The autumn wind swept through the cobbled streets of Salem, Massachusetts, rattling ancient iron lampposts and whispering through the bare branches of gnarled oak trees. The city had always held a special resonance for witches, both magical and mundane. But tonight, its quiet historic district bore witness to something far older than its infamous trials—something darker than the echoes of its past.
Hermione Granger had spent years away from the politics of the wizarding world, retreating to an academic life in the United States. Here, she could be a scholar first and a war hero second. But when the owl arrived, bearing a letter marked with the sigil of the House of Black, she knew her self-imposed exile was over.
The letter had been from Draco Malfoy.
Malfoy Manor had burned to the ground two months ago, leaving Draco as the last surviving heir of his bloodline. More pressingly, he was on the run. The Ministry had accused him of crimes against the Statute of Secrecy, alleging that he had sold dangerous magical artifacts on the black market, and an international warrant had been issued for his arrest.
Hermione found him in the depths of an abandoned bookstore in Salem, a place warded so heavily that it barely existed in reality. He looked different—thinner, wearier. His once-impeccable robes were disheveled, his platinum hair tied back in a haphazard knot. But his eyes, sharp as ever, locked onto hers with a mixture of defiance and something more fragile.
“You came,” he said, voice rough from disuse.
“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” she replied, stepping closer. “Why did you ask for me, Malfoy?”
He leaned against the table, fingers drumming against the wood. “Because you’re the only person left who might believe me.”
Hermione crossed her arms. “Then start talking.”
Draco spun a ring between his fingers, its onyx stone glinting in the dim candlelight. “My father was involved in things even the Death Eaters wouldn’t touch. Curses older than Hogwarts. Artifacts hidden before Britain had a Ministry. After the war, I found out he had been hoarding them, waiting for the right moment. And then—someone took them.”
Hermione frowned. “Someone? The Ministry thinks it was you.”
“Of course they do. But they’re wrong. The House of Black had vaults—secret ones, outside of Gringotts. One of them held something dangerous enough that someone was willing to burn Malfoy Manor to get to it.”
A chill ran down Hermione’s spine. She had seen firsthand the destruction caused by dark artifacts. “What was in the vault?”
Draco hesitated. “A book.”
Hermione exhaled sharply. “You dragged me across the Atlantic because of a book?”
“Not just any book,” he murmured. “The Codex Noctis. It doesn’t just contain dark magic—it writes it. Whoever possesses it can create new curses, new spells, things that have never existed before. And I think I know who has it.”
The name he spoke next sent a ripple of unease through her.
New Orleans was a city of ghosts, its magic woven into the very foundation of its streets. It was here that they found Delphini Riddle.
She was a shadow of the girl Hermione had last seen after the Battle of Hogwarts—a woman now, her silver-blond hair cut short, her movements sharper, more precise. She sat in the corner of a hidden apothecary, surrounded by vials of blood and ink-stained parchments.
“Draco,” she purred, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “And Granger. What a delightful reunion.”
Hermione stepped forward. “We know you have the book. Hand it over.”
Delphini tilted her head. “And why would I do that?”
Draco’s voice was low, dangerous. “Because you don’t understand what it can do.”
She laughed, the sound light and airy. “Oh, I understand perfectly. You see, the world has always been written by the victors. The Ministry rewrote history after the war, and you let them, Granger. They erased the truth. But with the Codex Noctis, I can rewrite it.”
Hermione’s stomach twisted. “You want to bring him back.”
Delphini’s smile never faltered. “Not just him. The old bloodlines. The true power of our world.”
Draco lunged, but before he could reach her, Delphini whispered something under her breath. The air rippled, and suddenly, Hermione felt herself being pulled apart, as though reality itself was unraveling.
She awoke to chaos.
The walls of the chamber were shifting, warping between stone and darkness. Shadows bled from the corners like ink, tendrils of something ancient creeping toward them. Draco gasped as he pulled himself up, his wand trembling in his grasp.
Delphini stood in the center of the room, her arms raised, the Codex floating before her. The pages flipped wildly, glowing with a sinister red light as words formed and unformed in an eerie dance. Runes pulsed in the air, twisting and reforming into something not meant for mortal eyes.
Hermione didn’t hesitate. She lunged, her wand flicking out. “Expulso!”
The spell struck the book, sending a shockwave through the room. Delphini staggered, but the Codex absorbed the blast, tendrils of energy coiling around it protectively. The magic was alive, and it was fighting back.
Draco shot a jet of blue fire at the shadows slithering toward them. “We have to destroy it now!”
Delphini let out a guttural scream, and the room exploded with force. Hermione was thrown against the wall, the breath ripped from her lungs. Through the haze, she saw Delphini raising her wand, her eyes black with power, her voice no longer entirely human.
“You don’t understand! This book is the will of magic itself!”
Hermione gritted her teeth. “No, Delphini. It’s just a tool. And you’re just a girl playing with something she can’t control.”
With a desperate surge of magic, Hermione reached out, her fingers grazing the edges of the Codex. Pain shot through her arm as dark energy tried to consume her, but she held on, forcing every ounce of her will into a single spell.
“Finite Incantatem!”
The Codex let out a piercing, inhuman wail. Cracks splintered across its surface, the words dissolving, the runes unraveling. Delphini shrieked, clawing at the book as it disintegrated between Hermione’s hands, its essence collapsing into nothingness.
The chamber convulsed. The walls crumbled, the magic destabilizing. Draco grabbed Hermione’s arm. “We need to go—now!”
They barely made it through the collapsing portal before the entire structure imploded behind them, swallowed by the void.
When Hermione opened her eyes, she was back in Salem.
Draco sat across from her, nursing a firewhiskey. The book was gone, its magic extinguished.
“We should have destroyed it sooner,” she murmured.
Draco sighed. “Maybe we did. Maybe it destroyed itself.”
Hermione closed her eyes. The echoes of Delphini’s words still rang in her mind. The war was never truly over. There would always be someone willing to rewrite history.
Draco lifted his glass. “To the past we can’t erase.”
Hermione met his gaze. “And the future we refuse to let them write.”
As their glasses clinked, the shadows outside whispered once more, carrying secrets that would never truly fade.
But Hermione knew this wasn’t the end. The Codex was gone, but its knowledge had been touched. And somewhere, someone else was already searching for the next dark secret to uncover.
