The cavern thrummed with ancient magic, its crystalline ttice glowing faintly as the anchor stone pulsed atop its pedestal. Hermione stood before it, her wand clutched tightly in one hand, and in her other hand, a slender silver bde that felt heavier than it should. This was the moment everything had been building toward—the moment she would cim her family’s legacy.

  "You know what must be done," the Winter Fae said, her voice calm but resonant. "The stone will not bind itself. Through your blood and mine, the bond will be forged, and your cim solidified."

  Hermione gnced at the swirling runes carved into the pedestal and the walls. They shifted faintly, glowing in sync with the anchor stone, and she felt their silent pull, inviting her into a world she didn’t yet understand. Her chest tightened as the weight of her decision bore down on her. But she knew what had to be done.

  "I’ll do it," she said, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart.

  The Fae gave her a faint smile, her icy blue eyes gleaming with something Hermione couldn’t quite pce—approval, or perhaps anticipation. She extended her hand, and Hermione took the bde, its handle cold against her skin.

  "Your blood first," the Fae said softly.

  Hermione took a steadying breath and pressed the bde to her palm. The sting was sharp but fleeting, and crimson drops fell onto the anchor stone’s surface. The reaction was immediate. The stone fred with brilliant light, its colours swirling faster, and the runes carved into the pedestal and walls glowed brighter, their patterns rearranging like a living puzzle.

  The Fae stepped forward, taking the bde with practiced ease. She drew it across her own palm, her silvery blood shimmering faintly as it dripped onto the stone. The entire cavern seemed to exhale, the air growing heavier as the light of the runes fred once more before settling into a steady glow.

  "It is done," the Fae said, her voice echoing faintly in the chamber. She stepped back, her gaze lingering on Hermione with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "The stone is bound to you now. Its power is yours to wield."

  The rush of energy that surged through Hermione was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was raw, overwhelming, and vast. She gasped, her knees nearly buckling under the weight of it, but she forced herself to stand. The anchor stone’s power poured into her, connecting her to the leyline beneath the cavern and the ttice that wove its way across the walls and ceiling.

  It was immense and unrelenting, but it was also familiar. Hermione’s mind raced as she connected the dots. This was the same magic she had accidentally harnessed during her battle with the Fae—the same ambient magic she had drawn from the environment to amplify her spells. Now, with the anchor stone bound to her, that power was amplified a hundredfold.

  "You feel it now, don’t you?" the Fae said, her voice calm but sharp. "The power of your bloodline, tied to the wilds and the leyline that runs beneath this pce. It is vast, but it is not limitless. Even the wilds can be drained."

  Hermione nodded, her breath unsteady as she processed the magnitude of what had just happened. This wasn’t just a tool—it was a responsibility, a connection to something greater than herself.

  Her gaze shifted to the glowing runes on the walls. They pulsed faintly, their shifting patterns almost inviting her to understand them. But their meaning remained a mystery.

  "What do these runes say?" she asked, turning to the Fae. "How do I read them?"

  The Fae’s expression didn’t change. "They are the nguage of my kind," she said. "A nguage of creation and control, written into the fabric of existence itself. To wield it is to shape reality. But such knowledge is not given freely."

  Hermione frowned. "So I have to figure it out on my own."

  "Correct," the Fae replied. "You will decipher it word by word, phrase by phrase. The knowledge must be earned."

  "And I can’t take notes or copy them down," Hermione said, frustration building in her chest.

  "No," the Fae said. "This nguage cannot exist outside these walls. It is bound to this pce, as you are now bound to the stone."

  Hermione exhaled sharply, the enormity of the task pressing down on her. But she couldn’t walk away—not now, not after everything.

  A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint hum of the magic that filled the cavern. Hermione gnced at the Fae, her brow furrowed.

  "When were you born into the Winter Court?" she asked suddenly, her voice cautious.

  The Fae’s expression shifted at that, her icy gaze gleaming with something unreadable—amusement, perhaps, or something more mencholic. "When?" she repeated, her voice soft. "I was not born into Winter."

  Hermione blinked, confused. "What do you mean? I thought… isn’t it impossible to change Courts? To become Winter when you were something else?"

  The Fae tilted her head, her lips curving into a faint smile. "For most, it is. The Courts are not merely allegiances—they are natures, woven into the very essence of who we are. To leave one for another is to be remade entirely, to destroy who you were and become something else."

  "But you did it," Hermione said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  "I did," the Fae replied, her tone distant. "I was born into Summer, a child of light and fire. But that life is long past."

  Hermione’s breath caught. Summer. The Court of warmth and growth, the eternal counterpart to Winter. To leave Summer for Winter was unthinkable—impossible, even. Most who attempted such a transformation were destroyed, their minds and bodies twisted beyond recognition.

  "Why?" Hermione asked. "Why would you…"

  The Fae’s gaze turned distant; her voice soft but heavy with sorrow. "Because of Mab” she said simply. "And loyalty to her transcended the boundaries of Summer and Winter. When she fell, I made my choice."

  Hermione’s chest tightened at the mention of Mab. The name carried a weight she didn’t yet understand, but she could see the grief etched into the Fae’s expression, the wound that time had not healed.

  "You chose Winter for her," Hermione said, more a statement than a question.

  "I chose loyalty," the Fae corrected. Her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a quiet pain that lingered beneath the surface. "And now, child, so must you. The power of the anchor stone is yours, but it is not without cost. Use it wisely—or not at all."

  That night, Hermione sat alone by the fire outside the cavern, her thoughts churning. The anchor stone’s power was immense, but understanding the runes that controlled it would take time. And the Fae’s revetion about her origins only added to the weight of it all.

  Hermione gnced toward the runes glowing faintly inside the cavern. She couldn’t afford to spend all her time here. The journey was too long, the demands of her life at Hogwarts too pressing. She needed a way to bridge the gap.

  Her mind turned to Dobby, the Malfoys’ house-elf. House-elves could travel instantly, without the need for Apparition or Portkeys. If she could free him, he could take her back to the cavern whenever she needed. But freeing him wouldn’t be enough. She needed more than mobility—she needed allies.

  Her gaze drifted to the fire, her brow furrowing. The Basilisk still slumbered beneath the school, and Tom’s pn to use it was inevitable. If she wanted to stop it—and turn the situation to her advantage—she would need help. Dumbledore was the only one with the resources and knowledge to handle such a threat, but seeking his assistance felt like an admission of weakness.

  Still, she couldn’t do this alone.