Chapter Text
Prologue
The first thing I tasted was dust. Ancient dust. Dry and bitter against my tongue, carrying the scent of old stone, forgotten magic, along with time itself, I coughed. The sound echoed throughout the darkness, for several long moments, I simply lay there, cold stone pressed against my cheek. Every muscle ached. My limbs felt heavy, as though I had spent days asleep.Or perhaps much longer, slowly, I opened my eyes. Pale shafts of light filtered through cracks in the cavern above. Dust motes drifted lazily through the beams, turning the darkness into a sea of floating stars.
I pushed myself upright. The movement sent a strange ripple through my body, and I froze, everything felt different, not wrong, different. My hand settled against the stone floor as I closed my eyes and instinctively reached inward. The moment my awareness brushed against my magical core, my breath caught, for a heartbeat, I thought I had made a mistake, I looked again, still the power remained. Vast. Endless. My magical core had never been small, my birth families and Ancient Magic together had ensured that. What I felt now was something entirely different.
Before, it had been the size of Leona Lake in the southern end of Alagaësia. Now it felt like the Narrow Sea, which sat between the Southern Continent, where the Torre Cesme reside, and the Northern Continent, where Adarlan and Terrasen are located. I sat perfectly still for a moment. I knew panic would accomplish nothing. I had learned to Assess. Understand. Act. The teachings of my grandmother, Queen Aelin Fireheart of Terrasen. The discipline of the Elves of Alagaësia. Lessons drilled into me by warriors, rulers, scholars, and immortals alike. So, I observed.
The power was stable and contained, not fighting me, not corrupting me. If anything, it felt comfortable, as though it believed I belonged to it, and it belonged to me, that to be honest? Disturbed me more than anything else.
Carefully, I reached deeper, the answer arrived instantly, not through calculation, not through logic. Just simple certainty. Perhaps it was my Fae blood, or perhaps my Elven heritage, or perhaps both. Whatever the source, I knew then, that my magical core had expanded, not doubled it had not even multiplied tenfold. It had grown over fifteen hundred times its previous size. I should have been dead, yet here I was. Alive. Breathing. Thinking, the realization settled heavily upon my shoulders. I was Crown Princess of Terrasen, Dröttningu by the title of the Elves. A future ruler raised from childhood to understand that power is never the measure of a leader, that was responsibility.
Sitting beneath Hogwarts with enough Ancient Magic sleeping inside me to make my former self seem insignificant, I found myself asking a question no lesson had ever prepared me for. What responsibility came with this? Then memories returned, Ranrok, The Repository, Ancient Magic tearing itself apart. The cavern shaking with every containment failsafe collapsing. Then the impossible choice. I had taken the explosion instead of letting it destroy Hogwarts, the Highlands, and perhaps half of Britain.
Slowly, I rose to my feet, as dust cascaded from my robes, the cavern felt wrong, older, almost as though it had been abandoned, the Repository had always felt ancient. Now it felt forgotten, a chill crept up my spine. How long had I been asleep? I wondered. With my wand in hand, a whippy thing fourteen and a quarter inches long with a Phoenix Feather core and crafted from Silver Lime, I cast Lumos and began making my way toward the Map Chamber.
The familiar passages stretched endlessly before me, The stone had been worn smooth. Dust gathered in corners untouched for generations, every step increased the knot growing within my stomach. By the time I finally reached the chamber, genuine fear had begun to settle in my heart.
At least the enchanted map still glowed softly beneath my feet. Thank goodness.The portraits were awake. Professor Rackham stood within his frame. Beside him sat Headmistress Fitzgerald, both of them stared at me for several long seconds without speaking.Then the former Headmistress rose so abruptly that her chair scraped against the floor of her portrait, her eyes widened.
"Miss Silverleaf?"
My throat tightened.
"Headmistress?"
Fitzgerald's face paled. Merlin, I had never seen a portrait look shocked before, I glanced between them.
"What happened?"
Neither portrait answered immediately, instead, Fitzgerald looked as though she had seen a ghost. Finally, Rackham spoke.
"What is the last thing you remember?"
"The Repository," I answered.
Understanding flashed across both portraits.
I continued.
"Ranrok destabilized it. The containment was failing."
Fitzgerald's expression darkened.
"We feared as much."
"There wasn't time. The Repository was collapsing."
"And so you absorbed it," Rackham finished.
I laughed once, the sound echoed strangely through the chamber.
"No."
Both portraits blinked as I met their eyes.
"I absorbed the explosion."
Silence. The enchanted map beneath my feet continued its endless movement. "If I had done nothing, Hogwarts would have been destroyed." Neither portrait moved. "Possibly alongside half of Britain."
Fitzgerald slowly lowered herself back into her chair, for the first time since I had known her, the former Headmistress looked defeated.
"Merlin preserve us," she whispered.
"There was no other choice."
Rackham studied me for several moments, then, surprisingly, he inclined his head. A gesture of acknowledgment, and perhaps with even respect. Finally Fitzgerald looked up.
"Miss Silverleaf."
Something in her voice made my stomach drop.
"How long?" I asked quietly. For a moment, neither portrait spoke, then Fitzgerald sighed.
"That answer should not come from a portrait."
Before I could respond, she vanished from her frame. Several minutes passed before she returned, when she did there was sympathy and pity in her eyes. Yes, the sight terrified me. A few moments later, the doors to the Map Chamber opened. The sight alone nearly stopped my heart. Because. The 50 year old looking wizard who entered wore half-moon spectacles and carried himself with quiet confidence. Recognition struck me like a Blasting Curse. Albus Dumbledore. The last time I had seen him, he had barely reached my shoulder. Before I could process that realization, another man stepped into the chamber beside him, this one a man I did not recognize, Both men stared at me. Dumbledore's eyes widened in amazement and recognition, the other man's expression became one of complete bewilderment. For several seconds, nobody spoke. Then Dumbledore removed his half-moon spectacles. "Well," he said softly, "I did not expect my day to become quite this interesting." The stranger looked between us.
"Albus," he said, sounding utterly confused, "who is this girl?"
Dumbledore's gaze never left me. "Minister," he replied quietly, "she disappeared over a century ago."
The man's face went completely blank. Dumbledore smiled gently.
"May I introduce the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge."
Then he looked directly at me.
"Welcome back, Elowen Silverleaf."