"When you tear a root from the earth, the wound bleeds magic—and the forest remembers."
Morning of Uneasy Quiet
The first light of dawn slanted through the Astronomy Tower's window, illuminating Albus Potter's face in pale glow. He woke to silence. No humming walls, no distant tremors, no flickers in his peripheral vision.
He'd slept—truly slept—for the first time in weeks.
The rune on his wrist was faint, almost ghostly. A silver scar etched into his flesh.
He flexed his fingers. No pulse. No warmth. Just healed stone.
He pulled a robe over his head, quiet on well-practiced feet, and descended.
The Gathering Storm
The castle creaked, stirred, and whispered to itself as he moved. Magic had not left—it was restless, curious, and wary.
In the Great Hall, Fiona and Scorpius waited. Anita Borelli, Head of Slytherin, and Cassian Rowle, Prefect in Charge of Safety, joined them.
"Good morning," Anita greeted, voice firm but warm. "May we?"
Fiona nodded together; Scorpius set aside a sword-style Penumbra protection talisman.
"We want to evaluate the castle's wards," Anita said. "Now that the Root bond is severed, we need to see what's changed."
Fiona unfolded a scroll—a dispersion spell from the fourth year of Goodyshaw's runemancy class.
"It will test every ward, every pulse, every defensive line," she said. "If anything is unstable…" She met Albus's gaze. "Let us know."
Mapping the Magic
They spent the morning moving through corridors. Each student mage followed Fiona's incantation, testing tiles and thresholds.
In the Charms Wing, a faint flux shimmered behind a painting of a forest.
Fiona frowned. "Behind this painting is a ward leak. Probably remnants of the Root's operation."
She used her wand to repair the weaving—tightening power, shifting nodes.
In the Transfiguration Hall, a statue trembled, then stilled. Magic oscillated.
Scorpius took a defensive stance. "It's… alive."
Fiona blinked. "A root echo. Dormant—triggered by higher magic."
Anita and Cassian exchanged uneasy glances. Hogwarts was healing, but in layers: the castle's structure was calm, but its magic squirming.
The Scholars' Council
Later that afternoon, the Prefect's Office buzzed with tension.
Headmistress Chang had summoned all House Prefects, House Heads, and the trio.
Fiona presented her findings.
"As of now," she said, "the wards have been restored. But there are pockets of residual Echo Magic—fragments left behind when the Root Heart shattered. These can re-seed the ancient magic if left alone."
She held up a vial of shimmering blue-green vial. "A containment potion I adapted from pre-Founders' magical journals. We can apply it to infuse the wards. For now, it's stable. But we'll need time—to research, test, refine."
Headmistress Chang, older and quieter than her students remembered, nodded. "We will do what is necessary. Hogwarts will remain safe under our watch."
Albus clenched his fist beneath the table. It was a duty he never asked for—and a responsibility he would gladly bear.
Shadows in the Library
After the meeting, Albus and Scorpius headed to the Restricted Section.
They needed answers—about the origins of Root Echo, about Morrigan's desperation, about the lore that had been lost through centuries.
The section was silent as dust. Books stood like silent sentinels. Albus located the book of Binding Rites—it was one of few Garrick had allowed them.
He traced the cover. The binding flourished similar to the rune on his wrist.
"One of the original Root binding books," he murmured.
Scorpius leaned over his shoulder. "Meaning?"
Albus flipped open to a page illustrated with spirals and swords.
"Meaning it documents the emergency rites the Founders invented that night—when Morrigan offered herself."
A passage caught his eye:
Blessed be the one who tears root from bone—but cursed too, for no blood lies easier.
Albus closed the book. "We might have broken it…but we paid a price."
The Trained Wards
Over the next two days, squads of students and teachers wove new magic.
Symbolic Merlon charms replaced fractured wards. Shielding hexes carved into gargoyles. Silver-threaded ribbons looped from turret to spire—each line woven as a defensive circuit.
Albus, Fiona, Scorpius, Anita, and Cassian worked long into the night.
At the heart of the effort, beneath the castle, a hidden team worked in deafening wind: specialists in ancient root magic laid protective binding around what remained of the vortex point—the still-missing Chamber Beneath Roots.
They anchored the castle to ward lines, weaving his scar's runes into the core.
Each stitch of magic carried Albus's mark.
The Deep Dream
That night, Albus slept again—but not peacefully.
He found himself in the Chamber Beneath Roots once more.
He walked barefoot across the shattered monolith's flakes.
The walls were silent now, but he felt the echoes vibrating just beneath them.
A figure emerged from shadow.
Leora.
She knelt beside the Wordless Heart: a shattered black crystal still glowing faintly.
She held a glowing root-segment.
"This is a seed," she whispered.
"One shard fell when you broke it. The Castle still dreams with its edges."
Albus reached toward her... and woke.
He sat bolt upright in bed, sweat drenched, heart bruised.
The Gathering Darkness
The next morning, an owl arrived with a thick envelope stamped with a red crest.
Professor Longbottom handed it to Albus.
He opened it time-stamped 3:42 a.m.
The letter read:
To Albus Severus Potter—
We meet tonight in the Hall of Reflection.
There are those who seek to continue what Morrigan began. They will show themselves.
No signature.
Midnight in the Mirrors
Late that night, Albus, Fiona, Scorpius, Anita, and Cassian slipped into the sealed Hall of Reflection.
The corridor—usually dusty and lifeless—was lit by the soft glow of floating lantern orbs.
They paused before the black-framed Mirror Gate. Scorpius raised his wand. Fiona placed another vial of containment potion against it.
"Ready?"
Albus nodded.
The mirror rippled—but this time solid.
From it stepped... a student.
Twisted in shadow.
Familiar doorways, her face shape.
Dark hair... brown...
"Morrigan's heirs," Fiona whispered.
Revelations
The figure's voice was soft.
"You broke the Gate. You sealed the Heart. But you awakened the legacy."
A hood dropped. The face was not student—even older, with a crooked brow, a carved rune on her left hand.
"I am Elinora Veil—a witch bound to the Root's seed. Like you once were."
Albus tensed.
"She collects shards," Elinora said. "One shard flickers in the Lake. One wanders beneath the Library. One buried among the Whomping Willow. She needs all four—and the bloodline to collect them."
Albus felt his blood turn cold.
"And she knows about you."
Anita grimaced. "Morrigan's legacy is older than Hogwarts—and stronger than you can imagine."
Shards of the Root
"If she collects them," Albus said quietly, "she can restart the Heart."
Elinora shook her head.
"She will. Morrigan pledged loyalty through death. Her children cannot avoid remembering."
"But magic—real magic—can break the cycle."
"You need to retrieve the shards before she does."
Albus swallowed, looking to his friends.
Fiona's lips were pale. "Then we fight again."
Into the Dark
They stepped back through the mirror.
The Hall of Reflection lingered.
Albus raised his wand.
"We have to act fast," he said.
"For Hogwarts, for the roots... for ourselves."