Shadows of Legacy: A Hogwarts Legacy Sequel - Chapter 17 - HyacinthSpector (2025)

Chapter Text

She returned to the castle later than she had anticipated, the evening’s revelry finally subsiding into a dull haze.

After subsisting mainly on liquid fare, she felt an aching hunger for dinner in the Great Hall, though her stomach twisted in knots. The weight of her father’s revelation loomed heavily in her mind: Aric had stolen the plans from his office and allied himself with enemy forces.

This internal conflict left her disoriented; the boy she had once known now seemed divided into two distinct beings. She recalled the Aric of her childhood—cheeky, mischievous, and undeniably kind. But now, there was this new Aric, the one who had betrayed her. Had he meant to harm her in that moment? When had this sinister plot taken root? The very thought made her insides churn.

What troubled her most was that he made no effort to seek her out or contest the accusations laid against him. This silence cast unsettling shadows over their already intricate relationship. Despite the bond they had forged at Durmstrang, their interactions were often punctuated by long stretches of silence—months when they had not spoken at all.

Was that truly the norm? She recognized that she had not yearned for him during those absences, yet the spark of familiar feelings had flared to life upon their reunion.

As she made her way to the Great Hall, her thoughts swirled, heavy and chaotic. She contemplated changing into something more fitting for the evening but found herself devoid of the energy to do so.

What she truly required was sustenance; the remnants of alcohol swirled uncomfortably in her hollow stomach. She knew she would likely indulge again that night, in search of something far more substantial than redcurrant rum to calm her frayed nerves.

It was uncharacteristic of her to be among the last to join dinner, and as she approached the head table, she noticed that the students were already deeply engaged in their meals. She managed to offer polite smiles and cheerful Christmas greetings, just as she had done at breakfast. The three Slytherin boys huddled at the far end of their table seemed more jovial than usual, their expressions less conspiratorial this time.

Several teachers had returned early to Hogwarts, including Professor Onai, the divination instructor, and Professor Ronan, with whom she had exchanged brief pleasantries at the Christmas party before the break.

Professor Ronan had expressed genuine concern for the students remaining at the school during the holiday, finding it only fitting to return and infuse some cheer into their Christmas.

Merith soon found herself engrossed in a compelling discourse with Professor Onai, who elaborated on her forecasts and concerns for the forthcoming year. Aesop’s apparent disinterest did not surprise her; he had never struck her as the type to ardently advocate for endeavors that lacked robust empirical support.

Yet Merith found genuine value in divination. While the subject held little appeal for most, there were a select few who possessed true seer abilities. Her father often spoke of her aunt—a skilled seer who had foreseen her own demise mere weeks before it occurred.

Merith had developed a fondness for Professor Onai, learning that the professor had previously taught Divination at Uagadou before accepting an invitation from Professor Weasley to teach at Hogwarts after the tragedy of her husband’s passing. Notably, her daughter had begun her studies at Uagadou but transferred to Hogwarts so that the two could be together.

As Merith engaged in conversation with Professor Onai, she glimpsed her daughter among the crowd—a bright-eyed student enthusiastically approaching the table where the three familiar Slytherins were gathered. To her delight, the young girl was impressively employing her hands to weave spells, deftly creating magic without the aid of a wand.

“The New Year may bring forth many unexpected revelations, though I remain uncertain of their nature,” Professor Onai noted, her gaze shifting to Merith expectantly.

“When might students commence Divination classes?” Merith inquired, feeling a hint of nervousness as she confessed her ignorance. “I beg your pardon, Professor Onai; my knowledge is limited on this subject as it was not taught at Durmstrang.”

Mudiwa Merith, I assure you, I am no superior of yours, and I am keenly aware of the skepticism that surrounds this discipline,” Mudiwa replied, casting a pointed glance toward Aesop, who remained oblivious to their exchange. “To answer your question, students may elect to take this course beginning in their third year. There are various methods to glean insight into the future—be it through crystal balls, visions, astrology, or tea leaves. If you wish, I could offer a demonstration?” She gestured toward Merith's nearly emptied cup, a playful glint in her eyes.

Merith took a slow sip and then handed the cup to the professor with care, making sure not to disturb the leaves settled at the bottom.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Aesop watching with a hint of intrigue, his expression attempting to mask interest behind a bemused façade.

“Mmm, a dragon and a wolf,” Mudiwa mused, squinting at the cup before lifting it high. “Here we have the dragon,” she indicated a clump of leaves that was rather indistinct. “Its tail encircles the wolf protectively.” Her finger traced a leaf-like tendril that curled around another pile of wilted leaves, vaguely resembling a dog.

“However, the dragon’s head rears back, biting the neck of the wolf.” Her enthusiasm waned as she brought the cup closer for further scrutiny.

“This imagery suggests multiple interpretations. The dragon represents both strength and chaos, alongside protection and preservation. Thus, its embrace of the wolf, coupled with the act of biting, illustrates the duality of its nature. The wolf, much like the dragon, can also be a solitary creature. This reading may imply betrayal from one who is meant to shield.” Mudiwa spoke as if lost in her own contemplations, her mind racing to unravel the implications of her reading.

“My apologies... It is Christmas, and I fear my interpretation has taken a rather grim turn.” She met Merith's gaze with an apologetic look, gently setting the teacup back on its saucer.

“Do not fret; the weight of prophecy can be difficult to decipher—its meaning might not carry grave consequences,” Mudiwa reassured, offering Merith’s hand a gentle pat. Yet Merith couldn’t help but notice a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

“I once performed a tarot reading for the headmaster, predicting illness,” Merith recalled, grimacing at the memory. “He was terribly anxious, yet it turned out to be merely a rather uncomfortable case of boils.” The humor sparked a laugh from Mudiwa, who was soon distracted by Professor Ronan, who began insisting that Merith use his surname as well.

As Merith shifted from tea to wine, her nerves only heightened, and beads of sweat began to form on her brow. Unbeknownst to Mudiwa, the prophecy was already manifesting, eerily resonating with her father’s foreboding words.

She had been betrayed by one who had vowed to protect her, his actions akin to a savage bite at her throat. A chill coursed through her as she recalled a haunting dream from nights past—the bloodied mouth of Aric closing around her own.

Sensing the weight of her thoughts, Aesop caught her eye from two seats down and nodded toward the doors leading to the gardens. She returned his gesture with a relieved smile, grateful for the distraction. Rising to her feet, she left the room with him, earning a few curious glances from the other professors.

---

"Thank you; I was in dire need of some fresh air," she admitted as he pushed open the door leading to the gardens beyond the Great Hall.

"I thought so. Please do not allow Mudiwa's misguided prophecies to weigh on you too heavily. I have never given much credence to the subject myself, as it is littered with vagueness and inconsistency."

His words made her feel slightly better, though deep down, she sensed that the prophecy harbored some unsettling truth. "My aunt was a seer," Merith shared as they traversed the snow-dusted courtyard, passing a rather unsettling statue of a wolf. Its dark, smoky tendrils seemed to writhe, emanating from its overstretched mouth as it appeared to howl at the moon.

"She accurately predicted a great many things, including her own demise." She caught Aesop watching her from the corner of her eye as they continued their walk, their arms linked as they descended the uneven stone staircase leading to the lower garden. Aesop grasped the railing for support, easing himself down the steps with careful precision.

"I was eleven when she died. I remember her telling me it would be our last Christmas together. I thought she was joking at the time, but she passed not long after." Aesop said nothing, simply listening as she chose to share her memories, offering her a presence of comfort.

They walked along the path lined with statues of stags, each one telling a story of grace and nobility. Eventually, they stopped in front of a large stone fountain that overlooked the southern region of the Hogwarts valley. The soft sound of trickling water filled the air, creating a soothing backdrop to their conversation. Merith took a deep breath, feeling the tension ease slightly as she absorbed the tranquil beauty around them.

"I'm sorry; I don't mean to darken the holiday spirit with my own dismal thoughts," she apologized, her voice sincere.

"Think nothing of it. My natural state is not exactly puffskeins and pixies," he replied, taking her hand and leading her toward a nearby bench under the gnarled branches of an ancient tree.

He sighed in relief, stretching out his injured leg and massaging it gently, mirroring the way he had when he lifted himself into her carriage during their visit to Hogsmeade.

“It looks quite painful; though curses usually are,” Merith said, her tone softening as she glanced at the grimace on his face.

"How do you know it’s a curse?" he asked, pausing his ministrations to rub the spot above his knee.

“Well, if it weren’t, you likely would have had it sorted by now,” she offered, casting her gaze toward the valley in the distance and watching a mourning dove flit away.

“Magic of this nature requires significant detangling," she noted, her hand hovering over his leg before she quickly withdrew it, noticing the discomfort etched on his features.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to pry. It was arrogant of me to assume. I’m sure you’ve tried everything at your disposal.” She stood, embarrassment washing over her as she crossed her arms over her chest. Feeling the cold air nip at her, she cast a warming charm over them, wrapping them in a cozy blanket of heat.

He hummed in approval, his expression softening as he gave her a small, earnest smile.

"You are too discerning sometimes,” he mused.

“I completely disagree,” she replied, recalling the recent events that had unfolded throughout her day. “You misrepresent me. I’m actually quite foolish, but a broken clock is right twice a day.” She had intended the last part to be humorous, but it came out sounding hollow and sadder than she had meant.

He took her ungloved hand in his, gently pulling her back to sit beside him on the stone bench.

"I do not harbor any resentment toward you, Merith. I apologize; as you can observe, I am still grappling with my emotions regarding this matter. While I have not relinquished hope, I must concede that my efforts thus far have proven unsuccessful," he confessed, a trace of bitterness tinging his tone.

“I know how that feels,” she said, gently squeezing his hand with hers.

"Sometimes I think I should just accept my lot in life, but alas, I cannot—not while I haven’t tried absolutely everything." He turned his gaze to the snow-capped mountains in the distance, appearing lost in thought.

The moonlight cast a beautiful bluish glow on his fair skin, the scar on his cheek resembling a wandering pathway as she fought the urge to trace it with her finger.

"Do you think me foolish?” he asked, a smile creeping back onto his face as his gentle gaze met hers.

“Well, perhaps we are both fools,” she replied, her own smile blossoming as she rested her hand against his. They sat in comfortable silence for several moments, lost in the tranquility of the moment, neither needing to chase away the weight of their thoughts.

"Would you mind sharing with me some of the methods you’ve tried thus far?" she asked curiously, lifting her hands into her lap. He began to explain several remedies, recounting various potions and numerous obscure techniques and spells, many of which she had never even heard of before.

“You're right; that is nearly exhaustive. But I may have some charms that could hold some hope—or at least provide pain relief. I can offer you some books from my personal collection to peruse; some are quite rare," she said encouragingly, meeting his gaze, which had softened considerably. He looked much less irritated than usual.

He considered her offer for a moment. “Thank you; I will borrow them.”

“Of course. You can walk me back to my room, and I can retrieve them for you,” she suggested, tugging gently at his hand, which remained clasped in hers.

He smiled, a genuine warmth enveloping his features. "I would like that.” And together, they rose from the bench, hand in hand, ready to explore the dimly lit paths back, the chill of the night air no longer a burden in each other’s company.

---

They rounded the garden and made their ascent back up the staircase into the Great Hall, which had mostly cleared out, save for a couple of students chattering animatedly at their tables, the remnants of the evening's feast lingering in the air.

The journey to the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower was far from short. They ventured through the reception hall, into the viaduct courtyard, across the viaduct bridge, and then into the entrance hall. Merith's gaze met the familiar sight of the sleeping dragon Professor Weasley had introduced her to. It lay at rest there, its massive form still, with tendrils of steam escaping from its nostrils in soothing puffs that fogged the air around it.

They traversed an additional moonlit corridor until they finally reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower. The familiar giant door, etched with the likeness of obsidian eyes, greeted her, watching them until the classroom doors shut behind them with a creak.

Aesop eyed her, visibly confused as he looked around. “I didn’t realize you took up residence in your classroom. You do know we professors possess an entire tower?”

She shushed him playfully, nudging him into her office, which further puzzled him with its cozy yet cluttered standard setup. Books were piled high on every available surface, interspersed with curious artifacts and various magical devices. As she walked backward to lead him in, she pushed the door that led to the former dungeons behind her, turning the corner down the dark, winding stairs.

"Is this the part of the evening where you capture me and lock me away under your office?" He asked, the glint of humor in his tone echoing slightly down the curved stairwell.

She chuckled softly and pushed open the creaky cell door, unveiling a small sanctuary that contrasted sharply with the chill of the stone walls. With a flick of her wrist, she lit the fireplace, candles, and lamps, filling the room with a warm, flickering glow that cast playful shadows along the walls.

She gestured for him to enter, but he seemed momentarily rooted at her door, a mixture of curiosity and hesitation on his face.

He obliged, stepping inside and surveying the room with keen interest. “I am seldom surprised, but I admit I have been truly stumped… my god, is that a washroom?” His eyes widened as he peeked his head into the adjoining washroom. He stepped back out in a flash, abruptly closing the door behind him. “My apologies for snooping,” he muttered, clearly flustered.

“It’s fine,” she waved dismissively, stepping past him into the bathroom with the door still open. As she entered, she began to unpin her hair, letting the dark waves cascade down her back.

“Have a seat,” she said around a hairpin clenched between her teeth. With a flick of her wrist, she turned the hand-carved wing chair toward him, inviting him to settle in.

“You are quite forceful with your hospitality,” he joked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he seated himself by the roaring fireplace.

“Help yourself,” she said, pulling a tray with a glass and a bottle from various corners of the room and levitating it over to him. She watched as he reached back for the glass and the bottle, his movements graceful and assured.

“Pour me one too, would you?” she called cheerfully, whizzing a glass through the air toward him, which he caught deftly.

She then glanced over at the tub and her laughter bubbled forth as she spied her unmentionables hanging there, recalling his startled expression when he'd slammed the washroom door shut. With her hair now freely flowing, she collected her gown and slippers wandlessly, tossing her outer clothes into the laundry with a casual flick.

Her unmentionables were drying on a small vertical drying rack that had been fastened to the wall above the copper tub. She raised an eyebrow in mock indignation at their lack of care. I really need to have a word with the house-elves about this, she thought peevishly. They do not treat her French hosiery with the respect it deserved.

As she emerged in her dressing gown, she reached over his shoulder to retrieve her glass of wine before settling onto the edge of her bed. “Ah, right, your book. Forgive me—I fear I’ve dived headfirst into my nightly routine. I shall deny it if you repeat it, but I do delight in that feeling of returning home and shedding the day’s pretenses.”

He chuckled softly. “I doubt anyone would believe me,” he replied.

She browsed through several tomes on the shelf, flipping through a few with genuine interest before placing them on the table beside Aesop. After a few minutes, she had amassed a substantial pile, which she charmed to shrink to a more manageable size, knowing it would revert to its original form in a couple of hours. An amusing thought crossed her mind—much like Cinderella’s pumpkin.

With a considerable number of books collected, she was determined not to burden Aesop with a mountain of texts. “That should do—oh, wait… just a moment.” She paused, recalling a peculiar tome she had stumbled upon at a market stall during one of her work-related excursions. Thumbing through the shelf, she retrieved a small, faded purple book. It was a mischievous little thing; she remembered how it seemed to possess a will of its own, ready to unleash jinxes upon the unsuspecting. She had promptly removed that feature shortly after her purchase.

She hummed thoughtfully before letting out a long sigh, placing the faded book into Aesop's hands. “I thought I remembered a spell from this volume that might prove useful; however, it seems it would be ineffective.” Another sigh escaped her as she settled onto a plush cushion in front of the fireplace, taking a deep gulp of her wine.

Aesop appeared fully absorbed in the book, tilting it toward her to reveal a particularly grotesque illustration of a dugbog. They remained in this cozy exchange for some time, summoning another bottle of wine and refilling their glasses as they read and discussed their findings like two diligent students tackling an important assignment.

“Perhaps our search could benefit from my sharing some details about the nature of the curse—at least, what I’ve gleaned so far,” he suggested. She nodded in agreement. “Only if you're comfortable discussing it,” she added gently.

Merith nestled deeper into her cushion by the fire, lying down and propping her elbow on it. The warmth of the crackling flames offered a delightful contrast to the winter chill seeping through the windowpanes. Aesop leaned forward; his hands clasped firmly around his goblet as he began to recount the fateful encounter that had irrevocably altered the course of his life. “It’s a curious matter, really,” he began, his tone both scholarly and tinged with a hint of emotion. “The essence of dark curses often unveils simpler truths than one might anticipate.”

Merith leaned closer, his expression one of rapt attention as he continued. “Before my time at Hogwarts, I served as an Auror. This was several years ago, you see. My partner and I had tracked a suspect—a smuggler of shrunken heads—to the bustling harbours of Scarborough. We were convinced we had the upper hand, imagining ourselves the hunters in this perilous game. Yet, fate had other designs; I was woefully mistaken. They were fully aware of our approach.”

His voice was steady, but Merith could discern a tremor beneath the surface—a subtle indication of the turmoil he kept hidden. “We entered with confidence, convinced we could catch the smugglers unawares. Yet, as we drew near, the shadows appeared to stretch and twist around us—traps lay in wait. I vividly recall the curses flying, bright flashes illuminating the night, and for a fleeting moment, I felt like nothing more than an observer in a chaotic tableau.”

He paused, his expression distant, as if wrestling with the abyss of that painful memory. “In that moment, everything blurred—my focus shattered. I barely escaped with my life, but my partner... he wasn’t so fortunate. I can still hear the echoes of that fateful instant; the realization crashed over me like a tidal wave. It was a curse that not only cost him his life but also fractured my very essence.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between them, a palpable tension that hung in the air. “And the curse on your leg?” she ventured, her voice steady despite the gravity of the moment, her gaze fixed on him as he tightened his grip on the glass, half-expecting it to shatter under the strain.

Aesop’s gaze darkened, a fleeting shadow crossing his features. “The curse afflicting my leg is an extension of my own failure. It’s a dark hex, one that siphons my strength.” His tone, once vibrant with knowledge and authority, now wavered between sorrow and regret.

Merith detected a complexity beneath Aesop's words. "You've shouldered this by yourself," she said, her voice low and empathetic, as she glimpsed the depth of his pain. "I appreciate your trust in sharing this with me. It's said that speaking openly can help distribute the weight."

Aesop's eyes locked onto hers, a fleeting vulnerability revealing a hint of trust. "Perhaps you're right," he murmured. "But I'm accustomed to keeping my thoughts concealed. The past can be overwhelming, making it difficult to find clarity."

Merith leaned in, a wry smile spreading across her face. "Ah, clarity. The ultimate oxymoron. As the great sage, Blaise Pascal, once said, 'The sole cause of man's unhappiness is that he does not know how to stay quietly in his room.' Perhaps the cure for our befuddlement lies not in seeking clarity, but in embracing the delightful chaos that is life."

Aesop raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "You think I'd find solace in being told to stay in my room?"

Merith chuckled. "Well, at the very least, it's a start. And besides, as the saying goes, 'A cluttered mind is a happy mind.'" A moment of silence stretched between them, filled with a silent acknowledgment that passed between them.

He met her gaze, and for a brief moment, it felt as if the wall he had built around himself began to crumble. “Yes, perhaps,” he whispered, his eyes glimmering with a mix of sorrow and a flicker of hope. Settling back into his seat, Merith understood that while he had shared the crux of his story, many untold truths lingered—memories buried beneath a weight of grief he had yet to confront fully. A determination ignited within her, an urge to be the one who could help him unearth the pieces of his story hidden in the shadows.

As Merith listened, she observed how Aesop's voice fluctuated—a smooth delivery punctuated by moments of hesitation. "In the chaos of that fateful day, I was so fixated on the mission—on stopping them—that I barely registered the hex they had laid. It was potent, a curse designed to drain not only my strength but also my very connection to magic. One moment, I was charging forward, and the next…” He paused, his gaze dropping to the floor as the unspoken weight of his words settled heavily in the air.

"One moment, I felt invincible,” he continued, his voice steadied, “and the next, I was… nothing. Just a shell.” The vulnerability in his admission resonated with Merith, weaving an empathic thread that tugged at her heart.

She could see the flicker of anguish in his eyes, a reflection of a battle fought on two fronts. Merith had heard tales of powerful curses before, but this—this was truly devastating.

"The curse manifests in peculiar ways. At times, it feels as if my leg is encased in ice, the chill creeping up my spine,” he continued, his scholarly demeanor faltering, revealing a raw vulnerability. “And other times, I feel an internal fire, a sharp pain that brings with it a flood of memories—and guilt.”

Merith’s heart sank as she sensed the deeper layers beneath his carefully constructed narrative. “Guilt? You mean about your partner?” she prompted gently, eager to peel back the layers of his facade. Aesop’s brow furrowed, and his reply came with a quiet intensity.

"Yes, guilt." He leaned back, his chair creaking slightly under his weight. "In those moments, I cannot shake the thought that had I been more vigilant, perhaps things would have turned out differently. It’s as if the curse has entwined itself not only around my leg but around my very soul."

A flicker of pain crossed his features once again, and Merith could no longer ignore the depth of what he withheld. His eyes revealed a tumult of emotions, perhaps memories too raw to articulate. "But life moves on, doesn’t it? I've found some solace here at Hogwarts," he added, attempting to mask his vulnerability with a slight smile. Yet the light in his eyes dimmed, hinting at countless untold stories buried deep within the corridors of his mind.

As Aesop spoke, Merith felt a growing resolve within her—a determination to help him unearth those stories, to create a space where the weight of the past could be shared rather than shouldered alone.

Merith felt the air between them thicken, charged with an intensity that was both exhilarating and daunting. The flickering shadows of the fireplace danced around them, mirroring the tempest brewing in her heart. Aesop’s vulnerability stirred something deep within her, igniting a longing to forge a connection that transcended the pain they both carried. The weight of his words lingered, and she found herself wanting to unveil her own secrets, to share the burdens she had long tucked away.

“I—” she began, the words trembling on her lips, but characteristic hesitation gripped her. What could she reveal? The mistakes she had made? The moments of uncertainty that haunted her? Instead of speaking, she simply met his gaze, and in that silence, their shared understanding deepened. It felt as though they were standing on the precipice of something profound—something that could redefine the very nature of their relationship.

Aesop held her gaze, his eyes reflecting the same wariness and yearning. “Merith, sometimes sharing our burdens can lighten the load,” he ventured softly, his voice drawing her in like a spellbinding incantation. The sincerity in his tone sent a ripple of warmth coursing through her, yet the words she yearned to say remained trapped in the depths of her heart.

She could feel her pulse quicken, her heart drumming an eager rhythm like a bird preparing for flight. As she contemplated whether to brave the chasm of unspoken feelings, the world around them faded, each breath drawing her closer to an uncertain precipice.

Just as she gathered the courage to voice her thoughts, a loud crash shattered the stillness of the room. Startled, she jumped, her eyes darting toward the cluttered table beside them. The books that had once been piled neatly lay scattered on the floor, their magical shrinking charm finally giving way after several hours of their shared company.

“Merlin's beard!” Merith exclaimed, her cheeks flushing as the moment dissipated like smoke curling from the flickering flames. “Allow me to assist!” She dove to the floor, hands scrambling to gather the fallen volumes, replaying their earlier conversation in her mind as if trying to bind its essence against the sudden shift.

Aesop joined her, moving with a grace that belied the weight of his thoughts. Together, they began collecting the books, their fingers brushing lightly against one another. Each touch sent sparks of electricity skittering up her arm, eliciting a shiver that had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

“Seems our conversation took a rather dramatic turn,” Aesop remarked, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips, moisture from nearby shadows glistening in his dark, yet softened eyes. Merith couldn’t help but smile back, warmth flooding through her despite the interruption.

“Yes, dramatic indeed,” she replied, biting her lip to suppress her laughter. “It’s always the shrunken books that make the biggest impact, I suppose.”

As they rose to their feet, a silence enveloped them—one thick with lingering tension, the remnants of their previous exchange crackling in the air like a potion simmering over a fierce flame. Aesop’s gaze lingered a moment too long on her face, and Merith felt heat flood her cheeks, her heart racing under the weight of the moment.

For a heartbeat, the world outside faded away. Surrounded by disheveled books, they stood like two souls entwined by shared burdens and the unspoken longing that bubbled just beneath the surface. But sensing the fragility of their intimacy, Merith stepped back, forcing a smile that felt just a touch too bright.

“Shall we call it a night?” she suggested, her voice a touch breathless—the words a thin veil to disguise the turmoil inside her.

Aesop smiled quietly to himself, a low, throaty chuckle rising from his chest. "Yes, by all means, let us do that," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of hesitation.

As Aesop bid her goodnight, they settled back into their familiar rhythm. Yet, Merith couldn’t shake the feeling that while their connection had been momentarily interrupted, it was far from over. The pendulum of possibility continued to swing, and she sensed the quiet promise of words and feelings waiting to be unfurled—if only she could muster the courage to set them free.

Shadows of Legacy: A Hogwarts Legacy Sequel - Chapter 17 - HyacinthSpector (2025)
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