During the day, between classes, my mind constantly wandered back to that vision, to that hidden corner that seemed to be calling me from somewhere in the school. The only thing I knew for sure was that I needed to find that place. So when the last Defense Against the Dark Arts spell ended, I packed up my things and headed to the library.
The Hogwarts library... There is no place older or more full of secrets in this school. Every book seemed to whisper if you looked at it long enough. I searched for old maps, plans, and school legends. I even pretended to be interested in the architectural history of the castle so that Madame Pince wouldn't be too suspicious. But the books were limited. Frustrated, I decided to try something more... ancient.
I approached a dusty portrait at the end of a hallway, one that had seen little movement since I arrived. A wizard with an aquiline nose and ash-colored robes who did nothing but grumble. I touched the frame.
"Excuse me... sir," I said respectfully, bowing my head slightly. " I need to know if there was a room... one that isn't on the maps. Something that responded to ancient magic... like a Room of Requirement, but older."
The portrait looked at me, tilting its head like a hawk about to swoop down on its prey.
"And why should I help you, young man? These are not times for digging up what should remain buried.
"Because I believe it is calling me," I replied honestly. "And because it could be related to my past... to what I have forgotten."
He was silent for a moment. Then he murmured:
"Interesting... Look where the stones breathe. And remember... the castle hears more than you think."
Cryptic, as always. But it was something.
During dinner, I barely touched my food. My fingers drummed against the wood, and my mind wandered. I knew that if I wanted to get further, I would have to take a risk. So that night, when everyone was asleep, I slipped away.
I moved with the same precision as when I roamed enemy camps. The shadows were my allies, the corridors my playground. I passed a prefect asleep in front of the fireplace, hid behind a statue to avoid Peeves—who was fortunately too busy throwing inkwells through a wall—and waited patiently for the ghost of the Bloody Baron to slip past the opposite tower.
The moon barely illuminated the gardens when I managed to cross the threshold leading to the forbidden forest.
I took one step... then another. The edge of the forest was so close that the air began to change, becoming dense, humid, laden with the smell of ancient earth and rotten bark. At my feet, Iolita walked with feline stealth, her fur vibrating slightly in the moonlight. She made no sound, but her eyes shone with a strange uneasiness.
I turned one last time to look back. No one was following us. No one knew we were here. I took a deep breath... and crossed over.
The first step into the forest was like crossing an invisible threshold. The air was different. Thicker, darker, as if something primitive was breathing from deep within. The leaves whispered to each other without any wind, and the branches creaked on their own, as if the trees were moving on their own, just like in the vision I had.
Iolita went ahead, and I followed her, going deeper and deeper. The stories of the elders came back to my mind like knife cuts: invisible creatures that hunted by instinct, roots that trapped ankles, shadows that whispered names.
With each step, the world seemed to twist a little. Plants I didn't know grew in spiral shapes, luminescent fungi clung to the trunks, and in the distance... something sang. Not with words. It was a low sound, almost like a lament. A call.
I crouched down next to Iolita behind a trunk covered in lichen. A group of creatures moved among the trees: three giant acromantulas descended from the treetops, their black legs gleaming like blades. In front of them, a herd of centaurs armed with spears, their manes waving in rhythm with their advance. The tension was palpable. And then, without warning, the roar of an unknown beast tore through the air.
Something else emerged from the undergrowth.
A creature covered in red scales and eyes as white as fog. Half snake, half wolf. Its tongue vibrated in the air, and its body glided with terrifying agility. Behind it, a flock of black birds with metal feathers screeched as if announcing war.
Chaos broke out.
The acromantulas attacked with lethal precision, weaving webs at impossible speeds. The centaurs retreated, but did not flee. They struck with their spears, shouted orders, and covered flanks. It was a war between the impossible. The ground shook beneath their hooves, and blood—dark, thick—spattered the roots.
Iolita snorted and cowered beside me. I wanted to run, but I was paralyzed. A branch cracked behind me.
I didn't turn around. A force grabbed my arm, rough, hard as wood. I struggled to free myself, but it wasn't necessary. It was a hand... a human hand. No, not quite.
A centaur.
Tall. Muscular. His eyes were incandescent gold, and his torso was covered in ancient scars. His lower half, covered in dark fur, seemed sculpted for war. He didn't speak. He just dragged me away from the scene.
We ran through roots, ferns, and twisted branches. Iolita leaped beside us like a ray of shadow. The din of battle grew more distant with each stride of the centaur.
Finally, he stopped.
He released me abruptly, and for a moment we heard only the distant rumble of roars, the crunching of bones, and the whistling of arrows. Then he spoke.
"Are you crazy?" he roared, his voice so deep it seemed to come from the ground itself. "Do you have any idea what's happening tonight? What is a young human doing in this place? How did you get here?"
I didn't answer. I was panting, barely able to think. Iolita silently climbed into my arms and adopted a threatening pose.
The centaur looked at her... and something in him changed.
He took a step back. Then another.
"That creature..." he muttered. "Where did you get her?"
"I didn't get her. She found me."
I don't know why I said that. But it was true.
The centaur lowered his head, his ears twitching uneasily.
"You shouldn't have her. No one should."
"What is she?" Dion asked bluntly, stepping forward.
The centaur looked at him with his dark eyes, more beast than man, and did not answer. He just remained silent. The fog moved among the trees as if listening.
He tried to leave. His hooves tore at the damp grass as he turned.
"Wait!" Dion insisted. "I need answers. She... someone else is looking for her." I don't know who, but I know it. I need to know what it is."
The centaur stopped.
The silence lasted barely a second, but it seemed to weigh like centuries. Then, suddenly, he raised his hind legs and brought them down hard in front of Dion, kicking up dirt and leaves. The crash was enough to intimidate Iolita, and Dion instinctively took a couple of steps back.
It wasn't an attack. Just a warning.
"Don't come near me like that again," he growled in a deep, hoarse voice. "You don't know what you're saying... and you don't understand who you're with."
"Maybe not," Dion replied, breathing heavily. "But I want to understand. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes."
The centaur looked down at him. For a moment, he seemed to be assessing him. Then he clicked his tongue like an impatient rider.
"Information for a favor," he said at last. "That's what I can offer you."
"A favor?"
"Yes. We need a decoy. The spiders are multiplying every night, and their queen has invaded part of the sacred forest." There are too many of them. Even for us. We need someone to distract them... to lure them out of the swarm. They love human flesh.
Dion swallowed hard.
"You want me to let myself be hunted... by them?"
"You won't die. Not if you're skilled. You just have to lure them. Survive. If you do, maybe... maybe you'll earn my respect. And my answers."
He turned away.
He disappeared into the fog as if he had never been there.
I was left alone, hugging Iolita, feeling her little body tremble. My hands were trembling too. Not from the cold. But from the weight of something I didn't understand.
The forest held secrets.
And one of them... was her.