Solara Lovegood and the Shadow of the Dragon
Chapter IX: The Repository of Knowledge
"Why are you so interested in this? It's barely your third day—why go hunting for something people have spent their entire lives trying to uncover? Don't you have better things to do, like studying for class?" Hermione asked, her voice tinged with both curiosity and exasperation. She dropped another stack of books onto the library table with a dull thud. Each book, however faintly, hinted at clues to the elusive Chamber of Secrets—or at least Solara hoped they did.
After setting the books down, Hermione seated herself across from Solara, her fingers already skimming through the titles, searching for anything that might show promise.
"I've studied the basics since before I could stand upright," Solara replied without looking up, her tone even. Briefly raising her eyes from the pages of the ancient tome she was poring over—Myths and Legends of Hogwarts Castle—she fixed Hermione with a pointed look. "You saw what I was reading on the train. Does that suggest these primary lessons require my full attention?"
"Well, no, but…" Hermione started, only to be cut off by Solara's clipped response.
"I would completely understand if you'd prefer to get back to your studies, Granger. You needn't feel obligated to accompany me during my research. I do this because it is accessible, I enjoy solving mysteries, and, as I told you on the train, I like to know things as soon as possible. I don't like surprises. Admittedly, it's also a way to pass the time. And if I happen to be the one to uncover it, well, it would be the first notch on my belt, so to speak."
"Fair enough," Hermione relented with a small grin, recognizing the truth in her friend's words. After a pause, she added slyly, "By the way, did you ever send that book of yours back to your mother?"
"Yes, yes," Solara said, waving a hand dismissively, though her lips twitched into a faint smile. "She would have come down to the school herself to retrieve it if I hadn't. I decided to spare myself that particular humiliation. My housemates would not have let me live it down, especially Draco."
Hermione chuckled softly at Solara's rare moment of levity. "A wise decision. Did you finish it, at least?"
"Of course. It was my third read-through," Solara replied with a grin, her voice light with amusement.
Hermione's jaw dropped, her bushy hair practically bristling with disbelief. "You lie," she muttered, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Closing the book she'd been reading with an exaggerated clap, Solara met Hermione's gaze with mock indignation. "You offend me with the mere suggestion that I would lie," she declared, her tone just a touch too dramatic.
Hermione arched a skeptical brow, crossing her arms. "You're absolutely lying," she countered, her voice flat but tinged with delight.
"Perhaps," Solara replied, shrugging nonchalantly, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her delight at ruffling her companion's feathers. "But you'll never know for sure."
Hermione huffed a laugh despite herself, shaking her head as she flipped open her own book. "You're insufferable, Lovegood. Sometimes I wonder how you and I manage to get along."
"Simple. You enjoy being right, and I enjoy knowing when you're not," Solara replied, already immersed in her new tome.
"Charming," Hermione deadpanned, though her lips twitched upward despite herself. "Let's just get back to work, shall we? This Chamber of Secrets won't uncover itself."
"Not without our combined brilliance, certainly," Solara quipped, already reaching for the next book in their growing stack. Her fingers brushed over the cracked spine of the worn tome, and she tilted it toward the light. The title, "Hogwarts: Forgotten Histories," was barely legible, its gold lettering faded with age.
The two girls worked in companionable silence for some time, the only sounds in the library being the soft rustle of pages turning and the distant ticking of an enchanted clock. Solara's silver eyes flicked across the text, her brow furrowing slightly at a particularly cryptic passage. Hermione, meanwhile, jotted quick notes in the margins of a parchment sheet, her quill scratching against the surface.
"Anything?" Hermione eventually asked without looking up, her voice a mix of hope and weariness.
"Nothing yet," Solara replied, her tone measured. She closed the book with a soft thud, placing it neatly in the growing pile of "non-answers."
Hermione sighed, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms. She cast a glance at Solara, studying her for a moment as if trying to solve a puzzle. "Remind me again, why you don't just ask Professor Binns when we next go to class? He might know something more."
"And deny my peers the riveting tales of history he so eloquently weaves? Never," Solara jested, her words dripping with sarcasm. "Besides, I do not want anyone gaining interest in this matter, save you and I. Which I'm certain would transpire should we keep pestering our wayward spirit of a Professor with questions about the Chamber."
Hermione frowned slightly, her curiosity warring with her sense of caution. "I suppose that makes sense," she admitted after a moment. "Still, he might have some useful insight if we can keep our questions subtle."
"Subtlety has never been one of my strong suits," Solara admitted, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "And really, Granger, where's the fun if the answers come too easily? I relish the challenge." Her expression darkened momentarily, a flicker of distaste crossing her features. "I don't care to be spoon-fed like some newborn babe."
She shuddered involuntarily, the memory of Pandora's doting care flashing in her mind—the indignity of being fed with no choice but to accept. The thought left a sour taste in her mouth, and she quickly pushed it aside.
Hermione gave her an exasperated look but couldn't suppress a small chuckle. "Fine, but don't come crying to me when you're stuck on something only Binns could explain."
"I'll take my chances," Solara replied lightly, her focus returning to the book in her lap.
"If you say so," Hermione muttered, though her tone carried a hint of reluctant glee.
The minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the quiet hum of the library broken only by the occasional rustle of pages. Solara's concentration was unyielding until she found herself jarred out of her reading by a heavy thud. Hermione slid a thick, leather-bound volume titled "The Legends of Hogwarts: Fact or Fiction?" toward her, its cover worn with age and use.
"Try this," Hermione suggested.
Solara didn't bother with a reply as she flipped open the book, her silver eyes scanning the index with a furrowed brow. Her fingers paused momentarily on a promising entry, but her shoulders slumped as she turned to the indicated page and found only irrelevant anecdotes.
"Nothing," Solara muttered curtly, snapping the book shut with a little more force than necessary. Undeterred, she reached for another tome, this one bearing the title "Hidden Histories of Wizarding Britain."
Meanwhile, the Gryffindor had buried herself in a smaller, tattered copy of "Ancient Myths and Magical Misdeeds," muttering quietly to herself as she scanned its pages. Every now and then, one of them would pause to jot down notes, but the stacks around them offered little in the way of concrete answers.
Solara sighed, setting aside "Curses and Crypts: A Guide to Magical Secrets" with a slight scowl. "It's like every author who's ever written about this topic enjoyed being vague on purpose," she grumbled, massaging her temple with two fingers.
"Well, the Chamber of Secrets is supposed to be a myth," Hermione replied, her tone distracted as she flipped through the final pages of her book.
"Normally, every myth has some basis in fact," Solara countered sharply, her confidence unwavering. "Though considering our magical circumstances, I would certainly not have put it past Slytherin to have actually created such a Chamber. He was a man obsessed with legacy and power—those types rarely leave their stories unfinished," she added, her tone laced with a faint but unmistakable note of personal understanding.
Hermione looked up from her book, intrigued by the unusual depth in Solara's words. "You say that like you know him," she said, half-joking but clearly curious.
Solara's lips twitched into a faint smirk. "Not him specifically, but I've known men like him. I've read of men like him—Alexander of Macedon, Gaius Julius Caesar, or more recently, Adolf Hitler and Gellert Grindelwald. Ambitious, driven, utterly fixated on the legacy they leave behind."
Hermione tilted her head, studying her companion thoughtfully. "That's a rather specific insight. Though, I'm surprised your list doesn't include He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," she whispered the last part, her voice barely audible.
Solara shrugged lightly, her tone dry and tinged with amusement. "If failing to murder a defenseless child counts as legacy-worthy, then I fear my standards for greatness are far too high."
"He's done more than that," Hermione countered hesitantly, her brows knitting together.
"Yes," Solara agreed, "but that's not what he's remembered for, is it? The moment the title of The-Boy-Who-Lived was penned, Voldemort was only a footnote beneath it. He created nothing of lasting value, nothing that would endure beyond his name. He will go down in history as a 'supposedly' powerful wizard laid low by a blubbering infant."
Hermione's eyes widened slightly at Solara's casual use of the name Voldemort, but she held her tongue, unsure whether to challenge her on it or remain silent. It wasn't fear exactly—more a combination of surprise and curiosity at her companion's audacity.
Solara let the silence hang for a moment before turning her attention back to the book in her hands. When she spoke again, her voice softened, the earlier sharpness fading into something more introspective. "But let's just say I've seen firsthand what that kind of obsession can build—and destroy."
As the words left her lips, she allowed herself to dwell on the memory of her time as Visenya Targaryen, shaping history alongside Aegon, and of their son Maegor. The drive for a legacy that would endure the ages was something she understood deeply, having shared that very vision in her previous life. It was a truth she rarely voiced but carried with her like a whispered secret, etched into her soul.
Hermione, sensing the shift in Solara's mood, chose not to press further. Instead, she returned to the problem at hand. "I see. Well, anyway, if it's real, why hasn't anyone found it yet?"
Solara leaned back in her chair, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features. "Because Hogwarts is ancient and endlessly complex. It's possible the Chamber isn't accessible through conventional means. Magic of that caliber often requires something specific—a key, a phrase, perhaps even a descendant…"
Hermione nodded slowly, her mind clearly racing as she considered Solara's theory. "If that's the case, then it would have to be hidden with something only Salazar Slytherin himself, or someone closely connected to him, could bypass."
"Precisely," Solara said, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Which is why I don't trust the books that claim it's just a fairytale. They dismiss it too readily. Legends don't survive centuries without a grain of truth anchoring them."
Hermione tapped her quill against the edge of her parchment, her expression thoughtful. "Then we need to look for signs of Slytherin's influence. Old spells, enchanted areas tied to his name... anything that stands out."
"Agreed," Solara replied, her voice firm. A faint blush crept across her cheeks as she added, "Though now I feel the fool for not first looking into the line of Slytherin to build our list of possible connections. I erred in that regard." She pressed two fingers to her brow in embarrassment before continuing, "It would've been prudent to see if any descendants might still live or if their history could help us unravel this little mystery."
Hermione's brows furrowed in contemplation, her quill momentarily forgotten as her mind raced. "Descendants, you say? Hmm…" She tilted her head, sifting through her mental catalog of knowledge. Then, as if struck by lightning, her eyes lit up, and she snapped her fingers. "Hogwarts: A History! There was a name… Grouch? Gant? No, Gaunt! Yes, Gaunt!"
"Gaunt?" Solara repeated, nodding as the name sparked a faint recollection. "Yes, that's familiar. I remember reading about it in the entry on Salazar Slytherin in that book and in my own perusal of the Pure-Blood Directory."
Hermione's eyes lit with determination. "We should check if the library has a copy of the Pure-Blood Directory. It could be helpful."
"I have a copy," Solara admitted. "But I didn't bring it with me. Had I known I'd be researching the man's lineage, I would have. While it's informative, the entries aren't very elaborate. We need something with more substance." She tapped her chin thoughtfully before rising gracefully from her seat.
"Where are you going?" Hermione asked, her tone curious but tinged with uncertainty, as though worried Solara might abandon her.
"To ask Madam Pince if the library has any other books on genealogy," Solara replied smoothly, her eyes still fixed on Hermione as she walked forward. "Might as well use all the resources at our disposal, wouldn't you agree?"
Hermione nodded happily, her brown eyes already alight with possibilities, but her expression quickly shifted as a strange look came over her face.
Before Solara could inquire, her path was abruptly blocked. Barely a few steps forward, she collided with an unyielding wall of fat and muscle.
"Oof!" Solara gasped, stumbling back slightly. Her silver eyes flared with irritation as she turned sharply to confront the obstacle, her temper already simmering.
Standing before her, blocking the path like a barricade, was the hulking bulk of Crabbe. To his left loomed the equally brutish Goyle, both wearing matching expressions of dull amusement. And in the center, dressed impeccably in his Slytherin robes and smirking with his usual air of superiority, stood Draco Malfoy.
"Well, well," Malfoy drawled, his pale features alight with smug amusement. "What's this? Lovegood, the Muggle-loving oddity, and the insufferable know-it-all Granger—or is it the other way around? Thick as thieves in their little conspiracies?"
Solara straightened, unhurriedly brushing herself off. Each movement calculated, a show of control in the face of Malfoy's provocation. Then she locked eyes with him, her silver gaze blazing like molten steel—hot, unrelenting, and entirely unamused.
"Is there something you need, Malfoy?" she asked, her voice sharp and calm, each word deliberately enunciated. "Or have you simply made it your life's mission to loiter around those with actual purpose?"
Malfoy's smirk widened as he held up a thick, leather-bound book, seemingly ignoring her barb. "Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. Is this what you're looking for?" he asked, tossing the book between his hands like it was nothing more than a toy. "I couldn't help, but overhear."
"Perhaps," Solara said coldly. "What's it to you?"
"An old text," Malfoy said airily, his tone dripping with mock grandeur. "One that ever so eloquently explains my superiority over…" He turned his sneer toward Hermione. "Mudbloods."
Hermione bristled, her hand inching toward her wand, but Solara stepped forward before she could act, her gaze locked on Malfoy.
"And you," Malfoy continued, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized Solara. "You're… something else entirely. Intelligent. Formidable. Unique. So, I thought it worth investigating just how pure the Lovegood bloodline is."
Solara tilted her head, her expression icy. "And?"
Malfoy smirked, clearly relishing the attention. "Disappointing, but not dreadful. Not as pure as I'd hoped, but at least you're not some half-blood abomination."
"Am I supposed to be flattered?" Solara asked, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.
"No," Malfoy replied, his smirk never faltering. "But it's polite to acknowledge one's superior lineage, isn't it? Especially considering your current… project. Looking into Salazar Slytherin and his family, are we? Hoping to find a connection?"
Solara's sharp silver gaze locked onto his pale, pointed face, a muscle in her jaw ticking as she forced herself to remain calm.
"If you are," Malfoy added, glancing dismissively at Hermione, "you'd be better off without it dragging you down."
Solara's frown deepened at the insult aimed at her friend. She raised a hand, signaling Hermione to hold back, even as the bushy-haired Gryffindor stiffened with visible anger behind her. "What's truly fascinating, Malfoy, is your obsessive interest in my bloodline. Tell me, do you keep a ledger for all the girls you find 'interesting'? Or am I the first to earn such a distinguished honor?"
Hermione choked back a startled laugh, quickly covering it with a cough. Malfoy's pale face flushed with a mix of indignation and embarrassment, his carefully crafted composure cracking ever so slightly.
"You think you're clever, don't you?" he snapped, his tone losing some of its usual smugness.
"No," Solara said evenly, her smirk now mirroring his. "I know I am. And I know that you—despite all your posturing—are nothing more than a bored little boy desperate to matter."
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged confused glances, clearly unsure whether they should laugh or defend their leader. Malfoy's hand tightened on the book he was holding, but he didn't respond right away, his mouth twitching with barely suppressed fury.
"Mock all you like," Malfoy snapped, his voice harder now. "But at least I know my bloodline is pure. You, on the other hand, are a riddle. A Lovegood with that coloring? And that bite?"
Solara moved in a flash, her hand seizing Malfoy's collar with startling force. She leaned in, the light in her eyes blazing like silver suns.
"That's the closest you'll ever get to calling me a bitch, Malfoy," she growled, hackles rising, her voice low and laced with spite. "I can go from affable to Azkaban in an instant. Don't test me."
Behind her, Hermione gasped softly, her shock audible even in the heavy silence that followed.
For a moment, a spark of fear flashed in his pale eyes, but Crabbe and Goyle lumbered forward, ready to intervene. "Touch me, and you're dead," Solara warned, her voice sharp as a blade. The larger boys hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances, before stepping back.
"Let him go, Solara," Hermione's voice came from behind, soft yet insistent. "He's not worth it."
Solara's gaze bore into Malfoy for another tense moment before she sneered and shoved him back, letting him stumble slightly before catching his balance. As he straightened his uniform with an indignant huff, she couldn't help but recall her true lineage—a past of dragons, fire, and silencing far more dangerous men than Draco Malfoy would ever dream of being.
"You're not like those loon parents of yours," Malfoy spat, venom dripping from his words. "You're worse. You're a complete nutter." He paused, his lips curling into a sneer. "Makes one wonder what skeletons are buried in your family's closet."
Solara's expression darkened, her fingers curling tightly around her wand beneath her robes. She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a dangerously soft tone.
"You're right about one thing, Malfoy—I am worse, but not in the way you think," she said, her silver eyes glinting with an otherworldly intensity.
"You'd do well to remember who you're talking to," he hissed finally, his voice low and venomous. "You may think you're above the rest of these half-bloods and Mudbloods, but you're nothing compared to the Malfoy name."
Solara tilted her head, her silver eyes narrowing with a baleful glint. "If the Malfoy name is all you have to cling to, then I pity you, Draco. Truly. Because that will be the first thing I tear down when I become Minister of Magic."
"You? Minister of Magic?" Malfoy scoffed, though his voice wavered slightly, and a flicker of fear crossed his pale features. "You'll never set foot in the Ministry if you don't learn to respect your betters," he spat, his face flushing an angry shade of red.
"My betters?" Solara hissed, a laugh laced with venom escaping her lips as her temper ignited. She took a measured step forward, her presence towering despite the difference in their heights. "You Malfoys are nothing but glorified sycophants of the Ministry. You're bureaucrats, not warriors. Not leaders. Certainly not worthy of anyone's respect." Her words echoed in the charged silence that followed, the disdain dripping from each syllable as she stood her ground, daring Malfoy to respond.
Malfoy's lips parted, his face twisted with indignation, ready to unleash a torrent of biting retorts. But before he could utter another word, Hermione stepped forward. Her wand was clenched tightly in her hand, her stance unyielding and protective, a fierce light in her eyes.
"Leave her alone, Malfoy," she said sharply, her voice steady despite the fury burning in her gaze. "Unless you'd like to explain to Madam Pince why you're harassing students instead of studying."
The boy, and his duo of dim-witted brutes, sneered but seemed to think better of escalating the situation. He tossed the book onto a nearby table with a dismissive flick of his wrist.
"Keep the book," Malfoy said coldly, his sneer unwavering. "I'm done with it anyway. But don't think for a second you've won anything, Lovegood." He turned sharply, his gaze flicking disdainfully to Hermione. "Crabbe, Goyle, let's go. This place stinks of Mudbloods and blood traitors."
With that, the trio stalked off, their robes billowing behind them as they disappeared down the aisle. Solara exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as she turned to Hermione, who was watching her with a mixture of concern and admiration.
"You handled that well," Hermione said cautiously, her tone tinged with both relief and apprehension. "Though I thought for a moment you might hex him."
"That's putting it mildly," Solara replied, her words deceptively light, though a storm brewed beneath the calm. A darker thought lingered just out of sight—a calculated awareness of how easily she could have ended the child outright were it not for the inconvenient witnesses and the castle's magic, which would undoubtedly expose her. Annoying children tested her patience in ways few others could. Painfully easy to read, yet nightmarishly difficult to endure. It was almost a marvel she'd endured so few of them thus far, considering she was surrounded by them. But then again, it had only been three days.
As she considered the brutal ways she might have silenced Malfoy, a memory surfaced, unbidden but undeniable—Draco Malfoy, with his self-important airs and brittle bravado, was a perfect echo of Loren Lannister. Writ small, utterly diminished, yet somehow just as grating. The comparison sent a surge of anger through her veins, her seething frustration barely contained beneath her poised demeanor.
She had relished seeing Loren humbled before her once. That memory, sharp and vivid, brought her a fleeting, grim satisfaction. Now, the thought of reenacting that moment with Draco—and whatever up-jumped peasants had deluded themselves into raising him—filled her with dark anticipation. Silently, she vowed that the opportunity would come, and when it did, she would savor every second of it.
Stalking to the nearby table, Solara bent down to retrieve a discarded book. She turned it over in her hands, its worn cover catching the flickering light. A flicker of curiosity softened her expression, the tension easing momentarily as she examined it, her anger giving way to intrigue—for now.
"Nature's Nobility," she read aloud, her lips curling into a faint smirk as she walked back to their table. The book felt heavier than its size suggested, as if the weight of its contents pressed against her palms. "Well, he's not entirely useless, I suppose."
Hermione shot her a questioning look. "You're not actually going to use that, are you?"
"Why not?" Solara replied with a shrug. "It's a resource, and we'll need every one we can get if we're serious about uncovering the truth."
Hermione hesitated but ultimately nodded. "Fine. But I still don't like that he touched it first."
Solara chuckled, her earlier irritation fading. "Neither do I, Granger. But let's focus on the mystery, not the messenger."
Solara settled back into her seat, her fingers brushing over the cover of "Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy." She opened it carefully, the aged parchment crackling faintly as she turned the first few pages. Beside her, Hermione leaned in, her curiosity piqued despite her lingering annoyance at Malfoy's interruption.
The book began with a detailed explanation of wizarding bloodlines, emphasizing their importance in maintaining magical power—a sentiment that reeked of the same prejudice Malfoy had spewed moments earlier. Solara's lips curled into a faint sneer, but she continued reading, flipping through ornate family trees etched in ink that shimmered faintly under the flickering library light.
"Here," Solara murmured, pointing to an entry near the middle of the book. "Salazar Slytherin."
Hermione leaned closer, her sharp brown eyes scanning the elaborate lineage chart branching out beneath the founder's name. The line twisted and curled, intertwining with other prominent wizarding families until it narrowed, thinning with each generation. Names like Black, Malfoy, Potter, Weasley, and Rosier appeared intermittently, each one linked by delicate lines that marked marriages or offspring.
"Interesting," Hermione murmured, her finger tracing the page. "The family isn't as extensive as I expected. And look—here." She pointed to a name several generations down: Corvinus Gaunt.
Solara's silver eyes lingered on the name, her mind already whirring. "Gaunt. So we remembered correctly."
Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, and now that I'm seeing all these names, more is coming back to me. When I skimmed the lineages, I think I read that they were the last known descendants of Slytherin—but I'm not entirely sure."
"Last descendants?" Solara frowned, her expression darkening. "That doesn't bode well for our research."
"Look—" Hermione gestured to the next page.
Both girls froze. The family tree ended abruptly after Corvinus Gaunt. Beyond his name, the parchment was eerily blank, as if the ink had been deliberately erased. The intricate patterns and symbols weaving through the lineage stopped dead, leaving a jagged, unnatural void.
"That's odd," Solara murmured, her fingers gliding lightly over the blank section of the parchment. The texture felt different—smoother, almost artificial, a clear sign of alteration. "This isn't natural wear. Someone erased these records."
Hermione's brow furrowed, her mind already working through the possibilities. "Why would someone go to such lengths? And how? Do you think it was Malfoy?"
"Ha! Malfoy," Solara scoffed, her tone dripping with disdain. "These books are undoubtedly warded to prevent tampering. Breaking those protections would require a level of skill that Malfoy certainly doesn't possess." She paused, tapping a finger thoughtfully against her chin. "No, this feels deliberate—calculated. Perhaps the Gaunt family, or whoever's left of them, didn't want their secrets exposed."
Hermione mirrored Solara's gesture, tapping her chin as her mind raced. "Or perhaps someone outside the family erased this knowledge—someone with power, like the Ministry. They might have feared what the Gaunts represented or the chaos their secrets could unleash."
"A definite possibility," Solara replied with a frown, raising a finger as if punctuating her point. "Though I do recall seeing names after Corvinus Gaunt in my copy of the Pure-Blood Directory. If it was the Ministry, then for some reason, they chose this book in particular to modify." Her gaze drifted momentarily to the intricate carvings on the book's spine, as though they might offer a clue. She paused, her voice growing softer but no less intense. "If they're tied to Slytherin—and by extension, the Chamber of Secrets—obscuring the lineage would make sense. Too many loose threads could unravel everything they've worked to protect, whether it's the family or the Ministry. Fortunately, our trail seems clear, starting with Corvinus Gaunt and whoever came after."
Solara gently closed the book. Her expression hardened into one of resolve as Hermione hummed in agreement, the sound tinged with both apprehension and intrigue.
Beyond the library's arched windows, the evening sky had transformed into a canvas of dusky purples and deep indigos, the golden hues of sunset giving way to the quiet mystery of twilight. The dim light inside seemed to echo the growing shadows outside, casting long, shifting silhouettes across the floor.
"And if this book won't give us answers," she continued, ignoring the hour slipping away, "we'll have to find another source in the library. If its contents are also altered, then the culprit must be someone connected to this school—someone who attended in the past or perhaps still does." Her voice sharpened at the last.
"Why not tell Madam Pince about the altered book?" Hermione questioned, her curiosity tinged with concern.
"That is assuming, of course, that she wasn't the one who altered it in the first place," Solara replied, her tone sharp. Hermione's eyes widened, her hand momentarily freezing in midair as if struck by a spell. The flickering doubt in her brown eyes suggested the idea had never occurred to her—and now that it had, it unsettled her deeply.
"And have you already forgotten what I told you, Granger?" Solara continued, her voice firm. "I want no one gaining interest in this matter. No one," she emphasized. "Revealing the alteration to Madam Pince would most assuredly draw unwanted attention to my research and likely bar me from exploring it further. If this mystery is to be solved, it will be by me... err, us," she added hastily, glancing at Hermione.
The young Gryffindor looked slightly mollified, though her expression hinted at a lingering frustration, as if the brief lapse had bruised her pride. After a moment of hesistation, Hermione spoke, her practical nature clashing with the allure of the mystery. "I might know where we could look, but…"
"But?" Solara pressed, her silver eyes glinting with intrigue.
"The Restricted Section," Hermione admitted reluctantly, her voice barely above a whisper. "There's bound to be something there, but getting access won't exactly be easy."
"The Restricted Section," Solara repeated, her tone rising in surprise.
"Shhhh!" Hermione hissed, her brown eyes wide as she clamped a hand over Solara's mouth. "Do you want the entire library to know?"
Solara pulled Hermione's hand away, her grin widening into something almost wicked. "Well, well, Granger. Breaking the rules already? Have I really been such a terrible influence in just three days? I shudder to imagine the depths to which a prolonged friendship between us might drag you."
Hermione groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose as if regretting every decision that had brought her to this moment. "No… just—listen. If you're planning to investigate, be careful. If Madam Pince catches you, I'm not covering for you."
"And here I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave and steadfast," Solara retorted, tilting her head in mock disappointment as she rose from her seat.
"Brave, not stupid," Hermione shot back, her tone sharp. Her eyes suddenly widened as the elongated shadows on the table had seemed to have finally caught her attention. Her astute gaze flicked to the large clock mounted high on the library wall, and her eyes widened in alarm. "Goodness, it's nearly curfew!"
Solara blinked, feigning ignorance at the time, before arching her back in a languid stretch as if to shake off the stiffness that came from hours of poring over heavy tomes. "Already? Time truly does fly when you're having fun." She rolled her shoulders, then cast Hermione an inquisitive glance. "Where are Ron and Harry?"
"Probably still getting into trouble," Hermione replied with a hint of exasperation. "We should call it a night and postpone your Restricted Section treasure hunt. If we stay any longer, Filch will probably sweep us out with his broom."
"You're probably right," Solara admitted, though inwardly she felt relieved. She needed time to process what they had uncovered.
Hermione began gathering the books they'd borrowed, meticulously returning each one to its proper place. Solara helped, though with noticeably less enthusiasm, her thoughts already drifting to the possibilities ahead.
"There, last one," Hermione said, sliding the final book onto the shelf with a satisfied nod. She adjusted the sleeves of her uniform and gave the library one final look.
Together, the girls collected their belongings and headed toward the door. Madam Pince, who looked slightly startled to see students lingering so late, watched them leave with a suspicious eye. They waved a polite goodbye and stepped into the dimly lit corridors.
As they exited Hogwarts' vast repository of knowledge, their footsteps echoed softly, blending with the faint whispers of the ancient castle. Both girls felt the weight of fatigue, but a quiet satisfaction lingered between them.
"On the morrow after class, Granger?" Solara asked, turning to Hermione as their walk brought them to the stairway where their paths would part.
"More than likely," Hermione replied with a slight nod. "But no Restricted Section silliness until we know exactly where to look for more information on the Gaunt family and after we have exhausted all the accessible books on the topic. And in the meantime, if you don't mind, perhaps we could shift our focus to something more practical? Like, oh, I don't know… our class assignments?"
"I'm unsure if—" Solara began, her tone teasing, but Hermione cut her off with the precision of a well-practiced scold.
"No. No," Hermione said firmly, wagging her finger like a stern mother. "I helped you today with your Chamber of Secrets research. Tomorrow, we study what I want."
"But the mystery, Granger," she emphasized with a touch of sarcastic enthusiasm.
"Can wait," Hermione replied, her tone firm. "We'll do it on Friday, during our last two free periods before Astronomy. Ron and Harry will be having tea with Hagrid then, so I'll have time to focus. And," she added with emphasis, "I'd also like to finish some actual homework."
Solara tilted her head, considering the suggestion, then nodded with mock seriousness. "This is acceptable, you stick-in-the-mud," she said, a grin tugging at her lips, amused by Hermione's insistence. After a moment, her expression softened, curiosity replacing the humor. "Were you not invited for tea?"
Hermione shrugged, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks. "Not really. It's more of a boy thing," she admitted. Then, after a slight hesitation, she added softly, "Besides, I'd much rather spend time with you."
The unexpected confession lingered in the air for a moment, catching even Hermione off guard.
Solara raised an eyebrow, her silver eyes gleaming with amusement. "I'm flattered, Granger," she said, offering an exaggerated bow, her tone rich with playful warmth.
"Don't read too much into it, Lovegood," Hermione quipped quickly, a smirk tugging at her lips. She wagged her finger at Solara, but this time her brown eyes sparkled with mischief. "I just prefer studying to whatever nonsense they're likely up to."
"Boys will be boys," Solara replied with a soft chuckle, turning toward the stairs. She waved over her shoulder as they reached the point where their paths diverged. "I'll see you on the morrow, Granger."
"Tomorrow, Lovegood," Hermione echoed, her voice warm as she waved back. A faint smile lingered on her face as she turned down her own corridor.