Solara Lovegood and the Shadow of the Dragon
Chapter XIII: The Secret Instruction
"Ugh!" Solara groaned, leaning her head back against the rough bark of the beech tree that shaded her and Hermione's small gathering near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Her silver hair fell loosely over her shoulders, catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the branches above. Once, this spot might have been lively with four companions, but today it was just the two of them. The boys, as expected, had been drawn away by Harry's 'secret' Quidditch training—a fact that still irked Solara, though the sting had dulled over time, overshadowed by far greater concerns.
She closed her eyes briefly, drawing in a steadying breath before opening them again and letting her gaze fall to the conjured red-and-black picnic cloth beneath them. Adorned with an approximation of the Targaryen sigil, the cloth was spread neatly over the grass. A small, bittersweet smile tugged at her lips as she took in the familiar sight, though she couldn't ignore the faint ache in her chest. Each passing day, the sigil of her family blurred further in her mind, becoming a fragment of a world she couldn't quite touch anymore.
Looking past the cloth, Solara's eyes wandered toward the Gamekeeper's hut. From her vantage point, she could see a thin plume of smoke curling lazily from its chimney, painting a deceptively tranquil picture. It was a scene of rustic simplicity, yet it did little to temper the bubbling frustration within her.
At the center of the conjured fabric sat a modest assortment of biscuits, meticulously arranged on a delicate china plate, their golden edges glinting faintly in the light. Beside them rested a steaming pot of tea, its porcelain surface gleaming as tendrils of fragrant steam curled into the crisp afternoon air. The aroma of rich tea leaves mingled with the buttery sweetness of the biscuits, creating an inviting scent that felt at odds with Solara's mood.
A small pile of spell books lay neatly stacked to one side of the cloth, their leather-bound covers glinting softly in the afternoon sunlight. Hermione, seated cross-legged opposite Solara, was deeply engrossed in one such book: The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble. Her fingers occasionally brushing against its pages with an almost reverent care. Every so often, she paused to scribble notes onto a sheet of parchment with her quill, her delicate handwriting filling the page in neat rows.
The Gryffindor's focus was interrupted by the sound of Solara's exasperated sigh. Hermione's head lifted, her brow furrowing as she studied her companion's expression. Her quill hovered in midair, ink dripping faintly onto the parchment as she shifted her weight, setting the book aside.
"What?" Hermione piped up, lifting her cup of tea and taking a sip, as she awaited answer, her curiosity now piqued. She glanced briefly at her notes, as if ensuring nothing had been missed, before focusing her attention entirely on Solara.
Solara reclined slightly, her shoulders rolling back in a gesture of exaggerated weariness. "Professor Quirrell's class is not as… intellectually demanding as I hoped it would be," she lamented with a touch of dramatic flair. Though her words carried an air of casual complaint, she carefully masked the undercurrent of melancholy tugging at her thoughts. Lifting her teacup, she mirrored Hermione and sipped thoughtfully, her silver eyes flicking toward an oddly shaped rock nestled just within the shimmering boundary of her Protego Totalum and Muffliato charms.
Setting her cup down with a soft clink, Solara reached for her wand—Dark Sister—secured in its holster at her hip. The sleek, dark wand felt cool and familiar in her hand as she gave it a small, elegant flourish. "Flipendo," she intoned perfectly.
A crackling burst of magic erupted from the wand's tip, striking the rock dead center. It tumbled backward with a satisfying thunk, rolling a short distance before coming to rest near the base of a tree. Solara's lips twitched into a faint, self-satisfied smirk as she lowered her wand, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Hermione blinked, her cup still at her lips, as she tracked the rock's movement. Turning her gaze back to Solara, she deadpanned, lowering the cup, "Hmmm, I see you've read the lesson," her tone dry but edged with knowing amusement. Without missing a beat, she continued, "And what exactly did you expect him to teach first-years? Protego Diabolica?" A snort of exasperated laughter escaped her as she shook her head and set her cup back down on its saucer.
Solara's silver eyes narrowed slightly in mock offense before softening into a playful smirk. "Perhaps not Protego Diabolica, but surely something more substantial than the basics of light deflection and a halfhearted explanation of curses. The man lacks a certain... fire in his lessons."
"Fire?" Hermione repeated, raising an incredulous eyebrow. "He's probably just trying not to terrify us all in the first term."
Solara grumbled, picking up a biscuit from the modest spread and taking a delicate bite. She chewed thoughtfully before continuing, "Fair enough, but I can't help but feel disappointed. Even the basics could be taught with more... enthusiasm. How am I to rise to greatness if we spend weeks on Lumos? At first, I thought the man's nerves had gotten to him, but it's been weeks now with no improvement. Honestly, I expected a little more intrigue, given the subject matter."
"Patience is a virtue, Solara," Hermione said, not without a trace of smugness. "Besides, greatness isn't just about power or flashy spells. It's about how you use what you've learned."
Solara tilted her head, her smirk broadening slightly. "Well said, Granger. And yet, there's nothing wrong with a little flair. Don't you agree?"
Hermione shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "You're never happy, are you?"
"When it comes to my personal edification and increasing the enormity of my presence? Never," Solara replied with an unapologetic wink, pouring herself another cup of tea and leaning back against the sturdy beech tree. Her tone turned teasing, her silver eyes glinting with delight. "But that's precisely the trait you adore about me, isn't it?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, though her smile lingered. "Adore is a strong word, Lovegood. You and your delusions never cease to amuse me," before redirecting her focus back to her book and parchment. The rhythmic scratch of her quill resumed, after she dipped it in ink, and began filling the clearing with a peaceful, studious air.
Solara chuckled but said nothing, savoring the quiet moment as she sipped her tea, her despondence momentarily subdued by pleasant company. After a brief pause, her gaze drifted toward Hermione's parchment. Already, it was filled with neat, hurried handwriting that crept dangerously close to spilling onto a second sheet. A sudden gust of wind rustled the paper, causing Hermione to growl softly and weigh it down with a small, smooth stone.
"Also," Hermione said, breaking the silence as she straightened her notes, "why aren't we in the library? This is the second time you've dragged me out here on a Saturday." Her russet eyes flicked upward, expectant and faintly annoyed.
Solara took her time answering, savoring another slow sip of tea as her gaze lingered on the distant castle windows, their glass panes glinting in the late afternoon sun. "I craved a change of scenery, Granger," she finally replied with an indifferent shrug. "Particularly after the endless parade of interruptions in our usual study corner—first Malfoy, then Greengrass, then the Weasley twins, that boy Diggory, and finally that trio of Slytherin first-years: Grangle, Nockhull, and Alcedine, to name a few. I've grown quite weary of them, especially the twins. If any of them manage to stumble into this clearing, we'll know for certain they're outright spying on us."
Her attention shifted skyward, her silver eyes clouding with thought for a brief moment before continuing in a lighter tone. "Besides, Vhagar needs to stretch her wings. And kill something," she added casually, the faintest trace of humor curling her lips. The last part hung in the air, unspoken but unmistakable, as she glanced toward the horizon. She knew her owl well—cold-blooded and fiercely predatory, a reflection of the powerful creature for which she was named. "To my regret, I keep the poor girl cooped up too long in the dungeons during classes, and I certainly don't trust leaving her in the rookery with the other owls. She might eat them," she finished dryly, setting her cup down once more.
Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as if debating the merit of continuing the conversation. "You could've just said you wanted fresh air," she muttered, but the small quirk of her lips betrayed her own amusement. She shook her head lightly, then seemed to remember something. Her expression shifted as she placed her quill down and carefully adjusted her seated position to face Solara fully, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone.
"Oh, right," she began, leaning slightly forward. "Whatever happened with Greengrass? I assume you still pursued your Chamber investigation on your own? I got too caught up in that three-headed dog business, that I never thought to ask. Does she still have no memory of our conversation?"
"None whatsoever," Solara admitted, her silver eyes narrowing as a faint sulk shadowed her features. "I traced her supposed movements back to where she claimed to have been, even asked around discreetly. But the trail went cold in the girl's lavatory on the second floor. No trace of magic, no clues left behind—just a dead end."
"The second floor?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowing. "The one with Myrtle?"
"That very one," Solara confirmed with a sigh. "She kept rambling on about some 'two-faced creature' lurking about after hours, then laughed it off like some mad jester. Quite the insane ghost," she muttered, irritation edging her tone as her fingers drummed softly against the surface of her stomach as she reclined against the trunk of the tree.
Hermione tilted her head, a flicker of curiosity in her expression. "Myrtle's ramblings have been strange before, but... a two-faced creature? Did she say anything else?"
"Not much that was coherent," Solara replied dryly. "Mostly vague riddles, hysterical laughter, and complaints about being dead. Frankly, I was ready to leave the moment she started wailing about how no one respects her 'eternal suffering.'"
Hermione frowned, her fingers lightly tapping her chin in thought. "Still, it's odd, isn't it? Myrtle may be... dramatic, but she's not entirely without reason. If she mentioned something like that, it might be worth looking into."
Solara's lips curved into a faint smirk, as she lifted her cup for another sip. "And here I thought you didn't believe in ghostly ramblings, Granger."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I don't usually, but it wouldn't be the first time something useful came from unexpected sources. Besides," she added with a meaningful look, "if you're investigating this, you might as well be thorough. Even Myrtle's nonsense could hold a grain of truth."
"Fair enough," Solara conceded, though her tone carried a hint of skepticism. "I suppose another trip to the second floor wouldn't hurt, though I'm not eager for another encounter with her."
"Perhaps we'll approach together next time, even though we agreed to focus on Hagrid, the dog, and whoever Nicolas Flamel is," Hermione offered with a small smile. "If nothing else, I can take notes while you try not to throttle her."
Solara chuckled softly, the corners of her mouth quirking upward. "It seems we have an accord. Perhaps Sunday," she offered.
"Maybe," Hermione answered, her gentle smile still firmly in place as she tidied up her notes for their Defense Against the Dark Arts class, sliding it neatly into her bag. She then pulled out a fresh page of blank parchment and resumed her studies in a half-hearted manner as she conversed with Solara.
"Excellent," Solara nodded approvingly, her expression softening slightly as she set her cup down on its saucer. "And speaking of," she clapped her hands lightly, sitting upright and scooting a bit closer to Hermione, "what of Nicolas Flamel? Any more developments there? My research has turned up nothing."
"Same here, I'm afraid, and Harry and Ron haven't had any more success either, though they seem to be distracted at the moment," Hermione sighed, her frustration bleeding into her tone as she tapped the edges of her book.
Solara blew a disappointed raspberry, deflating with exaggerated theatrics before giving a hearty sigh. "It seems the boys were too effective, too soon."
"That they were, thanks to your advice," Hermione snorted in good humor. "They tell me Hagrid's wary of them now—supposedly won't say a word about anything other than tea."
"Well, I'll give them credit where credit is due," Solara chuckled softly, her gaze drifting momentarily toward the Gamekeeper's hut. A quiet laugh escaped her lips as she scooted back and reclined further against the tree, crossing her hands over her lap. "Not only did they take my advice to heart, but they also managed to surprise me with their unexpectedly sharp talent for subterfuge. I doubt the Headmaster would hire a fool—let alone to protect and transport something we suspect to be important. The half-giant must be sharp indeed, to elicit such trust from a wizard as great as Dumbledore."
"Hmm, I'm not certain I got that impression from Hagrid, but I'll just go along with you," the bushy-haired girl shrugged.
"In any event," Solara continued, "I'm also rather relieved we didn't promise Potter any monetary compensation should he and Weasley outperform us." Her silver eyes sparkled with quiet laughter, the sunlight filtering through the branches of the beech tree above catching in her irises and highlighting the impish tone in her voice. She tilted her head slightly, an expression of mock innocence playing on her face.
"We? You would have owed him money; I would have owed him nothing," Hermione retorted, her brown eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. "You lumped us together in achievement but conveniently left me out of the reward." She flashed a sly grin, clearly savoring the chance to tease. "Besides, getting vault information about Gringotts? From where and who? Some random student? The goblins themselves? How in Merlin's name did you expect us to get even a hair's breadth close to anything like that? I was just too polite at the time to tell you how ridiculous it sounded."
"Me? You were the one who lumped us together for that task and then started running with it like a Hippogriff with its tail on fire. I merely suggested it as a possible avenue of investigation, Granger," Solara replied with a small smirk, one brow arching in acknowledgment of the jab. Her posture shifted slightly, mirroring Hermione's roguish stance, as though preparing to match the banter with equal wit.
"No, I distinctly remember you being adamant about it, when you said it. You didn't caution me away, after I sided with your plan. I'm a good friend, not deaf, Lovegood. I listen," Hermione quipped, setting her book aside with a smug grin. She crossed her arms in mock triumph, the gleam in her brown eyes unmistakable as her tone turned even more playful. "Especially when it concerns you losing and me winning. Mostly you losing. Can't let that head of yours get any bigger—you're already insufferable as it is."
Solara tilted her head slightly, the corners of her lips twitching with the faintest hint of glee. "Insufferable, am I? Coming from you, Granger, I'll take that as a compliment."
A look of exaggerated shock swept across Hermione's face, her cheeks flushing a deeper pink as her confident grin faltered into an almost dejected pout. "You're… you're not saying I'm as insufferable as you?!"
"Oh no, my dear. I'm saying you're worse," Solara replied evenly, her silver eyes locking with Hermione's, her tone so calm it could have passed for sincerity.
For a moment, Hermione's jaw dropped in exaggerated indignation, her wide eyes narrowing slightly in mock offense. But the façade didn't last long as both girls burst into laughter, the sound of their shared mirth breaking the tension and spilling out into the tranquil surroundings. The bubbling laughter echoed gently in their secluded little haven beneath the sprawling forest line of oak and beech.
"Alright, that's enough," Hermione said at last, abruptly cutting them off mid-laugh, though both were still breathless from laughing as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear. She straightened her posture, still smiling faintly. "So, we've been sitting out here for more than an hour, and all we've done is…well, I've been studying. Do you have anything specific planned for your day other than lounging about and debating me?"
Solara chuckled softly, leaning back with an air of serene contentment as she lay her wand atop her lap, and folded her hands behind her head. "I'm still mulling it over, Granger. Is it so wrong to simply enjoy one's company? After all, it is my day."
Hermione rolled her eyes playfully, but a faint smile tugged at her lips. "Yes, well, I would have preferred the enjoyment of shared company in the library," she half-grumbled, as she dipped her quill into the inkwell and resumed writing, the delicate scratching of the nib against parchment blending harmoniously with the rustle of leaves overhead. Shafts of golden sunlight filtered through the branches above, casting spotted patterns on the ground and lending the scene an almost dreamlike quality. Solara allowed herself a brief moment of calm, her gaze flickering between the canopy above and the Gryffindor girl beside her, whose quill danced across the page. For the moment, everything felt perfectly at peace, and her thoughts flowed readily.
"I feel as if we should pay Professor Flitwick a visit," Solara said suddenly, her voice carrying a lazy drawl as the spark of an idea lit her mind. The ebb of their previous conversation had stretched on for nearly half an hour, and she now shifted her position, letting her head sink lower. Fully reclining, her back pressed against the conjured picnic cloth, she stared up at the patches of blue sky framed by the leafy canopy above, a faint smile playing on her lips.
"Why?" Hermione asked absently, her focus divided as she muttered softly, "Mucus...ad…Nauseum? No, that's not it. Nauseam? Yes! Mucus ad Nauseam," Granger stated proudly, before taking note and moving on towards another spell. "Verdu… Verdi... Verdimill...us." Her brow furrowed further as she wrestled with the unfamiliar incantation, her tone tinged with distraction while she read aloud from The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection.
"Verdimillious," Solara supplied effortlessly, her eyes never leaving the clouds shifting lazily overhead.
"I knew that," Hermione huffed, her cheeks flushing faintly as she glared briefly at Solara. She repeated the word with renewed determination, her pronunciation clearer this time, before the soft scratching of her quill against parchment resumed.
"Professor Flitwick is a dueling champion," Solara continued, shifting slightly to cross her left foot over her right, her posture still relaxed. "He would almost certainly be able to offer a few suggestions on advanced defensive spells that haven't yet crossed my path and help with those that have—spells Quirrell doesn't seem to have the fire to teach us. Or, honestly, seemingly even the intent to, if we're being fair." Her voice softened slightly as she added, "It wouldn't hurt to ask, would it? And we can use this lull in our investigations to build our arsenal of spells. Preparation is key."
Hermione paused mid-sentence, her quill hovering above the parchment as she glanced at Solara with a thoughtful expression. "I suppose not, and you do have a point," she admitted after a moment, setting her quill down with a faint sigh. She leaned back slightly, folding her arms. "If anyone could help us strengthen our defenses, it's Professor Flitwick. Though I'm not sure how he'd react to us requesting advice on advanced defensive spells. Besides, don't you already know most of them? I find it hard to believe any advanced spell hasn't crossed your eyes at least once."
"Too true, but I've only read about them," Solara corrected, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "But reading and practical application are not the same thing. You, of all people, should understand that, Granger." She tilted her head slightly, her tone both teasing and firm. "Could I cast them if needed? Perhaps."
"Perhaps?" Hermione echoed, her voice tinged with disbelief as she unfolded her arms and leaned forward, palms pressing firmly against the cool ground. "It's barely the first week of October, and somehow you've already managed to cast not only Protego Totalum but also a fairly decent Disillusionment Charm!"
"Which is still a work in progress," Solara pointed out, her tone calm but edged with irritation. Her expression briefly shifted to one of mild annoyance as she recalled how the charm had faded after less than half an hour, leaving them awkwardly half-visible, though at least still protected by her Protego Totalum.
"And that's why I said 'fairly decent,'" Hermione shot back, giving Solara a pointed look. "Honestly, I'm not sure what you're complaining about. I should be the one complaining—you have us chasing around a myriad of apparently dangerous threads that lead to who knows what!"
The Gryffindor grumbled, pushing a stray curl out of her face, her brown eyes glinting with exasperation. Solara, however, simply regarded her with calm amusement, the smirk still ghosting her lips. "And yet," Solara said, her voice smooth and deliberate, "you're still here. If you were truly that put out by it all, you wouldn't have followed me this far."
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, only to hesitate, her indignation faltering under the weight of the truth in Solara's words. With a frustrated sigh, she finally muttered, "Well someone has to make sure you don't get yourself killed—or worse, expelled."
"Of course," Solara replied lightly, her silver eyes gleaming with mirth. "I'd expect nothing less from you, Granger. If I were gone, who would be here to best you?"
"Best me? Ha! You're barely managing to keep up with me in Transfiguration," Hermione shot back, her smile widening into one of triumphant defiance.
"And I could say the same about you when it comes to Potions," Solara retorted, raising a brow to challenge Hermione's self-assured grin—a skill honed by years of crafting poisons, though her friend needn't know that.
"At the end of the year, we'll see who bests who in Charms," Hermione said with a huff, her competitive streak shining through.
"No need to hold your breath, Granger, it'll be me. You can set aside this fantasy of yours now, so you're not disappointed later," Solara replied, her voice dripping with playful confidence.
Hermione threw her hands up in exasperation before crossing her arms tightly over her chest. The same loose strand of hair fell into her face, and she blew it away with a huff, glaring at Solara as if daring her to argue further. Which, of course, she did.
"Hence the need to approach Professor Flitwick and build up our arsenal of spells, so your inevitable defeat in Charms class isn't too embarrassing," Solara replied smoothly, circling back to their earlier topic. Her tone was calm but laced with wry amusement, a mischievous glint sparking in her silver eyes. "Besides, you wouldn't want me 'following a thread into who knows what,' unprepared, would you?"
"You're not letting this go, are you?" Hermione probed, her frustration evident in the furrow of her brow and the slight edge in her voice.
Solara's smirk deepened, her sharp gaze flicking momentarily toward the faint shimmer of magic outlining the edges of the protective barrier she had cast earlier. The glimmer danced like sunlight on rippling water, a delicate beauty that masked the sheer effort it had required. Confidence radiated from her posture, but beneath the surface, Solara felt the faint, lingering ache of magical exertion—an invisible tether reminding her of the strain it had placed on her burgeoning abilities. The Protego Totalum had pulled at her stamina as if she had sprinted miles with legs barely accustomed to walking. Yet, she maintained her air of effortless composure. To let Hermione glimpse even the smallest crack in her armor? Unthinkable.
"I never let anything go, Hermione of House Granger," Solara replied, her voice smooth and steady, an almost playful finality threading through her words. The sharp truth beneath them was hidden, her smirk masking the deeper intensity of her nature. Forgetting slights—whether in this life or the one before—was a skill she had never mastered, nor did she intend to.
Hermione shot her a frustrated look, her brows knitting together as their gazes locked. The soft sound of the wind brushing through the surrounding trees filled the brief silence, accompanied by the faint hum of the protective charm still shimmering in the air.
"So, is that a yes?" Solara pressed, her grin widening ever so slightly.
"Fine," Hermione sighed, her tone theatrical and dripping with mock defeat. She crossed her arms tighter, her lips pursed in a slight pout as if trying to protest further but already knowing she'd lost. "We're already a few months ahead in class anyway, so what's another one of you mad little side projects?"
Solara chuckled softly at the response, the sound low and melodic. "That's the spirit," she said, her tone warm yet carrying the faintest undercurrent of satisfaction. "Pragmatic as always, Granger. That's what I love about you," Solara quipped with a soft laugh, pushing herself to her feet with fluid, feline grace, her strength renewed. Her gaze lingered thoughtfully on Hermione, an undercurrent of excitement flashing in her eyes.
"Yeah, yeah," Hermione replied with a nod as she began gathering her books, though her expression still held a faint trace of doubt. "I still don't know if Professor Flitwick would be willing to teach us those kinds of spells. And even if he does, you'd have to keep up with his expectations. He is a former dueling champion, after all."
Solara chuckled lightly, tilting her head to meet Hermione's wary gaze. "Then we ask under the pretense of academic curiosity," she suggested, her tone light but threaded with a calculating sharpness. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that professors rarely turn down students eager to learn—especially when it pertains to their own areas of expertise."
Hermione arched a brow, her lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile despite her reservations. "You have an uncanny ability to make even the simplest plan sound like a carefully orchestrated scheme."
"Because it often is," Solara replied with a playful shrug, her smirk widening as she reached for the small teapot to check its contents. To her surprise, it was now empty, save for a faint swirl of tea leaves clinging to the bottom. The remnants had formed an oddly distinct cross-like shape, dark and stark against the porcelain. Solara tilted her head slightly, her expression momentarily thoughtful, before she reached for a handkerchief from her bag without comment.
Hermione groaned, muttering something under her breath about her overly ambitious friend, but there was no mistaking the spark of determination in her eyes as she shifted her bag on her shoulder.
After wrapping the small scrap of cloth, she had retrieved, around her fingers Solara dabbed the inside of the teapot to dry it before tucking it into her bag. She grabbed the last few remaining biscuits, wrapping them in a spare cloth and sliding them into the side pocket of her satchel. Next, she vanished the china platter, tea cups, and—finally, with a small sigh of reluctance—the picnic cloth bearing the Targaryen sigil that had adorned the ground beneath the beech tree.
Once everything was stored and the clearing appeared undisturbed, she turned to the magical barrier they had erected for privacy. Raising her wand, she spoke firmly, "Finite Incantatem," her voice steady, the spell casting a faint shimmer in the air as the protective ward dissipated.
With a final glance at the spot where their small sanctuary had been, Solara gestured for Hermione to follow. "Now, let us see if our diminutive professor has time for secret instruction," she said, her tone laced with quiet self-assurance.
"So," Hermione asked, as they trudged along the stone pathway back toward the castle, the crunch of gravel underfoot accompanying their footsteps. "What news on your sister and her lost tooth?"
"All is well," Solara replied, a fond smile spreading across her face as the breeze picked up, whipping strands of her dark hair across her eyes. She brushed them aside with an absent hand. "She finally found it—hidden in her bedsheets, of all places. She had our mother enchant it, and now Luna calls it Toothy. It wears a tiny top hat and performs a little jig whenever she clicks her teeth together."
Hermione blinked, momentarily stunned by the sheer absurdity of the statement, before a laugh escaped her, light and genuine. "You're serious?"
"As serious as a dragon at the gates of Hogwarts," Solara replied, her silver eyes glinting with humor, a playful grin tugging at her lips.
"She sounds… delightfully strange. I can't wait to meet her," Hermione chuckled, her brown eyes sparkling with warmth as she shared in Solara's evident affection for her sister and her whimsical charm.
"Luna's special to me, Granger. Just don't tell anyone," Solara murmured, leaning in closer and lowering her voice conspiratorially as they approached the castle's towering entrance. "I don't want rumors spreading about me having any weaknesses. Especially among my housemates."
"My lips are sealed," Hermione promised with a grin, miming a zipper motion across her mouth for emphasis.
"Good," Solara nodded approvingly, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "Let's keep it that way."
