Chapter 1
Chapter 1: The Veil’s Secrets
Despite her many years immersed in the magical world, Unspeakable Hermione Granger still found herself captivated by magic. One might expect that her thrilling adventures during her youth, extensive mastery studies, and her induction into the Department of Mysteries, the enchantment of magic would have faded. Yet, as she peered into the luminescent aura of her latest project, a familiar sense of wonder washed over her.
After over a year and a half of meticulous research and refining complex Arithmancy equations, Hermione was on the brink of a breakthrough- not only repairing the broken Time-Turners but also enhancing them significantly. The new design she envisioned could potentially allow users to travel back several months, not merely hours.
The need for such advancements became painfully apparent not only due to the corruption needing purging from the Ministry of Magic but also because of the chaotic state of its archives. Each chamber in the Department of Mysteries hoarded its research secrets rather than centralizing them in the department's main archives. This quirk hadn’t been an issue until Hermione’s fifth year, when she and other members of Dumbledore's Army had clashed with Death Eaters in the Time Room. The battle had resulted in the destruction of not only all the Time-Turners but also the research pertaining to them.
As an Unspeakable, Hermione had access to rare books and manuscripts. The library within the Department of Mysteries housed texts gathered from across the globe, including volumes thought lost from ancient libraries such as the one burned in ancient Alexandria.
While exploring the vast collection, for her current research into fixing the broken time-turners, Hermione stumbled upon a scroll wedged between other tomes on spell crafting. The scroll's cracked edges and the slightly faded ink suggested an incredible age. Setting aside the book she was holding, Hermione carefully unfurled the scroll, her brow furrowing slightly in concentration.
Frowning slightly, she murmured to herself, “What is this doing here?”
Seeking better light to examine her find, Hermione moved to a nearby table bathed in the warm glow of firelight. As she settled down and spread the scroll before her, the crackling fire cast flickering shadows over the ancient text.
"Ansuz, Raido, Eihwaz..." Hermione muttered to herself, "wisdom, travel, eternal cycles... but what are these other symbols or are they letters?"
Tracing her fingertips over the sharp geometric angles with fluid, circular elements. The script resembled a blending of artistic ciphers and ancient runes. Each symbol was ornately detailed, often finished with tiny embellishments like dots and swirls, giving it a mystical appearance.
Turning the scroll over to see if anything else was written only to find an emblem carefully drawn on the scroll. The image was comprised of stylized map of a galaxy, its spiral arms elegantly rendered in silver ink that shimmered subtly against the aged parchment. At the center, where one might expect to find a representation of a star or planet, there were three-star points painted with ink that seemed to glow faintly even in the dim light of the library.
Surrounding the galaxy, a pair of vivid green laurel branches—traditionally symbols of peace and victory—are depicted in a graceful arc. These branches frame the galaxy, their tips nearly meeting on the opposite side, enclosing the galaxy in a protective embrace.
“Hermione!”
Startled, she dropped the scroll onto the table, the ancient parchment landing with a soft thud, and spun to face the voice.
“Lydia! You startled me,” Hermione exclaimed, hand flying to her wand, her heart still racing from the unexpected interruption.
“Sorry, I called your name a couple times already, you weren’t responding,” Lydia answered, her lips curling into a playful smile as she leaned back on her heels.
“Was there something you needed?” Hermione asked, her tone slightly breathless as she turned around to arrange her research area back to rights, flicking her wand a few times to send materials back to their places before looking back at Lydia.
“Head Unspeakable Archibald wants to talk to you.”
Cocking her head to the side, Hermione responded with bemusement in her voice, “he couldn’t catch a departmental owl again, could he?”
“Right in one. I’m certain they have been avoiding him in the last two weeks since he accidentally hit one with a backfired spell. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that owls are gossips since the incident he hasn’t been able to send out one departmental owl.” Lydia replied, her laughter ringing out through the otherwise quiet room.
Shaking her head in amusement, Hermione remarked, “Well, that’s unfortunate. That old bag of bones will probably start accioing them soon. Can’t he just use the message plane charm they are using up in the Department of Magical Games and Sports?”
“I asked him that myself, and he said that every time he sent off the message, the paper airplane would sail back and hit him square in the forehead.”
“I heard Unspeakables Broadmoor and Trickett cackling to themselves when he was telling me; they probably jinxed his wand,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes.
“Well, thank you for telling me. I’ll head over to his office as soon as I finish up here,” Hermione replied, a smile playing at the corners of her lips as she turned back to her work.
“No problem!” Lydia responded, her voice chipper as she turned on her heel, soft curls bouncing on her shoulders in sync with her swift movement.
Shaking her head in amusement, Hermione picked up the scroll she had been examining before Lydia's arrival. With careful precision, she rolled it up, placing it atop a stack of books destined for further scrutiny, Hermione contemplated the wealth of knowledge awaiting her. Waving her wand over the books with a flick of her wrist, she banished them to her home, the gentle glow of magic enveloping the stack.
With a satisfied smile, Hermione watched as the books disappeared, knowing they would be waiting for her when she went home.
Head Unspeakable Percival Edmund Archibald was the quintessential eccentric wizard at the helm of the Department of Mysteries, his unconventional methods and quirky demeanor masked a brilliant and sharp mind. At the age of ninety-three Archibald was a tall, somewhat stooped figure, with a mop of unruly white hair that seemed to have a life of its own, often sticking out at odd angles no matter how often he attempted to tame it.
As a muggleborn Hermione often thought him to look like the muggle theoretical physicist Einstein. He wore thick-rimmed spectacles that constantly slipped down his nose. The glasses seemed to magnify his eyes to an almost comical extent, adding to his whimsical appearance. Archibald's robes were always a bit askew, with one sleeve often rolled up or his collar slightly unbuttoned, as if he dressed in a hurry after being distracted by a particularly fascinating magical theory.
In his office, chaos reigned supreme. Books, scrolls, and various magical artifacts were strewn about in what appeared to be a haphazard fashion, but Archibald insisted there was a method to his madness. Among these piles, one could often find everything from ancient runes to experimental magical devices, each item holding a story or a forgotten spell that only Archibald could recount.
Despite his disorganized exterior, Archibald was deeply respected for his profound knowledge of the arcane and his fearless approach to exploring the unknown aspects of magic.
Standing in front of his desk, Hermione ducked as a fist-sized stone shot out from the area where Archibald was engrossed in his experiments.
“Flying hippogriffs, would you hold still for a moment!” he shouted, turning to chase the stone as it zipped through the air with erratic enthusiasm.
“Immobulus,” intoned Hermione, flicking her wand at the stone. It immediately froze mid-air, halting its chaotic trajectory.
“Hello, Sir, Lydia was just by saying you wanted to see me?” Hermione asked, her voice carrying a hint of mirth as she observed the Head Unspeakable's disheveled appearance. His robes were more crumpled than usual, and his hair stood out in wild tufts, as if he’d recently had an altercation with a particularly aggressive wind.
“Oooyooo, don’t you laugh at me, young lady,” he scolded, wagging a finger at her. His stern expression was undermined by the twinkling in his eyes, indicating his feigned annoyance.
“As I was about to say,” Archibald continued, going to stand behind his desk, his voice suddenly grave, “yesterday morning, in the death chamber, two Unspeakables discovered a tome perched on the steps leading to the Veil. What's peculiar is that the tome seemed to resonate with a unique energy signature. However, as soon as one of the Unspeakables manipulated it with a levitation spell, the energy ceased, and the tome became as inert as any mundane book.”
“I see,” Hermione responded, maintaining a carefully neutral tone. “Any theories on who might have placed the tome there?”
Archibald paused, his bushy eyebrows knitting together in concentration. “It's quite the enigma. As you know, the death chamber is protected by spells that record the names of all who enter or exit on a magical ledger within my desk. According to the ledger, no one but the two Unspeakables were present that day, and they were the same who discovered the tome the following morning. They insist they saw nothing unusual before closing the chamber for the night. This leaves us with two possibilities: either they're withholding the truth, or our ledger failed to record an intruder.”
Hermione's mind raced, considering the implications. “Could someone have tampered with your ledger?”
A sheepish expression crossed Archibald's face. “I must admit, I was working late that night and fell asleep at my desk. If anything transpired, I neither heard nor saw it.”
“And the Aurors on night duty?” she inquired further.
“They reported nothing out of the ordinary,” he sighed.
Intrigued, Hermione leaned forward slightly. “Setting aside the question of its origins, what have you learned about the contents of the tome?”
“It's baffling, really,” Archibald said, a trace of frustration in his voice. He waived his wand at a drawer of his desk and a tome came out , landing on the desk between them. “The pages, every single one, are blank. I've examined it for traces of dark magic, or any magic for that matter, but it's just a blank book.”
Hermione eyed the tome curiously. It appeared ancient, its leather cover cracked and worn, clearly hand-bound and bearing the scars of many years.
“May I?” she asked, gesturing with her wand towards the mysterious book.
“By all means, my dear,” Archibald replied, stepping back to give her space.
Thinking back to a previous mysterious blank book, Hermione cautiously waved her wand over the book, chanting incantations to reveal hidden texts and to detect any traces of dark magic. It wasn't a question of distrust towards Archibald's competence; she simply wanted to ensure that no detail, however minor, was overlooked.
After several fruitless minutes, Hermione's wand hand dropped to her side. “It seems to be just as you said—a mundane book. Has anyone actually handled it physically?”
“Only I have,” Archibald responded, his gaze fixed on the book with a mixture of irritation and disbelief. Hermione could sense his frustration; the book's persistent ordinariness seemed almost an affront to his scholarly pride.
Sheathing her wand back into its holster, Hermione tentatively placed her finger on the book's cover. When no reaction followed, she grasped it fully. As Archibald had assured, the pages offered nothing—blank and unyielding. She thumbed through them methodically, her annoyance mounting with each empty page. Just as she prepared to close the book, her index finger snagged, slicing a tiny cut.
“Ouch!” she exclaimed, dropping the tome onto the desk.
As she inspected the small wound, drops of blood welled up on her fingertip.
“One moment, dear,” Archibald said, rummaging through a drawer for a handkerchief.
“Here we go,” he murmured, leaning forward to hand it to her.
“Thank you, sir,” Hermione replied, reaching out to accept the cloth.
As she leaned forward, a sudden, brilliant flash of blue light erupted from the book. Both she and Archibald gasped, staring as the light faded. Hermione's heart raced as she noticed a single drop of her blood had fallen onto the center of the book's cover. A sense of dread swept through her as runes began to etch themselves across the leather and down the spine—the unknown runes identical to those on the ancient scroll she had examined earlier that day.