We moved through the castle like shadows, our footsteps echoing faintly against the cold stone. The stillness of the corridors was only broken by the occasional flicker of torchlight and the distant creak of the castle settling into the night.
We were five when we stepped out of the Forbidden Forest.
Now, we were four.
Draco had broken away from us the moment the trees had faded behind us and the open lawns of Hogwarts came into view. His face was pale, lips tight, eyes full of something he didn't want to say aloud.
Fear.
"I'm done with this," he muttered. "Whatever that was… it's not worth getting expelled or worse. I didn't sign up for this."
"You ran first," Ron muttered under his breath.
Draco either didn't hear or chose to ignore him. Without another word, he turned sharply and disappeared down the corridor leading to the dungeons, back to the safety of his house and his silence.
That left the rest of us—me, Rose, Hermione, and Ron—standing in the main hall, unsure of what to do next.
We shared a glance.
"He won't talk," I said quietly. "Not about that."
Rose nodded, though she looked unconvinced. "He might not… but he's scared. And scared people can be unpredictable."
We didn't wait around. Our feet carried us toward the spiral staircase, and then to the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. A few hours ago, it might have felt exciting to be sneaking around this late. Now, it just felt heavy.
"Fizzing Whizbee," Rose tried again.
"Lemon Drops?" Hermione added.
Nothing.
Ron let out a groan. "This is mental. Why does the Headmaster of a magical school need a password system based on sweets?"
"Because it's Dumbledore," Rose said. "But that's not the point. He's not here."
I stared up at the gargoyle, unmoving and dispassionate, like a silent sentinel. I felt the energy still coursing under my skin—the Kavach had activated twice tonight. It had saved me, yes… but it had also revealed just how close I'd come to real danger.
That thing in the forest… That man in the forest.
I hadn't said the name out loud. Not to the others. Not yet.
But I knew it.
I knew exactly who it was.
Voldemort.
Half-life. Parasite. Feeding on unicorn blood to keep himself alive.
And I had stood in front of him and lived.
Only because of my training. Only because of the fire within me. And the shield that protected me.
My Kavach.
I didn't tell them about it. Not yet. They didn't need to know everything. Not while I was still learning how to control it.
But they had questions.
And I needed answers.
Rose turned to me as we lingered near the gargoyle. Her voice was low. "It was him, wasn't it?"
I didn't answer immediately. My eyes stayed on the statue.
"You felt it too," she pressed, "didn't you? That… that cold, ancient magic. The way it made the forest shrink back. The unicorn…"
I nodded slowly. "Yeah. I know who it was."
Hermione gasped. "You don't mean—"
"Voldemort," Rose said before she could finish. "He's not dead."
Ron let out a slow exhale. "Bloody hell…"
The silence stretched around us, thick with unspoken fear. It was one thing to hear stories about Voldemort in class or whispered in corridors. It was another thing to come face-to-face with a shadow of him in the forest.
Hermione found her voice again. "But… unicorn blood? That's… that's forbidden magic. It's cursed."
"It gives life," I said softly, repeating what Firenze had explained, "but it curses the life it touches. You drink it only if you're desperate. Because the moment it touches your lips, you're marked. Half-alive, cursed to exist… never to truly live."
Ron looked sick. "And he was drinking it?"
I nodded. "Trying to stay alive until he can get what he really wants."
Hermione's eyes widened. "The Stone."
Rose turned toward the gargoyle again. "We have to tell Dumbledore."
"He's not here," I said, voice low.
"Then we find someone who can tell him," she said. "McGonagall. Flitwick. Anyone. We can't just go to bed and pretend this didn't happen."
I wanted to argue. I wanted to say we should wait—that maybe it wasn't our place to act.
But I didn't.
Because deep down, I knew something she didn't.
Dumbledore already knew.
I was sure of it.
And that was what scared me most.
We didn't wait any longer.
Rose took the lead, cloak flapping around her knees as we darted through the dim corridors, our footsteps muffled on the ancient stone. Ron and Hermione kept close behind, and I brought up the rear, casting quick glances over my shoulder every few steps. After what we'd seen in the forest, the shadows in Hogwarts felt darker than usual.
"What if she's not in her office?" Hermione whispered.
"She has to be," Rose said. "She's Head of Gryffindor. And if not… we'll keep looking until someone listens."
We turned sharply at the next junction and made our way up a narrow staircase. The torches here burned low, throwing long, dancing shadows across the walls.
When we reached Professor McGonagall's office, Rose didn't bother knocking quietly. She rapped on the door with urgent insistence.
For a moment, nothing.
Then, the door creaked open.
Professor McGonagall stood before us in her tartan dressing gown, her square spectacles perched slightly lower on her nose than usual. Her sharp eyes swept over the four of us, taking in our mud-streaked robes, the tense expressions, and Ron's slightly torn sleeve.
"What are you four doing out of bed at this hour?" she asked, voice stern.
Rose didn't hesitate.
"Professor, something terrible is happening. We need to speak with you—now. It's about the Philosopher's Stone."
McGonagall blinked, her expression tightening. "That is not something children should be concerned about."
"We were in the forest," I cut in, "we saw something. A man. Cloaked in black, drinking unicorn blood."
Her eyes widened slightly, though she hid the reaction well.
"There's more," Rose said quickly. "The man… we think it was Voldemort."
McGonagall stiffened.
Hermione stepped forward. "He's trying to stay alive. He's using the unicorn blood, and now… we think he's after the Philosopher's Stone."
Ron, for once, didn't joke or exaggerate. His voice was quiet but certain. "We think he's going to try and steal it. Soon."
Professor McGonagall studied us all for a long moment. Then she turned and walked into her office.
"Come in," she said, without looking back.
We followed.
The room was lit with a single enchanted lantern, casting a warm golden glow over the bookshelves and scrolls that lined the walls. A large blackboard stood behind her desk, covered in neatly drawn Transfiguration diagrams.
She turned to us, arms folded.
"This is not the first time I've heard such things whispered in the corridors," she said. "But unicorn blood? That changes things."
"We're not making it up," Rose said. "Ask Hagrid. Ask the centaurs."
McGonagall nodded slowly. "And you believe this… this figure in the forest was You-Know-Who?"
"We don't just believe it," I said. "We know it. I saw him. I felt the magic. He's not dead, not really."
McGonagall's expression was unreadable, but she finally turned and walked to her fireplace. She flicked her wand, but the flames were already dying.
"Where's Dumbledore?" Rose asked.
That was the question burning on all our tongues.
Professor McGonagall hesitated for the briefest moment.
"The Headmaster received an urgent owl from the Ministry," she said at last. "He left by broomstick less than an hour ago. He… has not yet returned."
My stomach dropped.
"You mean," Ron said slowly, "he's not here?"
"That is correct," McGonagall said, turning back to us. "But you needn't concern yourselves. The Stone is well protected."
"But someone already got past the Forest," Hermione insisted. "If they can do that—if it was Voldemort—they might already be inside the castle."
McGonagall's face hardened. "I assure you, Hogwarts has its defenses. Albus himself placed many of them. And we staff are well aware of what's at stake."
I exchanged a glance with Rose. I could see it in her eyes—she didn't believe that was enough. And neither did I.
Still, something else tugged at my thoughts.
Why hadn't Dumbledore taken more guards? Why leave when something so important was happening? He had to know. He always knew.
But this time... I didn't think it was about me.
I looked at Rose. No—this felt like her test. Dumbledore's way of seeing how far she'd go, how much she'd carry on her own. And that made me furious.
She shouldn't have to face this. Not alone. Not like this.
"Professor," Rose tried again, her voice more pleading now, "please. Just tell someone to check the traps. Fluffy, the enchantments, everything. Just in case."
McGonagall gave a reluctant nod. "I will speak with the other professors. But you four—go to your common rooms. Immediately. And not a word of this to anyone else. Am I clear?"
We nodded.
Rose lingered for a heartbeat longer, as if wanting to say more. But the look McGonagall gave her said the conversation was over.
Without another word, we left.
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