Harry held his gound, his emerald eyes locked onto Snape's dark gaze. The professor was unreadable as always, but there was something different this time—something lurking beneath the surface.
"What do you know?" Harry asked, voice quiet but firm.
Snape tilted his head slightly, considering him. Then, after a long pause, he flicked his wand. The book Echoes of the Forgotten Arts snapped shut.
"Too many questions will lead you down paths best left untouched," Snape said coolly.
Harry clenched his fists. "You're avoiding the question."
Snape's lips curled slightly. "And you're reckless. A dangerous combination." He took a step closer, his robes whispering against the stone floor. "Ancient magic is not a plaything, Potter. If you insist on pursuing it, you best be prepared for the consequences."
Harry squared his shoulders. "I already am."
Snape exhaled through his nose, his expression tightening. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel. "Return to your dormitory," he ordered. "And do not let me catch you in the Restricted Section again."
Harry hesitated. He wanted to push for more, to demand answers—but he knew Snape wouldn't give him any, not yet. So, with a final glance at the book, he tucked it under his cloak and slipped away into the darkness.
—
Back in his dormitory, Harry sat on his bed, flipping through the pages of the book. Every passage spoke of lost knowledge, forgotten arts, and forces older than magic itself.
"Some gifts are burdens. Some powers are curses. But all have a price."
He ran a finger over the words, his mind racing.
Something had chosen him. Something had marked him.
And he needed to know why.
Harry's grip on the book tightened.
The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the dormitory walls as Harry traced the ancient symbols in Echoes of the Forgotten Arts. The book's pages seemed almost alive, the ink shifting under his fingertips like it was whispering its secrets directly into his mind.
The passage he had stumbled upon was unlike anything he had ever read before.
"Blood remembers. Magic lingers. Those who seek the Forgotten must first understand the price."
Harry's breath caught. He had read about blood magic before—dark, forbidden, dangerous. But this was different. This spoke of something deeper, something primal.
A soft knock at the door made him snap the book shut. He quickly cast a silencing charm around his bed before muttering, "Come in."
The door creaked open, revealing a unknown figure. His sharp eyes flicked to the book before settling on Hadrian.
"You're still up."
Harry leaned back. "Who are you?"
Theo stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. "You can call me Ivan.I heard about the Restricted Section."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Nice to meet you Ivan.News travels fast."
Theo smirked, then his expression turned serious. "You're looking into something dangerous, aren't you?"
Harry didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied Ivan, searching for any sign of deceit. But there was none.
"Yes," he admitted finally.
Theo sat on the edge of the bed. "And I assume you're not going to stop."
Harry shook his head.
Ivan exhaled. "Then I want in."
Harry frowned. "Why?"
A flicker of something unreadable passed through Ivan's eyes. "Because I know what it's like to chase after shadows. And because you'll need someone to watch your back."
Harry considered him for a moment, then nodded.
"Alright," he said. "But if we do this, we do it together."
Ivan smirked. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
As they shook hands, an unseen force rippled through the room, as if fate itself had just shifted.
And in the darkness, the book whispered.
—