating magic.
Symbols marked the arch in a language I didn’t recognize—but Solara shifted uneasily, and something in my chest pulled tight.
This was it.
Draco stopped just short of the entrance.
“I can feel it,” he said.
I nodded. “It’s your turn.”
He exhaled, slow and quiet, and glanced at me.
“If I don’t come back—”
“You will.”
His brow lifted slightly. “Confident.”
I stepped closer. “You’re not doing this alone.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at me for a long, unreadable moment.
Then he nodded once, turned toward the archway, and stepped through.
The shadows swallowed him whole.
I moved to follow—instinct, reflex—but my feet stopped just short of the threshold.
There was a barrier.
Not a wall. Not a force.
Just… stillness. Like the space beyond him wasn’t for me. Not yet.
Solara chirped once, low and warning.
I pressed my hand against the air, feeling it ripple.
Draco was on the other side.
Facing whatever had been waiting for him.
Whatever he had woken.
And for the first time since the Chamber… I felt helpless.
So I did the only thing I could.
I sat down, cross-legged before the entrance, the book on my lap, and I opened it.
The pages flipped on their own again.
New ink shimmered into place.
A passage had appeared beneath the yin-yang symbol from before.
Balance cannot be gifted. It must be chosen. One must walk willingly into their own shadow to understand its shape. Only then can the light meet it as an equal.
I swallowed, pressing a hand to my chest.
Because I understood now.
This wasn’t about fixing Draco.
This was about letting him become.
And I had to trust that he would find his way back.
Not just to me.
But to himself.
So I waited.
And behind the arch, the shadows stirred.