The library at Hogwarts was nothing short of a labyrinth — rows of ancient shelves towered like silent sentinels, packed with books that whispered when no one was listening. The smell of parchment and ink mingled with dust and something older, something May couldn't name. She loved it. Here, the world felt still — quieter than even the Ravenclaw common room.

May and Olivia had spent the afternoon working on their Transfiguration homework, but now Olivia was dozing with her cheek pressed to her notes. May, unable to focus, wandered toward a darker corner of the library — past the section of Magical Theory, just before the rope that marked the beginning of the Restricted Section.

She wasn't looking for anything. But something found her.

One of the books jutted out awkwardly, as if it didn't quite belong. It was older than the others — bound in worn, greenish-black leather, the spine cracked, the title almost faded to nothing. But not quite.

Orders of Magical Vigilance

And beneath it, a sigil. A circle with an arrow pointing skyward and delicate runes that looped like vines. Her fingers froze above it.

It was the same as the one on the pendant she wore around her neck — the one she had taken from her father's trunk in the attic, the one she hadn't dared to ask about.

A cold shiver ran down her spine. She looked around. No one had noticed her.

She opened the cover slowly. The pages crackled with age, and the ink shimmered faintly, as if resisting the light. There were entries about ancient magical groups — some long disbanded, others shrouded in secrecy. Some bore names she didn't recognize, others whispered of roles in magical wars.

She flipped to a bookmarked page. The ink had been smudged and rewritten — someone had annotated it by hand.

Avalon

A global alliance of elite magical guardians. Formed in response to rising dark threats across the wizarding world. Composed of the most skilled Aurors, Seers, and magical scholars from each continent.

May stared.

There was no mention of Dumbledore, of her parents — not directly. But something in her chest stirred. This wasn't just a pendant. This was a connection. And someone — maybe her father — had been part of something much bigger than she'd ever been told.

She closed the book and cradled it for a moment before returning it gently to its hiding place.

That evening, in the quiet of the common room, she wrote her father again. This time, her letter was shorter.

Dad,

Do you know the name Avalon?

She hesitated before signing her name and sealed it quickly.

Two days later, his reply arrived in a plain envelope. It had no ribbon, no flourish.

Inside were only seven words:

"Where did you see that name?"

May folded the letter with trembling hands. She slipped her pendant out from under her robes and held it tightly.

She wasn't just homesick anymore. She was curious.

And maybe, just a little afraid.