The towers were silvered white, the lake frozen solid, and the halls rang hollow without their usual chaos. Only a few fires still burned — quiet and watchful, as if the castle itself was listening.
For the four of them — Shya, Talora, Roman, and Cassian — it was strange, almost dreamlike. Everyone else had gone home. Their letters had worked:
Parents believed they were staying at school. Professors not paying them any attention.
And now, they were ghosts in their own castle — wandering corridors that seemed to hold their breath.
Three days before Christmas, they slipped out to Hogsmeade under falling snow.
The village was hushed, lamplight pooling gold on white streets. Shops were shuttered, the air smelling faintly of pine and smoke.
They found her where Roman's owl had said she'd be — Selene Varn, Master curse-breaker, researcher, and rumored specialist in the kind of magic most wizards refused to name.
The Three Broomsticks was nearly empty. Selene sat alone near the fire, a hood shadowing her face, parchment and old scrolls spread across the table. When they entered, she looked up immediately, as though she'd been expecting them for years rather than days.
"Mr. Nott," she said, voice smooth but faintly distant. "Your letter was… interesting."
Roman inclined his head. "We're grateful you agreed to meet."
"I rarely refuse a mystery," she said, gesturing for them to sit. "Especially one that hums."
That last word made the air feel thinner somehow.
She studied them each in turn — her gaze lingering just a heartbeat too long on Shya before sliding to Talora. "Tell me everything," she said simply.
Shya spoke. "It started around Halloween. Nightmares. Fatigue. Pomfrey's potions helped for a while, but now… they don't."
Selene listened without interruption, her fingers moving absently along the rim of her mug. When Shya finished, she unrolled a scroll covered in ink the color of dried blood.
"This is old," Selene murmured. "Older than the school. It came from an excavation in the oldest of pyramids. It speaks of balance — of what happens when two forces meant to move in tandem… drift apart."
She began to read, voice low and melodic, like a spell woven through the firelight.
"Before time learned to measure itself, there were two sparks — one that kindled, and one that consumed.
They were not gods, nor demons, but the twin halves of motion: the pulse of creation, and the sigh of its ending.
The first spark is the breath that dares to bloom — its gift, unending life; its burden, the weight of awakening all things.
The second is the silence that gives rest to form — its gift, stillness; its curse, the hunger of shadow.
Together they are the rhythm of all things.
Apart, they are chaos — birth without peace, ruin without renewal."
The fire crackled softly when she stopped reading.
Cassian frowned. "Pretty poetry, but what does it mean?"
Selene looked at Talora. "It means something is out of step with the natural order. You, my dear, are growing faster than your rhythm allows."
"Rhythm?" Talora repeated, confused.
"Magic has music," Selene said quietly. "Every witch and wizard has their own current — a thread of song that connects them to the world's pulse. Yours is… dissonant. Accelerating beyond harmony."
Roman leaned forward. "Can that happen?"
"It's rare," Selene said. "And dangerous. When a current outruns its counterpart, it begins to tear at itself. You burn through your own energy faster than it can replenish. Hence the exhaustion. The dreams. The imbalance."
Talora's voice was small. "Can you fix it?"
Selene hesitated — then reached into her cloak and drew out a small, ancient box.
It was carved from dark stone, covered in faded hieroglyphs that shimmered faintly under the firelight. "This was found beneath a temple long lost to the sands," she said softly. "It was used to stabilize the flow between opposing currents — light and void, growth and decay."
She opened the box. Inside lay an amulet of bronze and black glass, its surface etched with concentric spirals that seemed to move when the fire flickered.
"This will not cure you," Selene said. "But it will slow the dissonance enough to allow you to at least finish Hogwarts. It will anchor your rhythm until balance restores itself."
Talora looked hesitant. "Is it safe?"
"As safe as anything older than time," Selene said, with the faintest smile. "It will attune itself to you if you let it."
Shya frowned. "And if she doesn't?"
"Then it won't matter. It will find her anyway."
Talora's hand trembled as she reached out. The moment her fingers brushed the amulet, the air seemed to shift. A low hum filled the room, deep enough to rattle the glasses on the table. The bronze shimmered gold — then melted into her skin, vanishing completely.
Talora gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "It's… warm."
"Good," Selene murmured. "That means it remembers you."
Shya blinked. "Remembers her? You make it sound alive."
Selene's eyes flicked to her again — sharp, knowing. "Perhaps it is."
Shya stared back. "What does that mean?"
But Selene only smiled — soft and unreadable. "You'll understand, when the music resolves."
Cassian frowned. "You're not going to tell us what this really is, are you?"
"No," Selene said simply. "Because it cannot be spoken until it awakens."
Roman's voice was careful. "And when will that be?"
"When the balance demands it."
They left the inn in silence, the snow falling heavier now — muffling the world in white.
Talora looked steadier than she had in months. The color had returned to her cheeks; her eyes shone faintly in the torchlight.
"How do you feel?" Shya asked quietly.
Talora smiled. "Like I can finally breathe."
"Good," Shya said, bumping her shoulder gently. "Because if you keeled over again, I was going to have to drag you to Pomfrey myself, and that's a lot of stairs."
That earned a laugh — soft, real, fragile.
Cassian and Roman walked a few paces ahead, their voices low against the wind.
"She's better," Cassian murmured. "For now."
Roman nodded. "Selene said it would hold . That's all we can ask."
When they reached the castle, the windows were glowing faintly with candlelight. Shya paused at the entrance, looking back over the snow-covered grounds.
The world was so still it almost felt suspended — a moment stretched between breaths.
She thought of Selene's last look — the faint recognition, the way she'd said you'll understand when the music resolves.
And for the first time, the silence around Hogwarts didn't feel empty. It felt alive.
Waiting.