Summoning a Whitelighter
Late that evening, the three girls sat in the Room of Requirement. Hermione had insisted they choose a private space where they could experiment without interruption, and the castle had provided an intimate chamber lit by floating candles and warmed by a crackling fireplace.
The Book of Shadows lay open on a pedestal in the center of the room, its ancient pages humming faintly as though aware of their presence.
“Are we sure about this?” Ginny asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“We don’t have a choice,” Hermione said firmly. “If we’re going to understand what’s happening to us, we need answers. And according to this, summoning a Whitelighter is the first step.”
Pansy raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly is a Whitelighter again? Because ‘mystical guide’ sounds suspiciously vague.”
“They’re supposed to be protectors of witches,” Hermione explained. “Mentors who guide and help us understand our powers.”
“And they’re dead, right?” Pansy added, crossing her arms.
“Well… yes,” Hermione admitted, glancing uneasily at the spellbook. “But they’ve ascended to a higher realm. It’s not like they’re ghosts.”
Ginny shivered. “Still creepy.”
Hermione ignored her and pointed to the incantation on the page. “We all have to recite this together. Ready?”
Pansy shrugged. “Let’s get this over with.”
The three girls stood around the pedestal, their voices joining in unison as they read from the page:
“To summon a guide, one who has crossed beyond,
Call upon the light, the bond unbroken.
Reveal to us the wisdom we seek,
Illuminate the path, and let them speak.”
The air in the room shifted immediately, growing heavy with an electric charge. The candles flickered wildly, their flames stretching unnaturally high before extinguishing altogether, plunging the room into darkness.
Ginny gasped, clutching Hermione’s arm. “Is it supposed to do that?”
A swirl of blue and white lights appeared in the center of the room, twirling together in a mesmerizing dance. The lights grew brighter, coalescing into the form of a tall figure.
When the glow faded, the three girls stood face-to-face with none other than Severus Snape.
His black robes billowed slightly, as though caught in a breeze, and his piercing dark eyes surveyed the room with an expression of utter disdain.
“Well,” he drawled, his voice as sharp as ever. “This is just as dreadful as I imagined.”
Hermione’s mouth opened and closed, her words failing her entirely.
“Professor Snape?” Ginny finally managed.
Snape’s lip curled. “Miss Weasley, do try to keep up. I am no longer your professor. You may address me as ‘Whitelighter Snape’—if you must address me at all.”
Pansy was the first to recover. She folded her arms and smirked. “So, you’re the ‘mystical guide’? I thought Whitelighters were supposed to be helpful.”
Snape turned his withering gaze on her. “Ah, Miss Parkinson. Still as insufferable as ever, I see. You may rest assured that I am here against my better judgment.”
Hermione found her voice at last. “You’re… you’re alive?”
“Not in the traditional sense,” Snape replied coolly. “After my death, I was offered a rather irritating proposition: eternal rest or eternal servitude. Naturally, I chose the latter.”
“Why?” Ginny asked, still staring at him as though he might disappear.
Snape’s expression softened, just slightly. “Let us simply say that I am repaying an old debt.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed. “But why us? Why are we the ones who need a Whitelighter?”
Snape clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing, his tone turning brisk and matter-of-fact. “You three have been chosen as the new Charmed Ones. A mantle passed down through generations, imbued with the power to protect magic and maintain balance in the world.”
“The Charmed Ones?” Ginny repeated.
“A trinity of witches,” Snape explained, “each gifted with unique powers to combat darkness. Your powers—freezing time, telekinesis, and premonition—are the first manifestation of this inheritance.”
Pansy frowned. “And what exactly are we supposed to do with these powers? Fight evil?”
“Precisely,” Snape said, stopping to face them. “Though I suspect your success will depend entirely on whether you can cease bickering long enough to learn basic cooperation.”
Ginny bristled. “We’re perfectly capable of working together!”
“Debatable,” Snape muttered, his gaze flicking to Hermione. “Miss Granger, I trust you’ve already combed through that book of yours for answers. Any insights worth sharing?”
Hermione hesitated, feeling oddly like a student again under his scrutiny. “The book… it’s alive, in a way. It reacts to us. But there’s still so much we don’t understand.”
“Then consider this your first lesson,” Snape said sharply. “The Book of Shadows is your most valuable resource. It will reveal what you need to know—when you need to know it. Do not expect it to spoon-feed you answers.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Great. A cryptic guide and a cryptic book. What else do we get?”
Snape’s expression darkened. “Demons. Warlocks. Dark forces that will seek to destroy you at every turn. If you thought your lives were complicated before, prepare for something far worse.”
Ginny’s face paled. “Demons?”
“Indeed,” Snape said, his tone almost gleeful. “You’ll find that destiny has little regard for convenience or comfort. But rest assured, I will be here to guide you. Reluctantly.”
Hermione took a deep breath, her mind racing. “So, we’re the Charmed Ones. What’s next?”
Snape’s lips curved into a rare, humorless smile. “Next, Miss Granger, you survive.”