Novels2Search
the Muggle-Born of Austramore
Chapter 13: Into the Archives

Chapter 13: Into the Archives

Soya sat in the Thylacea common room, his sketchbook open in his lap. The pages were blank save for a few hesitant lines he’d started and then abandoned. His pencil hovered over the paper, the usual spark of creativity absent. Instead, his thoughts churned with a familiar cocktail of fear and guilt. Eliza’s absence gnawed at him, each passing day amplifying the weight of her disappearance.

Across the room, Davonte lounged on a worn, oversized armchair, a half-eaten apple in his hand. He tilted his head, studying Soya with mock seriousness. “You know, mate,” he began, a smirk creeping across his face, “if you keep staring at that page like it insulted your mother, you might actually scare it into drawing itself.”

Soya blinked, startled out of his reverie. “What?”

“You’re brooding,” Davonte said, pointing the apple at him like it was a wand. “It’s very dramatic, very mysterious, but also very not you. I mean, we already have enough mysterious types in this castle—Sevrin, Sage, that one portrait of the guy with the creepy mustache…”

Soya managed a weak smile, though his hands tightened around his pencil. “I’m not brooding.”

Davonte raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You’ve been sitting there for half an hour and haven’t drawn a thing. For you, that’s practically a crisis.”

“I’m just... distracted,” Soya muttered, closing the sketchbook with a soft thud. He leaned back against the couch, his gaze drifting to the fire crackling in the hearth. “I can’t stop thinking about Eliza.”

Davonte’s smirk faded, replaced by a more thoughtful expression. “Yeah,” he said quietly, tossing the apple core into a nearby bin. “Me too.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the only sound the pop and hiss of the fire. Soya felt a lump rise in his throat as he stared at the flames. He wanted to say something—anything—but the words felt heavy and awkward, tangled up with his fear.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted finally, his voice barely audible. “I want to help her, but... what if I just make things worse? What if I—”

“You won’t,” Davonte interrupted firmly. “Whatever’s going on, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Soya glanced at him, his eyes searching for reassurance. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Davonte admitted, leaning forward. “But sitting here doing nothing isn’t helping either. Eliza wouldn’t sit around if it were one of us. She’d be charging headfirst into the library or dragging us into some harebrained scheme.”

Soya let out a soft laugh, the memory of Eliza’s relentless determination bringing a small measure of comfort. “She would, wouldn’t she?”

“Absolutely,” Davonte said with a grin. “So let’s stop brooding—yes, brooding—and start figuring out how to be just as annoyingly persistent as she is.”

The idea of taking action filled Soya with equal parts relief and dread. He wasn’t sure he had the courage to follow through, but the alternative—doing nothing while Eliza remained missing—was unbearable. He straightened slightly, the weight on his chest easing just a fraction.

“Okay,” he said hesitantly. “Where do we start?”

Davonte’s grin widened. “Now that’s more like it. Let’s start by going over what we know. Or better yet, what we don’t know—because that’s a much longer list.”

Soya nodded, opening his sketchbook again and flipping to a blank page. This time, it wasn’t for drawing; it was for notes. As Davonte launched into his trademark rapid-fire brainstorming, Soya felt a flicker of something he hadn’t felt in days: hope. It was faint and fragile, but it was there.

After hours of Davonte’s enthusiastic rambling, Soya tried his best to keep up, scribbling notes furiously in his book. However, exhaustion won out in the end. Davonte glanced over mid-sentence and noticed Soya slumped forward, fast asleep, his face pressed against the open pages. With a soft chuckle, Davonte leaned over to pick up the fallen book that had tumbled to the floor. “Guess I overdid it,” he muttered, placing it gently back on the table before draping a blanket over Soya’s shoulders.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the Great Hall, casting golden beams across the room and highlighting the soft hum of students chatting over breakfast. Soya sat quietly, absently poking at his scrambled eggs, his appetite replaced by a knot of nerves. Beside his plate lay his closed sketchbook, its weight feeling heavier than usual—just like the plan Davonte had pushed him to consider. Across the table, Davonte was scribbling furiously on a scrap of parchment, his brow furrowed with an intensity that seemed out of character for his usually cheerful demeanor.

“You’re going to set the table on fire if you keep writing that fast,” Soya said, trying to inject some levity into his voice. It came out flat, but Davonte didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m refining,” Davonte replied, not looking up. “Plans don’t just make themselves, you know. This one’s brilliant—simple, elegant, and with just the right amount of plausible deniability.”

Soya raised an eyebrow. “You mean just enough so we don’t get expelled?”

“Exactly,” Davonte said, flashing a grin. “And if we pull this off, we might even look like heroes.”

“Or idiots,” Soya muttered under his breath, but Davonte heard him and only laughed.

Eliza’s absence hung over them both, unspoken but present in every word. Her seat at the table remained empty, a stark reminder of what had driven them to this point. Soya couldn’t shake the image of her determined expression, her sharp eyes scanning the library for answers. It was that memory, more than anything, that kept him from backing out completely.

“You’ll see,” Davonte said, folding the parchment with a flourish. “It’s foolproof. Well, mostly foolproof.”

“Mostly?” Soya asked, his voice rising slightly.

“Relax,” Davonte said, shoving the parchment into his pocket. “We’ll go over it again later. Right now, we’ve got classes to get through.”

Soya groaned quietly, the thought of classes feeling like an insurmountable task. But as they filed out of the Great Hall and toward their first lesson of the day, he found himself oddly grateful for the distraction.

The morning’s first class was Charms, where Professor Coorong introduced a new spell: Luminae Fluctus, a wave of light designed to disorient attackers or illuminate dark spaces. The classroom was filled with flashes of light as students practiced the spell, their voices echoing as they called out the incantation.

“Luminae Fluctus!” Davonte shouted, his wand emitting a burst of light that flickered uncertainly before fading.

“Not bad,” Professor Coorong said with a warm smile that reached his eyes. “But focus on the movement—smooth, like a flowing stream.”

Soya watched Davonte’s next attempt, his mind elsewhere. The spell itself seemed useful, but the thought of actually needing to use it sent a shiver down his spine. When his turn came, he hesitated, his wand feeling heavier than usual in his hand.

“Luminae Fluctus,” he said softly, mimicking the wand movement Professor Coorong had demonstrated. A weak pulse of light emanated from his wand before fizzling out.

“Try again, Mr. Vareen,” Coorong said, stopping beside Soya and tilting his head slightly. "Don't rush it. Just calm your mind and focus.”

Soya nodded, forcing himself to focus. This time, the light was brighter, more sustained, but it still lacked the sharpness of his classmates’ attempts. He sighed, lowering his wand as Coorong moved on to another student.

Davonte leaned closer, his voice low. “Don’t sweat it, mate. You’ll get it.”

Soya nodded again, though his confidence remained shaky. The rest of the lesson passed uneventfully, and by the time they left the classroom, Soya’s mind was back on their plan.

As they made their way to lunch, Soya couldn’t help but notice the ministry officials stationed at various points throughout the castle. They weren’t overtly intimidating, but their presence was a constant reminder of the scrutiny hanging over them. He glanced at Davonte, who seemed unbothered as he joked about their earlier spellwork.

“They’re watching us,” Soya said quietly as they entered the Great Hall.

“Let them,” Davonte replied, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “We’re not doing anything wrong. Yet.”

The Great Hall was alive with its usual din—students laughing, trading stories, and enjoying their meals. Soya and Davonte sat together, their plates barren of their usual selections.

"I almost walked into one of them yesterday," Soya said with a nervous chuckle. "They're kinda scary."

“Tell me about it,” Davonte said, leaning in slightly. “I spent most of Charms today wondering if the ministry goons can read minds. Every time they looked at me, I thought, ‘Great, they’ve caught me, I’m doomed.’ Then again, it’s probably just my natural charm that gets me so much attention.”

Soya couldn’t help but smile, though it quickly faded. “They’re not going to let up, are they?”

“Not a chance,” Davonte replied, his tone shifting to something more serious. “Which is why we need to move quickly. I’ve been thinking about the Whispering Archives.”

Soya’s stomach sank. “You mean... sneaking in?”

Davonte raised an eyebrow. “Do you know another way to get in there without, I don’t know, being a seventh-year or having a professor’s permission?”

“It’s just... risky,” Soya said, glancing nervously at the staff table where some ministry officials sat, their sharp eyes scanning the hall like hawks. “What if we get caught?”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Davonte said with a shrug. “But think about it, Soya. If Eliza was onto something, the Archives are the most likely place she went. And if Sage and Sevrin are involved—” He lowered his voice, leaning closer. “—then there’s no way they’d risk leaving anything in the regular library. Whatever they’re hiding, it’s probably in there.”

Soya wanted to argue, to point out all the ways their plan could go wrong, but Davonte’s logic was hard to ignore. If Eliza had found something important, it made sense that it would be in the Whispering Archives. And if it wasn’t? Well, at least they’d know they had tried.

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Before Soya could respond, movement caught his eye. Sevrin and Sage entered the hall, their usual confidence on full display. But something about them seemed off—they weren’t their usual loud, boisterous selves. Instead, they walked with purpose, speaking quietly to each other.

“They’ve been quieter since the ministry showed up,” Davonte observed, following Soya’s gaze. “You think they’re nervous?”

“Maybe,” Soya murmured. “Or maybe they’re just being careful.”

As the two boys watched, Sevrin and Sage passed by without so much as a glance in their direction. But the tension in the air was palpable, and Soya couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched, even as the pair settled at their house table.

Davonte nudged him. “See what I mean? They’re up to something. And we’re not going to figure it out by sitting here.”

Soya nodded reluctantly, the fear in his chest tempered by a flicker of determination. “Fine. We’ll go to the Archives. But we need a plan.”

“Already working on it,” Davonte said with a grin. “Meet me after curfew in the common room. And bring your wand this time—I don’t fancy being caught without backup.”

Soya managed a small smile, though his nerves were still frayed. As they finished their meal and left the hall, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were walking into something far bigger than either of them could imagine.

The afternoon`’s Transfiguration lesson with Professor Wickham had an unusual air of anticipation. The tall, stern-faced professor was known for her rigorous teaching style, but today, the rows of wooden desks had been pushed aside, making room for an open practice area in the center of the classroom.

Professor Wickham stood at the front, her sharp features as composed as ever, though there was a glimmer of something in her eyes—excitement, perhaps? Soya wasn’t sure he liked what that might mean.

“Today, we will be focusing on Forma Bestialis,” Professor Wickham began, her voice carrying easily across the room. “This spell temporarily transforms small objects into living creatures. It requires precision, control, and an understanding of the creature you wish to create. Unlike basic transfigurations, Forma Bestialis imbues the object with magical animation, simulating life. This is not a spell to be taken lightly, and your success will depend on your focus.”

A low murmur rippled through the students. Transforming objects into living creatures? Even Davonte, usually full of jokes, looked intrigued.

Professor Wickham raised her wand, demonstrating. “Observe.” She plucked a teacup from her desk, placed it on the ground, and pointed her wand at it with deliberate precision.

“Forma Bestialis!”

The teacup shimmered, its ceramic surface rippling like water before it sprouted wings and tiny legs. Within moments, it was a delicate porcelain bird, hopping across the floor and flapping its fragile wings. The class erupted in impressed whispers.

“Now,” Wickham continued, silencing the chatter with a glance, “you will attempt this spell yourselves. Choose an object from the selection I’ve provided. Remember, the creature you envision must align with the size and shape of your object. You will not create dragons from teaspoons. Begin.”

The students eagerly approached the tables lined with assorted objects—quills, buttons, small stones, and the like. Soya picked up a smooth pebble, its weight reassuring in his hand.

Beside him, Davonte grabbed a brass button. “I’m thinking a frog,” he said with a grin. “What about you?”

Soya hesitated, glancing at his pebble. “Maybe... a mouse? If I can even manage that.”

“You’ve got this,” Davonte said encouragingly. “Just picture it in your mind—tiny whiskers, little paws. Easy.”

As they returned to their spots, Professor Wickham circled the room, her sharp gaze observing each student as they prepared. “Remember,” she called, “visualization is key. The clearer the image in your mind, the more likely you are to succeed.”

Soya took a deep breath, holding the pebble steady in his hand. He pictured a mouse—small and gray, with twitching whiskers and a long tail. Raising his wand, he concentrated on that image and spoke clearly.

“Forma Bestialis!”

The pebble glowed faintly, its surface shifting and softening. For a moment, it seemed to sprout tiny ears and a tail, but then it wavered and returned to its original form. Soya sighed, lowering his wand.

“Close,” Professor Wickham said, pausing beside him. Her expression was neutral, but her tone held a hint of approval. “Your visualization faltered at the final step. Refocus and try again.”

Encouraged, Soya tried once more, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Forma Bestialis!”

This time, the pebble transformed fully. A small, gray mouse sat in his hand, its tiny nose twitching as it looked up at him. Soya’s face lit up with a mix of relief and pride.

“Excellent,” Wickham said with a nod. “Well done, Mr. Vareen.”

Nearby, Davonte’s attempt resulted in a button that hopped like a frog but looked very much like a button. He laughed, raising his hands in mock defeat. “A frog-like button. Close enough, yeah?”

By the end of the lesson, the room was alive with tiny creatures—birds, frogs, mice, and even a miniature turtle. Some were more successful than others, but the energy in the room was electric. For once, even the typically stern Professor Wickham seemed pleased.

“Remember,” she said as the students began to pack up, “transfiguration requires patience and practice. Do not attempt this spell outside of supervision until you have mastered it here. That is all for today.”

As they left the classroom, Davonte turned to Soya with a grin. “So, think your mouse will stay a mouse, or will you find a pebble in your pocket later?”

Soya laughed, feeling a flicker of pride despite his lingering fears. For a moment, he allowed himself to enjoy the small victory.

The rest of the day passed in a blur for Soya. Classes felt unusually long, and the watchful eyes of the ministry officials added an extra weight to the air. Though he tried to focus on the lessons, his mind kept drifting to the plan he and Davonte had hastily agreed upon earlier.

As the final bell rang and students dispersed to their dormitories or the Great Hall for dinner, Soya found himself lingering near the Thylacea table. He picked at his food, his appetite dulled by nerves. Davonte, on the other hand, seemed unbothered, laughing and chatting as though the events of the day had been perfectly ordinary.

“Relax,” Davonte muttered under his breath, leaning closer so only Soya could hear. “You’re going to give us away with that guilty look.”

“I’m not guilty,” Soya whispered back, though his hands betrayed him as they fidgeted with his utensils. “I’m just... thinking.”

“Then stop thinking so loudly,” Davonte said with a sly grin, grabbing a roll from Soya’s plate. “Eat something. You’re going to need your energy.”

Soya sighed, forcing down a few bites of stew before pushing his plate away. The bustling noise of the Great Hall seemed to press in on him, and the idea of sitting there for much longer was unbearable. He glanced at the enchanted ceiling, now reflecting the deep purples and oranges of twilight, and felt the weight of their decision settle heavily on his shoulders.

After dinner, the students filed out of the hall, and Soya followed Davonte toward the Thylacea dormitories. They waited until the corridors emptied, their fellow housemates disappearing into their rooms for the night. The castle grew quieter, the usual hum of activity replaced by the faint creaks and groans of the ancient stone walls.

Davonte checked the time on his enchanted pocket watch, the faint glow of its runes casting light on his determined expression. “Alright,” he said softly, tucking the watch back into his robes. “Now or never.”

Soya hesitated, his heart pounding as he glanced back toward the dormitory entrance. For a brief moment, the thought of curling up in bed and pretending this wasn’t happening was almost tempting. But the image of Eliza’s empty seat in their classes pushed him forward.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice firmer than he felt.

Davonte smirked, clapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit.”

The castle corridors were unusually quiet after curfew, the dim light from enchanted torches casting long shadows along the stone walls. Soya and Davonte crept through the halls, their footsteps muffled by the thick rugs that lined the floors. The weight of what they were about to do hung heavily between them, though neither spoke of it.

Soya clutched his sketchbook tightly against his chest, his mind racing. Sneaking into the Whispering Archives was more than just breaking the rules—it was stepping into dangerous, uncharted territory. And yet, Eliza’s absence pressed on him like a stone, its weight impossible to ignore.

“You’re quiet,” Davonte whispered, glancing over his shoulder as they paused near the entrance to the east wing. “Second thoughts?”

Soya hesitated, the faint flicker of torchlight catching the uncertainty in his eyes. “I just... What if we get caught?”

Davonte grinned, his silver eyes gleaming mischievously. “Then we run. Or better yet, I’ll charm the socks off whoever finds us. Works every time.”

Soya couldn’t help but smile, though it was fleeting. “This isn’t a joke, Davonte. The Whispering Archives aren’t just another section of the library—they’re locked for a reason.”

“Exactly,” Davonte said, his voice soft but insistent. “And that’s where we’ll find the answers. If Eliza went in there, maybe we can figure out what she was looking for—and what got her into trouble.”

The conviction in Davonte’s tone stirred something in Soya. He nodded, his grip tightening on his sketchbook. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

They moved quickly but carefully, their path taking them down narrow corridors and through hidden passages Soya hadn’t even known existed. Davonte seemed to know exactly where to go, his confidence steadying Soya’s nerves.

When they finally reached the entrance to the Whispering Archives, Soya felt his stomach twist. The door was tall and imposing, its dark wood carved with intricate runes that shimmered faintly in the low light. A heavy brass lock secured the door, its mechanism glowing with a soft, magical hue.

Davonte crouched in front of the lock, pulling out his wand. “Piece of cake,” he muttered. “I’ve seen Sage unlock worse than this in class.”

Soya swallowed hard, his heart pounding as he glanced nervously down the corridor. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Of course not,” Davonte said with a grin, pointing his wand at the lock. “But when has that ever stopped us? Alohomora Maxima!”

The spell emitted a faint, golden glow, and the lock clicked softly before falling open. Davonte stood, brushing imaginary dust from his robes. “And they said I wasn’t paying attention in Charms.”

Soya gave him a wary look but said nothing as Davonte pushed the door open. The Whispering Archives were dark and silent, the air thick with the musty scent of ancient parchment. The rows of shelves stretched endlessly into the shadows, their contents hidden by the dim light.

“Stick close,” Davonte whispered, raising his wand. “Lumos.”

The faint light from the spell illuminated their immediate surroundings, casting eerie shadows on the shelves. Soya followed closely, his sketchbook clutched tightly in his arms as they ventured deeper into the forbidden section.

The books and scrolls here were unlike anything Soya had seen in the regular library. Many were bound in materials he couldn’t identify, their spines marked with symbols that seemed to shift under the light. Some were locked with chains, while others emitted faint whispers that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Soya asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Anything that might explain what Eliza was researching,” Davonte replied, scanning the titles on the shelves. “If she found something important—or dangerous—it’ll be here.”

They split up, each taking a side of the aisle as they searched. Soya ran his fingers lightly over the spines of the books, his eyes darting from one title to the next. Many were written in languages he didn’t recognize, their intricate scripts impossible to decipher.

After several tense minutes, Soya’s gaze fell on a thick, leather-bound book with an ornate clasp. The title, written in faded gold letters, read Serpentine Secrets: A Compendium of Basilisk Lore.

“Davonte,” Soya whispered, his fingers brushing the book’s spine. “I think I found something.”

Davonte was at his side in an instant, his silver eyes narrowing as he examined the book. “Good find. Let’s take a look.”

Soya hesitated, his hand hovering over the clasp. “What if it’s cursed or something?”

Davonte smirked. “Only one way to find out.” He tapped the clasp with his wand, muttering, “Finite Incantatem.”

The clasp glowed faintly before unlocking with a soft click. Soya opened the book carefully, its ancient pages crackling softly as he turned them. The text was dense, filled with detailed illustrations of basilisks and intricate diagrams of runes.

“This could take hours to read,” Soya said, his brow furrowing.

“Then we’ll skim,” Davonte replied, leaning over his shoulder. “Look for anything about summoning or unusual sightings.”

They worked quickly but thoroughly, their eyes scanning the pages for any relevant information. Soya’s heart raced as he came across a section titled Basilisk Control.

“This might be it,” he said, pointing to the page. The accompanying illustration showed a rune similar to the one they’d seen by the lake.

Davonte nodded, his expression serious. “Let’s copy it down and get out of here. The longer we stay, the riskier this gets.”

Soya pulled out his sketchbook, carefully replicating the rune and the accompanying text. As he worked, a faint sound reached his ears—a soft rustling, like the pages of a book being turned.

He froze, his heart pounding. “Did you hear that?” he whispered.

Davonte’s grip on his wand tightened. “Yeah. We’re not alone.”

The boys exchanged a tense glance before extinguishing the light from their wands. They crouched behind a nearby shelf, their breaths shallow as the sound grew louder. Whatever—or whoever—was in the archives with them was getting closer.