Chapter 8
Hermione walked into the library with an indifferent expression, trying to ignore the small groups of students gossiping around, even though there weren’t many students. To Hermione, these moments felt like a thin layer of dust, lacking any attraction other than the monotony. She passed by the tables, glancing at students engrossed in their books or chatting, but didn’t stop, didn’t engage.
She made her way into the restricted section, much quieter than the rest. The narrow aisles between the towering bookshelves were filled with ancient books, their hard covers thick and worn. The smell of damp paper and dust from the shelves blended together, creating a somber atmosphere. Hermione was familiar with this place, where no one knew she came. It was a safe space, a place where she could escape everything, a place where she could find forbidden books no one dared touch. She knew this library was the only place she could search for knowledge hidden in the darkness, knowledge that no one dared seek.
She went straight to the table she usually sat at, with a sense of familiarity. Just as expected, the table was the same, unchanged. But when she sat down, her eyes caught a worn book, placed right where she usually sat. The cover was black, covered with a thin layer of dust, and the pages had started to yellow. But the book still had a certain elegance to it, as if protected by some kind of enchantment. She stared at the cover for a long time.
She reached out, brushing the dust off the cover, and as she opened it, a musty scent of ancient paper filled the air. The pages had nearly faded, the ink barely legible, as if erased through many years. Hermione skimmed through the pages, her eyes widening as she recognized notes about dark magic, spells forbidden long ago. Charms and curses that no one knew about, that no one dared delve into. She had read many books in the restricted section, but none of them were about dark magic or forbidden spells. This book gave her an indescribable feeling.
Who had left this book here?
Or was this book meant for her?
The terms she read in the book astonished her, for they were rare and dangerous. The ancient words were carefully recorded, protected from distortion. Spells that could change the essence of a person, turning them into beings with no humanity, spells that could destroy entire lands in the blink of an eye. The written words made her pause for a moment, taking a deep breath. These curses were not for the weak, let alone for the foolish.
As Hermione continued to flip through the pages, suddenly a small piece of paper fell from between them. She bent down and picked it up, examining it carefully. The small piece of paper had been torn carelessly. On it was a line of black ink, the handwriting delicate and neat. This person must have been taught from a young age; the writing was familiar, though she couldn’t quite place it.
Hermione Granger
It was her name. Written neatly, every stroke perfect. Who had left this book and this piece of paper for her? She stood up, pulled her wand from her bag, muttering a spell as she carefully examined the book and the piece of paper. Of course, the book was enchanted with dark magic, but the paper seemed safe.
I know you’re here, Granger.
Another line appeared beneath her name, the same handwriting, from the same person. She thought for a moment before taking out her own pen. She wrote on the paper.
Who are you?
She waited, staring at the paper.
You don’t need to know who I am.
Hermione blinked, not believing what she had just read. She decided to write back on the paper. Holding her quill, she wrote a sentence that wasn’t very clear, but filled with suspicion.
Are you following me?
Immediately, faint letters appeared on the paper, as if in automatic response.
Don’t be too curious, Granger. We're the same.
Did she know this person? She grabbed her bag, without hesitation, shouting, "Accio Marauder’s Map!" The map flew into her hands. She recited the phrase to open it, looking at the people in the library. In the restricted section, it was only her—no one else. Everyone else was normal. So how did this person know she was here?
Is this book yours? And the paper?
Yes, everything.
Why are you looking for me?
She held her breath, waiting for the mysterious person’s reply.
I know you're looking into the Room of Requirement.
Oh, now she understood. So this person must know about the Room of Requirement. The mysterious person had researched her, even knowing she came to the restricted section and where she sat.
Do you want to help me?
No, I don’t want to help you. I want to cooperate.
Cooperate?
She wanted to laugh, a big laugh. This person wanted to cooperate with her. For what reason? She didn’t even know who she was talking to. This was truly the joke of the century.
Aren’t you curious to learn about that room? Don’t you want to know how it works, Granger?
She did want to know, but if it came from a stranger whose name she didn’t even know, it was hard to trust. She bit her pen.
Should I trust someone whose name I don’t even know? Am I that easily led?
She smiled to herself.
You’re a smart person, you know what you should trust. But I’m not like the foolish ones around you, Siren.
Siren? She was intrigued by this name. She wasn’t sure what the person meant by calling her this. It was a name she had heard in many old stories. About a beautiful mermaid whose voice enchanted sailors. But in other stories, the mermaid was a dangerous monster, her voice stealing the souls of sailors. A symbol of both beauty and danger.
Well, then, you should tell me your name. It would make communication easier.
Just call me Drake.