The pages of Ravenclaw's Grimoire seemed to whisper ancient secrets as Chris carefully turned them, each page revealing diagrams and formulae of breathtaking complexity. The founder's elegant script flowed across the translucent material, describing magical concepts so advanced that it made his head spin. With every page, his excitement grew, understanding dawning that what he held was not just a collection of spells, but an entirely different approach to the very fabric of magical reality.
"Spatial magic," he breathed, tracing a particularly intricate diagram with his fingertip. The illustration showed what appeared to be a doorway connecting two entirely separate locations, complete with annotations describing the precise wand movements and mental focus required. "She mastered the manipulation of space itself."
As his wonder grew, the chamber around him began to shift. The pedestal sank soundlessly back into the depths of the chasm, which sealed itself as smoothly as it had opened. The bookshelves, the desk, the magical ceiling—all faded like morning mist, transforming once more into the familiar ethereal garden where his journey with Cassie had begun.
The spectral trees with their silver-blue leaves welcomed him back, swaying gently in their unfelt breeze. Stars twinkled overhead in impossible patterns, and the luminous grass beneath his feet seemed to pulse with quiet joy.
"You did it!" Cassie's voice rang out. She appeared before him, her childlike figure glowing brighter than he'd ever seen, pure delight radiating from her in waves of golden light. "I knew you would! Rowena's trials were the most difficult, but you understood exactly what she valued."
Chris smiled, closing the Grimoire but keeping it cradled in his hands. "It was different from Godric's test. Less about facing fear, more about trusting knowledge."
Cassie drifted closer, her silver hair flowing around her face like water catching moonlight. "What did she leave for you? Rowena guarded her deepest magical secrets even from the other founders."
"It's incredible," Chris said, his voice hushed with awe as he reopened the book. "The entire Grimoire focuses on one branch of magic, spatial manipulation. Look at this." He carefully turned to a page he'd glimpsed earlier, showing Cassie a diagram of concentric circles with runes placed at precise intervals.
"This is a portal creation formula," he explained, excitement making his words come faster. "Not like Floo travel or Apparition, which move the wizard through space. This creates a stable connection between two fixed points, a doorway that remains open until deliberately closed."
Cassie's eyes widened, the starlight within them brightening. "The founders used such magic to create secret passages throughout Hogwarts! Rowena designed most of them, though few knew it was her work."
"And here," Chris continued, turning to another section, "instructions for creating pocket dimensions, spaces that exist outside normal reality but can be accessed through specific triggers. Like your Room, but portable, personal." He looked up at her, wonder clear in his expression. "Modern wizards think such magic is impossible, or at least so difficult that only Unspeakables attempt it. But Rowena writes about it as if it's simply advanced, not extraordinary."
"The founders understood magic differently," Cassie said softly, drifting around to peer over his shoulder at the ancient text. "They didn't separate it into the rigid categories wizards use today. To Rowena, all magic was connected, transfiguration, charms, even potions were just different expressions of the same fundamental forces."
Chris nodded, carefully closing the Grimoire again. The weight of what he now possessed settled on him, not just powerful spells, but an entirely different framework for understanding magic itself.
"I can't thank you enough, Cassie," he said, meeting her luminous gaze. "Without you, I'd never have found either chamber. You've given me access to knowledge that's been lost for a millennium."
Cassie's form flickered briefly with what might have been embarrassment. "You freed me first," she reminded him. "Breaking Dumbledore's bindings gave me back my voice, my presence. I only showed you what was already here, waiting to be found."
"Still," Chris insisted, "your friendship has meant more than just help with finding the chambers. You've been..." He paused, searching for the right words. "A connection to Hogwarts' true spirit, to what the founders intended this place to be."
Cassie beamed, her glow pulsing brighter. "That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me in centuries." She spun in a delighted circle, trailing light like a sparkler. When she settled again, her expression grew more solemn. "You'll come back for the others? Helga's and Salazar's chambers?"
"Next year," Chris promised. "I'll be older, stronger. The acromantula nest will be cleared, and I'll be ready to face whatever Salazar left behind." He smiled wryly. "I suspect his trials won't be as straightforward as riddles or tests of courage."
"No," Cassie agreed, her voice dropping slightly. "Salazar valued cunning and ambition. His chamber will test your resolve, your willingness to do what others might not."
Chris nodded, accepting this without comment. He had expected as much.
"I should go," he said reluctantly, glancing at the door that had reappeared in the wall. "It's late, and I've been missing for hours. Susan and Hannah will be wondering where I've been."
"Of course," Cassie said, drifting backward slightly to give him space. "You should shrink the Grimoire like you did with Godric's. Keep them together, safe."
With a wave of his hand, Chris cast the Shrinking Charm, watching as Ravenclaw's Grimoire reduced to the size of a pendant. He slipped it onto the same chain that held Godric's and Merlin's, feeling the weight of two founders' knowledge now resting against his chest.
"Until next time, big brother," Cassie said, her form already beginning to fade back into the starlit air of the garden. "I'll be watching over you, as always."
"Goodnight, Cassie," Chris replied with genuine warmth. "And thank you again."
Her smile was the last thing to disappear, lingering like the afterimage of a bright light as he turned and walked toward the door. Two chambers discovered, two Grimoires secured. The term was nearly over, and soon he would return to Ambrosia Manor with treasures beyond value, knowledge that would change everything.
The door closed silently behind him, leaving Cassie's garden empty once more, waiting patiently for his return.
The Great Hall hummed with the familiar chaos of lunch, hundreds of students chattering over plates of shepherd's pie and goblets of pumpkin juice. Chris slid onto the bench at the Hufflepuff table, positioning himself with his back to the wall, a habit he'd developed over the past several weeks. From this vantage point, he could observe without being obvious about it, particularly useful now that Dumbledore's behaviour had taken such a distinct turn.
"Pass the salt?" Susan asked, not looking up from her textbook propped against a water pitcher. She was cramming for a Transfiguration quiz, her sandwich half-forgotten beside her notes.
Chris obliged, using the movement as cover to flick his gaze toward the High Table. Dumbledore sat in his ornate chair, picking at his food with uncharacteristic distraction. The Headmaster's eyes never settled, constantly scanning the student tables with an intensity that hadn't been present before the winter holidays.
It had started gradually in February, a slight increase in the Headmaster's presence in corridors, occasional unexpected appearances in the library during study hours. By early March, the changes were unmistakable. Dumbledore was watching, always watching, his grandfatherly mask slipping to reveal something sharper beneath, like a predator who sensed a threat but couldn't locate it.
Today, the old wizard's right hand twitched occasionally toward his robe pocket, where his old wand undoubtedly waited. His long fingers drummed against the table between bites, and he leaned to exchange terse words with McGonagall more frequently than usual. The Deputy Headmistress looked concerned but not alarmed, whatever was bothering Dumbledore, most likely the loss of control, hadn't been fully shared with the staff.
Chris took a casual bite of his pie, considering what might have triggered this change. The binding spell he'd unravelled, freeing Cassie from Dumbledore's control? Perhaps, though the Headmaster had no way of knowing who had done it. More likely, it was a culmination of small disturbances in his carefully arranged plans, Harry's improved circumstances, the Board of Governors' increased scrutiny after the Lockhart fiasco, and maybe even reports from his various informants about movements in the wider wizarding world that didn't align with his expectations.
"You're doing it again," Hannah whispered, nudging him with her elbow.
"Doing what?" Chris asked, feigning innocence.
"That thing where you stare off into space looking like you're solving world peace in your head." She grinned. "It's creepy."
Chris smiled and shrugged. "Just thinking about Potions. Snape said the exam would cover antidotes."
It was a believable lie, enough to make Hannah groan sympathetically and return to her own lunch. But as she turned away, Chris felt the weight of attention from the High Table. Dumbledore's eyes had found him, that piercing blue gaze lingering with something like suspicion.
Chris deliberately looked down at his plate, then shifted his attention elsewhere, letting his eyes wander naturally across the Hall as any student's might. His gaze landed on the Gryffindor table, where the usual lunchtime rowdiness was in full swing.
Harry Potter sat in the midst of it, and the contrast with the withdrawn, uncertain boy of previous months couldn't have been more striking. Harry was laughing at something the Weasley twins were demonstrating, his green eyes bright with genuine mirth. He looked healthier too, less thin, his complexion no longer the pallid shade that spoke of insufficient sunlight and poor nutrition.
Most notably, Harry carried himself differently. His shoulders were straighter, his gestures more confident. He engaged actively in conversation rather than simply reacting to those around him. When the owl post had arrived earlier, a handsome tawny owl had delivered what looked like a thick letter, which Harry had tucked away with a smile that suggested regular correspondence with someone who mattered to him.
"What are you smiling about?" Susan asked, finally looking up from her notes.
"Nothing much," Chris replied, turning back to his friends. "Just thinking this shepherd's pie is particularly good today."
Susan rolled her eyes. "You're weird sometimes, you know that?"
Chris shrugged good-naturedly and returned to his meal, but the warm satisfaction lingered. He hadn't directly interfered in Harry's life, well not much at least, that would have drawn too much attention, but a carefully placed word here and there suggesting that Harry write to Sirius Black had apparently been enough to create significant change.
Small interventions, rippling outward. That was the approach that would serve him best in the years ahead. Not grand gestures or dramatic confrontations, but quiet adjustments to the flow of events, setting pieces in motion and letting them find their natural course.
He stole one more glance at the Gryffindor table. Harry was now showing something to Ron and Hermione, probably the letter from Sirius. His friends leaned in, their expressions warm and supportive. There was a cohesion to their little group that hadn't been there before, a shared secret that strengthened their bond.
Chris felt no jealousy, only satisfaction. Harry deserved allies, deserved happiness, deserved to know he was cared for. The boy had a difficult road ahead, they all did, but even small improvements to his circumstances now could make significant differences later.
A flicker of movement from the High Table caught his peripheral vision. Dumbledore had stood abruptly, his half-eaten lunch abandoned as he swept from the Hall through a side door, his purple robes billowing behind him. Several staff members exchanged concerned glances at this unusual departure.
Chris returned his attention to his friends, joining their conversation about the upcoming Quidditch match as if he hadn't noticed anything amiss. Let Dumbledore search for threats and conspiracies. Let him grow increasingly uneasy as his carefully laid plans shifted in ways he couldn't control or understand.
June sunshine poured across the Hogwarts grounds like warm honey, turning the Great Lake into a mirror of perfect blue. Chris leaned back against the trunk of a beech tree, his shoes discarded, toes digging into the sun-warmed grass. Beside him, Susan and Hannah had spread out a blanket, their school robes abandoned in favor of summer clothes now that classes and exams were finally, gloriously over.
"I can't believe we survived this year," Hannah sighed, flopping onto her back and throwing an arm across her eyes to shield them from the sun. "Seriously, I think Hogwarts is trying to kill us."
Susan snorted, her strawberry-blonde hair caught in a loose braid that hung over one shoulder. "Don't be dramatic. It wasn't that bad."
"Not that bad?" Hannah propped herself up on her elbows, looking scandalised. "Let's review: we had a fraud for a Defense professor who was arrested by Aurors in the middle of breakfast."
"That was actually pretty entertaining," Chris interjected with a grin.
"And then they replaced him with that terrifying Auror, who thought teaching second-years about curses that can melt your bones was 'building character'—"
"I learned more from him in three months than from any teacher since I started First Year." Susan pointed out.
"And let's not forget finding out about the nest of acromantulas!" Hannah finished, dropping back onto the blanket dramatically. "Not normal, any of it."
Chris chuckled, picking up a smooth stone from beside the tree and turning it over in his fingers. "At least no one got bitten or hexed, I call that a win."
Susan nodded thoughtfully as she plucked a blade of grass and twisted it between her fingers. "Chris is right, this year was much better than last year."
The three friends laughed, the sound mingling with the gentle lapping of water against the lakeshore. A group of seventh-years zoomed overhead on brooms, whooping and celebrating their final day at Hogwarts with aerial acrobatics that would have given Madam Hooch heart palpitations.
"You know what I'll miss about Lockhart, though?" Hannah said after a moment. "The way he'd call on you in class, Chris, and then look like he'd swallowed a lemon when you'd get everything right."
"'Mr. Emrys,'" Susan mimicked Lockhart's pompous tone, "'perhaps you'd like to tell us the proper approach when confronting a banshee?' And then Chris would just calmly list exactly what to do, and Lockhart would turn that funny purple color."
Chris smiled at the memory. "He made it too easy. Half the stuff in his books contradicted the other half."
"It wasn't just Defence, though," Hannah continued. "You've been showing off in all the classes. Even McGonagall looked impressed when you transfigured that teapot into a tortoise with the shell pattern matching the teapot's floral design."
"'Exceptional attention to detail, Mr. Emrys,'" Susan quoted in a passable Scottish accent. "That's high praise from her."
Chris shrugged, a little embarrassed by their admiration. "I just like getting things right."
"You mean perfect," Hannah corrected with a grin. "Most of us are happy if our tortoise doesn't still have a spout for a tail."
Susan's eyes lingered on Chris's profile as he smiled at Hannah's joke. The sunlight caught in his hair, highlighting the subtle streaks that sometimes appeared more vibrant than others. There was something about the way he carried himself, a quiet confidence that seemed beyond their years. She'd noticed it more and more as the term progressed, finding her gaze drawn to him during study sessions, meals, and quiet moments like this.
"What are you two doing over the summer?" Chris asked, mercifully drawing Susan's attention away from her increasingly complicated feelings.
"Aunt Amelia is taking me to France for two weeks," Susan replied, focusing on re-braiding a section of her hair. "She has some conference at the International Confederation of Wizards, but we're adding on a holiday."
"Lucky," Hannah sighed. "I'm stuck helping Dad reorganize his greenhouse. He's crossbreeding Flutterby bushes with something from Malaysia, and apparently they're 'sensitive to magical auras' or whatever that means."
"Sounds interesting," Chris said, though his tone suggested otherwise. He stood suddenly, stretching his arms above his head. "I'm mostly going to be studying at home. Maybe visit Diagon Alley a few times."
Susan watched as he picked up another flat stone and walked to the water's edge. His movements were graceful, deliberate in a way most boys their age weren't. When he drew back his arm and sent the stone skipping across the lake's surface, one, two, three, four bounces, she found herself counting along silently, a smile tugging at her lips.
"You're staring," Hannah whispered, nudging her ribs.
Susan felt heat rise to her cheeks. "Am not," she muttered, looking away quickly.
Hannah's knowing grin said everything words didn't need to, but she mercifully changed the subject. "Do you think the squid is out today? It's warm enough."
As if summoned by her question, a massive tentacle broke the surface where Chris's stone had disappeared. It rose into the air, curling gracefully before slapping back down onto the water, sending up a spray that glittered in the sunlight. A moment later, something shot from the lake, arcing through the air directly toward Chris.
He caught it reflexively, his own stone, returned by the Giant Squid.
"No way!" Hannah exclaimed, scrambling up from the blanket. "I've heard it does that, but I've never actually seen it!"
Chris laughed, genuinely delighted by the unexpected game. He skipped the stone again, this time with more deliberate aim toward where the tentacle had appeared. The stone bounced five times before disappearing beneath the surface.
Susan joined them at the water's edge, all three waiting with anticipation. Sure enough, the stone came flying back, this time soaring higher before dropping neatly into Chris's outstretched hand.
"It's playing fetch," Susan said, amazed. "The Giant Squid is playing fetch with you."
"Want to try?" Chris offered the stone to her.
Their fingers brushed as she took it, and Susan felt that now-familiar flutter in her stomach. She tried to mimic his technique, managing a respectable three bounces before the stone sank.
The tentacle emerged again, curling in what almost seemed like consideration before flicking the stone back toward the shore. It fell short, splashing into the shallows.
"Almost," Chris encouraged. "It's all in the wrist."
As they took turns skipping stones and watching the squid's playful returns, Susan felt a contentment that went beyond the simple pleasure of the moment. This had been a strange, sometimes weird year, but right now, with summer stretching before them and her two best friends laughing beside her, everything felt perfectly right.
The Giant Squid eventually tired of their game, offering a final tentacle wave before disappearing into deeper waters. The three friends lingered by the shore, reluctant to end this golden afternoon, knowing that tomorrow would bring the Hogwarts Express and temporary goodbyes.
"Next year will be better," Chris said with quiet certainty, as if he could see the future unfolding before them. "No more Lockhart, for one thing."
"To third year," Susan said, bumping her shoulder against his.
"And elective classes," Hannah added.
"And Hogsmeade weekends," Chris finished, skipping one last stone across the now-quiet lake.
Six bounces, a perfect arc, and then it was gone, just like their second year at Hogwarts, complete and ready to give way to whatever came next.