I headed toward the Great Hall entrance just as the morning traffic began to thin.
Blake caught up with me near the doors, Badeea and Tulip in tow. The four of us fell into an easy rhythm as we walked, footsteps echoing softly through the corridors until the familiar hush of the library wing settled around us.
Madam Pince sat rigidly at her desk near the entrance, spectacles perched low on her nose, eyes sharp enough to skewer parchment at twenty paces. She tracked every student who entered as if daring them to crease a page.
We passed under her gaze without incident.
The library itself was almost empty—rows upon rows of shelves standing in quiet order, sunlight filtering through tall windows and pooling across long tables. With lessons not yet in full swing, it felt like we'd stumbled into a place temporarily abandoned by time.
Blake took the lead.
She guided me through sections with practiced ease—Charms, Theory of Magic, Magical Creatures—pointing out shelves she'd already memorized, alcoves perfect for quiet study, and tables far enough from the entrance to avoid Madam Pince's immediate attention.
We settled into one of those alcoves.
I reached for a slim but dense-looking volume on Animagi and flipped it open, scanning the contents with interest.
Blake noticed immediately.
"You're not planning an Animagus transformation yet, are you?" she asked, concern threading her voice.
"No," I replied, not looking up. "Not before third year at the earliest. But learning never hurts."
I tapped the page lightly.
"And what we really want to learn," I added, lowering my voice, "is all behind the Restricted Section."
She smiled faintly and nodded. "Don't forget me when you start preparing."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
She picked up a Charms text and settled in, while Badeea and Tulip gathered their own selections—wand movement guides, incantation manuals, theory-heavy volumes that promised more insight than immediate results.
The hours passed quietly.
We didn't read cover to cover. We didn't need to.
We cross-referenced.
Compared diagrams.
Checked historical notes.
Flagged inconsistencies between theory and practice.
Between the four of us, we went through nearly twenty books—pulling specific chapters, spell analyses, and marginal notes. By the end, our parchment was filled with dense writing and careful annotations.
Enough material to write thirty-inch essays on Lumos, Wingardium Leviosa, and Animagi theory—without even touching advanced texts.
Badeea and Tulip focused more on precision—repeating incantations under their breath, tracing wand movements in the air, committing muscle memory alongside understanding.
Blake and I leaned into theory.
Why spells behaved the way they did.
How intent altered output.
Where magic bent—and where it refused to.
When we finally leaned back in our chairs, eyes tired but minds sharp, the library was still quiet.
There was still half an hour before lunch.
I left the table quietly and wandered deeper into the library, not searching for anything in particular—just letting instinct guide me.
I passed through the Magical Theory section first. The shelves there were dense, layered with texts that bent logic and redefined how magic itself was understood. I paused, fingers brushing a spine or two, tempted.
Not yet.
Theory without foundation was just arrogance dressed as intelligence. I needed my basics solid before touching magic that questioned its own rules.
So I moved on.
The air subtly changed as I crossed into the History section.
It felt… heavier.
Older.
The shelves here were taller, darker, warded more heavily than the rest of the library. Many of the books looked ancient—leather-bound, thick-paged, ink that had no right remaining so crisp after centuries.
And yet—
They were pristine.
No bent corners.
No faded titles.
No signs of frequent handling.
These books hadn't been used.
They had been stored.
I walked deeper, footsteps soundless on the stone floor, eyes scanning titles that spoke of centuries-long conflicts and half-forgotten truths.
The Goblin Rebellions of the Thirteenth CenturyTreatises on Centaur Neutrality and Broken AccordsOn the Limits of Magical Sovereignty
Interesting.
Ignored.
Then one spine caught my eye.
It wasn't flashy.
It wasn't gilded.
But the name on it was unmistakable.
"Founders Unveiled: A Slytherin Account of the Four Who Built Hogwarts"
I pulled it free.
The author's name was listed beneath the title—Aurelian Thorne, House of Slytherin.
That alone made my interest sharpen.
I opened the book.
The first page wasn't text.
It was a handwritten note, inked with deliberate sharpness, the script formal in the way scholars wrote before printing presses softened handwriting into uniformity.
The words read:
"A pitiful endeavor, wrought in an age too eager to apologize for strength, and too fearful to name ambition for what it is."
I exhaled softly.
So—that was how a student of the early twelfth century phrased "pathetic attempt at fixing Slytherin's image."
Accurate.
And telling.
I was about to turn the page and read further when—
"Alastair."
Blake's voice carried softly through the aisles.
I looked up to see her standing at the end of the row, Badeea and Tulip just behind her.
"It's time," she said. "Lunch."
I glanced back down at the book once more, then closed it carefully.
"This one's coming with me," I murmured.
At the desk, Madam Pince eyed the volume the moment I placed it down.
Her expression tightened.
"This book," she said sharply, "is not for casual reading."
"I don't read casually," I replied evenly.
That earned me a long stare.
She launched into a meticulous list of instructions—no folded pages, no food within ten feet, no annotations, no lending, no copying without permission, no exposure to damp or flame, and absolutely no attempts to remove it from Hogwarts grounds.
I listened.
Nodded.
Agreed.
Eventually, satisfied—or at least resigned—she stamped the parchment with a sharp flick of her wand.
We left the library together, the weight of the book tucked securely under my arm.
__________________________
Support me on p@treon:
get early access to chapters and be first to read my different stories
[email protected]/blaze98