The sensation was suffocating as if Eamon was being forced through a narrow tube. Everything around him became a whirlwind: a burst of vibrant colors and unintelligible sounds. Gravity seemed to have abandoned him, suspending him in an endless fall.

However, as abruptly as it began, it all ended. A dull thud against something soft informed him that he had landed. The grass. His stomach, however, had not had time to adjust to the abruptness of the journey, and vomit rose sharply, staining the green grass.

Eamon took a few seconds, breathing heavily, feeling the cold of the ground through his clothes, trying to calm the waves of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. Images flashed briefly through his mind, like glimpses: the hospital, Director Collins, the bathroom, the ring...

'Focus,' he told himself, suppressing the urge to vomit again.

With an effort, he looked up, allowing himself for the first time to become aware of his surroundings. He was in a massive clearing, the trees around him rose majestically, some even defying comprehension with their height. The lights filtering through the canopy cast mottled patterns on the ground, giving the place an ethereal air.

But something else caught his attention. In the distance, the silhouette of what must once have been an imposing structure rose. Dead vegetation surrounded it in an almost perfect circle, and although it now lay in ruins, the remnants of its grandeur were undeniable. The facade, though stained and faded by time and fire, showed traces of stone walls that had once been robust, arched windows that were now empty, and a tower that, although partially collapsed, suggested that in its heyday it had been used to observe something beyond earthly horizons.

However, time and neglect had taken their toll. Vines covered much of the walls, and the dark wood of the main entrance seemed to have been consumed by fire. Burn marks on the ground and bricks screamed the story of a catastrophic fire.

He felt drawn to the structure, but a feeling in his stomach stopped him. It wasn't nausea this time, but a growing concern. 'How did I get here? What was that?'. The memory of the ring shining in his hand before the chaos returned to him.

He tried to rationalize the situation. 'Think, think,' he ordered himself as his eyes darted around looking for some clue. The sensation during the "journey" was strangely familiar. Where had he read or heard about something similar? Then, like a bolt, it came to mind.

'Portkey,' the word shone in his mind. He had read about them in the Harry Potter book series years ago. They were objects that magically transported people to different places when activated. Could it be? Was the ring a Portkey? He remembered the description of what it felt like to use one, and everything matched: the sensation of a tug at the navel, the world spinning madly around him, and the abrupt arrival.

But how could he have activated a Portkey? He remembered murmuring the words inscribed on the ring just before the whirlwind of sensations. That had to be it. He had activated the Portkey without realizing it.

He looked around, his eyes frantically searching for the ring. If his assumptions were correct, that ring could be his ticket back. The hospital, Director Collins... He couldn't afford to waste much time!

The clearing was vast and the grass tall, making the search for the small object feel overwhelming. Minutes passed, each second increasing his anxiety, when something shiny caught his attention in his peripheral vision.

There it was, half-buried in the grass, the ring gleamed under the filtered sun. Eamon hurried over to it, picking it up with trembling hands. Hoping his theories were correct and silently praying, he pronounced the words inscribed on the ring firmly again.

A tug, a whirlwind of sensations, and Eamon disappeared from the clearing, leaving behind the majestic silhouette of the ruined mansion.

The universe seemed to shrink, condensing into a narrow passage through which Eamon felt sucked again. A succession of flashes and shadows clouded his vision, and the air became thick as if he were underwater. Despite the familiarity of the sensation, this time he could resist the urge to vomit. Once the turbulence ceased, the world returned to normal in the blink of an eye.

Eamon blinked repeatedly, clearing his vision, and what he saw filled him with immense relief. He was back in familiar territory. The outskirts of Fairbridge stretched out before him, with its picturesque buildings and cobblestone streets he had walked so many times. The sun, beginning to tilt in the sky, bathed the landscape in a golden glow.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips. The ring had indeed acted as a bidirectional Portkey. A disturbing thought crossed his mind. Why, of all possible places, had the ring taken him to the forest and then back to Fairbridge? Was there a connection between these places? These reflections, which resembled whispers in his mind, tried to lead him down a path of deductions. Was there a special reason why the ring transported him right to the outskirts of the village? Eamon tried to piece things together, but something didn't fit.

Setting aside his doubts for the moment, a renewed urgency drove him to get moving. Time was against him, and although he had momentarily escaped the consequences of his absence, he knew he couldn't relax.

Without wasting time, he propelled himself forward, his small legs moving as fast as they could. The streets of Fairbridge were familiarly nostalgic, and although he tried to keep a low profile, he couldn't help but attract the attention of the residents. Some looked with expressions of confusion, others smiled at the sight of the hurried young man, and a few exchanged murmurs among themselves, wondering what could have caused such a rush. However, he had a goal in mind and nothing would stop him.

As he delved deeper into the village, his thoughts overflowed, mixing with whispers and mental conclusions. 'I have to get to the hospital. There's no time to waste. The director will be looking for me,' he thought, as he dodged a couple walking on the sidewalk.

Then, he continued reflecting, 'If I get there before she realizes I'm gone, maybe I can avoid a scolding... or something worse.'

Minutes passed, feeling like hours before the familiar building of Fairbridge Hospital appeared before his eyes. He was about to stop to catch his breath but decided he first needed to get to Henry's room. Approaching the main entrance, he slowed down, trying to regain some composure. He didn't want the hospital staff to see him in that state and start asking questions.

He carefully slipped through the automatic doors and took a quick look around. The hallway was notably quiet. Without hesitation, he headed straight for Henry's room, dodging nurses and doctors along the way.

When he finally arrived at the door, relief flooded him as there were no signs of Director Collins. He looked through the small glass pane of the door and saw the doctors surrounding Henry, engrossed in their work. Deciding it would be best to wait for them to finish, he leaned against a nearby wall, trying to calm himself and prepare for the encounter he knew was coming.

From his position, he could vaguely hear the murmurs and conversations of the doctors inside the room. Although he tried not to pay attention, every time he heard the name "Henry", his heart skipped a beat.

'Please, let him be okay,' he thought anxiously, rubbing his hands nervously.

Then, a familiar sound snapped him out of his thoughts. Hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway, and he immediately recognized the approaching figure. Director Collins, with her ever-serious expression and firm stride, was coming straight towards him. For a moment, he considered hiding but quickly dismissed the idea. There was no escape.

Before he could say anything, the director confronted him, her piercing gaze fixed on him. "Eamon, where have you been? I've been looking for you."

Trying to stay calm, he replied with a shaky voice. "I'm sorry, Director. I got lost coming back from the bathroom and ended up in another wing of the hospital. It was an oversight."

She looked at him skeptically but seemed to accept his excuse, albeit with reservations. "Don't wander off again without notifying. We have enough concern with Henry's condition."

Nodding in understanding, he sighed with relief when she turned her attention to the room. Shortly after, the doctors left, leaving the door open. The director gestured for them to enter, and both stepped into the room, anxiously awaiting news about Henry's condition and when he would be discharged.

May 21, 1985

In the dimness of his room at the orphanage, Eamon was in a state of deep introspection. Sitting on the bottom bunk, he felt the empty space right above him, where Henry usually rested. Although Henry had been discharged and was in the process of recovering, the atmosphere in the room felt different. The air, once filled with laughter, jokes, and nighttime chats, was now charged with reflective silence.

The weight of everything he had experienced seemed to push him down, forcing him to feel the oppressive hum that surrounded the orphanage with new clarity. The whispered chats about the Wentworths he had eavesdropped on, combined with that elusive figure who had disappeared shortly before Henry woke up, swirled in his mind like pieces of a puzzle waiting to be assembled. As he pondered, a familiar hum, one that had been present since he could remember, became noticeable again. For a long time, he had managed to ignore it, much like one becomes accustomed to a constant smell, but now, with the tangle of emotions and conjectures swirling in his mind, that hum returned with oppressive intensity. It was as if, somehow, everything was interconnected.

Small tears welled up in his eyes, reflecting the inner turmoil and frustration of not being able to understand it all. The weight of his own history, his unusual ability to perceive what others couldn't, and the persistent threat of mental imbalance were taking their toll. His heart longed for answers, a sense of belonging, and above all, peace.

Much of his previous existence had been focused on ensuring the well-being of those he loved, but that had left him empty, with nothing left for himself. He had been his strength and anchor, but also his prison, restricting him to a cycle of self-loathing and mental exhaustion.

But in that moment of despair, a glimmer of determination shone in his eyes. Not all was lost; magic and its mysteries opened up before him as an opportunity to start anew, to rebuild from a new foundation. In the intricate dance of the mystical, he saw a promise, a path to healing and perhaps, to the peace he so craved.

Despite everything, there was still hope and purpose. Something was intoxicating about the idea of delving into the mysteries of the magical world, a call that touched the deepest fibers of his being, fueling a curiosity that had always been stronger than his sense of self-preservation.

Magic offered him a second chance, a chance to rediscover and redeem himself in a world where he could find his place, his peace. An opportunity to focus on something bigger than himself, to explore and understand, to find answers, and perhaps, just perhaps, to find true happiness. A chance to build a future where fear and loneliness weren't the protagonists, and where he could, at last, stop running from himself.

If there was a place to start unraveling the mysteries, it would be the clearing. The ring, the Portkey, had provided him a means to access that place. However, he was aware of the risks. While his curiosity might propel him into danger, it also provided him the strength to seek answers. Now, all he needed was a plan.

Playtime offered a perfect opportunity. At that time, all the children would be scattered, allowing him some freedom to move without being detected. He had already visualized his route: sneak through the backyard and return to the orphanage unnoticed.

As the last traces of daylight disappeared, Eamon curled up under the sheets, thinking about the day ahead. Although fear and uncertainty were present, determination burned stronger within him. Tomorrow would be a new day, and he would be ready to face whatever came his way.

May 22, 1985

The morning dawned with a radiant sun, but for Eamon, the splendor of the day was overshadowed by his thoughts about the clearing. As he walked through the halls of Fairbridge Academy, the lessons and conversations echoed like distant sounds in his mind, which was trapped in the mystery the clearing concealed.

Later, at the orphanage, the courtyard filled with the bustle and laughter of the children. Voices and shouts of joy permeated the air, but he sought discretion, stepping into the shadow of a bush and finding a hidden corner.

Feeling his pocket, he sensed the familiar contour of the ring and, under the evening light, he gazed at it, feeling the urgency of his mission. Without hesitation, he held it firmly and pronounced clearly: "Rootes Depe, Hevene Endelees."

The experience of being transported by the magical object was overwhelming. He felt pulled through a tunnel, moving at a speed that defied logic. Although he had experienced this before, the sensation was equally striking.

When the whirlwind ceased, he found himself standing in the clearing. He took a moment to reorient himself and, once his senses adjusted, he looked up, determined to explore the secrets of the place.

In the clearing, the unmistakable outline of the mansion in ruins stood imposingly before him. Eamon couldn't help but feel that the structure, though ravaged by time and neglect, still retained vestiges of its former glory. Determined, he began to walk towards it.

As he progressed, his senses sharpened. A kind of hum or vibration he perceived, an amalgam of frequencies that resonated in the environment. It was evident that magic had played a role in the history of this place. Every step he took seemed to intensify these sensations. Although much of the vibrations were chaotic and hard to interpret, one in particular was curiously familiar to him. It was like a distant memory, something he had forgotten long ago and was now resurfacing with clarity.

Eamon cautiously approached what was once a grand mansion. Though now in ruins, he could sense the splendor that surrounded it in its heyday. Vestiges of majesty remained: the stone that had formed robust walls, now discolored by time and partially hidden by vines trying to reclaim it, still retained a stately air. The windows, tall and arched, once housed stained glass that would cast multicolored glints on sunny days. Now, they were empty, with only the wind as a witness to their secrets.

The main entrance gate, though worn and clearly affected by fire, suggested that at some point it was a masterpiece of dark wood and wrought iron. The marks on the ground and the stone told the story of a catastrophic fire. Eamon wondered what secrets the gargoyles that once guarded this entrance might hold.

His eyes shifted to what remained of the tower. Though partially collapsed, one could imagine that this structure stood above everything, offering its inhabitants a heavenly view. Would they have observed the stars from there? What astral rituals might have been carried out in that elevated place?

As he explored, he noticed a terrain that seemed to have been a pond. The idea of a mystical place where weeping willows surrounded the water came to mind. Although he couldn't be sure, he felt that this place had its own magical stories to tell.

Gathering courage and having detailed the exterior of the structure, he decided it was time to explore the inside. With his heart beating in anticipation, Eamon pushed what remained of the gate and entered the mansion. The shadows inside, even in broad daylight, seemed to have consumed part of the light. The silhouettes of the paintings hanging on the walls were barely discernible, burned, and destroyed, but one could still notice the distinction of figures that were once portraits of ancestors or mystical scenes. The marks of smoke and fire painted a sad picture of destruction and loss.

The main hall presented itself to Eamon as a silent vestige of the mansion's grand past. His steps echoed on the floor, creating an echo that mixed with the whisper of the wind filtering through the broken windows. In the center of the hall, a bifurcated staircase ascended on both sides, leading to a balcony on the upper floor. The design of the staircase was such that, despite the devastation around it, it gave the impression of majesty, as if inviting someone to climb and discover the secrets of the upper floors.

The high ceiling, partially sunken, allowed a ray of evening light to filter in, illuminating part of the space in a golden hue. This ray of light revealed what must have been a majestic chandelier that now lay in the center of the hall, twisted and disfigured, like a giant fallen in battle.

The walls, although stained by the passage of time and fire, still showed traces of their former beauty. Eamon could vaguely see the edges of what seemed to be murals or decorative paintings. Here and there, remnants of paintings with gold frames showed figures that could barely be distinguished due to the damage, but enough to make him imagine the mansion's ancestors in fine robes and dignified poses.

The curtains, once surely luxurious and heavy, made of rich and soft velvet, now hung scorched and in tatters. However, they still retained that air of elegance, like a king in exile, recalling days of glory.

And right at the central point, where the bifurcated stairs met at their base, a statue of a deer stood, defying time and desolation. Unlike everything else in the room, it seemed to be in perfect condition. It was carved with such detail that Eamon almost expected to see it breathe. The figure of the deer was elegant and majestic, with a proud posture and a pair of impressive antlers that rose to the sky. What caught Eamon's attention, however, were the specks that decorated its body. They seemed to be embedded or carved into the surface of the statue, like tiny constellations that had not yet shown their true shine.

As Eamon approached, the statue's silent song became more intense, a near-melodic hum emanating directly from its core. This was a completely new experience for him; he had never felt such an attraction to an object before. The vibrations were different from any other stimulus he had experienced before. They not only resonated within him but seemed to rumble in harmony with the beats of his heart.

The specks scattered over the deer's body seemed to come to life before his eyes, pulsing intermittently in rhythm with the vibrations he felt. It was as if each speck was an individual star, each connected to an ancient rite or secret of the universe.

Instinctively, and guided by a force that seemed more powerful than his own will, he extended his left hand towards the statue, placing it gently in the middle of its majestic antlers.

For a moment, everything fell silent, and only the cold, smooth touch of the marble was present. However, before he could process the act, he felt a sharp prick in his palm, as if an invisible needle had pierced his skin.

Retracting his hand quickly, Eamon could see a tiny drop of blood emerging from the small wound, and almost simultaneously, a surge of energy flowing into the statue. It was as if the statue had taken a sample of his physical essence.

And then it happened.

The constellation-like specks began to light up, shining brightly. The deer's antlers glowed, radiating a dazzling light that filled the entire hall. It was as if the entire universe had concentrated in that small space, revealing a portion of its mysteries through the artifact. The deer, with its bright star patterns, seemed like an ancestral guardian of ancient secrets and powers.

The glow in the specks that formed the statue's constellations began to focus on its eyes. These, which previously seemed to be simply two inert orbs of stone, surprisingly came to life. A warm, penetrating luminescence emerged from them, connecting directly with Eamon's gaze. It was as if the statue was trying to read his soul, scrutinizing every corner of his being for answers or confirmations. Every second that passed under that inquisitive gaze seemed to expand, becoming more intense and revealing.

The connection between the two was undeniable. Although he was facing an inanimate object, Eamon felt a deep communication, as if the statue was transmitting emotions, stories, and secrets directly to his mind. The statue, in its silent introspection, seemed to be searching in him for something that had been lost for generations.

After a period that seemed eternal to Eamon, but in reality, had only been a few minutes, the deer finally broke eye contact. With a slowness that reflected grace and purpose, it tilted its head in a gesture that seemed to be of respect and recognition. It was as if it had accepted him, or had found what it was looking for in him.

With that subtle movement, the sound of moving marble filled the hall. The deer's stone legs, previously firmly planted on the ground, began to slide with a dull, rhythmic sound. The floor beneath the statue began to rotate slowly, and the majestic figure moved, revealing the entrance to a spiral staircase. This, meticulously carved and covered by the dust of countless years, twisted downward in a descent that invited Eamon to explore the secrets hidden beneath the mansion.

The deer statue had revealed a secret so well hidden that it would not have been discovered if not for his curiosity. Although his mind was swirling with a whirlwind of questions and fears, something inside him urged him to descend and discover what lay below.

With each step, the atmosphere changed. The air became heavier, and the sound of his steps became deeper and more resonant. The stones, worn by countless previous steps, indicated that this corridor had been used for generations. The frequencies he could perceive also mutated, taking on an older tone, like echoes of past times.

After what seemed like hours but were only a few minutes, Eamon reached the end of the stairs. Before him, a short corridor led to an austere wooden door, worn by time but solid. The voices emerging from behind it were unmistakable, although their words made no sense to him.

"We should sing until he arrives," said an old voice.

"Not again!" replied a younger and energetic voice.

"I must admit that after a while it becomes tiresome," intervened a third voice with a kind but weary tone.

However, a fourth voice, cold and alert, made Eamon stop in his tracks. "Silence, I hear something."

The voices ceased immediately, and at that moment, Eamon felt an irrational but overwhelming urge to enter. Almost as if they were calling or waiting for him. And as he slowly pushed the door, a sharp screech rose, echoing in the silence and breaking the tension. A female voice, full of exasperation and relief, exclaimed: "It's about time!"

A/N: Hey everyone! First off, I owe you an apology for the delay in this update. I had a bit of a tech mishap where I lost FIVE chapters I'd already penned (note to self: always save!). My laptop decided to spontaneously reboot at the most inopportune time. But, fingers crossed, the next chapter should grace your screens much sooner.

On a brighter note, I've launched an Instagram profile [ thedaskar] to share some behind-the-scenes content related to this story. Over time, I've compiled a sort of "master document" containing descriptions of locations, illustrations of these places, character profiles, a timeline of story events, and more. While these tidbits might not directly influence the main plot, they've been instrumental in helping me tailor the magical world of J.K. Rowling to my own vision.

Instead of letting these pieces gather digital dust, I thought sharing them with those interested would be fun. To reiterate, you absolutely DON'T need to check out this content to follow the main story; it's just a little extra for those who'd love to dive deeper. Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed creating it!

I'll also leave the link in my profile.

Until next time,

Daskar