Chapter Seven
They remained in the classroom for most of the afternoon, chatting whilst flicking through random chapters of the book, ending with the one written for Regulus. Both Regulus and Sirius’ chapters had mentioned their childhood home, Grimmauld Place, though it had no mention of where it was located or what had been done with it now that both Sirius and Regulus no longer lived there.
“Where’s Grimmauld Place and who lives in it now?” Hermione asked.
“It’s London, pretty close to King’s Cross, I think—though I’ve never actually been there before,” Adeline answered, “I don’t think anybody lives there now, though, not since Walburga died in 1985. She was... well, Andy said she was always a little unhinged—had the rumoured Black Madness—but after Regulus disappeared and Sirius was sent to Azkaban, she shut herself away in the house with only her house elf, Kreacher, for company. Nobody ever saw her again, and she warded the house so tightly that no one could get in. Even now, the wards are still active, and no one’s been able to breach them—not until you.”
Hermione blinked at Adeline’s slightly ominous words. “What do you mean ‘until me?’”
“Because you’re one of her heirs,” Daphne interjected, “Family homes are deeply tied to bloodlines because each house head feeds the wards. The magic responds to the will of the head of the house, but with Sirius imprisoned, Walburga would have had access to the wards to alter them as she pleased.”
Adeline nodded along to Daphne’s explanation, adding, “Andy said that she always hoped Regulus would come home—that he’d just been out of the country or something—so she set the wards to only allow access by Regulus or one of his heirs. Now, of course, she’s not the head of the house so she couldn’t erase Sirius from the wards, though I’m sure she tried, but she did have some access to the wards because nobody—not Andy, Narcissa, or even the numerous cursebreakers that they hired—could get in. And well, since you’re Regulus’ heir…”
“I’d be able to get in,” Hermione finished, understanding now what they’d meant.
A feeling of desperation filled Hermione’s body. She wanted to see Grimmauld Place—see the place her father had grown up; wanted to walk in the places he’d walked; see his childhood bedroom… She wondered if his room had been left the same by his mother as it was when he left. Wondered what information she could glean about his life from what the room contained. Or perhaps Walburga—her grandmother, Hermione realised startingly—had cleared it out, along with Sirius’ room, unable to stand the constant reminder of all she’d lost and where her children had ended up. Maybe all that was left was the invisible remnants of Regulus like dust in hard-to-reach crevices, and that Hermione understood.
“What happened to her elf?” Alana asked, “I mean, if Kreacher wasn’t barred from the house like everyone else was, surely it still has access?”
It was a good point, thought Hermione.
She’d never seen a house elf before—even the ones at Hogwarts preferred to stay away from students, cleaning their dormitories when they were in class, and the rest of the castle at nighttime—and she wondered what they looked and acted like. Wondered particularly about Kreacher, and what it had been like for him to of spent quite several years alone in Grimmauld Place with a grieving mother; wondered, too, if he was still alive and if he was okay having spent several years entirely alone once Walburga had died.
“I have no idea,” Adeline said. “House elves are tied to their… masters, not the family as a whole. It’s a choice for them to answer to anyone else, like Andromeda or me. Kreacher hasn’t answered any of our calls so we don’t know whether that’s because he’s passed away or just doesn’t want to answer us, and unfortunately, there’s no way to know which is the reason.”
Hermione’s stomach churned at the word masters. “Masters?” she repeated, voice rising a few decibels with her horror. “Why would they have masters? They’re not slaves!”
“No,” Adeline corrected quickly, her voice firm but pained. “I don’t consider them to be slaves. But they’re bonded to families, and many treat them like servants, maids or punching bags. It’s disgusting.” Her voice shook with anger, the same frustration Hermione felt, rising to the surface. “It doesn’t help that nobody bothers to really understand house-elves. Wizards write about them, but never take the time to learn who they are or what they want.”
“Why would they question something that benefits them?” Daphne pointed out matter-of-factly, her eyes narrowing in a way that suggested she had given the matter more thought than most. “Why dig deeper when you’re already comfortable in your position?”
The word comfortable stuck in Hermione’s mind. She hated it. It implied complacency and a willingness to turn a blind eye to injustice so long as it didn’t disturb one’s life. Her thoughts flickered to her mother’s stories of her medical school days—how she had been the only woman of colour in her class, how she had been forced to prove herself three times over, just to be acknowledged, let alone celebrated. Comfortable wasn’t a word Hermione ever wanted to be.
Adeline’s voice pulled her back to the conversation. “True,” she said, her voice quiet, but the strength behind it unmistakable. “But there’s more to it than just exploitation. The relationship between house elves and wizarding families is... complicated. They’re bonded to the family’s magic.”
Hermione frowned, still uneasy. “That doesn’t make me feel any better,” she said, her voice tight. “Bonded sounds like an excuse to justify a pattern of control. They deserve the right to freedom and respect. Forced loyalty and servitude is inhumane.”
Adeline sighed softly, her fingers drumming against the desk as she considered Hermione’s words. “It’s not as simple as that, Hermione,” she said gently. “The bond isn’t always about control. Often, it’s protective. Andy explained it to me once. House elves draw strength from the family’s magic, but they also reinforce it. It’s a symbiotic relationship when it works well. But I agree—it’s not always fair.”
Hermione blinked, trying to piece together this new layer of the issue. Protective? The idea unsettled her even more. How could something that tied another being to servitude ever be considered a good thing, protective or not?
“Exactly. For example, the wards on my family’s estate wouldn’t be nearly as strong without Tilly, our elf’s magic woven into them. She’s not a servant. She protects us, and we protect her. She’s our family—I even see her like a second parent. My father pays her and she has days off whenever she likes. And if she wanted to ever stop working for us, she’d be allowed to and my father would still take care of her because Tilly’s taken care of us,” Daphne said, “That’s how it should be, but it doesn’t always work that way.”
Hermione felt a wave of discomfort wash over her. Should—the word seemed so naive, so hopeful. What about the families who didn’t treat their elves as family? What about the ones who treated them as nothing more than tools? Just because some treated their elves well, doesn’t mean that things should remain how they are.
“What happens when it doesn’t work out?” Hermione asked, her voice sharp. “What about families that abuse their elves, treat them like property? Are there laws in place to protect the elves and punish the perpetrators?”
“Unfortunately, no. It makes me sick that there isn’t, but every time someone’s tried to introduce a bill to protect elves more, it’s shut down by the conservative purebloods who do treat their elves terribly,” Adeline admitted softly, her eyes darkening with the weight of the truth. “Some house-elves are seen as nothing more than servants, cleaning up after their families, keeping the house in order and being punished or banished from the family for disobedience. But we’re not all like that, Hermione and a lot of us find it atrocious that others act like that. However, we don’t have the majority in the Wizengamot and therefore we don’t have enough sway to make changes.”
“But is there a way to replicate that bond without the forced servitude and control?” Hermione asked.
Adeline hummed in thought. “Well, yes… everyone’s relationship with their elf is different. If you had an elf, it’d be up to you how to define that relationship and bond,” she said. “But I agree, there has to be accountability, and house elves should have the right to leave if they want to, and we should be held responsible for any mistreatment we inflict.”
Though her friend’s words were a slight comfort, her stomach still churned. It seemed like the more she learnt about the inner workings of the wizarding world, the less she liked it. Magic was a part of her, in an intrinsic, natural kind of way, but how could she like the world she was supposed to belong to when it barred certain species from owning wands and forced others into servitude?
How was she any better if she allowed herself to just accept the status quo as tradition and therefore something that should remain as it was? Slavery wasn’t accepted in the Muggle world—had been outlawed in many countries an astonishingly short time ago—and her own history as an African-European girl meant that her own family had ties to slavery.
Her mother’s mother’s family had come from Egypt and Morrocco, and her mother’s father’s family from Romania. Hermione didn’t know a lot about her family as her Mum had a rather terrible relationship with both of her parents, but she knew enough to know that their coming to England hadn’t been from want or desire, it had come from necessity and a need to find safety.
Hermione knew one thing for certain: she would not—could not—sit back and do nothing. Her mother had taught her to speak up and use the voice she had for those who couldn’t, and she had power not only in her ability to hold a wand when others couldn’t, but in her name. It would take time and a continuous fight, and a lot of learning, but she would use her voice if it was the last thing she did. And even if she didn’t know her family, and even if they didn’t know about her magic, she would use her magic for good, and if that meant challenging the way that things were, well that was just what she would have to do. The Pureblood supremacists could go to Hell, she decided.
As ideas formed in her mind, she asked, “Since the house is tied to me, wouldn’t Kreacher be, too? So couldn’t I call on him?”
“It’s possible, but I wouldn’t try it in the castle,” Adeline warned. “Dumbledore’s magic is tied to the wards here, so he’d know if Kreacher apparated onto the grounds. Perhaps over Christmas when you’re home would be a good time to try.”
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They returned to the Slytherin common room late in the afternoon to relax for a while until it was time for dinner. Usually, the common room was rather quiet and cozy, as Professor Snape expected of all of them, but today it was filled with animated chatter and murmuring. A small throng of students were gathered where the Slytherin noticeboards were hung.
“What’s going on?” Adeline wondered, trying to peer over everyone’s heads to see.
“The extracurricular signup sheets must’ve gone up,” Daphne guessed.
When the crowd had thinned and they were able to see the noticeboards, which indeed were filled with a surprising amount of clubs and extracurriculars, Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “There’s so many,” she said. “How am I supposed to decide which ones to sign up for?”
Alana, who’d been leaning over her shoulder, pointed at one. “Ooh, there’s a book club—they made it just for you, ‘Mione.”
“Ha ha,” Hermione said sarcastically, shoving gently at her so she could rummage through her bag for a pen.
With a large amount of their house having already made their decisions, the girls had some time to survey the numerous lists of clubs and extracurriculars, some run by Professors, others created and run by students. Eventually, Hermione made her choices:
Cauldron Connoisseurs
Potions Classroom 2B, Thursday at 4:30 pm (bi-weekly)
Greenroot Guardians
Greenhouse 3, Sunday at11:30 pm (bi-weekly)
Hogwarts Duellist’s League
Duelling Hall, Thursday at 7:30 pm (bi-weekly)
Library Assistance
Library, Tuesday at4:30 pm (bi-weekly)
The Enchanted Explorers Club
Entrance Hall, Saturday a11:30 am (monthly)
The Hogwarts Chronicle Newspaper
H.C.N Office, Library Room 3A, Saturday at 4:30 pm (weekly)
The Spellbound Bibliophiles
Library Room 1B, Sunday at4:30 pm (monthly)
United Council of Students (U.C.S.)
U.C.S Office, Room 1F, Friday at 7:00 pm (monthly)
The names for them all were rather dramatic. Hermione had been getting the inkling that witches and wizards were rather… different in their naming of things: whether that be people, objects, or places, they tended to make them long, slightly flowery, and they had a penchant for alliteration and rhyming.
Hermione made note of all of the times and locations for the clubs they’d signed up for, and when they returned to the dormitory, they retrieved their timetables to copy the times and locations over to. They sprawled out onto the couches in front of the dormitory fireplace while they did so, with Alana setting the kettle to boil for them all to have a cup of tea.
“When are you going to have free time with that many extracurriculars?” Adeline laughed.
“Probably never, but I couldn’t help myself,” Hermione shrugged sheepishly. “Honestly, I could’ve signed up for more if I let myself, but even I couldn’t justify being that busy.”
When the kettle whistled loudly, Alana poured the water into each of their tea cups before taking her seat. “Well, that’s a smart idea,” she said a little sarcastically, grinning. “Imagine being involved in even more clubs than you signed up for and trying to keep on top of homework.”
“I would’ve just made up a study schedule to keep track of it all—which I will probably do regardless because it’ll keep me organised and focused—”
“Hermione,” Daphne interrupted, “If you make up a study schedule for anything other than exams, I’ll have you admitted to St. Mungo’s for evaluation,” she said seriously.
“Well, I for one am excited for the Skirmish Club for Quidditch,” Adeline hummed thoughtfully, “I’m always flying at home, though usually alone since Tonks is horridly clumsy and Uncle Ted hates heights. If Andy’s home, she’ll often fly with me, but she had an injury to her knee during the war so she’s not as fearless flying anymore as she was when she was on the Slytherin Team.”
“Your aunt was on the Slytherin Team?” Daphne gasped, sitting up in her seat with wide, bright eyes. “I didn’t know that—girls are rarely on the Slytherin Team. Ugh, your aunt must’ve been a legend in Slytherin! What position did she play?”
“Chaser,” Adeline smirked proudly, “She was even captain in her last year and secured the cup for Slytherin. Tonks and I always joke that it was the happiest moment of her life.”
“Wow,” Daphne sighed wistfully. “I need to meet your aunt.”
Adeline beamed wider at this. “She’d love to meet you all.”
“Well, I would love to meet your aunt also, but as for Quidditch,” Alana said, letting out a shiver of disgust, “I am perfectly happy to watch and not participate. Me and sports do not mix.”
“Me too,” Hermione agreed, “My feet are quite happy on the ground where they belong.”
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Hermione had trouble sleeping Saturday night, waking up periodically throughout the night until, at six in the morning, she finally gave up. She opened the side of the curtains around her bed that looked out into the Black Lake and quietly watched the movement in its depths. The water rippled against the enchanted window, and since they weren’t very far beneath the surface, she could see the glimmering of the sunrise through the top. Shadows of grindylows floated by, and schools of fish swam through the reeds and seaweed down below, escaping a fierce colony of Mer who called the lake home. In the distance, she even glimpsed the giant squid, breaching the water to sun its tentacles.
Pansy was usually an early riser, and at about six-thirty, Hermione heard her gathering her clothes to go have a morning shower. Hermione opened her bed curtains now that she wasn’t the only one awake so that the other girls didn’t creep around quietly thinking she was still asleep. When Pansy returned, she was dressed in an ankle-length emerald-green skirt with pleats down it, a black turtleneck and outer robes—the numerous layers looked rather stuffy and overly warm, even for a summer’s day in Scotland, and Hermione hoped she didn’t faint if she ventured out into the sun for an extended period.
Hermione went to shower not long later, and considering it was a hair-wash day, it took some time for her to be ready for the day. Her curls looked rather nice after her shower, so she decided to leave them unstyled for the day. She dressed in olive green, wide-leg corduroy trousers and a white The Smiths band t-shirt that she had stolen from the numerous boxes of her Mum’s things up in the attic from her university days.
When she returned to the dormitory, the others were mostly awake.
Millicent was sat up in her bed, polishing her wand with wood oil and a soft cloth—as was encouraged by Ollivander to do so periodically to keep the wood healthy, making the wand last a lot longer. Her calico cat, Circe, had lept up onto the narrow window ledge so that she could paw at the fish swimming by.
Alana was sitting up in bed. She usually slept with her hair braided, and so she was unravelling it, before brushing through it for the day. “Good morning,” she smiled when Hermione re-entered the dormitory. “Your hair looks lovely today, ‘Mione!”
Hermione blushed a little. It was rare that she got compliments about her hair, which was usually a riotous mess—particularly in humidity, which made it frizz up like mad—so any compliments toward her natural hair were much appreciated. “Thanks. How’d you sleep?”
“Good, thanks. Although I kept thinking about Transfiguration tomorrow. That class is going to give me grey hairs.”
Hermione laughed as she sat down at her desk, bringing her knees up to her chest for better comfort.
In the bed beside Hermione’s, Daphne yawned loudly from where she was still burrowed beneath the covers, her blanket wrapped around her head so only her face was seen. “Why are we talking about classes so early in the morning?”
“Alana is just having a crisis about early on-set grey hairs triggered by the stress of Transfiguration,” Hermione explained.
Alana gasped dramatically. “Well, you didn’t have to say it like that, did you? You make me sound ancient.”
Hermione just giggled, as did Daphne, though it was interrupted by another loud yawn. Unsurprisingly, Adeline slept soundly through this all—the girl staunchly believed that waking up before lunchtime was a crime, and therefore struggled most of the time to get out of bed.
The mention of Transfiguration had Hermione realising that perhaps revising a little before Transfiguration tomorrow morning couldn’t hurt. She’d borrowed a book from the library titled Introductory Transfiguration. She’d sequestered the shelf above her desk for her textbooks, which were on the left side, and the right side for any library books she had in her possession so that they didn’t get mixed up with one another. Hermione retrieved the well-worn book and opened the spine, which crackled with age in its leather bindings.
She was doing well—at least in her opinion—in most of her classes, but Transfiguration required a lot more brain power to understand its complicated formula and alphabet. In many ways, it was reminiscent of mathematics, which she’d always needed to take more time to learn than things like History or English, which tended to come rather easily to her.
She poured over the book while everyone else spent their morning as they wished.
The book was surprisingly helpful, Hermione surmised after a few chapters, and she added the title to her growing list of books to purchase—though she made the executive decision to wait till the holidays to purchase them in person, considering how large the list was growing, and her unwillingness to weigh down a poor post owl with her purchases. It summarised a lot of the details in Transfiguration that Hermione had found to be over-explained in their textbook, which cut out a lot of the confusion for her.
She paused in her note-taking over a chapter on simple human Transfiguration, such as colour-changing charms for eyebrows and hair, when a loud groan echoed across the room from Adeline’s bed when Circe had decided to leap onto her bed and directly onto her stomach. “What in Merlin’s name…” the girl mumbled in confusion, sitting up quickly only to see the cat in her lap, which had her thumping back down into her pillow. “Circe, you are a menace.”
“Sorry!” Millicent called out, “Circe, come here, you terror!”
“S’Alright,” Adeline murmured sleepily. “What time is it?”
“Just past nine,” Hermione answered.
“Ugh, too early. Wake me up in eight hours.”
“Hermione will be a Mistress in Transfiguration by then at the rate she’s consuming that book,” Daphne teased, having finally gotten up to make a cup of tea, only to return to bed.
Hermione was quickly realising that even something as small and seemingly unimportant as tea was slightly different in the magical world. The blend Daphne was drinking today was made by Madam Puddifoot’s, a tea shop in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, and was known as Dittany’s Delight—it was a blend of peppermint, chamomile, lemongrass, hibiscus, dittany leaves, and the nectar of a bouncing bulb, altogether making a blend that was both soothing and promoted energy, and was usually consumed to promote wellness. Supposedly tea was suggested to be drunk frequently for a variety of things so that wizards and witches needn’t drink potions for menial things like a sore throat or lethargy. It was all rather fascinating.
“Hermione,” Adeline groaned, “Do you understand the concept of rest or recuperation, or are you always this… non-stop and possibly insane?”
Hermione didn’t take it as an insult like she might’ve if Pansy had been the one to tell her that. After all, Hermione wasn’t exactly known for her ability to slow down. Her brain moved at a million miles a second and was always thinking, scheming and theorising something or rather. To others, that might be odd, overwhelming, and yes, even insane, but it was who she’d always been, and she liked it about herself—she liked her eagerness to learn, grow and be educated. “It’s quite possible I’m insane but I’d rather be insane, than insane and failing Transfiguration. One struggle is better than two.”
“Transfiguration is the bane of my existence,” Alana grumbled unhappily from where she was picking out clothes for the day. “My brain takes one look at the formula and alphabet and runs away for dear life.”
Hermione had entirely abandoned her book at this rate, marking her page with a bookmark for later, and turned in her chair so she could see the entire room. “That’s what studying is for! You won’t get it otherwise. You should borrow this book from the library—they have other copies. It’s brilliant. It simplifies a lot of the things that are confusing in our textbook.”
“I might have to,” Alana sighed. “My father will kill me if I fail any of my subjects.”
“That’s tomorrow’s problem,” Daphne hummed, sipping at her tea happily. “Sundays are for—for continued exploration and teenage mischief!”
“Does the archives count as exploration?” Hermione asked, “I was going to go have a look around them today.”
“You get half a point for the exploration aspect.”
“Brilliant!” Hermione grinned. “Did you want to come along?”
“Not yet, I need to get ready still. I could join you once Adeline decides it’s an adequate time to get out of bed.”
“I’ll come,” Alana agreed easily, “Let me get dressed and then we can go. Although I’ll need to get breakfast first or I might spontaneously combust. I’m positively starving.”
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
When they entered the library after breakfast, Madam Pince was standing behind her desk sorting a large stack of returned books into piles by subjects to make them easier to re-shelve. Hermione and Alana exchanged warm smiles with her before heading deeper into the library. Even at barely ten, the room was already populated by several students, likely getting ahead on reading for upcoming classes—many were older, Hermione noticed, so she imagined they must be in their O.W.L or N.E.W.T years, and thus had a much more substantial course load, with needing to revise their previous years material as well.
The second floor was divided by a small group of bookshelves but mostly was filled by numerous meeting rooms that Dumbledore had added in his tenure as Headmaster. They passed all of these and headed for the small spiral staircase that led up to the archives.
The third-floor landing of the library was dark and cold, with nothing but a large, wooden door at the end, on which hung a moving portrait. The man depicted in it was a middle-aged wizard, with inky black hair that had grown grey at the temple, and dark beady eyes. His left eye had a rather large, jagged scar that ran through it from temple to nose and made his narrow face appear even more intimidating. He wore knightswear and had a long silver sword strapped to his side, and a shield hung from his back. The brass plaque beneath his portrait read Alaric Peverell. “Who dares to approach?” he demanded in a booming voice that was rather loud in the small hallway.
“Hermione Granger and Alana Runcorn, sir,” Hermione said respectfully, her voice measured. “We’re first years. We’d like to do some research if that’s okay.”
Alaric’s sharp eyes scanned them for a few moments. “Very well. But heed my warning: these Archives are a repository of this school’s records and history. They are not to be tampered with, nor shall anything be removed. Violators will face the full force of my wrath.” Both girls nodded seriously at his warning, though they knew that, as a portrait, his wrath was likely more a figure of speech. Still, neither was willing to test whatever magical protections had been placed on the Archives.
With a creak of protest, the heavy door to the Archives swung open, revealing the depths of the room beyond. The air inside felt thick with centuries of age as if the very walls of the room had absorbed the whispers and magic of countless years. The coldness of the room sent a chill crawling up Hermione’s spine. Golden lanterns flickered to life above, casting soft pools of light on the shelves that stretched high into the air, laden with ancient treaties, scrolls, and glass display cases that held trophies, enchanted antiquities, and relics of a bygone era. The room was impossibly quiet, save for the soft, rhythmic ticking of an old clock somewhere in the depths of the archives. The entire space seemed to have a presence of its own like it was alive—like it was watching them and assessing their intentions.
“This place is incredible,” Alana murmured.
“It’s so much larger than I imagined it’d be,” Hermione said, voice tinged with awe, as they began a slow procession down the main walkway that had been created through the archives, with numerous others branching off of it.
The front of the archives seemed to contain the most ‘boring’ and mundane records of the school’s history, which Hermione imagined was due to it being the most easily accessible: library check-out logs, maintenance requests, house chore rosters for house elves, songs the Sorting Hat had performed at each Sorting Ceremony, logs kept by prefects about their duties and rounds, old menus full of meals served in the Great Hall, school budget ledgers, etcetera. There was even an entire shelf dedicated to the school's Quidditch teams: trophies from the years, player statistics, injury or fight records, and photos of house teams.
An entire section was dedicated to stacks of old frames of moving portraits that had needed to be replaced for one reason or another, their brass plates still attached, and they had to carefully step around them to prevent knocking into one and causing a domino effect. Another was dedicated entirely to old instruments used by the Hogwarts band and music club.
Hermione’s attention was drawn by a large bookshelf stacked to the brim with books, seemingly shoved into any place they could fit. Hermione ran her fingers over the spines as she assessed the names on them, stopping at one labelled Rumours of Hogwarts. Curiosity had caught the cat, because she pulled the tome from its place, expelling dust into the air as she did, causing her and Alana to let out a series of sneezes.
“Merlin, the elves must’ve forgotten to clean in here,” Alana complained as she brushed the dust from her sleeves.
“Probably worried cleaning magic might ruin some of this stuff because it’s so old,” Hermione hummed in thought, opening the book and flicking through the pages absently until she paused at a particular passage. “Hey, Alana, listen to this: ‘The Founders are said to of left behind parting gifts for the school upon their departure. Though none have ever been found, historians and cursebreakers have worked in tandem over the years to both research what these could have been, and discover them once and for all. One of these rumoured gifts was Salazar Slytherin’s infamous Chamber of Secrets, which is said to be home to a great magical beast. Though some claim it was left to bring destruction to any who allowed Muggle-borns into the school—as this went against what we know of Slytherin’s idea of who should be admitted to Hogwarts—others have suggested that he left it behind to defend the school if they should ever need it…’”
“I wonder what the beast is,” Alana mused, voice a mix of enthusiasm and uncertainty.
“I have no idea, though whatever it was is long dead now. It’s been a thousand years since Salazar Slytherin was here,” Hermione pointed out, her eyes moving further through the books to a sub-heading titled: Lost Relics of the Founders.
LOST RELICS OF THE FOUNDER'S ERA
Alongside the rumoured secret rooms left behind by the founders, there are a number of their relics once belonging to them that have been lost to time.
The known and rumoured objects belonging to Salazar are the Slytherin family locket, gifted to Salazar upon his succession to the Wizard’s Court; his talisman, rumoured to of been imbued Salazar’s blood, allowing the wearer to harness his bloodline power of Parseltongue; the silver dagger which he used for potions-brewing; and Salazar’s personal grimoire, heard to contain his notes and research on early dark magic.
Rowena’s objects: The Diadem given to the eldest daughter of the family upon her engagement, to be worn during her wedding ceremony; a pendulum, which she used personally to divine answers or guide her decision making; and the Mirror of Haecceity was an artifact created for Rowena Ravenclaw by Eibhlin Sìtheach, her childhood friend and a renowned enchanter. The Mirror was said to reveal not one’s deepest desire, but their true purpose.
Helga’s objects: The Hufflepuff family Cup which was used during rituals and magically important times, such as Yule; Helga’s personal journal, used during the creation of Hogwarts to brainstorm the surrounding landscape; Helga’s staff, which she used to summon creatures to her and encourage the growth of plants.
Godric’s objects: Godric’s sword, passed down through his family; The Gryphon Horn, a magical horn used to emit a rallying cry during times of danger; Godric’s Sorting Hat, which he enchanted personally; and a bronze lion statue given to Godric’s family upon his birth.
Among these: Salazar Slytherin’s family locket and talisman, the latter of which is rumoured to of been imbued with Salazar’s blood, allowing the wearer to harness his power of Parseltongue;
The two girls were both wide-eyed upon Hermione’s completion of reading the passage. If possible, they were even more eager to discover what the Founders had left behind after reading this.
Hermione was jotting down the names of the objects so that she could do some more research on them later since nothing could be removed from the archives when a loud thump echoed from deep within the room. The girls froze immediately, heads turning in the direction of the noise, their eyes wide.
“Please tell me you just heard that,” Alana whispered, her pale face even paler and more harsh against the faint flickering of the lanterns.
Hermione nodded, heart racing. “It sounded like something fell. Should we go look?”
Alana rounded on her, looking at Hermione like she’d lost her mind. “Haven’t you ever seen a horror movie? I’m a halfblood and even I know that’s how you die! Besides, we don’t even know any magic to protect ourselves if we need it.”
“It was just a suggestion,” Hermione whispered sharply, only to flinch when another thud sounded, followed by faint rustling. It was a relatively soft noise, but in the silence of the archives, it felt deafening. A look of determination crossed her face. She wouldn’t be able to use it, but she pulled her wand anyway just in case. “That’s it, I’m going to investigate.”
Hermione took off in the direction of the noise, which came from a lot further in the archives, and she heard Alana reluctantly following.
They moved through the aisles, their footsteps somewhat muffled by the thin layer of dust that blanketed the stone floor. The air grew colder the further they ventured. Finally, they rounded a corner to a peculiar sight: a large stack of books covered the ground in heaps, but what was more unsettling was the footsteps imprinted in the dust—footsteps that were currently walking away from them, only a few metres away. Except that no one was there…
“Oh Merlin,” yelped Alana, gripping Hermione’s arm tight. “We’re going to die!”
“We’re not going to die,” Hermione assured. She couldn’t be sure what, but something in her compelled her to go after it—something that said she wasn’t at risk from whatever this was. Despite her fear, Alana followed.
The trail led to a pathway that ended at a long-forgotten cabinet, where the footsteps abruptly stopped, almost as if the person—ghost, or whatever it was—had walked through the cabinet. The cabinet was rather simply made of oak with a glass top. Inside, a large square of parchment sat, aged and brown at the corners.
“What do you suppose it is?”
“I have no idea,” Hermione responded. She reached for the latch attached to the glass and tried to open it, but when she did symbols lit up over the glass top: runes. “Damn it, I don’t know anything about runes—we won’t study them until third year if we choose to take Ancient Runes as an elective.”
Just then, another thump echoed through the archives, this time back in the direction they’d come from. This time, though, a voice rang afterwards, “Hermione? Alana?” It was Daphne.
“Down here! Can you bring my bag with you?” Hermione called back out, having left her bag when they’d heard the noise. She wanted to write down the runes so they could try to translate them and perhaps see what was inside.
It took Daphne and Adeline a while to find them in the labyrinthine maze of dusty shelves and cabinets—Adeline and Hermione resorted to a game of Marco Polo to make it quicker.
“I didn’t realise the archives would be this massive,” Adeline said when they were reunited.
“Me neither,” Hermione admitted, “Did you see the footprints? They led us to this cabinet!”
Daphne paused and turned to her with a puzzled look. “Footprints? What footprints?”
“Those ones—” Hermione pointed in the direction she had seen them earlier, but the markings in the dust were now gone. “They were right there!” she exclaimed, frustration creeping into her voice.
“Are you sure it wasn’t your footsteps? It’s dusty as hell down here,” Adeline said, wrinkling her nose. “My allergies are going to start acting up if I stay here too long.”
“I saw them too!” Alana said, her voice firm. “They led us to this cabinet, but it’s sealed with runes, so we can’t open it to see what’s on the parchment—it could be important! Nobody seals a singular piece of parchment in a cabinet protected by runes for no reason.”
“That’s why I wanted my bag,” Hermione said, grabbing it from Daphne, who’d been carrying it. She rifled through it before pulling out a piece of parchment and a pen. “I’ll write down the runes, and see if I can translate them. If I can, maybe I’ll be able to open it.” She settled down beside the cabinet, parchment in hand, and began sketching out the runes.
With Daphne’s help, they carefully copied each rune, while Adeline and Alana peered through the glass of the cabinet, trying to make out any details of the parchment inside.
“It looks like a map of some kind,” Adeline said, her voice tinged with awe. “It might be an old map of Hogwarts.”
Hermione stood up after a few minutes, folding the parchment and tucking it back into her bag. “Well if it is, there’s nothing we can learn from it yet—not until I get the runes translated. We might as well head back the way we came and keep looking through the archives.”
When they made their way back near the front of the archives, where Hermione and Alana had been earlier, Daphne stopped in front of a towering bookshelf labelled Prefect Journals, 1900-Present. She pulled one out and flipped through the pages, stopping at one entry at random.
“Listen to this,” she said, grinning as she read aloud, “‘Thursday, 12th December—Caught Fred and George Weasley in the kitchens after curfew. They claimed they were experimenting on how long a pudding could float in midair. I have banned them from the kitchens to protect the house elves, who were furious about one of their puddings being used in experiments.’” Daphne snorted in a very unladylike fashion and quickly covered her mouth as the others burst into laughter.
“Sounds like Fred and George,” Adeline said with a fond but exasperated roll of her eyes.
Hermione couldn’t resist examining one of the journals. She picked one kept by a Ravenclaw named Edwin Whitlock, who had served as sixth-year prefect in the 1923-24 school year. His handwriting was immaculate, looped and meticulous, slanted to the right in a way that told Hermione he was left-handed. His entries were a mix of patrol routes and disciplinary actions.
“‘Tuesday, 3rd of February,’” Hermione read aloud. “‘Caught two students using an unknown passageway near the Charms corridor. Must investigate further to ensure it’s safe after that one near the Astronomy tower caved in last year.’”
“I didn’t even know there were secret passageways,” Adeline said.
“I bet Fred and George might know a lot of them if they discovered the kitchens, which are hidden from students,” Adeline said with a sly smile. “I’ll have to ask them. That way, we can know which ones have been discovered already and which haven’t.”
“Why do you think the school even kept all of these?” Hermione wondered aloud.
“Probably to keep a record of student leadership in case an incident happens,” Daphne said. “But honestly, it’s great for us. Imagine all the information we could find.”
“And the gossip,” Adeline grinned mischievously. “This one is a record from Melania Thorstin: Caught two Gryffindors in the Astronomy Tower after hours. They claimed to be studying but had nothing with them. I have given them both a week’s detention and taken twenty points each from Gryffindor.”
“Naughty, naughty,” Daphne tsked, laughing.
Alana had wandered to a different shelf further down the way—this one was labelled, Student Discoveries. The books here were bound in plain, unadorned covers, with many of them missing titles entirely. Curiosity piqued, she pulled one from the shelf and opened it. The pages were filled with fragmented stories, sketches, and notes, seemingly compiled by different people over the years. “Hey, look at this,” Alana called out loudly, her voice hushed as she flipped through the pages.
The girls gathered around, abandoning the prefect journals in favour of the book Alana had found. One entry described an enchanted suit of armour that roamed the castle at night. Another one spoke of an unexplained cold spot on the sixth floor where students’ ink would freeze just in that area.
“It’s a collection of everything students have discovered over the years,” Hermione murmured, leaning in closer over Alana’s shoulder. “I wonder if there’s anything in here about the Chamber or the other secret rooms.”
“Look at that one,” Daphne pointed to a sketch of a staircase that seemed to go nowhere. “It says it only appears during a full moon, and no one’s been able to figure out where it leads. The staircase just goes on seemingly forever.”
“Well, now I want to know where it leads,” Adeline frowned, clearly intrigued.
“Good luck. Seems like you’d just be climbing forever,” smirked Alana. “Me, personally, that’s my worst nightmare. My legs are not made for that much exercise.”
Hermione laughed as Alana closed the book. “We’re going to be here for weeks exploring—maybe months, even,” she said. “Even then, we’ll barely scratch the surface.”