A New Kind of Magic
The morning sun filtered through the high windows of Hogwarts, casting long golden beams across the stone floors. Hermione stood at the mirror in her dormitory, absently brushing her hair as her thoughts wandered.
The spellbook still lay open on her desk, the triquetra symbol glowing faintly on the page before fading into silence. Though Hermione was no stranger to magic, something about the book unnerved her. She could feel its weight—not just in her hands but in her mind, a constant hum at the edge of her awareness.
With a sigh, she slung her bag over her shoulder and headed to breakfast.
Hermione’s First Incident: Freezing Time
Charms class began like any other. Professor Flitwick stood on a stack of books, his high-pitched voice carrying across the room as he demonstrated a complex levitation charm.
Hermione was, as always, meticulous. She balanced her quill between her fingers, jotting down notes with one hand while practicing wand movements with the other.
Across the room, Neville Longbottom struggled. His wand sparked dangerously, and Hermione winced as a flash of fire erupted from the tip.
“Fire! Someone help!” Neville shouted, backing away as the flames leapt to the edge of his parchment.
Instinct took over. Hermione shot to her feet, her hand raised. “Stop!” she cried.
Time froze.
The fire halted mid-dance, its orange tendrils suspended in the air like glass. The room fell silent, every movement and sound caught in a strange stasis. Hermione’s heart pounded as she turned slowly, taking in the frozen scene. Her classmates were still as statues, their mouths open mid-shout, their bodies locked in unnatural poses.
“What… what is this?” she whispered, lowering her trembling hand.
The moment she did, time surged forward. The fire roared to life again, only to be extinguished by Professor Flitwick, who waved his wand with practiced ease. The students burst into relieved chatter, Neville stumbling over his apologies.
No one seemed to notice what had happened—no one except Hermione. She sank back into her chair, staring at her hands.
Her fingers still tingled with power.
Pansy’s Encounter: Unleashing Telekinesis
Pansy Parkinson had never been one for introspection. She preferred action, confidence, and control. But as she stalked through the crowded halls of Hogwarts that afternoon, she felt… unsettled.
The whispers of younger students grated on her nerves, and the loud laughter of Gryffindors made her scowl deepen. Her sharp eyes landed on Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were seated on a low bench, snickering as they watched her pass.
“Think she’s practicing her death glare?” Seamus muttered, not quite under his breath.
Pansy stopped, her fists curling. She turned slowly, her gaze icy. “Do you have something to say to me, Finnigan?”
Seamus grinned, leaning back with mock ease. “Not at all, Parkinson. Though you might want to tone down the theatrics.”
Pansy’s anger flared, white-hot and immediate. The goblet in Seamus’s hand shot forward, propelled by an unseen force. It smashed into the wall beside him, water and shards of glass flying everywhere.
The corridor fell silent.
Seamus jumped to his feet, his face pale. “Bloody hell! What was that?”
Dean looked equally stunned, glancing around as if searching for the culprit.
Pansy’s heart raced, but she forced herself to smirk. “Must’ve been your clumsiness,” she drawled, brushing past them as if nothing had happened.
Inside, though, her mind reeled. She hadn’t touched her wand. She hadn’t even thought of a spell. The goblet had moved on its own—on her command.
What’s happening to me?
Ginny’s Premonition on the Pitch
The wind whipped through Ginny’s hair as she soared across the Quidditch pitch, her broom a familiar extension of her body. High above the castle, the world felt simpler. She could forget the strange energy she’d felt since reading the spell with Hermione and Pansy.
Harry hovered nearby, the Quaffle tucked under his arm. He grinned at her, his green eyes bright. “Ready for a pass?”
“Always,” Ginny replied, positioning herself for the throw.
Harry tossed the Quaffle, but as Ginny reached for it, a strange sensation washed over her. Her vision blurred, and a scene flashed in her mind: Harry dodging a rogue Bludger, the Quaffle slipping from his grasp, and Ginny diving to catch it before it hit the ground.
She blinked, startled, and the vision vanished.
“Ginny!”
Harry’s shout brought her back to the present. Just as in her vision, a Bludger veered dangerously close to his head. He ducked, losing his grip on the Quaffle. Without thinking, Ginny dove, catching it mere inches from the ground.
Her heart pounded as she hovered in place, clutching the Quaffle.
“Nice save!” Harry called, oblivious to her shock.
Ginny barely managed a nod, her thoughts racing. I saw that happen before it did. How?
The Girls Unite
That night, the eighth-year common room was unusually quiet. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
Hermione sat at a table, her notes spread out before her, though her quill remained still. She couldn’t focus.
Ginny entered, her face pale. She dropped into the chair beside Hermione, her broom clattering to the floor.
“I need to talk to you,” Ginny said, her voice low.
“About what?” Hermione asked, though she already suspected the answer.
“Something’s wrong,” Ginny whispered. “On the pitch today, I… saw something before it happened. Like a vision.”
Before Hermione could respond, Pansy strode into the room. She hesitated for a moment, then sat down across from them.
“I’m guessing you two have noticed something strange too,” Pansy said. “I sent a goblet flying across the room with my mind.”
Hermione nodded, her expression grim. “In Charms, I froze time.”
The three girls stared at one another, the weight of their words hanging heavy in the air.
“It’s the spell,” Hermione said finally. “It did something to us.”
As if in response, a faint glow appeared on their right hands. The triquetra symbol emerged, its lines shimmering with golden light before fading into their skin.
“What is this?” Ginny asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s a mark,” Hermione replied. “A symbol of something ancient. Something powerful.”
The girls shared an uneasy look between them. The only thing the three of them knew for sure is they needed help. Which led them to the question of where do we find the answers we are looking for? And of course, the only natural solution would be the same book that gave them the powers to begin with.