Chapter 42: Shadows That Speak
POV: Hermione Granger
The warmth of the unicorn glade still clung faintly to Hermione's cloak, like a dream that hadn't fully faded. She stirred with a soft groan, the moss beneath her slightly damp, the night still and cold.
Barrett was awake—of course he was.
He crouched at the edge of the glade, fingers grazing the earth like a seer trying to interpret ancient runes hidden in the roots. In the dim glow of starlight filtering through the trees, he looked less like a student and more like something carved from the forest itself—silent, poised, unreadable.
"How long was I out?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.
Barrett didn't look at her, but his voice drifted back like a whisper through leaves. "Quarter hour. Maybe a little more. The forest's gone quiet."
She shivered. "That's... not comforting."
"No," he said, standing fluidly, brushing his hands on his cloak. "Quiet means something else is awake."
Hermione stood, wrapping her cloak tighter. Her brain still buzzed with questions. What did the unicorn whisper to him? Why did it fear us? Why did it feel like Barrett belonged here, in a place older and stranger than Hogwarts itself?
"You're not just some bookworm boy with a sharp tongue and eerie manners," she said aloud before she could stop herself.
He turned, eyebrow raised in mild amusement.
She folded her arms. "You move like you've been through a war."
"Maybe I have," he replied. "But not here. Not yet."
He checked the Marauder's Map—still glowing faintly with animated footsteps dancing far off from where they were. With a practiced flick, he folded it away.
"There's a centaur glade not far from the spider nests."
Hermione tensed immediately. "Spiders? Like, big ones?"
"Acromantulas," Barrett confirmed.
"I'm not afraid," she said quickly, "but I prefer not to be eaten alive tonight."
Barrett smirked. "Then keep your wand ready."
The forest changed as they walked. The trees grew more twisted, the roots rising like claws from the earth. Magic hung heavier here, not the bright, swirling magic of Hogwarts corridors, but something darker. Wilder.
Hermione's curiosity fought with her anxiety. Barrett moved ahead like he was gliding, each footstep careful. The more she watched him, the more she noticed: his body always tilted slightly away from her, like he was trying to shield her from something unseen.
That's when she noticed the webs.
At first, they were gossamer strands between branches, barely visible. But as they walked further, the strands thickened, tangling overhead and at their feet like the remnants of some ancient ritual.
She stopped. "Barrett…"
"I know."
A rustle. A skitter. Then silence.
And then it came.
A spider the size of a large dog lunged from above—silent, deadly.
Hermione barely had time to scream.
But Barrett's hand had already risen.
A flash of white light—like a miniature sun—erupted from his palm. The spider screeched, twitching violently before crashing against a tree. Its legs curled inwards. Dead.
Hermione stared, heart racing. "That was... wandless magic."
Barrett didn't answer. His eyes scanned the canopy.
Then came the others.
More spiders—six, seven, maybe more—descending like shadows on strings. Their eyes glowed faintly. Their bodies gleamed with venom.
"Stay behind me," he said.
But Hermione had already drawn her wand.
"Incendio!"
A spider shrieked as it burst into flames, webbing collapsing around it.
Barrett raised both hands, forming a shield of light around them that burned away the webs. "Nice aim."
"Thanks," she muttered, breathless.
The battle was chaos—Barrett bending light into slicing arcs, Hermione hurling fire and force spells. At one point, he spun a barrier around her just as a spider leapt from a side angle. Its mandibles snapped inches from her face, then disintegrated in a pulse of golden heat.
Then—the matriarch appeared.
Massive. Ancient. Covered in black carapace, her red eyes gleamed with sentience. She descended without sound, nearly invisible in the shadows.
Barrett saw her a second too late.
She struck.
"EXPULSO!" Hermione screamed.
The spider was launched mid-air, crashing into a tree so hard the bark splintered. It didn't rise.
Barrett blinked.
"Not bad," he said.
Hermione was still panting, her hands shaking slightly. "Not bad? I just saved your life!"
He actually laughed—short, surprised, and not unkind. "Then I guess I owe you one."
A low groan broke the stillness.
Hermione turned—and saw him.
A centaur. Young, his flanks tangled in destroyed webbing, his breathing shallow.
"Help me get him out!" she said, rushing over.
Barrett didn't hesitate. He knelt beside the centaur, tearing away silk with his hands. His fingers glowed golden again, resting on a bleeding wound.
Hermione pulled a potion from her satchel—one of Madam Pomfrey's general salves—and applied it carefully.
The centaur winced. "You... should not be here."
Barrett ignored him, healing. "Stay still."
Hermione asked, "What happened?"
"Ambushed," the centaur whispered. "They grew bolder... sensing imbalance... too much chaos… and divinity... in one place."
He turned his eyes to Hermione. "You carry chaos... but it isn't your own."
Hermione blinked. "What does that mean?"
"Your destiny," the centaur rasped, "will crack the stars."
He slumped unconscious.
Hermione looked at Barrett, shaken.
But he didn't answer. Just stared at the centaur for a long, unreadable moment.
They carried the centaur carefully to a patch of ground where old hoofprints marked the soil. Barrett left behind a symbol—etched into bark with glowing fingers. Hermione didn't recognize the shape, but it shimmered like moonlight on water.
"A call sign," he said. "They'll come for him."
When they turned to leave, something brushed Hermione's ankle.
She gasped.
A fox.
Sleek, orange-red, with a silver-tipped tail and glowing amber eyes. It tilted its head, unafraid.
Barrett turned sharply—but said nothing.
"Oh, he's beautiful!" Hermione knelt, enchanted. "Where did you come from?"
The fox leaned into her touch and purred.
Purred.
"I'm keeping him," she said, not even looking at Barrett. "He's not tagged. I'll register him when we're back. I'll call him... Astra."
Barrett nodded once, slowly. "Astra suits him."
Hermione beamed. "You're a clever little thing, aren't you?"
Sol blinked once and curled against her boot.
She never noticed the way Barrett watched them both—quiet, calculating, strangely... fond.
They stayed in the forest a little longer, skipping stones across a moonlit pond. Hermione conjured starlight to swirl above the water, painting constellations with her wand. For a brief moment, laughter filled the air—young, unburdened, real.
They were still children, after all.
Until morning light began to touch the trees, and they started back.
Silent.
Both thinking the same thing—
The other one is hiding something.
But neither said a word.