The morning light filtered through the round windows of the Hufflepuff dormitory, painting golden patches on Chris's bed curtains. Outside, dew-heavy grass swayed beneath the windows, and somewhere in the distance, birds heralded the first full day of term with enthusiastic calls. Chris stretched, feeling the comfortable weight of being back at Hogwarts settle around him like a favourite robe.
He slipped from bed and prepared for the day, the routines of school returning to him as though summer had been merely a brief interruption rather than months away. By the time his housemates began stirring, Chris had already showered, dressed, and organised his bag for the day's classes. The excitement of new knowledge waiting to be acquired hummed beneath his skin.
"There he is," Susan called, waving him over. "We were just betting on whether you'd been up for hours already."
"I said since dawn," Hannah added, her blonde plait swinging as she shifted to make room for him. "Susan thought you might actually sleep in on the first day."
Chris settled into the chair beside them, his lips quirking into a smile. "A grave miscalculation on Susan's part."
Susan rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Some of us appreciate a proper lie-in before subjecting ourselves to Professor Binns at nine in the morning."
"History of Magic first thing?" Chris asked, glancing at the schedule Hannah slid toward him. "That's cruel even by Hogwarts standards."
The three friends made their way to breakfast, joining the stream of sleepy students navigating the corridors with varying degrees of enthusiasm. The moving staircases seemed particularly playful this morning, changing direction mid-ascent and causing a group of first-years to squeak in alarm as they clung to the railings.
"Did you see Sprout's notice about Mandrake harvesting this term?" Hannah asked as they descended the main staircase. Her fascination with Herbology manifested by the way her eyes lit up at the mention of magical plants. "Dad says they're incredibly valuable but absolute terrors to cultivate."
"Better you than me," Susan replied with a theatrical shudder. "I'd rather face Snape's personal potion lessons than handle something that can kill you with its voice."
The Great Hall buzzed with the controlled chaos of the first breakfast of term. Students compared schedules, traded summer stories, and consumed truly impressive quantities of toast and eggs. The enchanted ceiling reflected a perfect September morning, pale blue with wisps of white cloud drifting lazily across its expanse.
Chris filled his plate with scrambled eggs and sausages as Hannah recounted her father's latest experimental cross-breeding attempts with Venomous Tentacula and ordinary grape vines. "He thought we might get wine-producing plants with just a hint of defensive capabilities, but instead…"
"You got grapes that try to strangle you?" Susan suggested, buttering her toast with enthusiasm.
"Worse. They explode when ripe." Hannah's expression was a perfect blend of horror and scientific fascination. "Took out half the greenhouse and dyed everything purple for weeks."
Chris laughed, almost spitting out his eggs at the absurdity of it all.
As they continued their conversation, Chris felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, the unmistakable feeling of being watched. He maintained his easy smile while letting his gaze drift casually around the hall, cataloguing the movements and attention of those nearby. The sensation wasn't hostile exactly, but persistent in a way that triggered his well-honed instincts.
When he finally located the source, surprise flickered briefly behind his carefully controlled expression. The Grey Lady, ghost of Ravenclaw Tower, hovered near the far wall, her translucent form partially obscured by a column. Unlike the other house ghosts who socialised with students or drifted through conversations, she remained apart, isolated by choice and centuries of self-imposed silence. Her eyes, however, were fixed unmistakably on him.
Her hair was a tangle of black vines, her lips a perpetually crooked line of disinterest. Yet despite her habitual expression of detachment, her focus on him seemed deliberate, intentional in a way that couldn't be dismissed as casual observation.
"Chris?" Susan's voice broke through his awareness. "You've been staring at the wall for nearly a minute. Did you see something interesting?"
He blinked, returning his attention to his friends. "Just thinking about the Transfiguration reading. McGonagall mentioned a quiz might come sooner rather than later."
The conversation resumed, but Chris remained acutely aware of the Grey Lady's unrelenting gaze. She hadn't moved, hadn't acknowledged his notice of her attention. She simply watched, silent and unblinking, as though he were a puzzle she was determined to solve.
Why would Ravenclaw's ghost take such sudden interest in him? The most obvious explanation was that Dumbledore had enlisted the castle's ghosts to monitor him, a theory consistent with the Headmaster's subtle scrutiny during the previous evening's feast. Yet something in the quality of her attention felt different, less surveillance and more... recognition.
By the time breakfast concluded and students began gathering their things for the first classes of term, the Grey Lady had vanished. But as Chris followed Susan and Hannah from the Great Hall, the sensation of her gaze lingered like a physical touch between his shoulder blades, raising questions he couldn't yet answer about what had drawn her attention.
The Grey Lady appeared again as Chris exited Professor Flitwick's classroom, her silvery form hovering at the far end of the corridor like a misplaced reflection.
"Did you see that?" Susan whispered, nudging Chris's arm. "The Grey Lady never comes to this part of the castle."
Chris nodded, his expression carefully neutral despite the prickle of unease travelling up his spine. "Perhaps she's expanding her haunting territory."
He watched from the corner of his eye as the ghost drifted behind a column, her translucent form seeming to evaporate into the stonework. The sensation of being observed, however, lingered long after she'd disappeared.
That evening in the library, while researching counter-curses for Professor Lockhart's woefully inadequate Defence class, Chris felt the temperature drop several degrees around his secluded table. He looked up from his parchment to find the Grey Lady hovering between two towering bookshelves, her spectral glow casting eerie shadows across ancient tomes. Her eyes, hollow yet somehow penetrating, focused on him with such intensity that several nearby students shifted uncomfortably and relocated to distant tables.
Chris set down his quill deliberately and rose, intent on approaching the ghost to inquire about her sudden interest. But the moment he took a step in her direction, she retreated backward through the solid bookshelf, leaving nothing but a faint silver mist and the lingering chill of her presence.
"Strange," Hannah remarked when he returned to their table. "I've never seen her act like that. Usually she just drifts around looking tragic and ignoring everyone."
Chris reopened his book, but his mind remained fixed on the ghost's behaviour. "Everyone has their reasons," he replied vaguely, though privately, his suspicions were multiplying. The Grey Lady's attention felt too specific, too persistent to be random.
The following day passed in a blur of classes, Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws, where McGonagall impressed upon them the dangers of improper animal-to-object transformations with graphic descriptions of half-teapot tortoises suffering for decades, and Double Potions with the Slytherins, where Snape's mood seemed particularly venomous even by his standards. Throughout it all, Chris remained alert for ghostly observers, a habit that earned him several sharp reminders to pay attention from his professors.
His vigilance was rewarded just before lunch, when he spotted the Grey Lady hovering near the moving staircases, partially concealed behind a suit of armour. This time, she made no effort to hide her observation, her gaze following him as he navigated the shifting steps. When a staircase swung suddenly, separating him from Susan and Hannah, Chris seized the opportunity to double back toward the ghost.
"Excuse me," he called softly, his voice pitched to carry to her without attracting broader attention. "Lady Helena?"
For a moment, she seemed to freeze, surprise flickering across her translucent features at being addressed by her true name rather than her house designation. Then, as the staircase began to swing back into position, she dissolved through the nearest wall, leaving Chris alone with his mounting questions.
The pattern continued through the day and into the next. Each encounter lasted slightly longer, as though the ghost were testing boundaries, determining how close she could come before retreating. That night, as Chris returned to the Hufflepuff common room after an evening of study, he found her waiting in the corridor near the kitchen, her silvery form casting no shadow on the stone floor.
Their eyes met across the empty hallway, and for a heartbeat, Chris thought she might speak. Her lips parted slightly, her expression shifting from its usual distant sorrow to something more urgent. But the sound of approaching footsteps, a prefect on evening rounds, sent her retreating once more, her form melting into the darkness between torches.
By the afternoon of September 4th, as he emerged from Greenhouse Three with soil-smudged robes and the lingering smell of dragon dung fertiliser clinging to his skin, Chris had reached the limits of his patience. The Grey Lady stood at the edge of the vegetable gardens, partially obscured by autumn-flowering bushes, her attention fixed on him with the same unwavering intensity that had marked each previous encounter.
His hands were numb from repotting frost-resistant herbs, but he felt a warmth in his chest, an uncomfortable heat that he recognised as frustrated curiosity building toward determination. Whatever game the ghost was playing, it was time to end it.
He separated from his classmates with a murmured excuse about a forgotten book and circled back toward the greenhouses. The Grey Lady remained in place, watching his approach.
"Enough," Chris said quietly when he drew near, keeping his voice level despite his irritation. "Either speak to me or cease this surveillance. I have neither the time nor patience for ghostly games."
For a moment, she seemed to consider him, her head tilting slightly as though reassessing an initial judgment. Then, without a sound, she turned and drifted toward the castle, her movement deliberate enough to suggest an invitation to follow.
Chris remained where he stood, unwilling to be led on yet another fruitless chase. "I won't follow unless you give me a reason," he called after her retreating form.
The Grey Lady paused, half-turning to regard him over her shoulder. Though she still didn't speak, the intensity of her gaze conveyed a clear message: the time for observation had ended; the time for revelation approached. Then she vanished into the stone walls of Hogwarts, leaving Chris alone with the certainty that their next encounter would break this silent pattern.
Evening shadows stretched long across the seventh-floor corridor as Chris made his way back from the library, his mind still occupied with the Grey Lady's strange surveillance. The hallway stood empty, torches flickering in their brackets and casting dancing shadows that mimicked ghostly movements at the edge of his vision. He'd chosen this route deliberately, less travelled than the main staircases and offering the privacy he needed to consider the ghost's peculiar interest without Susan and Hannah's well-meaning questions.
The air before him shimmered suddenly, temperature dropping so rapidly that his breath clouded in a silver mist. Chris halted, hand instinctively moving toward his wand as the Grey Lady materialised directly in his path, her translucent form more solid-seeming than he'd ever witnessed, as though she'd gathered herself into a more substantial presence for this confrontation.
"Christopher Emrys," she spoke, her voice carrying the dusty resonance of disuse, like ancient pages turned after centuries of neglect. "I must speak with you."
Chris remained perfectly still, neither retreating nor advancing. "You've had many opportunities these past days, Lady Helena." He kept his tone neutral, revealing neither the surprise he felt at her sudden address nor the wariness that tensed his muscles. "Your method of gaining my attention has been... distinctive."
"Observation before action. A principle you understand well." Her silvery eyes studied him with uncomfortable perception. "I needed certainty before approaching you with matters of such consequence."
"And what matters would those be?" Chris asked, maintaining his careful composure while mentally calculating escape routes should this encounter prove threatening.
Helena glided closer, her spectral form disturbing the air around him like a winter draft. "Lady Hogwarts needs your help. She is in pain."
The statement, delivered with such grave simplicity, caught Chris off-guard. "Lady Hogwarts?" he repeated, momentarily forgetting his practised caution.
"Cassie," Helena clarified, an unexpected softness entering her voice. "The living heart of this castle. She sensed your arrival last year, but was too weak to reach out. Now she suffers greatly and begs for your intervention."
Chris's mind raced, assembling and discarding theories about what this could mean. A sentient castle? The concept wasn't entirely foreign to his magical knowledge, but it had never been mentioned in Hogwarts: A History or any other texts he'd studied about the school.
"Why would she ask for me specifically?" he questioned, though a cold suspicion was already forming in his mind.
Helena's gaze intensified, piercing through the careful layers of identity he'd constructed. "Because you are the Heir of Merlin, and only you can undo what has been done to her."
The words hung in the air between them like visible things, crystalline and dangerous. Chris felt his carefully constructed world tilt sideways, equilibrium momentarily shattered. No one at Hogwarts should know that truth. His glamour concealed his appearance, his documentation was flawless, and he'd been meticulously careful about revealing knowledge or skills beyond what a talented student might possess.
"You are mistaken," he replied, his voice steady despite the surge of adrenaline flooding his system. "My name is Christopher Emrys, and while I appreciate the Ravenclaw tendency toward imagination…"
"Do not insult us both with denials," Helena interrupted, a flash of the pride that had defined her living years breaking through her customary reserve. "The castle knows what flows in your veins. Merlin helped my mother and the others raise these walls. His magic is woven into the very foundation stones. Of course, Cassie would recognise his descendant when he walked her halls."
Their gazes locked in silent confrontation. Chris measured his options carefully, aware that this moment could shatter the carefully constructed identity he'd built. Denial seemed pointless if the castle itself had somehow sensed his true lineage, yet admission carried its own dangers.
"How?" he finally asked, decision made. "How does the castle exist as a sentient being? And why would she be in pain?"
Something like relief flickered across Helena's ethereal features. "My mother and the others created her from their combined magic, a guardian and keeper for the school. For centuries she protected the students, guided the lost, ensured Hogwarts remained a sanctuary." The ghost's expression darkened. "Until the current Headmaster bound her to his will and severed her connection to the ward stone."
"Dumbledore," Chris stated flatly, pieces clicking into place. Of course the Headmaster would want full control of the castle's magic, especially if it meant neutralising an independent force that might question his actions or reveal his secrets.
Helena nodded, silver tears gathering at the corners of her eyes but never falling. "He came to her with requests for access, speaking of safety measures and modernisation. She trusted him, as she has trusted all Headmasters. But his true purpose was control. He now commands the wards, the secrets, the very heart of Hogwarts, while Cassie exists in agony, cut off from her purpose."
"What exactly do you expect me to do?" Chris asked, though his mind was already racing with possibilities.
"Help her reconnect to the ward stone. Free her from the binding spells." Helena's form flickered slightly, her concentration seemingly affected by emotion. "You have Merlin's blood, his affinity for the deepest magics. If anyone can undo Dumbledore's work without detection, it would be you."
Chris considered the ghost carefully. "This could be an elaborate trap. Dumbledore may have sent you to test my identity or my purpose."
A bitter laugh escaped Helena, the sound like breaking glass. "The Headmaster does not command the loyalty of Hogwarts' ghosts as he might wish. We serve the castle, not its temporary master." She drifted closer, her spectral hand reaching toward him without quite touching. "Meet her yourself. Judge her pain with your own eyes. Then decide."
The proposal hung between them, tempting and dangerous in equal measure. If genuine, this connection to the castle's innermost workings could prove invaluable. If false, it could expose him completely.
"When and where?" Chris finally asked, decision crystallising. The potential benefit outweighed the risk, provided he approached with appropriate caution.
"Tonight, after the castle sleeps. The seventh floor, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls to dance." Helena's form began to fade slightly, as though the extended conversation had drained her energy. "Come alone and bring nothing that does not belong to you by blood or right."
"I'll be there," Chris promised, already calculating which of his protective tools would meet her cryptic requirement.
Helena nodded once, a gesture of both acknowledgment and dismissal, before dissolving into silver mist that dispersed through the corridor's chilled air.
Chris remained motionless for several heartbeats after her departure, processing the exchange. The castle was sentient. It knew his true identity. And now its spectral messenger had invited him to a midnight meeting to free it from Dumbledore's control.
He resumed his walk toward the Hufflepuff common room, outwardly composed while his mind raced through preparations for the night ahead. Whatever awaited him on the seventh floor would require all his caution, all his knowledge, and perhaps most dangerously, a measure of trust he rarely extended to anyone at Hogwarts.
The Hufflepuff dormitory lay silent save for the gentle snores of sleeping children, their forms mere lumps beneath yellow quilts in the dim glow cast by enchanted night-lights. Chris moved without sound, his preparations methodical despite the unusual circumstances awaiting him. The Invisibility Cloak, not merely an invisibility cloak but THE, Cloak of Invisibility, one of the fabled Deathly Hallows he'd claimed from Harry Potter's last year, lay folded on his bed, its fabric reflecting nothing, absorbing all light like a square cut from the deepest night. He considered bringing defensive items but remembered Helena's strange stipulation: "nothing that does not belong to you by blood or right." The cloak qualified, having been won through his cunning rather than merely borrowed, but other magical tools might violate the letter of her instruction.
After a moment's deliberation, he tucked his wand into his sleeve, as this is his by right. Better to have and not need than find himself defenceless in what could still prove to be an elaborate trap. His silver bracelet with its heads-up display enchantment remained on his wrist, another item that was undeniably his by creation if not by blood.
Chris draped the cloak over his shoulders, the liquid-like fabric settling around him with familiar weightlessness. His reflection vanished from the small mirror beside his bed, leaving only empty space where he stood. Satisfaction curled through him at the cloak's perfect concealment.
The common room stood empty, the fire burned down to glowing embers that painted the copper fixtures with warm light. A forgotten Herbology textbook lay open on a table, surrounded by scraps of parchment covered in Hannah's neat handwriting. Chris moved past silently, his footfalls muffled by both practice and the plush carpets that adorned Hufflepuff's floors.
The barrel entrance swung open at his touch, responding to the simple charm he cast wandlessly. Beyond lay the cool, dark corridor, its shadows deeper and more numerous in the dead of night. Chris paused, activated his HUD and looked for the dots that indicated Filch and his dust-coloured cat prowling nearby. Seeing that he was on the other side of the castle, he stepped out, allowing the entrance to seal itself behind him.
Hogwarts at night transformed into a different entity altogether. The friendly corridors of daytime became mysterious passages filled with shifting shadows and whispering drafts. Suits of armour seemed to track his movement with invisible eyes, and portraits murmured sleepily as he passed, sensing a presence they couldn't see. Chris navigated with confidence born of careful study and past exploration, avoiding the trick steps and known patrol routes that might expose him despite his invisibility.
The seventh floor arrived sooner than expected, stairways aligning conveniently to speed his journey. Coincidence, or the castle's intervention? Chris filed the question away for later consideration as he approached the designated meeting spot. The corridor stood empty, moonlight streaming through tall windows to cast silver patterns across the stone floor. The tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy hung on one wall, its woven trolls frozen mid-pirouette in their eternal, clumsy dance lesson.
"Helena?" Chris whispered, not removing his cloak but announcing his presence.
The temperature dropped suddenly, frost patterns blooming across the nearest window as the Grey Lady materialised from the solid wall. Unlike their earlier encounter, she appeared less substantial now, her form wavering slightly like a candle flame in a draft.
"You came," she observed, voice carrying that same quality of dusty disuse. "Remove your concealment, Heir of Merlin. You stand among allies here."
Chris hesitated before sliding the cloak from his shoulders, folding it carefully and tucking it inside his robes. The weight of exposure settled uncomfortably on his shoulders in the silent corridor.
"What now?" he asked, glancing at the blank wall opposite the tapestry.
Helena drifted closer, her silver glow casting no shadows. "This is the entrance to what students have occasionally found and called the Come and Go Room, or the Room of Requirement. Few discover its true nature or full potential." Her ghostly hand gestured toward the empty wall. "Walk past it three times, concentrating on what you seek: 'I need to find what Lady Hogwarts needs.'"
Chris studied the seemingly ordinary stone wall with newfound interest. A hidden room that appeared only when properly summoned represented exactly the kind of ancient magic that fascinated him, it was an extra enchantment that was different than the one at home.
"Three times," he confirmed, then began pacing before the wall.
His first pass revealed nothing but solid stone, the blocks fitted together in the same way found throughout the castle. He focused his thoughts as instructed: I need to find what Lady Hogwarts needs. The second pass brought a subtle change, not in the wall itself but in the air around it, which seemed to thicken and vibrate with anticipation. On his third pass, magic pulsed visibly through the stone, lines of golden light tracing patterns too complex to follow as they rearranged the very matter of the castle.
The transformation unfolded with breathtaking swiftness. Stone flowed like water, expanding and reshaping until an ornate door stood where blank wall had been moments before. Unlike the practical wooden doors found throughout Hogwarts, this entrance appeared ancient beyond reckoning, carved from some dark wood that gleamed slightly, its surface covered in intricate patterns. Runes spiralled across its frame, some recognisable from his studies of Merlin's journals, others so archaic they belonged to magical languages long forgotten.
In the centre of the door, a symbol caught his eye: a stylised rendering of Hogwarts itself, the four towers joined by a central hub, all contained within a perfect circle. As he watched, the image seemed to pulse once, like a heartbeat.
"She waits within," Helena said, her voice softer than before. "I can go no further. This meeting is for you alone."
Chris turned to the ghost, questions forming on his lips, but found her already fading, her outline dissolving into silver mist. "Why can't you enter?" he asked quickly, before she disappeared completely.
"The binding that traps her affects all who are tied to the castle's magic," Helena's voice replied, though her form had nearly vanished. "Including those of us who remain after death. Go now. She has waited long enough."
Chris placed his hand on the ancient handle, feeling warmth pulse through the metal and into his palm, not unpleasant but startling in its immediacy. With a final glance down the empty corridor, he turned the handle and pushed, the massive door swinging inward with surprising lightness to reveal the mystery beyond.
The door closed behind Chris with a soft click that echoed through a space far larger than should have been possible within Hogwarts' architecture. He stood at the edge of what appeared to be an indoor forest glade, a perfect circle of emerald grass surrounded by trees whose silver bark glowed with gentle internal light. Stars twinkled from a ceiling that mirrored the night sky, though these constellations shifted and moved in patterns unknown to astronomy. At the centre of the glade knelt a figure unlike any Chris had encountered in either of his lives: a woman seemingly crafted from pure magic, her semi-translucent form shimmering with colours that flowed beneath her skin like liquid light. She clutched at her chest as though in pain, her face, beautiful but ageless, contorted in an expression of enduring suffering that she'd worn for so long it had become almost part of her features.
As Chris took a hesitant step forward, flowers bloomed beneath his feet, unfurling in vibrant bursts of colour before fading to mist that dissipated into the enchanted air. The woman looked up, her eyes widening with recognition and something that appeared to be hope. Her hair flowed around her like liquid silver, constantly shifting and reflecting the magical ambiance surrounding them.
"You came," she whispered, her voice carrying the harmonics of a thousand whispers, like every secret ever spoken within Hogwarts' walls distilled into a single sound. "You really came."
Chris approached cautiously, his instincts warring between wonder and wariness. "Are you Cassie? Lady Hogwarts?"
The woman attempted to stand but faltered, her form flickering like a candle in a draft. "Yes! That's me!" Despite her evident pain, childlike excitement brightened her features. "And you're, " she paused, tilting her head as though listening to distant music only she could hear, "Christopher Emrys, but that's not your whole name, is it? Not your whole self."
She knew. Of course she knew, if she truly was what Helena claimed. Chris knelt to meet her at eye level, deciding that honesty, at least partial honesty, would serve better than denial. "I am the last descendant of Merlin, yes. And you are the sentient heart of Hogwarts."
Cassie's smile contained both ancient wisdom and innocent joy, a disconcerting combination that reminded Chris this was no ordinary being. "I've waited so long for someone like you. Someone who could hear me." Her form shimmered, briefly displaying the architectural lines of Hogwarts itself within her translucent body before resuming her humanoid appearance. "Will you be my friend?"
The childlike question, delivered with such naked hope, caught Chris off-guard. This powerful, ancient entity spoke like a lonely child seeking connection. It was both endearing and potentially useful, a being this powerful yet emotionally straightforward could become a valuable ally.
"I'd like to understand what's happening to you first," Chris replied carefully. "Helena said you're in pain. That Dumbledore did something to you."
Cassie's expression darkened, clouds passing across her luminous features. "He put chains on me," she said, her voice dropping to a wounded whisper. "Not real chains. Magic chains. He said he needed to update the wards, make them stronger to protect the students." Her form rippled with remembered betrayal. "I trusted him because he was Headmaster. The Headmasters always take care of Hogwarts, that's the rule."
She gestured at her chest, where a complex magical knot glowed with sickly purple light beneath her translucent skin. "He put this binding on me. Cut me off from my ward stone. Now I can only watch, can't protect, can't help." Silver tears gathered in her eyes but evaporated as they fell. "Students get hurt now. Bullies hide in corners I can't see. Bad things come in that I can't stop."
"The ward stone," Chris repeated, focusing on the practical aspects. "Where is it?"
"Deep," Cassie replied, waving her hand to create a miniature, floating replica of Hogwarts. The illusion spun slowly, then zoomed in on the foundations beneath the castle, revealing a chamber far below the dungeons. "Under everything. In the Heart Room. The Founders put it there, and Merlin helped! He was very nice. You look like him a little, around the eyes."
"And how do I get there?" Chris asked, ignoring the comment on his appearance.
"This room can take us there. Though you're not ready for that yet." Cassie painfully replied.
Chris studied the floating image, memorising the location. "And what exactly did Dumbledore do to it?"
Cassie's face scrunched in concentration, her appearance momentarily shifting younger, like a child trying to explain something complex. "He wrapped it in spells I don't know. Dark and twisty spells that hurt to touch. Then he tied those spells to me with this," she tapped the purple knot in her chest, "so I can't undo them myself. If I try, it burns."
As if demonstrating, she reached toward the knot and immediately convulsed in pain, her form fracturing into architectural elements, staircases, towers, windows, before painfully reassembling into her humanoid shape.
"He doesn't know I can still make this room, though," she added with a hint of pride once she'd recovered. "It's special. The Come and Go Room. He thinks he controls it too, but I hid some of myself here when I felt him coming for the ward stone. A secret part he couldn't bind."
Chris processed this information, his mind already analysing potential approaches to the problem. If Dumbledore had bound the castle's sentience to control its functions, that represented both a violation and a strategic weakness the Headmaster likely believed unassailable. Yet here was Cassie, finding ways to resist despite her binding.
"Why me?" he asked directly. "What can I do that you cannot?"
Cassie's expression brightened. "You have his blood! Merlin's blood! The stones know you, the magic knows you." She leaned forward, her silver hair flowing forward like water. "The binding doesn't know you. Dumbledore made it to stop me, to stop other Headmasters, to stop teachers and students. But he never thought about Merlin's heir coming back. You're outside his rules."
The logic, while simplistic, had merit. Magical bindings typically incorporated specific exclusions rather than inclusions, defining what couldn't affect them rather than what could. If Dumbledore had crafted his binding without accounting for a direct descendant of one of the castle's original enchanters, that might indeed represent a vulnerability.
"I would need to understand the bindings first," Chris said thoughtfully. "Ward magic of that complexity isn't something I've studied extensively."
Cassie clapped her hands with unexpected delight, the gesture sending ripples of light through the enchanted glade. "I can help with that part!"
She waved her hand, and at the edge of the clearing, a stone pedestal rose from the grass, books materialising upon its surface one by one. Not modern books with clean edges and crisp bindings, but ancient tomes bound in materials Chris couldn't immediately identify.
"These are the books the Founders used," Cassie explained proudly. "And Merlin too! I kept them safe when people started taking things from the library. Hid them here where only I could find them."
Chris approached the pedestal, drawn by the academic treasure it represented. The topmost volume bore a title in a language so ancient it took him a moment to decipher: "Warding Against the Unwarded," a foundational text on protective enchantments mentioned in Merlin's personal journals but believed lost for centuries.
"With these, you can learn how the wards work," Cassie continued, her voice taking on an urgent quality. "Then you can find the gaps in his binding. Free me so I can protect the students properly again." Her form flickered, momentary exhaustion showing through her enthusiasm. "Will you help me, big brother? Please?"
The childlike plea contrasted sharply with the ancient power she represented, creating a dissonance that was both disarming and strangely compelling. Chris considered the implications carefully. Access to the castle's sentient guardian would provide unprecedented advantages, knowledge of Hogwarts secrets, awareness of Dumbledore's movements, perhaps even influence over Hogwarts' very architecture. Beyond that, the ancient texts alone represented invaluable knowledge that could advance his understanding of warding magic by decades.
"I'll help you, Cassie," he said finally, decision made. "But it will take time. These bindings sound complex, and we must be careful not to alert Dumbledore to our efforts."
Joy radiated from her in literal waves of golden light that rippled across the glade. "Thank you, thank you!" For a moment, her pain seemed forgotten in her excitement. "I knew you would help!"
Chris approached the pedestal, running his fingers reverently over the ancient tomes. "I'll need to study these carefully. Can I return to this room to read them?"
Cassie nodded eagerly. "Whenever you want! Just think of me when you pace, and the room will become this place again." Her expression grew suddenly serious, an adult wisdom breaking through her childlike demeanour. "But be careful. The Headmaster doesn't know about you yet, but he watches everything."
"I understand discretion," Chris assured her, selecting the topmost book with careful hands. "This will be our secret until we're ready to act."
As he prepared to leave, Cassie's form flickered again, pain reasserting itself as her momentary excitement faded. "Will you visit sometimes? Even when you're not studying?" The vulnerability in her voice was palpable. "It gets lonely being tied up and silent."
Chris found himself nodding before he'd fully considered the request. "I will." The promise felt weightier than he'd intended, binding in ways that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the genuine gratitude in her ancient, childlike eyes.
He departed with the first book carefully tucked within his robes, mind already racing with plans. The Room of Requirement door vanished behind him as he slipped back into the corridor, once again hidden beneath his Invisibility Cloak. The castle's stones felt different beneath his feet now, knowing they were part of a conscious entity that recognised his bloodline and had asked for his help.