Chapter 46
Time passed differently here.
The forest around me had fallen into stillness—not silence, but the kind of hush that came just before a storm. Even Solara, usually restless in her light, had gone quiet, her small form settled on my shoulder with wings drawn tight and her glow dimmed to a soft, watchful gold.
I sat with the book in my lap, my fingers curled lightly against its spine. It hadn’t moved again, not since those last words had formed across the parchment. Balance must be chosen. That line echoed again and again in my thoughts, looping through every breath I took, through every second I remained sitting outside that archway.
Draco had gone into the dark.
And I couldn’t follow.
Not because I wouldn’t—but because I wasn’t meant to.
That was the part I hated the most.
For all my love of logic, of learning, of planning—there was no chart, no spell, no guide to tell me how long a person should be inside ancient magic alone. No instructions on what to do when the person you were bound to was fighting their own shadow, and you had to sit outside and wait.
I wanted to pace. To shout. To do something.
Instead, I listened.
The trees whispered. The magic trembled. And every so often, I swore I could feel him through the bond—not a connection of words or thoughts, but something more elemental. Magic recognizing magic.
His darkness.
My light.
Yin and yang.
A faint pulse brushed against my ribs. I pressed a hand to my chest, fingers grazing the place where Solara had settled during the trial. Her heat still lingered, and through her, I could feel… not him, exactly. But the absence of him. Like something had stretched too far and was just beginning to fray.
I let out a shaky breath. “Come on, Draco. Don’t get lost in there.”
Solara trilled softly, curling closer.
“I know,” I whispered. “He has to do this alone.”
But it didn’t stop the fear.
Not that he wouldn’t succeed.
But that when he came back—if he came back—he wouldn’t be the same.
The forest rustled around me, the leaves trembling with magic too old to name. The book remained quiet. No more words appeared. No more clues. Just me, and Solara, and the knowledge that something ancient had recognized us both and begun to shift.
We were never meant to stand on opposite sides.
I believed that now more than ever.
But belief didn’t stop the ache in my chest.
Draco had walked into something unknown, something tied to a part of himself I knew he’d spent years trying to suppress. And now, to survive, he had to face it. Accept it.
I wanted to scream at the injustice of it.
He hadn’t asked for this.
Neither had I.
But the magic didn’t care about what we wanted. It cared about balance. About restoration. About something older than right and wrong, light and dark.
The wind changed.
Solara lifted her head, alert.
I sat straighter, the book suddenly warm beneath my fingers again.
The archway began to glow—not with light, not exactly, but with the soft shimmer of shadow, like moonlight rippling across black water.
The air thickened. The ground beneath me buzzed.
And then—
A step.
Soft.
Measured.
Draco emerged from the dark.
My breath caught in my throat.
He looked the same.
And he didn’t.
His posture was different—shoulders drawn higher, but not with tension. With purpose. His eyes met mine, still storm-gray, but something deeper now lived behind them. A quiet intensity. A knowing.
Tenebris appeared at his heel, not as a shadow, but fully formed and solid. Their presence filled the forest clearing like fog spilling in, quiet and inevitable.
I rose to my feet.
We stared at each other for one long heartbeat.
Then I whispered, “Are you okay?”
Draco didn’t answer right away. His expression was unreadable. But his eyes flicked to Solara, to the book still warm in my hands, then back to me.
“I am now.”
And for the first time since the Chamber of Secrets…
I believed him.
I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until Draco stepped closer.
The air shifted again—subtle, not sharp—and the tension that had lived in my bones for days finally, finally eased. Not vanished. But eased.
He stood just beyond the archway, his silhouette outlined by that strange twilight glow. Tenebris moved silently at his side, golden eyes steady. Grounded. There was no trace of the wild, frayed magic that had once shuddered through the shadows. Draco’s darkness wasn’t lashing out anymore.
It was settled.
He stepped fully into the clearing.
And the magic between us pulsed again.
This time, it didn’t feel like clashing tides.
It felt like balance.
I felt Solara stretch her wings against my shoulder, not alarmed, but curious. Her light met the lingering darkness trailing in Draco’s wake, and for the first time, it didn’t recoil. It reached for it.
Light and shadow touched.
And didn’t burn.
I exhaled slowly, watching him.
“You were in there for a while,” I said, my voice soft.
He nodded once. “It felt longer.”
I searched his face for signs of strain, cracks in the composure I’d come to know so well. But what I found wasn’t brokenness—it was clarity. The storm in his eyes had quieted, not gone, but focused.
I wanted to ask what he saw in there.
What he faced.
What part of himself he’d accepted in order to return.
But I didn’t.
Not yet.
“Are you ready for what’s next?” I asked instead.
His gaze flicked to the book in my hands—Equilibrium—then back to me.
“I think I have to be.”
I nodded. “Then let’s go.”
We didn’t need to speak more than that.
The path reformed beneath our feet—this time curving back toward the heart of the castle. But everything felt different. The air had shifted, and I could feel it not just in the earth beneath us, but in the way our magic responded to the space between us.
It no longer pushed.
It pulled.
We walked in silence for a while, side by side. The forest gave way to cold stone again, and Hogwarts welcomed us back with an eerie stillness, like the castle itself was holding its breath.
I kept the book cradled close to my chest, its pages warm.
Waiting.
As we passed through the corridor near the Astronomy Tower, the castle walls shimmered faintly. Carvings I had never seen before—intertwined sun and moon patterns—glowed as we passed, pulsing once with faint gold and dark silver, then fading into the stone.
I stopped.
Draco did too.
“I think it’s waking up,” I murmured.
He didn’t have to ask what I meant. His gaze lingered on the carvings. “The old magic.”
“The equilibrium,” I said.
“Do you think it’s always been here?” he asked quietly.
I looked down at the book, then at him.
“I think… maybe it was forgotten. And now that it’s been remembered, it’s starting to rise.”
He didn’t speak for a moment. Then, without looking at me, he said, “You still trust me. Even now.”
I turned to face him fully. “I didn’t stop.”
His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But not far from it, either.
We walked again, through ancient halls I was certain had rearranged themselves to bring us exactly where we needed to be. The castle was guiding us.
Solara lifted off my shoulder, drifting ahead of us like a tiny golden lantern. Tenebris followed, silent and sure.
We reached the double doors of the old Divination antechamber—long abandoned, tucked behind moving staircases most students never found. But tonight, it stood open, the curtains inside billowing despite the still air.
Inside, the room glowed with soft gold and deep blue, layered symbols etched into the floor.
One half was made of warm, celestial light.
The other was midnight shadow.
I stepped inside and felt it immediately—the push and pull of light and dark magic at perfect opposition, humming like a suspended chord waiting to resolve.
Draco stood across from me.
And the book opened.
Not in my hands.
But on the pedestal in the center of the room.
Pages turned themselves.
And writing formed in the air between us, glowing softly.
The trials are passed.
The balance is awakened.
Now the forces must merge.
Not with power.
With trust.
I met Draco’s eyes.
His voice was low, steady. “This is it, isn’t it?”
I nodded.
“This is where we stop fighting what we are.”
He took one step forward.
So did I.
Solara circled once overhead, and Tenebris stepped to the edge of the shadows, watching.
I reached out my hand.
So did he.
And as our fingers touched—
Magic surged.
But not like before.
Not wild. Not chaotic.
It was like two halves of a broken circle sliding into place.
And when the light met the dark, for the first time… the magic sang.