Chapter Thirteen
Adeline’s task was to bring the Slytherins down to their little room, while Harry brought down the Gryffindors. Meanwhile, at seven-thirty, Hermione went down to clear the desks to one side, using the work to distract herself from the stress of running the potential discussion through her head and all that the students might ask or how they might react. When she had no more desks to clear, she pulled enough chairs from the room and nearby rooms into a circle for them to use.
With nothing left to do, Hermione stood in the middle of the circle, glancing at the door for what felt like the hundredth time as she willed herself to stay calm. This isn’t about you, they need to know, they deserve to know, she told herself repeatedly, the words repeating like a mantra until the door creaked open, breaking the silence.
Adeline stepped inside. The other Slytherin first years followed, looking around the room and at Hermione with a mixture of curiosity, suspicion and mild annoyance.
Draco cast a disdainful sneer at Hermione. “What’s this all about, Granger?” he demanded in his usual snappy tone. “I don’t want to waste my evening in some drafty classroom rubbing shoulders with you lot.”
“This isn’t a waste of time, Malfoy.” Hermione couldn’t help but snap. Her nerves were frayed and so much adrenaline and tension filled her that she felt like she could float off into the sky like a hot air balloon from the pressure of it all. Adeline sent Hermione a sharp look and Hermione sighed, rolling out her shoulders before adding, “Just sit down—please.”
He rolled his eyes but said nothing more as he dropped into one of the chairs, sprawling lazily enough to show them all how little he wanted to be there. The others followed suit, the tension palpable amongst them as Hermione hovered above them, unable to stop herself from pacing.
Thankfully, it was only a couple of minutes before Harry arrived with the Gryffindors.
Ron trailed closely behind his friend, looking for all the world like he hadn’t just discovered the truth about what they’d encountered in the forest. He looked rather calm, all things considered. Hermione wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not though.
The Gryffindors cast dark, tentative looks in the direction of the Slytherins, who sent back equally as dark looks in response. Luckily, though, no one seemed to want a repeat of their DADA argument, and thus everyone took their seats.
The silence was deafening as they all looked to Hermione, who stood gripping the back of her chair for support before forcing herself into a seat before she paced a hole into the floor or collapsed on her shaky legs. “Thank you all for coming,” she began, voice trembling.
“It’s not like we had a choice,” Draco muttered under his breath, earning a whack to the arm by Adeline.
Hermione ignored him as she continued, “This is about what happened last night in the Forbidden Forest.”
At her words, the others all straightened in their seats. It was obvious that none of them had done anything more than try to bury the memory of what had happened last night—the questions in the wake of it, the fear, the close call of danger, the unicorn’s death.
“I spoke to Professor Snape in the common room last night, and he confirmed something… terrifying…” She paused, hesitating on the confession as her voice caught in her throat. The others looked to be on the edge of their seats as they steeled themselves for what she was about to say. “He told me that the figure in the forest was… was Voldemort.”
Shock and terror rippled through the room, impacting her peers like the ricochet from an explosion. Hermione watched them be upturned by her words; watched how it rearranged everything that they thought they knew, and guilt like she’d never quite felt before filled her, threatening to overflow the cup inside her.
“What do you mean it was—was—” Daphne stammered, blood draining entirely from her face, unable to finish her sentence.
“This is absolutely ridiculous.” That was Draco. He was doing his level best to appear unflappable and disbelieving, but the brief glimpses of unease and fear that shot across his face told Hermione how he truly felt. Hermione didn’t blame him, either, considering his father’s role in the war—though largely buried beneath Ministry red tape and closed Wizengamot meetings, Hermione had gleaned enough from her friends to know that Draco’s father had been one of Voldemort’s closest supporters.
“Malfoy’s right. I mean, this is a joke—a horrible one, but a joke.” Lavender laughed, high-pitched and dark. “I’m not sure why you think this is a funny joke, Granger, but it’s disgusting and well below you!”
“It’s not a joke,” Harry’s words had the attention turning to him. “I don’t know much about Snape to say anything about what he would or wouldn’t do, but Hermione wouldn’t lie about something like that. And she believes Snape, which means I do, too.”
Hermione smiled at Harry in thanks, who nodded in response, giving her the floor to continue speaking, “Firenze said that only someone extremely desperate would drink unicorn’s blood. That you’d only do it if you were trying to stay alive long enough for something else to give you strength and power. He was trying to tell us more, but Snape shut him down. I imagined that he did that for a reason, and so I got to thinking about what kind of person would do something so desperate knowing the fate they’d be subjecting themselves to. I could only think of Voldemort, but I expected that I was imagining things; that I’d ask Snape and he’d tell me I was crazy and grasping at straws or something. But he went… rigid… and I knew even before he admitted it that it was true.”
Theo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at Hermione through narrowed brows. “You’re telling us he’s back after all these years? I mean, no offence, Hermione, but that’s ridiculous! You must know that it is.” There was still desperation in his voice; an urgency for Hermione’s words to be false; for him to find any sort of potential lie in her words that would settle his worries.
“Snape wouldn’t lie about something like this,” Hermione assured, “He was… scared.”
“Scared?” Blaise spluttered with complete scepticism. “I don’t think that fear is an emotion Snape is capable of feeling.”
Adeline rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, Blaise.”
“But how is he back?” Parvati asked, leg bouncing anxiously. “I thought that Harry defeated him—I mean, he has the scar to prove it!”
“Exactly. And sure, Snape is smart, but he doesn’t know everything.” Pansy huffed as if it were obvious. “Besides, I don’t think that even You-Know-Who could resurrect himself after eleven years of being dead—it’s just impossible.”
“I’d disagree,” Ron said grimly,“When the news came out about what happened with Harry, people were so desperate to believe that the war was over that nobody questioned anything about it. But my Dad was an Auror during the way and the things that he saw… Let’s just say that he never believed You-Know-Who was dead like people thought. He’s always said that that kind of dark magic doesn’t just disappear, that You-Know-Who was too powerful to be killed by a baby—no offence, Harry.”
“None taken,” Harry couldn’t help but smirk at Ron’s slight dig. “Hermione told me this early because of—well, the whole ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ nonsense, and it got me thinking… Before term started, Hagrid took me to Gringotts to get money before I got my school things, and we stopped at this vault where he collected this small parcel. I asked him about it and he said it was for Dumbledore and was very top secret. It was only a few days into the term that the Daily Prophet article came out saying Gringotts had been broken into. The vault broken into was the same one Hagrid and I went to, and the break-in happened on the very same day—I’m guessing not long after we were there.”
The room grew even quieter at Harry’s words, listening to his tale without distraction.
“And then, Hermione, Ron and I accidentally ended up on the third floor—the one Dumbledore said was off limits. We had to hide from Filch and there was only one place we could hide. We ended up in this room with a three-headed dog that was guarding a trapdoor. Of course, we got out of there as quickly as possible, and it was only afterwards that we began to think that whatever was in the vault might be what was being guarded under the trapdoor.”
“And obviously whatever it was must be dangerous or important enough for Dumbledore to risk keeping that dog at Hogwarts,” Hermione added.
Daphne leant forward, expression piqued with interest and understanding. “And you think that You-Know-Who wants whatever it is?”
“Yes,” Harry confirmed firmly, “The unicorn’s blood can only keep him alive for so long, so he needs something powerful enough to either keep him going or completely fix whatever happened to him all those years ago. Why else would he risk coming to Hogwarts now of all times if not for something that only arrived recently?”
Tracey’s voice was barely a whisper. “But why would Dumbledore keep something that important here? Why not somewhere else with security or something to guard it?”
“Hogwarts is considered one of the safest places in the wizarding world because of all the magic built into the walls and the wards, and because of Dumbledore being here,” Draco answered quietly. “If Dumbledore wanted something protected, he’d put it somewhere he could be all the time.”
“But that means Voldemort must be desperate enough to risk Dumbledore’s wrath. I mean, everyone knows that Dumbledore’s the only one he ever feared,” Blaise pointed out, “Voldemort’s powers were unmatched, but he wouldn’t be able to get into the castle himself—not without a disguise or help of some kind. The portraits and ghosts would notice. If he’s here, he’s probably using someone. Through manipulation, blackmail or some other kind of force.”
The suggestion sent a ripple of unease through the room.
Neville, trembling, cleared his throat. “My parents fought him in the war—they were both Aurors and were a part of the Hit Auror Division. It was their job to fight against and hunt dark wizards and witches… but they…” his voice broke as he tried to fight back tears unsuccessfully, water beginning to spill over his eyes. “They didn’t survive… I’ve always struggled with not having them, but I always thought that they suffered so that we could all live safely. If he’s back, then everything they went through was for nothing…”
Adeline reached over and took his hand. “My parents took yours away from you, and there’s nothing I could say to ever be enough of an apology for that, but they dedicated themselves to fighting against dark magic; to making the world a better place. That will always mean something, Neville.”
Neville burst into tears so strong that the sobs wracked his chest. Adeline drew him close, comforting him with a tight hug. They sat in silence, letting the weight of Neville’s emotions and Adeline’s words hang in the air, reminding them just how important this was. People had died to stop Voldemort, entire families had been erased from existence… it was a painful thing to come to terms with.
Once Neville managed to get himself together a little more, they went around the room talking about the losses they’d experienced during the war. Ron’s Mum’s brothers, also Aurors, had died in the war, which became the catalyst for Ron’s Dad leaving the Aurors, the man not wanting to leave his wife with their many young children. Adeline felt loss in a different sense. Her parents hadn’t been taken from her for something noble. Rather they’d been contributing to the loss and pain others felt until it got them arrested. She spoke candidly about hoping nobody ever had to encounter again what her parents had inflicted on others—what they’d inflicted on Neville’s parents.
“My aunt Andy says Voldemort had powers that people couldn’t dream of,” Adeline said quietly. “My mother fell prey to those powers and they destroyed not only who she was, but she used them to destroy others. Andy never believed Voldemort died and she’s not the only one. There are a lot of people who don’t think so either—they think that whatever happened with Harry weakened him so much that he couldn’t go on. So maybe he finally has enough power to try something, or… or like Blaise said, he has someone helping him…”
“Well, that’s a terrifying thought,” Theodore murmured. “But who? I mean, it would have to be someone at Hogwarts, right? You couldn’t have a stranger walking around the castle. It would raise too many alarms and Dumbledore would find out rather quickly.”
“So it’d have to be a student or a teacher,” Seamus suggested.
Daphne hummed in thought. “I highly doubt it could be a student, though. Not unless they were older and powerful enough to get his attention, but that doesn’t seem plausible. There’s no telling what the object is or what’s protecting it. Who’s to say a student, even a fairly skilled one, could have the ability to get by any protections? It’d make more sense for a professor or member of the staff to be helping him, but they’re either secretly very dark and good at hiding it, or like Blaise said, they were manipulated or forced into it somehow.”
“My money’s on Snape,” Ron said derisively.
Adeline rolled her eyes. “Snape’s not all warm and cuddly, but he’s been teaching at Hogwarts since like three years after he left school. Dumbledore himself asked him to be Potions Master and Head of Slytherin after Professor Slughorn retired. That’s a long time to lay in wait and hope for Voldemort’s return,” she pointed out.
“Agreed,” Hermione said. “And the way Snape reacted to me asking him… I don’t think he could’ve faked that reaction. I think it makes a lot more sense for a newer professor to be the one.”
“Fewer ties means less care about the fallout, I guess,” Alana chimed in.
“Exactly,” Hermione agreed. “And while it’d be too much of a risk for Voldemort to outright attack any students, who’s to say what he’ll do if someone gets in his way? That’s why we’re telling you. We can all keep an eye out for anything suspicious without causing panic in the school. We’d be putting everyone at risk if that happened.”
“Hermione’s right,” Harry said, “There’d be mass panic not only in Hogwarts but in the Ministry. That’s not to mention all of the talk it’d cause in the media, with everyone wanting to outright deny he’s back. People don’t even want to entertain the idea that even someone like him could surface, let alone the real thing. It’d be chaos everywhere…”
“So, we’ve agreed: we’ll keep it between us for now, keep a watch out for anything suspicious and watch one another’s backs?” Hermione asked them all.
Draco sighed. “Look, Granger, I don’t like you and I certainly don’t like the Gryffindors, but You-Know-Who destroyed my family and the last thing I want is him to be back. So I’ll keep a watch out, but we’re not fully trained wizards, and even if we were, he’s killed wizards and witches with decades more experience than us without breaking a sweat. So, if we do see anything suspicious, we report it to one of the teachers immediately. Because I don’t know about you lot, but I don’t want to take the chance of being murdered at eleven.”
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Hermione and the others spent the following weeks scouring the library for any information that might pinpoint what exactly Voldemort was looking for. The days became a blur of focus. Between that and staying on top of their homework, every spare moment of their lives seemed to be consumed by research, their desks perpetually buried beneath stacks of books, loose parchment and quills that had seen better days.
Hermione’s frustration seemed to grow with every day that passed with no answers. No matter how many sections of the library they scoured, the answers always seemed maddingly out of reach to them. They’d covered the Potions, Ancient Runes, Alchemy, Transfiguration and Charms sections, but all they’d unearthed didn’t seem nearly powerful enough to bring someone back from the dead.
Hermione slammed a thick book on magical artifacts shut with more force than she’d intended. “Nothing,” she huffed beneath her breath disappointedly.
Adeline paused, quill poised mid-sentence into her Potions homework that she’d been putting off all week, and raised an assessing brow. “What did the poor book do to you?”
Hermione took a deep breath and sighed, rubbing at her eyebrows. “I’m sorry. I just feel so hopeless… I mean, what if Voldemort gets what he wants before we manage to figure it out?”
Adeline reached across the table and patted her hand comfortingly. “We’ll figure it out, Hermione, but there’s no use getting frustrated. It won’t get us anywhere.”
Hermione offered a small, but tired smile to her friend. “You’re right.”
“I’m starting to think it might be in the Restricted Section,” Daphne commented, brushing her long blonde hair over her shoulder as she skimmed through a book on legendary magical objects. “It’s where all the dark stuff is kept, right? Maybe what we’re looking for is in there.”
They’d discussed this possibility before, however, nobody below fifth year was allowed to access the Restricted Section without a note from a Professor. None of them stood a chance of getting that note without a very good reason, which they didn’t have. They’d need to do some brainstorming—perhaps even order in a few books if they knew what direction to look in—but for now, they didn’t have anything to go on, which certainly didn’t inspire much confidence in working out what Voldemort was after.
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Weeks flew by and the castle was transformed into a haven of Halloween and autumnal cheer. Floating pumpkins adorned corridors, their carved faces glowing with warm candlelight. Colonies of enchanted bats flitted through the halls, their high-pitched squeaks echoing against the ancient stone walls as they searched for perches to hang from. The ghosts revelled in the season, hiding in suits of armour or behind corners, jumping out to scare students at any chance; portraits could be heard telling spooky or scary stories to whoever would listen; and one day, Fred and George sent Ron shrieking from the Great Hall after enchanting a spider to chase him—apparently, spiders were Ron’s biggest fear, Hermione learnt.
The girls finally had a breakthrough when they finally managed to translate the runic sequence using the dictionaries. Once translated, they theorised with one another the importance of each rune in the cabinet's protection. Eventually, they came up with:
- Elder Futhark: Raidho (ᚱ) – Represents a journey or path, hinting at the journey the discoverer goes to open the cabinet
- Anglo-Saxon Futhorc: Mann (ᛗ) – Symbolizes humanity, requiring the seeker to have good intent and moral purpose.
- Younger Futhark: Bjarkan (ᛒ) – Denotes growth and discovery, guarding the cabinet until someone with a thirst for knowledge approaches.
- Galdrastafir: Vegvísir – The Icelandic stave of guidance, emphasizing the object being a potential guide to the discoverer
- Theban Alphabet: Symbol for "H" – Represents Hogwarts
- Ogham Script: Dair (Oak) – Associated with wisdom and strength, reflecting the enduring legacy of Hogwarts.
- Adinkra Symbol: Eban (Safety) – Represents the protective enchantments keeping the object secure.
- Binding Rune: Algiz (ᛉ) + Sowilo (ᛊ) – Combines protection and clarity, ensuring only a seeker with clear intent and goodwill can unlock it.
They’d discussed how exactly they went about unlocking the runes now that they’d translated them, and realised that perhaps there was a meaning behind the sequence of each rune, or that perhaps certain runes had to be traced to open the cabinet.
It took a few days for them to get the order right, but when they did, they realised it was rather literal. They’d determined the order to be: Raido, symbolising the initiation of their journey to opening the cabinet, Mann, to demonstrate their intent in opening the cabinet; Bjarkan signified growth and progression in the journey; and finally, Algiz, the protective barrier.
However, when they attempted to open the cabinet, they were rewarded with knowing they’d gotten the runic translation correct, but they were gifted with a new surprise—a second layer of defence. A series of words, clearly in different languages that appeared over the glass top, that they’d need to translate:
On þam þeostre þær gehealdaþ geheima,
Þā getrūan tredap þær sceadu slǣpap.
Tōl ungesēwen gīt gescīþþ þæt land,
Mid mannes cræfte and wiglunge hand.
Hit segþ nān lēas, ac hwispraþ sōþ,
Tō þā þe sēcaþ and dūrst þurhseon.
Hwæt læt þā forlorenan,
þurh stān and lufu,
Gīt hyt hyt hīdþ mid cræftīgum cearum?
Daphne groaned. “Great. Another puzzle.”
Alana squinted at the text. “Does anyone recognise the language?”
Between all of them, they spoke French, Arabic, Italian, and a little German, and Daphne could even read some Latin, and yet none of them recognised the words even the slightest. Meaning that they’d have to spend quite a while scouring the Languages Section of the library in search of the language.
Hermione quickly copied the words into her notebook and frowned, studying them for anything that stood out—to no avail. “It’s written like a poem or riddle. But it’ll take a while to translate to get any information.”
Adeline’s lips twitched with a playful grin. “Good, I was starting to get bored.”
Daphne rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t be bored if you finished your homework on time.”