Lydia flexed her fingers, staring at the glowing rune etched into her palm. The symbol pulsed faintly, its warmth seeping into her skin like ink soaking into parchment. She clenched her fist, willing it to fade, but the light only flickered stubbornly.
Marcus let out a low whistle. "That's… probably not a good thing."
"You think?" Lydia snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. She took a breath, shaking off the panic rising in her chest. "We need to figure out what this means."
Marcus nodded. "And by 'we,' you mean, 'Lydia will spend the next week buried in books while Marcus provides snacks and witty commentary.'"
Lydia didn't even bother responding to that. Instead, she turned toward the corridor, her footsteps echoing in the stillness of the castle. They needed answers, and there was only one place to start.
The library.
---
The Restricted Section
Madam Pince was nowhere in sight, which was both a relief and a problem. They needed books that weren't exactly open to students, and that meant sneaking into the Restricted Section.
Marcus glanced around before nudging Lydia. "You know, this is the part where I say, 'Are you sure about this?' and you ignore me."
Lydia smirked. "Glad we understand each other."
With a flick of her wand, she muttered, "Silencio," muffling their footsteps as they slipped past the shelves. The dusty scent of old parchment and candlewax filled the air as they wove through the towering bookcases, their fingers skimming across faded spines.
Lydia paused in front of a shelf labeled Ancient Enchantments & Forbidden Wards. She scanned the titles, muttering under her breath. "Cursed Artefacts… The Language of Runes… Dark Magic and its Echoes—"
Her fingers hesitated over that last one before pulling it free. She set it on the table and flipped it open, the pages crackling with age. Marcus leaned over her shoulder as she scanned the index.
"Here." Lydia jabbed at a section titled Marks of the Veil.
The text was cramped and barely legible, but one passage stood out immediately:
"Those who bear the mark of the Mirrorwalkers are bound to the space between. Their fates are entwined with echoes of what was, what is, and what could be. The mark serves as both key and tether—guiding the bearer deeper, even as it refuses to let them go."
Marcus exhaled. "That's... ominous."
Lydia ran a finger over the words, her mind spinning. "The mirror wasn't just a portal. It was a test. A lock." She looked up at him, her voice barely above a whisper. "And now, I think it's chosen me."
The thought sent a shiver down her spine.
Marcus frowned. "So, what does that mean? You're stuck being a Mirrorwalker now? Whatever that is?"
"I don't know," Lydia admitted. "But if that figure in the mirror was right—if we weren't supposed to be there—then whoever built that place didn't want us messing with it."
Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. "Which means we definitely pissed someone off."
Before Lydia could respond, the air around them shifted. The candlelight flickered, and the temperature dropped.
Then—
A whisper.
Low, distant, curling around them like mist.
"Lydia Marwood… you shouldn't have looked."
Lydia's breath hitched. The voice was neither male nor female, neither young nor old. It was layered, as if a hundred voices spoke in unison.
Marcus grabbed his wand. "Okay. Nope. No thank you."
A gust of wind tore through the library, sending pages fluttering and books crashing to the floor. Lydia barely had time to register the movement before the shadows between the shelves thickened.
And from them, something stepped forward.
A hooded figure.
Not the one from the mirror—this one was smaller, its robes swirling as though made of smoke. Its head tilted, the darkness beneath its hood shifting.
Then, without warning, it raised a hand—
And the rune on Lydia's palm burned.
She gasped, clutching her wrist as a jolt of energy pulsed through her veins. The world blurred for a moment, the library flickering like a mirage.
When her vision cleared, she was no longer standing in Hogwarts.
She was… somewhere else.
The walls around her were made of smooth obsidian, stretching impossibly high. The air crackled with static, charged with a presence she couldn't name. The floor beneath her shimmered like the surface of a black lake, and above her—
A ceiling of endless mirrors, reflecting infinite versions of herself.
She turned, heart pounding. Marcus was gone.
And in front of her, at the far end of the hall—
The figure from the mirror stood waiting.
But this time, it wasn't behind glass.
It was real.
And it was smiling.