Chapter 5: At Last in This Place (POV Syla)

Syla woke up full of energy on a summer day.

"Try, Fail, Try Again, Fail Better," she recited as she got out of bed.

Syla looked at the sunrays streaming through her bedroom window. She glanced at the Muggle clock on the wall—it read six in the morning. The day before, she had taken off her clothes and gone straight to bed. It had done her good. She had rested, her mind was calm, and she felt fabulous once more.

Yesterday had been a disaster. Her interview with Tom had ended in a dueling test from which she hadn't exactly emerged gracefully. Her bloodied blouse in the laundry basket was proof of a bittersweet day… but that was all in the past now. She had cried all she needed to and suffered as much as she had to. Today was a new day, and she was, officially, a research witch under the charge of Tom Riddle.

"Well, research witch on trial," she corrected herself mentally.

She had managed to get him to accept her—or in Syla's words, Tom hadn't been able to kick her out of his office. She had proven enough worth. He had mentioned he was running out of time, so there must have been some other variable that made him accept her. She didn't know what it was, but she accepted the victory. She knew from the start that getting into the inner circle of the future Dark Lord would be hard, so having secured two months of work with Riddle was a solid outcome.

"I would have preferred to succeed without getting my hand broken and my face bloodied," she thought. "Well, anyway, Syla, well done. First day achieved. Try not to break any bones on your second."

She smiled at her small victory. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. She was proud of herself, and today she would continue down that path.

"Time to start a new day."

She smiled as she walked toward, in her own opinion, the best room in the apartment—the bathroom. And the best part? That splendid Muggle shower that made her hair radiant.

For over two years now, Syla had been using that bathtub exclusively to care for her hair. That's also how long she'd been living with her Muggle uncle, Wax, who had taken her in the day after the incident.

She, scared and trembling after the worst day of her life, had been met with love and care from her maternal uncle. He had offered her the Muggle comforts he could provide. At first, it had been hard for Syla to get used to it after a life surrounded only by magic. But little by little, she began to find some pleasure in how the Muggle community handled their day-to-day lives.

This very apartment, not very big but cozy, had become her personal summer palace. It had a modest living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and two bedrooms. Her perfect kingdom in the middle of London. During her last two years, life at Hogwarts meant regular magic, while vacations were lived in the Muggle way.

Learning to cook, clean, organize, and groom herself without magic had been hard, but she now considered herself an expert. This summer, having just left Hogwarts and now allowed to use magic in the outside world, she could technically do everything with spells—but some Muggle habits she preferred to keep. Chief among them was showering in this apartment's bathroom.

Before turning on the water, Syla had to check if the boiler system (a Muggle device to heat water) was working. Normally her uncle checked it for her, but this summer, she was alone.

Wax was away on a long job in Ireland. He had told her he'd be gone the whole year doing, in his words, "advanced pipeline construction work." Syla tried hard to understand what her uncle did, but it was difficult to interpret. Being a witch raised by wizard parents, understanding the Muggle world wasn't exactly easy. Her best interpretation was that her uncle worked on flu networks like her mother—except with water.

Syla touched the pipe running up through the apartment. It was warm, which meant the Muggle device was working, and she could shower. She undressed, got into the tub, and turned the hot water knob. A stream of clear water flowed perfectly from the showerhead.

"It's fascinating," she said to herself every time she turned that knob. She let the nearly crystalline water flow through her blonde hair. "Muggle artifacts and technology that can rival magic itself."

Of all the Muggle inventions she had discovered in recent years, this was the one she loved most. Sure, magical showers or those provided by house elves were convenient—but this one was incredible. Not even the prefects' bathroom she frequented at Hogwarts was better. This shower was sensational, both in temperature and water quality.

Her uncle checked the boiler methodically to make sure it worked properly and used another device called a "filter" to keep impurities from reaching her hair. Working together, these made Syla's hair soft and shiny—more radiant than any magic she'd ever known.

"Beautiful Muggle magic," she said aloud while drying her hair with a towel.

The restorative shower had done its job. She was in a good mood and full of energy. She was herself again. She was ready for a new battle and would dress in the "battle uniform" that the situation called for.

She went to her room and searched through her clothes until she found that beautiful turquoise dress she used for formal events. Floor-length, slightly low-cut, and with fine details. When she wanted to look elegant and formal, this was always her pick. Riddle had been explicit in saying she needed to be up to the standard of an event today, and Syla would meet that expectation. Her plan to follow the deputy head of the Department of Mysteries was already underway, and she had to give her best effort to fix the disaster from two years ago.

"I will succeed with you, Tom," she told herself with conviction. "Whether you like it or not, you're going to help me."

Syla prepared breakfast with magic while finishing getting ready. Her morning routine had simplified a lot now that she could use magic in the apartment. Just a few wand movements and a flying skillet and wooden spoon took care of breakfast. A couple of scrambled eggs with toast took only minutes. That gave her time to think about other things—like how to improve her dueling skills.

Riddle had bested her yesterday. By his ridiculous standards, it seemed like he expected her to improve within two months to be able to face him again. Syla had no idea how to make that happen. She wasn't the best at Hogwarts, but no one could beat her easily in dueling class with Professor Galatea. She could hold her own against any student—but Tom was on a different level.

Someone who didn't tire from casting spells consecutively and could even cast three almost simultaneously… she had never seen anything like it. He was without a doubt a prodigy. Syla was a talented witch among 10,000 wizards, but Tom had to be one in 100,000. That wasn't a gap she could close in mere months.

"I have to learn somehow how to face Tom… Anyway, why does it smell burnt?" Syla snapped out of her trance. "Oh no! My breakfast!"

Life outside of school was easier with magic, but still required attention.

A quick Aguamenti, new scrambled eggs, and a cup of tea later, Syla concluded there wasn't a simple answer to her dueling dilemma. She would probably have to go to the Magical Defense Department to request a specific book or advanced class on multiple spell defense. Maybe Robby could help her with the permissions.

Being honest with herself, she doubted there was an easy solution in two months, but she had to start somewhere. Either way, she was calm now. She liked challenges, and she'd find a way to defeat Tom before the summer ended.

"Try, Fail, Try Again, Fail Better," she recited once more in her head.

Finally ready, with a full stomach and some time on the clock, she left the apartment toward the Ministry. She glanced around the room one more time to make sure everything was in order, including a pile of unopened letters in the corner of the living room—next to the only three she had opened from Anna in the Amazon.

"I'll have to deal with that eventually," she thought as she closed the door.

Syla arrived early at the Department of Mysteries, an hour before her meeting with Tom. Yesterday had been chaotic; between the interview for the research witch position and spending the afternoon crying, she hadn't been able to enjoy her first visit to level -9 of the Ministry. Today would be different. With her new credentials as a Research Witch (or simply an Unspeakable to the rest of the magical world), she would allow herself to fulfill her childhood dream: to roam the Department of Mysteries.

She had loved magic and its mysteries since she was little. Discovering early on that there was an entire department dedicated to them had stolen her heart. Her only wish since she was ten was to visit the place, but her mother opposed it. She knew it was the most dangerous department in the Ministry and didn't want her only daughter to become obsessed. Dorothy might try to stop her, but Syla's love for the unknown wouldn't vanish just because of obstacles.

Once at Hogwarts, she was consistent and methodical. She never neglected her studies or friendships, but whenever she could, she sought books or classes on the kind of magic the world hadn't yet understood. She studied everything from experimental time magic to multi-generational portkeys, her aunt's prophecy magic, and more. She found it fascinating that, centuries after magic was discovered, there were still spells left to uncover. There were countless topics to explore, and Syla wanted a front-row seat when discoveries happened.

Her mother's wish for her to follow in her footsteps working on the Floo Network had never stood a chance. No matter how hard Dorothy tried to avoid her Ineffable colleagues in front of Syla or denied her access to the Department of Mysteries during her school years—it had only ever been a matter of time before she ended up working there.

"At last, here," she said to herself.

Even though Syla had never been inside the department, she knew the layout well from stories. She knew exactly where she wanted to go first: the Main Chamber.

She walked in the opposite direction of the office area she had visited yesterday. This part of the department began with a great black corridor, famous for having no doors or windows and lit only by floating blue torches along its sides. This enormous hallway would take her to the main entrance where the primary research chambers were located.

"Death, Space, Love, Time, Prophecies, and Mind," she murmured to herself as she walked.

These were the main research lines of the Department of Mysteries, and also the ones with the highest funding for experiments and new magical inventions. A large portion of the Ministry's budget went into these six core areas.

There were also minor research lines, like Tom Riddle's, dedicated specifically to magical artifacts. The major divisions, however, had special workshops located beneath the Main Chamber. These served a dual purpose: providing each research line with unmatched privacy for their experiments and preventing any accidents from "accidentally" destroying the Ministry.

Just as she was imagining the types of experiments that might blow up the Ministry, she reached the great black door. It was designed to disorient any unauthorized person, but with her credentials, Syla felt no strange sensation. Smiling at her little victory, she placed her hands on the door and passed through.

"At last, before my eyes," she said with joy.

Syla stared in awe at the enormous structure before her. She was surrounded by darkness. The chamber was black as a moonless night, but with clouds overhead that blocked even the smallest sliver of light. She had never seen anything darker than the ceiling of this cavern. Beneath her feet was matte black marble, as dark as the sky above, giving the illusion of a mirror reflecting the heavens. She would have been in total darkness if not for the floating blue torches that encircled the chamber.

The only things in the room besides her and the torches were twelve identical doors, arranged symmetrically along the walls. No locks. No handles. No way to tell them apart.

Once the main black door closed behind her, the twelve doors spun clockwise into new positions. It was a passive security system that made it impossible for intruders—or even the Unspeakables themselves—to know which door led where.

"This is even better than I read about," Syla thought, placing her hand on one of the doors.

It was said that these rooms were older than the Ministry itself. Legends told that wizards were already seeking new forms of magic here decades before the magical community settled in this location. Syla had verified those claims through her studies, but seeing the arcane magic with her own eyes was completely different. To her, this was the most magnificent place on earth.

She spent a few minutes wide-eyed, studying the doors and trying to understand the ancient magic that powered them. She wasn't sure if each door was enchanted with a specific spell or if they were magical artifacts with specific functions. Whatever the answer, it was sublime.

After some time, a wizard in a multicolored robe entered through the black door. The chamber automatically rotated the twelve doors again, this time counterclockwise. Syla counted: three clockwise turns when she arrived, now seven counterclockwise. If she hadn't been inside, it would have been impossible to track the rotation. The system was flawless.

The man hurried to the center of the chamber, ignoring Syla. He was probably in a rush—or maybe, given the security, he knew she couldn't be there without permission. He paused and spoke a few words.

—Chamber of Brains— he said in a hoarse, strong voice.

The fourth door from the main one, clockwise, opened wide. The wizard crossed it without even glancing around. He seemed deep in thought, likely accustomed to the daily routine. The door shut behind him and the chamber spun again, three more positions counterclockwise.

Syla observed that the event triggering the chamber's rotation was the closing of one of the doors or the main door. Opening them didn't activate the mechanism. Likely, when multiple people arrived, the chamber waited for all of them to enter before spinning again.

"Not bad for 15th-century magic," said Syla. "Well, it's my turn to try."

She had heard friends in internships describe this chamber, but none questioned how the magic worked. Every time she talked about these topics, other wizards just accepted that the systems were simply there.

Yes, she could accept not knowing how every artifact or spell worked—but she still felt curious. What kind of spell controlled the chamber's rotation? How could it recognize spoken destinations without an opening spell? What enchantment disoriented intruders at the main door?

Syla was full of questions now, which she'd unravel later. Her time was running out and she needed to meet with Tom. But there was one more thing she wanted to try.

She wanted to visit the Hall of Prophecies to count how many her Aunt Cassandra had made in her prolific career. She also wanted to see the Space Chamber and whether apparition to the moon was actually possible. She dreamed of going to the Time Chamber and playing with the speed bubbles—or seeing if the brain tank was real, or if the Love Door was as impenetrable as they said.

Above all, there was one place she wanted to visit right now.

Syla approached the center of the room and filled her lungs with the stagnant air of the chamber. She shouted without hesitation:

—Chamber of Death— said the witch.

But nothing happened. None of the twelve doors opened. Syla didn't flinch. She knew that even within the Department of Mysteries, some divisions were restricted—even to a research witch like her. She could probably go to the Mind Chamber or the Hall of Prophecies, but Death, Love, and Time weren't freely accessible.

This didn't discourage her. On the contrary—it excited her. She was very close to finding the answers she had been searching for the past two years. Since the day of the incident. Now she was in the cradle of magical knowledge's frontiers, and it was only a matter of time before she found what she sought.

The good news? She knew exactly where to find the person who could help her. And she also knew he liked punctuality—so it was best to hurry.

Syla passed through the great black door, leaving the massive central chamber behind, already planning to return.

At exactly 9 a.m., she stood in front of Tom Marvolo Riddle's office door.