Solara Lovegood and the Shadow of the Dragon
Chapter XI: The Blue-Eyed Shadow
"You certainly took your time," Solara remarked, lowering her book slightly to fix her Gryffindor companion with a sharp, expectant gaze.
"Sorry," Hermione replied, a bashful look crossing her face. "There was some hullabaloo in the Great Hall about Harry. Though he and Ron aren't saying anything to anyone. And Draco challenged him to a duel later tonight—supposedly sometime after Astronomy."
"Oh?" Solara's brow twitched, followed by a grimace as she recalled the smug look on Malfoy's pinched little face when she had cashed in her favor to shield herself from the repercussions of the day before. "Can he even afford to do so? The boy has detention tonight as well."
"Honestly, who even cares?" Hermione shrugged, dropping her bag onto the table with a soft thud, her irritation palpable. "I told Harry not to take the bait, but he wouldn't listen to me. And Ron certainly didn't help much in convincing him otherwise."
Solara clicked her tongue, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "A Gryffindor's pride is as predictable as it is troublesome."
Hermione sighed, the playful insult seemingly lost on her, as flopped into the chair across from Solara. "Tell me about it. So, why weren't you at dinner?" the girl asked, her tone shifting to curiosity.
"I was," Solara replied with a slight shrug. "But I had a large lunch. Though I did sneak a couple of pumpkin pasties before leaving." She glanced at Hermione, her expression slightly sheepish. "I didn't see you, so I had no reason to linger. Besides, I needed some extra time to finish composing the letter to my family. I plan to send it tonight, after Astronomy."
"I see," Hermione said, narrowing her eyes slightly, her tone half-suspicious but good-natured. Then, gesturing to the book Solara was reading, she asked, "Anything new on the heirs?"
"Nothing, save names. Most of the entries are as suspiciously vague as those on the Chamber were," Solara replied, gesturing to the stack of genealogy books beside her.
"Do you think they've also been tampered with?" Hermione asked, glancing at the books with a mix of curiosity and concern.
Solara leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she thumbed through one of the larger tomes. "It's possible. There's so much redaction in these old texts that it's hard to tell what's deliberate and what's natural decay."
"What about the names? Another dead end?" Hermione grumbled, shifting in her seat as she reached over to flip open a book of her own.
"Not entirely. I've uncovered a few Gaunt names—some I remember from my copy of the lineages, and others I'd either forgotten or hadn't seen named before: Noctua, Ominis, and Marvolo Gaunt."
"Well, at least it narrows our search a bit. Which one's the closest to our time?" Hermione pressed, leaning forward with interest.
"Marvolo. Though even the information on him is thin at best, assuming it hasn't been altered in some way," Solara sighed, slumping slightly in her seat. Her silver eyes flicked to the margins of the pages, scanning for anything she might have missed.
"Maybe…" Hermione began, only to freeze as the faint sound of footsteps echoed through the library aisles. She stiffened, her gaze darting toward the source of the noise.
"Do you think it's Madam Pince?" she whispered.
"Doubtful," Solara replied calmly, though her hand drifted toward Dark Sister beneath her robes. "She doesn't walk like that—too light. Whoever it is, they're trying too hard to be quiet."
Hermione's breath caught as the faint footsteps grew louder, halting briefly before resuming their deliberate rhythm. Solara's hand tightened on the handle of Dark Sister, her silver eyes fixed on the edge of the nearest bookcase.
A shadow appeared first, stretching across the floor, before its owner stepped into view. To their surprise, it wasn't Madam Pince. Instead, a short, black-robed figure emerged—a slender girl with cold blue eyes framed by a curtain of raven-black hair.
"Greengrass," Solara acknowledged, her tone neutral but tinged with curiosity. "How strange to see you again, so soon. You seem to have developed quite the interest in me since only yesterday."
Daphne Greengrass inclined her head slightly, her expression impassive as usual, though subtly different from the day before. Her azure eyes lacked their usual sharpness, carrying an almost whimsical detachment. "Lovegood. Granger," she greeted curtly, her voice devoid of warmth. The faintest flicker of a grimace crossed her face at the mention of Hermione's surname, though she quickly schooled her features back to their usual calm.
"What brings you here at this hour?" Solara asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. She was acutely aware that it was well past dinner, leaving them with little under three hours before they needed to prepare for Astronomy. Her hand relaxed on the hilt of her wand beneath the table, though she kept her guard raised, her instincts unwilling to entirely dismiss the caution Greengrass's presence elicited.
Daphne's gaze flicked to the books spread across the table, lingering on the worn spines and yellowed parchment. "Interesting choice of reading material," she remarked after a moment, her tone as cool and detached as ever.
"Interesting enough for you to skulk about here, looking specifically for us?" Solara countered smoothly, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms. Her tone carried an edge, though her silver eyes remained calm and calculating.
Daphne's lips twitched into something resembling a smile, though it lacked all warmth. Her blue eyes flashed with a hazy glint before settling back into their usual icy brilliance. "I…have my reasons. But seeing what you're delving into, I thought I'd offer a piece of advice."
Hermione bristled, sitting up straighter, her brow furrowing. "And what would that be?"
"Be careful…where you tread," Daphne said softly, her voice carrying an undertone of warning. "You're poking around in matters that don't take kindly to curious eyes. People have disappeared for less."
Solara's gaze narrowed further, her calm exterior giving way to a sharp edge. "What do you know about this, Greengrass?"
"Enough to know you're not the first to dig into the Gaunts and the Chamber," Daphne replied, her tone carefully measured. Yet, the slight delay in her response—a hesitation too subtle for most to catch—did not escape Solara's notice. "And enough to know that the last ones who did didn't end well."
Solara's eyes narrowed at the nearly imperceptible hitch in the girl's voice. It was fleeting, but it betrayed something—fear, perhaps, or uncertainty.
"No, something else," the thought lingered in Solara's mind as Greengrass spoke, the air in the library seeming to chill at her words, but the dragon did not flinch.
"So, what?" Solara asked, her voice sharper now. "You've come to scare us off?"
"No," Daphne said simply. "Consider it a warning. Do with it what you will. You have potential in Slytherin—it would be a shame if you wasted it chasing…fairy tales, as it were."
Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the shadows, her footsteps fading as quickly as they'd come.
Hermione exhaled shakily, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the table. "That was... unsettling."
"Wait," Solara said sharply, raising her right hand to forestall further comment. She drew Dark Sister with her left and incanted, "Muffliato," with a flick of her wand.
"Muffliato?" Hermione repeated, blinking in surprise. Her brow creased as she stared at Solara, curiosity mingling with suspicion. "What spell is that?"
"A charm to prevent the intrusion of wayward ears into the conversations of others," Solara clarified, her voice calm. She turned to Hermione, her silver eyes glinting faintly in the dim library light. "Higher-year spell books are quite informative."
"How much higher?" Hermione squinted at her, a flicker of wariness crossing her face. Her competitive spirit momentarily flared, eclipsing the tension from moments before.
"Fifth year," Solara replied nonchalantly. Noting the way Hermione's expression shifted—half disapproval, half indignation—she continued smoothly, "And before you get distracted by that fact, no, I do not know all the spells from all years." A slight smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth, giving her tone a playful edge.
"I only truly learn the ones that provide someone of my… disposition… some form of utility," she added with a casual shrug, as though discussing something as mundane as weather.
Hermione opened her mouth, likely ready to launch into a lecture about the dangers of advanced magic or the importance of following rules. Yet, the words faltered and died in her throat. She crossed her arms instead, her posture softening slightly as the grooves of her forehead deepened. It was clear she was debating whether to press the issue or let it go.
After a moment of tense silence, she relented, though not without a question. "If it's so useful, why hadn't you used it before? Why did you force us to whisper all that time?"
"Simple," Solara replied smoothly, her voice steady as she wove a seamless lie, unwilling to admit to such an embarrassing lapse in judgment. "To see if we were being overheard. And now, it seems we were. First by Draco, who conveniently delivered the book we needed—though it lacked as much insight as I'd hoped—and now by Greengrass, who all but confirmed we're on the right track."
Her tone shifted, growing quieter and more contemplative, as though she were piecing together a complex puzzle. "Also, I'm not certain if you noticed, but to me, Greengrass seemed—what's the word I'm looking for? Off," she murmured, her silver eyes narrowing as they flicked back toward the shadowed aisle where the blue-eyed girl from House Greengrass had vanished moments before.
Years of navigating the cutthroat courts of her brother had sharpened Visenya's instincts to a fine edge, and those instincts now whispered that something was profoundly amiss. Her fingers drummed lightly against the surface of the table, the rhythmic sound betraying the undercurrent of tension she otherwise concealed. Whatever had just transpired with Greengrass, it felt far from ordinary, and her mind raced to parse the meaning behind it.
"What do you mean, 'off'?" Hermione asked, her earlier bravado dimmed by the encounter.
"I'm not sure," Solara replied, her voice trailing off as a faint prickle of unease traced its way down her spine. "In the five days since arriving at Hogwarts, that girl, with whom I share a dormitory with, has barely spoken a handful of words to me—most of them only yesterday—yet those brief exchanges were enough for me to gauge her personality. Aloof, certainly, but there was the faintest modicum of something more hidden beneath her composed exterior. Something she strove to conceal, whether out of habit or necessity, but something entirely natural."
Hermione frowned, tilting her head as she waited for Solara to continue.
"Now, though," Solara added, leaning forward and steepling her fingers, her elbows resting lightly on the table, "her words sounded far more detached, her demeanor colder. It's subtle, but unmistakable. She may as well have been an entirely different person. It was almost as if she were…." Her voice drifted into silence, her expression pensive as she began to lightly strum her fingers together.
"As if she were what?" Hermione pressed, her tone a mixture of impatience and concern.
"Impossible," Solara muttered to herself, her mind racing. She recalled an entry in Pandora's book about the Unforgivable Curses, detailing the signs a victim might display under the influence of one in particular. "Surely there would be some form of…" Her fingers stilled, pressed together in what others might mistake for prayer.
Hermione snapped her fingers in front of Solara's face, breaking her train of thought. "Snap out of it! What?" she hissed, her bushy hair practically vibrating in annoyance.
Solara blinked, refocusing on the Gryffindor. "What is it you said to me yesterday, Granger," she asked, her voice calm but her silver eyes narrowing thoughtfully, "about how I spoke?"
"You mean about sounding like a lunatic?" Hermione muttered, though her tone was laced with wariness as her gaze flicked toward the shadowed aisle where Daphne had disappeared.
"No—but yes." Solara separated her hands, lowering them to the table where she tapped her fingers rhythmically along its edge, her gaze distant, as though seeing something just out of sight. "You said that I do not speak as a normal child would," she clarified, her tone steady now that she was certain Greengrass had fully departed.
"Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowing deeper in frustration.
"Did Daphne of House Greengrass sound like a normal child to you?" Solara countered, her tone carrying the weight of her conclusion.
"N…" Hermione trailed off, her brow knitting together as realization began to dawn. Slowly, a spark lit her eyes. "Oh."
The corners of Solara's mouth twitched faintly, satisfaction glinting in her expression. "I judge from your reaction that you've caught my meaning?"
Hermione nodded slowly, the wariness in her expression giving way to contemplation as the pieces aligned in her mind. She leaned closer, cupping her hands over her mouth as if afraid the library walls might overhear her whisper despite the charm Solara had just cast. "The Imperius Curse? That can't be. It must be something else, maybe someone using Polyjuice?"
"I pray it is not the former, and frankly, I would be disappointed if it were the latter," Solara replied, her tone measured yet carrying an undercurrent of intrigue.
"Why?" Hermione prodded, her curiosity overcoming her unease.
"Because, as I told you, I enjoy mysteries. More importantly, I enjoy my mysteries with a touch of danger," Solara said, her silver eyes gleaming as she gestured toward the now-empty aisle where Daphne had stood moments before. Her mind churned with possibilities, weighing the logistics with the precision of the strategist she knew lingered within.
"If it were Polyjuice," she continued, her voice measured, "it would mean one of two things: either someone anticipated we'd start digging into the Chamber of Secrets within days of arriving and brewed the potion months in advance for this exact moment—before we had even set foot in Hogwarts, mind you—a feat requiring precise timing and knowledge of plans that weren't even in consideration until I questioned Professor Binns on Hogwarts' secrets. Or..." She paused, letting the weight of her words linger. "They had some Polyjuice on hand and decided to waste a batch for… whatever that was."
Her gaze flicked to Hermione, who was watching her intently, a trace of intrigue and trepidation in her expression. Solara leaned back slightly, her lips curving into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
"In short," she said, her tone taking on a deliberate edge, "it would point to someone either impossibly well-prepared, with knowledge far beyond what should be possible, or someone acting impulsively, with scant resources and limited foresight."
The thrill of the deduction sent a shiver racing down her spine, stoking the fire of Visenya Targaryen that lay dormant within her. There was something intoxicating about unraveling layers of deception, about playing the game even when the stakes were veiled. Solara's fingers drummed lightly against the table, her mind already spinning through the possibilities, while her outward demeanor remained as composed as ever.
"Or…" Hermione ventured, her voice tentative but laced with growing certainty.
"The Imperius Curse," Solara finished smoothly, her tone carrying a note of finality. "Which, frankly, is a far simpler and more lucrative avenue to exploit. It requires no preparation, can be cast on the fly if needed, and its effects—if subtle enough—might go unnoticed for some time."
"Evidently not subtle enough, if you picked up on it right from the off," Hermione grumbled, her brown eyes still clouded with wariness as she leaned against the table.
"It was her eyes, Granger," Solara retorted, her voice steady and measured. "They weren't as brilliantly blue as I remembered them on the Training Grounds. There was the slightest bit of haze over them, like fog amidst a blue moon."
Hermione frowned, her analytical mind churning. "A haze? Are you sure you're not imagining it? Couldn't it have been a trick of the light?"
"Perhaps," Solara allowed with a faint shrug. "But instincts like mine aren't cultivated by ignoring such things. And it wasn't just her eyes—it was the way she spoke, the rhythm of her words, the faint hesitation before every sentence, as though waiting for guidance."
Hermione's expression softened slightly, her suspicion giving way to intrigue. "I'll admit, that does sound... suspicious."
"Yes," Solara continued, her voice steady yet thoughtful. "And I expected Hogwarts to have wards in place to prevent its use. However, perhaps I was mistaken—assuming my theory proves true." Her fingers tapped lightly against the table, an unconscious rhythm that revealed her contemplative mood.
She shifted her gaze back to Hermione and allowed a small, knowing smile to curve her lips. "Best to assume the worst, though. That said, in light of this new development, and in the words of the Muggle statesman and poet George Villiers: the plot thickens."
"You're insane," Hermione sputtered, her earlier cautious curiosity morphing into something closer to panic. "It's an Unforgivable! Cast in Hogwarts! On a student!" Her harsh whisper felt unnaturally loud in the near silence of the library. Alarm flared in her brown eyes as another thought struck her. "Wait! How do I know you're not under the Imperius Curse?"
Solara blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the accusation. Then her smile widened, tinged with amusement but tempered by respect for Hermione's sharp mind. "An excellent question," she admitted, leaning back in her chair and raising her hands slightly as though to show she held no ill intent. "I can only offer my word and my behavior thus far as evidence. If I were under such a curse, do you really think I'd be questioning Greengrass's actions or trying to uncover the truth?"
Hermione hesitated, her suspicion wavering as she considered Solara's point. "I suppose not," she muttered, though the doubt hadn't entirely left her expression.
"Besides," Solara added lightly, her tone laced with a subtle playfulness, "if I were cursed, I imagine I'd be far less interesting—and honestly, I'm insulted that you'd think my will weak enough to fall under the Imperius Curse in the first place."
That earned a faint, reluctant smile from Hermione, though the tension between them didn't entirely fade.
Solara's silver eyes gleamed with quiet defiance as she continued, her voice measured yet firm. "And remember, we don't know for certain about Greengrass. It's just my intuition—an educated guess, at best."
Hermione studied her for a moment longer, then sighed, the flicker of trust in her gaze growing a fraction stronger, while waiting for Solara to elaborate.
"It could be that I am mistaken," Solara admitted, though her tone was measured, calculated. "I am not infallible, after all. And, I'll confess, I can be... somewhat paranoid."
"No! I know where this is going," Hermione's response was immediate, forceful. She pushed back her chair, the sound scraping through the stillness of the library. "We need to tell the Headmaster!"
Solara's hand shot out, gripping Hermione's wrist firmly but not painfully. "If you tell the Headmaster, then you leave my name out of it," she warned, her voice low and cold.
"What?! Why?!" Hermione's voice rose in pitch, her anger bubbling to the surface.
"Because I cannot risk this being nothing more than my imagination running wild," Solara replied, her tone clipped but firm. "Such a claim would warrant a school-wide inquiry, which would not only make us look like fools if unfounded but also cause my standing in Slytherin to plummet. Deeply."
"And what if you're right?" Hermione pressed, shaking off Solara's grip, her expression one of frustration and fear.
"If my theory proves true, and you tell the Headmaster, then whoever cast the curse would have ample time to flee. We'd never uncover their motive—except, perhaps, their desire to keep the Chamber a secret. That is, assuming the caster isn't under the Imperius Curse themselves." Solara's silver eyes narrowed as she considered the possibility.
"So what? We keep this to ourselves?! That's your plan?" Hermione's voice cracked slightly, disbelief mingling with frustration.
"Yes," Solara replied simply, her lips twitching as she fought to suppress a grin. "This way, we can narrow down our suspects without the chaos of an inquiry hampering our efforts. After all, there can't be too many skilled enough to cast the Imperius Curse in Hogwarts without alerting anyone—starting with the professors, then moving down to seventh years, perhaps even sixth."
"The professors?!" Hermione's eyes practically bulged as the words left her lips. "No—first you think Madam Pince a possible protector of the Chamber, and now you think even more of the staff are involved? No," she shook her head in disbelief.
"I room with Greengrass, Granger. After Astronomy, I'll ask if she remembers our conversation. If she doesn't, then we'll know something is amiss. From there, I'll ask more questions—like who she spoke to after Flying Class."
"What if she lies?" Granger frowned, raising her chin in challenge.
"I can tell," Solara answered simply, her tone sharp and steady.
Hermione flinched slightly at her reply, staring at her for a moment in brief incredulity. "You're playing with fire, Lovegood. You are paranoid. There's no way the Chamber would be such an involved affair," she muttered, her voice trembling in uneasy anger.
"Perhaps," Solara said, her tone measured but her faint smirk unwavering. "But then again, that would explain why it's remained hidden for so long." Her gaze hardened slightly. "Depending on its setup, an Unbreakable Vow amongst the incoming staff and every new Headmaster could easily keep such a secret."
Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, throwing her hands up. "So, what now? Do we continue with our research on the Chamber?" she muttered, her brown eyes darting around the nearly deserted library, suspicion clouding her features.
"I would insist that we pause in that regard," Solara mused, her tone thoughtful as she rose from her seat. "I don't know about you, but now I feel an urge to more thoroughly research the Imperius Curse—and any other magic that might explain the change in Greengrass's demeanor. As well as signs of someone being afflicted by such enchantments."
"What say you, Granger?" Solara continued, arching a brow.
Hermione's eyes, though narrow, somehow still lit with a spark of defiance, and after a moment, she allowed the faintest grin to curve her lips. "Fine, but if it gets too dangerous, I am going to tell Dumbledore."
"And?" Solara cast her a sidelong glance, her silver eyes gleaming with amusement.
"I'll make no mention of you," Hermione sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as if bracing for Solara's inevitable satisfaction.
"Excellent," Solara said brightly, her grin widening as she clasped her hands together, the gesture exuding an almost unsettling enthusiasm. Her assessment of Granger's integrity—particularly her apparent unwillingness to lie—tickled at the edges of her mind, sparking a fleeting sense of satisfaction. "Yes… she is an ideal candidate to become my strong right hand," the idea struck her with a clarity that left a faint, amused glimmer in her silver eyes.
"But that's a thought for another time," she murmured to herself, banishing the notion to the back of her mind for now.
"Then let us not dawdle," Solara added with a decisive tone, straightening her posture as she refocused on the task at hand.
"I bet Harry and Ron aren't having this much…fun," Hermione chirped, her voice tinged with a mix of reticent giddiness and sarcasm as she followed Solara through the labyrinthine aisles of the library. The earlier tension in her demeanor seemed to have melted away, replaced by a cautious but growing trust in the Slytherin girl's direction.
"Fun isn't exactly the word I'd use," Solara replied dryly, her silver eyes scanning the towering shelves for promising titles. "Though I'll admit, this is far more stimulating than playing chess or discussing Quidditch scores. Granted, I don't really talk to anyone besides you three, let alone about those subjects. I just assume that's what's discussed in the dormitories outside of Slytherin."
Hermione's lips twitched at the remark, her eyes darting to the shelves as well. "You've certainly got a unique idea of a pastime. Though, I'll concede, unraveling a potential conspiracy does beat watching Harry lose yet another game to Ron."
"Superb focus, Granger. Always keep the bigger picture in perspective," Solara murmured, glancing sidelong at Hermione with a flicker of amusement in her gaze, before turning back and pulling a thick, dusty volume from the shelf. The title, Cursed Influences: A Study of Control Magic, gleamed faintly in faded silver lettering. She held it up for Hermione to see. "This might be promising."
Hermione nodded, stepping closer to examine the title. "That's a good start. I'll check for anything that might cover behavioral changes or protective measures. By the way," she added, glancing briefly at Solara, "how long does that charm of yours last?"
"As long as it needs to," Solara replied smoothly, her expression neutral but focused as her silver eyes scanned the shelves.
"Good," Hermione said, her tone firm as she turned back to the shelves with renewed determination.
The two girls moved with purpose, their search unspokenly coordinated. As they worked their way through the towering rows of books, the atmosphere between them began to shift. The earlier tension had melted away, replaced by a surprising harmony. Solara's calculated calm and Hermione's methodical thoroughness complemented each other in a way neither had expected, their focus united by the task at hand.
"Found one," Hermione announced, her voice quiet but triumphant as she pulled a smaller book titled Breaking the Chains: Recognizing and Resisting Enchantment. She glanced at Solara, who was already balancing two more volumes in her arms.
"Let's hope these yield something useful," Solara said, her tone measured but laced with a faint undercurrent of excitement as she carefully stacked the books on the table.
"This better not get me expelled," Hermione suddenly blurted out, her brows furrowed in genuine worry.
"Nonsense," Solara replied smoothly, a sly smile curling at the corners of her lips. "Trust in me."
The words slipped from her mouth with a strange ease, triggering a flicker of memory deep within her. How many times had she uttered those very words before? Spoken them to countless spies, allies, and confidants during her time in Aegon's court, each instance woven with the same silken assurance? Many of those had ended in betrayal—or worse—for those she had deemed no longer useful. It was second nature to her, a reflex she hadn't realized still lingered.
She pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the present. "This was different, wasn't it? Granger wasn't a pawn to be sacrificed, nor was she an adversary. At least, not yet."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, still unsure but evidently willing to follow. "Not completely," she replied, a small, conspiratorial smile tugging at her lips, oblivious to the dark nature of Solara's thoughts.
Solara's eyes gleamed with something unreadable as she returned the smile. "Fair enough," she said softly, the faintest trace of amusement in her voice, and she and Granger gathered all they needed and sat at their table, where they divided the books between themselves and read.
Idle chatter passed between them, even though their eyes never left the pages of their respective books, until one question from Hermione gave Solara pause.
"You mentioned the poet George Villiers. Which makes me curious—what other books have you read? What authors? It's only just now that I realized I don't even know what you like."
Solara paused for a moment, her gaze flicking briefly to Hermione before returning to her book. "This is distracting," she replied, her tone light but laced with contemplation. She lowered her book slightly, meeting Hermione's curious gaze. "But… intriguing. Very well, Granger, if it puts you at ease to know with whom you've forged a friendship."
"I didn't mean anything by it," Hermione said quickly, setting her book down. "I just found it odd that I so readily welcomed you as a friend without even knowing you. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."
"No. No. It's quite alright. I'm just not used to discussing matters like those, is all," Solara replied, her voice softer now, tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "It's always academic with me." She leaned back in her chair, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of the book in front of her. "I suppose I have a broad range of interests. Histories, of course—especially those of ancient magical families and political dynasties. But I've also read more... unconventional texts: the four Sherlock Holmes novels and short stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien, the works of William Shakespeare, Fyodor Dostoevsky, John Milton, and the occasional obscure poet from the early modern period. Some of the darker classics, by Bram Stoker and H.P. Lovecraft, and a few philosophical works on the nature of power. Nothing that's too cheerful, if that's what you're asking."
Hermione's eyes widened slightly at the mention of such heavy subjects. "That's... quite a range," she remarked, half-amused, half-astonished. "And here I thought I was the one who spent too much time in the library."
Solara shrugged lightly, her lips curving into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Everyone has their distractions. Reading just happens to be mine. Though I also think I enjoy the cinema."
"Really? What movies?"
"I've only seen one, Rocky IV, and it was a pleasant enough experience, though I was displeased with the outcome. I fully expected Ivan Drago to win." Solara's hands tightened slightly at the memory, her lips pressing into a thin line. She shifted her gaze, looking away for a brief moment before returning to Hermione, whose eyes seemed to expect more. Solara hesitated, then continued, her tone more thoughtful now, "He was built up to win so convincingly, and he reminded me of…" She stopped herself, the word "Maegor" lingering unsaid. After a brief, careful pause, she finished, "…An uncle of mine."
For a moment, Hermione of House Granger sat dumbfounded, staring at Solara as though she'd just grown another head. "Wow," she uttered finally. "I never, ever would have expected you to have watched that movie."
Solara chuckled, arching a brow. "And why does that surprise you?"
"It just does. I can't explain it. I expected something along the lines of The Great Mouse Detective, given your affinity for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Which," Hermione paused, tapping a finger to her chin, "actually explains why you 'enjoy mysteries,' now that I think about it."
"That was my original choice," Solara admitted, leaning back slightly in her chair, "but somehow, my ticket got switched, and I ended up watching Rocky instead of The Mouse Detective."
"Wait—why didn't your parents complain about the mix-up?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowing.
"My father wasn't with me," Solara replied with a casual shrug. "He had business to attend to and left me to watch the movie at the cinema."
"What?!" Hermione sputtered, her voice rising slightly. "That movie came out a few years ago—you were only, what," she paused, clearly doing the math in her head, "six?"
"Six," Solara confirmed with an amused glint in her eye.
"Why on earth would he leave you alone like that?" Hermione demanded, her voice tinged with panic. The worry etched into her brow was almost comical as she began tying herself into knots over the presumed danger Solara had faced alone in the streets.
"It was quite alright," Solara said, suppressing a laugh. "It was midday, in a well-populated area, and I assure you, my mother gave him a proper scolding when we returned home."
Hermione's expression softened slightly, though the frown lingered on her face. "That's still incredibly irresponsible! What if something had happened to you?"
"That's precisely why," Solara replied with a knowing smile, "she never lets me out of her sight now."
"Hmph," Hermione huffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. It was clear she wasn't entirely appeased by Solara's explanation, though her indignation began to fade as the conversation shifted back to their original topic.
"Well," she said, still clearly disgruntled by the brief mention of the lapse in Solara's father's carelessness, "I've read the Sherlock Holmes books and a bit of Shakespeare, but I haven't read Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings or Dostoevsky. Fantasy has never been my thing, and Russian literature…" She trailed off, wrinkling her nose slightly. "I find it difficult to enjoy. It's all just so grim. Never mind all the other titles and authors you've mentioned."
Solara tilted her head, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "So, what do you read, then? Enlighten me on the tastes of Miss Granger."
Hermione's lips twitched into a reluctant smile. "Mostly nonfiction, essays, and the occasional mystery novel. Something with substance."
"I suppose that is satisfactory, though it would do you wonders to keep your mind open, Granger," Solara suggested.
"I try," Hermione admitted, a touch defensively, before asking, "What about music? Have you ever—"
"My Way, by the Muggle Frank Sinatra," Solara interjected firmly, cutting the girl off before she had finished the question.
"That was fast," Hermione blinked, clearly surprised, before a small chuckle escaped her lips.
"Yes…" Solara nodded stiffly, her expression momentarily thoughtful before a lopsided grin tugged at her lips. She couldn't resist a jab at their earlier conversation. "Really, Granger? You don't like fantasy? What a strange world your mind lives in…"
"What?" Hermione frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion.
"Nothing," Solara smirked, shaking her head before glancing toward the clock. "We have little more than an hour left to research. We should start making notes on which books to revisit," she suggested, gesturing to the small pile of texts they had accumulated.
"I suppose you're right," Hermione agreed, her voice thoughtful, as she stretched and stifled back a yawn. Without further delay, the two girls then began meticulously noting down the books they had yet to examine, marking key details onto scraps of parchment.
Once they had everything accounted for, they gathered the books and returned them to their respective shelves. The task complete, they left the library with more than half an hour to spare, making their way to the Astronomy Tower with their supplies in tow.
"By the way, I'm so glad you're not under the Imperius Curse," Hermione remarked as they climbed the winding steps of the tower, her tone light but carrying a note of relief.
"I already told you I wasn't," Solara replied, glancing at her companion with a touch of confusion, having thought the suspicion dismissed back in the library.
"I know," Hermione said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "But the questions I asked you confirmed it."
Solara froze mid-step, her silver eyes narrowing briefly in surprise before a small smile curved her lips. "Clever," she murmured, her tone carrying a hint of amusement as they reached the final step.
With a quick push, they swung open the heavy wooden door to their midnight class, stepping into the crisp night air. The sky above stretched wide and glittered with stars, a perfect canvas of celestial brilliance that seemed to promise more mysteries yet to come.