Hadrian lay awake in his four-poster bed, staring at the dark canopy above him. The soft sounds of his dorm mates' breathing filled the room, but sleep refused to come to him. His mind was still stuck in Dumbledore's office, replaying every word, every glance, every hesitation.
Magic has a way of finding those who are destined for more.
Those words had settled deep into his bones. What had happened to him wasn't just an accident—Dumbledore knew something. He always did.
Harry turned on his side, gripping his wand under the covers. The symbols on his hands had faded, but he could still feel them, like an imprint on his soul.
A sharp whisper cut through the silence.
"Not yet ready… but soon."
Harry bolted upright, his breathing quick. He glanced around the room, but nothing had changed.
The voice. It was the same as before.
Cold crept into his limbs, but he forced himself to take a steady breath. If something was watching him—speaking to him—he needed to understand it.
Without making a sound, he slipped out of bed, grabbed his invisibility cloak, and left the dormitory.
—
The castle was eerily silent at this hour. The only sounds were the occasional shifting of the suits of armor and the distant hoot of an owl. Hadrian moved swiftly, his instincts guiding him toward the one place he knew he could search for answers.
The Restricted Section.
Slipping past the sleeping portrait of the librarian, he moved between the towering bookshelves, scanning the titles. He needed something about ancient magic, about symbols, about voices in the dark.
His fingers brushed against the spine of a thick, dusty tome: Echoes of the Forgotten Arts.
Carefully, he pulled it from the shelf and set it on a nearby table. He flipped through the pages, his heart pounding with anticipation. The candlelight flickered as he scanned the words—
"There exist magics older than time itself. Powers that whisper through the fabric of existence, seeking vessels worthy of their knowledge. These forces do not teach… they choose."
Harry's breath caught.
Choose?
His eyes flicked lower on the page.
"To those marked, the path is both a gift and a curse. Power may be granted, but it comes at a cost—one that is unknown until the moment it is claimed."
A chill ran through him.
Had he been chosen by something? And if so… what price would he have to pay?
Before he could read further, the air shifted behind him.
"Out for a little midnight reading, are we?"
Harry spun around, wand raised.
Professor Snape stood in the shadows, arms crossed, his black robes billowing as he stepped forward. His dark eyes flickered toward the book, then back to Hadrian.
"Interesting choice of literature," he mused. "Ancient magic… symbols… whispers in the dark. Tell me, Potter, what exactly are you looking for?"
Harry's grip tightened on his wand. "Answers."
Snape studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to Hadrian's surprise, a smirk ghosted across his lips.
"Careful," Snape murmured. "Sometimes, answers are more dangerous than ignorance."
Harry swallowed. He had the feeling Snape knew far more than he was letting on.
And for the first time, Harry wondered…
Who else was keeping secrets from him?