Later that night, after dinner, Gabriel found himself sitting by his desk in the Ravenclaw dormitory, the pale blue flames above his head swaying gently and the moonlight spilling through the window, tinting the room in cold silver and soft indigo hues.
He leaned back in his chair with a tired groan, stretching his arms over his head until his spine popped like cracking wood. His fingers interlaced and flexed, joints popping in a rhythmic little chain - first knuckles, then wrists, then elbows and shoulders. He let out a long yawn, blinking slowly, and rolled his neck until it gave a satisfying crack.
"Most eventful first day of classes ever," he thought lazily, resting his chin against his palm. Then he winced, remembering something that made his stomach drop. "And now I'll have to write about it to Mum…"
He grimaced, then smirked to himself.
'Dear Mum, today I almost kissed a girl,' he mock-recited in his head, his grin widening as he absentmindedly brought his fingers to his lips. The touch of his wrapped hands made him "tsk," a frown taking over. The rough texture of the bandages scratched faintly against his skin, a tangible reminder of his eventful afternoon.
With a sigh, he pushed those thoughts aside and focused back on the open notebook on his desk - the neat, densely written parchment of Hermione's notes on Ancient Runes she'd handed him before they'd parted ways in the Great Hall. The handwriting was perfectly legible, of course, but her annotations filled every margin with thoughts, cross-references, and diagrams.
Gabriel rubbed his temple, trying to distill what he'd read into something he could actually remember.
Study of Ancient Runes, as it turned out, was half a language course and half a practical magical one. The letters, words, and symbols didn't hold inherent power on their own - at least not unless written with certain magical materials - but they did carry metaphysical weight. Meaning had magic of its own. That made runes the perfect way to anchor a spell into a physical medium - to quite literally bind it to reality.
That was what Professor Bathsheda Babbling would be teaching them: how to transform spells from transient energy into structured enchantments. It wasn't entirely new, mind - Professor Flitwick had demonstrated a similar theory in Charms, but Ancient Runes would push it much further.
The class would also teach them how to identify and translate the most common "magical alphabets" - the first year's focus being the various forms of Futhark.
The choice of using ancient scripts - or rather, logograms, pictograms and similar forms of writing - Gabriel noted, wasn't just because they were old or mystical. It was about efficiency. Each rune or sign could carry multiple meanings depending on its context - sometimes entire words or even phrases in a single symbol.
Any sufficiently skilled wizard could, of course, simply write "Fogo" or "Fire" and charge the inscription with an Incendio charm. But to inscribe Kenaz (ᚲ) instead was faster, more compact, and carried within it an intrinsic idea of "controlled fire" - light, warmth, transformation, craft.
That made all the difference when enchanting. Especially when the goal wasn't just to cast a single charm, but to layer effects - binding conditions, triggers, or limitations into an object's spellwork.
He blinked once, then twice, before his mouth curved into a grin.
He pushed his chair back and reached under his desk, pulling out his expanded trunk. With a few practiced taps of his wand and the muttered word "Aperio," the trunk unfolded like a blooming flower - revealing layered compartments and neatly labeled sections. He crouched beside it, opening the one marked Books, and sifted through the familiar spines until he found the section labeled Muggle Magic.
"Let's see…" he murmured, flipping past The Enneads and The Kybalion before his fingers landed on the one he wanted. "Liber Null and Psychonaut." The shopkeeper from that little occult bookstore in London had recommended it to him during his curiosity-driven shopping spree.
Gabriel chuckled softly as he opened it, flipping through the artificially yellowed pages until he reached the chapter on sigils.
The section described several ways of creating them, but the one that caught his attention was called "The Word Method."
"First," he said, "define your intent."
He grabbed a quill and wrote on a clean piece of parchment:
FLAMMA BOREALIS
The crystalline fire spell he'd created last year.
"Second: remove all repeating letters," he muttered, crossing out the duplicates until he was left with:
F B O R E I S
"Third: reduce them into simple geometric forms and merge them into a single symbol."
He began to sketch, breaking down the letters into angular shapes and curling lines, weaving them into a unified design that looked halfway between a bandrún and an alchemical circle.
When he finished, he leaned back to admire it.
"Well," he said to it, "let's see if you can handle a little bit of magic."
He picked up his wand, pressed its tip to the parchment, and half-cast the spell - channeling the charm's power into the sigil without trying to actualize it.
For a heartbeat, it worked. The parchment glowed a soft blue - then BOOM!
The sigil flared violently, smoke curling up as the parchment blackened and burst into bits. Gabriel blinked, then burst out laughing.
"Okay, maybe too much magic," he admitted, coughing through the smoke.
Still grinning, he leaned back against his chair and rubbed his chin.
'That's the problem with charming nonmagical materials,' he thought. 'The more mundane, the less receptive something is, and the less foreign magic it can hold. Pour in too much, and it collapses.'
He snapped his fingers. "So - make something that can hold more. In the absence of quality, let's try for quantity."
He reached for several rolls of parchment, transforming them with a deft flick into several thick card-like shapes, the texture more like pressed leather than paper.
One by one, he tried again.
The first sigil fizzled and caught fire.
The second crumpled.
The third became dust.
The fourth flew apart in blue sparks that scorched his desk.
The fifth exploded so loudly that he was sure someone would come knocking - though, mercifully, no one did.
By the tenth, his room looked like a small battlefield. Bits of singed parchment littered the floor, his bandages had been blown apart, and his hair stood on end, singed and wild. He just laughed harder.
On his twentieth try, it finally worked.
The sigil glowed with a steady, calm light - pulsing like a heartbeat, humming faintly in his hand. The parchment was cold to the touch, with the symbol gleaming crystalline blue.
Gabriel stared at it for a long moment, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips. Then, standing up, he turned toward the far wall.
"Alright then. Let's see what you can do."
He poured a touch of magic into the card and threw it.
Midair, the sigil flared to life, erupting in brilliant blue flame. When it struck the wall, the room shook slightly with the 'thoom' of impact, leaving behind a sheet of ice that shimmered like glass under moonlight.
Gabriel burst out laughing, clutching his sides.
"Completely useless!" he said between chuckles. "The charm alone would've done it faster - and with more control!"
Even so, he turned back to his table, still smiling, to make more of the enchanted cards.
-~=~-
The following day found a grinning Gabriel and a blindfolded Hermione standing on the corridor on the Seventh Floor.
"Gabriel, I swear to Merlin, if this is another prank-"
"It's not, I swear!" he said indignantly, though the twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement. "Don't you trust me?"
"Gabriel…" she warned, her tone that familiar mix of exasperation and suspicion.
He chuckled, moving behind her and gently placing his hands on her shoulders. Then, leaning close enough for his breath to tickle her ear, he whispered, "Hermione, I want you to think about a library."
"A- a library?" she stammered, caught off guard.
"Mhm…" he hummed in confirmation, steering her forward a few steps before turning her around to face the opposite wall. "The best library you can imagine. With every book you've ever wanted to read - the ones from the Restricted Section, the ones Dumbledore keeps locked in his office… even the ones that don't even exist anymore."
She huffed. "Why?"
"Don't ask questions, Mione. Just do what I say." His tone was firm, but playfully so - and to his amused surprise, she only nodded obediently, clearly already lost in thought.
He guided her to pace back and forth along the corridor three times, turning her at each end. On the third pass, the faint rumble of moving stone echoed through the hall - a grinding, mechanical whisper as a door formed before them.
Gabriel grinned.
This door, however, wasn't the one he was used to seeing. Instead of plain wood, it was deep, dark oak, etched with flowing runes and reinforced with bronze bands shaped like vines that shimmered faintly with enchantments. A large knocker in the form of an open book gleamed at eye level, its pages engraved with latin inscriptions.
Gabriel opened it and led her inside.
"You can take the blindfold off now, Mione."
She did - and gasped audibly.
The sight before her stole her breath.
The Room of Requirement had become an impossibly vast library, its walls lost somewhere in an amber haze of candlelight. Towering bookshelves stretched upwards far beyond sight, curving slightly as if following the shape of a massive dome. Floating lanterns drifted gently through the air, illuminating spiraling staircases that wound around the shelves, and bridges of polished mahogany connecting one balcony to another.
At the center, a crystal fountain poured liquid light into a basin carved with runes, the water giving off a gentle, melodic hum, and from it came a silvery mist that covered the room, making it look all the more mystical. The floor was of dark stone veined with silver, reflecting the starlike glow of countless enchanted globes drifting above.
Hermione stood still for a moment, eyes wide, lips parted in wonder.
"Gabriel…" she began, her voice trembling slightly as she turned to look at him - but the moment her gaze flickered back to the shelves, words failed her.
He chuckled softly. "Go on," he said, motioning with a hand. "Explore to your heart's content."
She didn't need to be told twice.
Hermione practically glided through the aisles, her eyes darting everywhere, her fingers brushing reverently over leather spines and gilded titles. "Oh, Merlin - this is the first edition of Hogwarts: A History! And- is that Songs of Avalon? There are only three known copies of that! And - wait - Khremonomicon! That's not even in the Restricted Section-!"
Her voice grew quicker, higher, and more animated with every discovery, and Gabriel couldn't help but smile. He followed her at a lazy pace, hands in his pockets, content to just watch her move through the rows of books like a child in a dream.
By the time she finally stopped, Hermione had gathered a towering stack of tomes on a table at the center of the room. She sat down on it, breathing heavily - her hair wild from excitement, eyes shining with the kind of joy that books alone could bring her.
Gabriel leaned against a shelf nearby, arms crossed, watching her with an amused expression.
"You totally forgot why we came here, didn't you?"
Hermione blinked, looking up at him, and for a second her lips parted as if she was about to argue, before she groaned, head thumping down on the table.
Gabriel snickered.
She looked back at her brows furrowed - and then she exploded once realization settled in.
"Gabriel! You- you've known about this place since last year and didn't tell me?!"
He flinched, taking an instinctive step back as she advanced, gesturing wildly at the towering shelves around them. "This - this sanctuary of knowledge, this literal temple of books, and you - you kept it secret! From me!"
"I had a lot going on!" he protested, hands raised in surrender.
She crossed her arms. "You'd better have the best excuse imaginable."
And, well, he did.
So Gabriel told her.
He told her everything.
He spoke of that strange chill the first time he saw Ginny Weasley on the Express - the feeling, sharp and instinctive, that something inside her wasn't quite right. Of the Halloween night when Luna couldn't find her friend and the blood-red message appeared on the walls, next to a petrified Mrs. Norris. Of Dumbledore's explanation.
He told her about 'debating' with his Mum until he deduced the truth: that the Heir's monster was a Basilisk. Hermione, to her credit, told him that she had reached the same conclusion herself that year, if after things had already been resolved - from linking the way the students had been petrified and the roosters that were spread through Hogwarts.
He spoke of the growing signs that something was wrong with Ginny - the paleness, the disappearances, the growing feeling of wrongness. Of confronting her, of getting the diary, and discovering it was possessed. Of taking it straight to Dumbledore.
And then… of his mother appearing in the Headmaster's office.
Of Dumbledore making him his apprentice.
Of returning home and discovering the impossible: that his "mother" was actually his father - and that his father had once been a woman, who had lived since the times of Ancient Egypt, who had been the apprentice of a legend, who had given her his key to immortality. And she, in turn, had given that key to Gabriel… because the world itself refused to allow his birth and tried to destroy him. And now that she had lost it, her body, mind and soul were in disarray, and she was slowly dying - the years finally catching up to her.
By the time he finished, his words had slowed to a halt. He was sitting on the floor now, legs stretched out, back against a shelf, staring blankly at nothing.
Hermione was sitting beside him - wide-eyed, pale, and utterly speechless.
When she finally spoke, it was in a whisper. "I… I don't even know how to begin to process that."
Gabriel laughed weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Me neither. I've been freaking out since I was told. But…" He tapped the side of his temple. "Occlumency helps me repress it."
"That can't be healthy," she said softly.
"It isn't," he replied simply, his crooked smile not quite reaching his eyes.
She exhaled, then got down on her knees by his side, such that they were almost at eye level - though even then he was taller than she was - and without a word, pulled him into a hug.
He froze for a heartbeat, then melted into it, careful not to crush her with his strength. Her arms were warm around his neck, her heartbeat steady against his chest. She rested her chin on his shoulder, one hand coming up to stroke his hair as he finally let the tears fall - quietly, almost soundlessly.
They stayed like that for a long time.
No words, just the slow rhythm of shared breathing and the faint hum of the enchanted library around them.
When Hermione eventually spoke again, her voice was hesitant. "I think… my own secret feels kind of silly compared to yours."
Gabriel sniffed, chuckling weakly. "As I said before, Mione, I already knew girls poop."
"Oh, you!" She grumbled, and smacked his shoulder.
That earned a real laugh out of him - shaky but genuine.
Then she sighed, reached beneath her shirt, and pulled something out on a thin gold chain.
A delicate hourglass - no larger than a walnut - gleamed faintly in the light, each grain of sand inside shimmering like starlight.
Gabriel's laughter died instantly. He stiffened, eyes widening. "Is that a- a Time-Turner?"
Hermione blinked, startled by the panic in his tone. "Yes, but-"
"Take it off."
"What?"
"Take it off, Hermione." His voice was sharp now - not angry, but afraid.
She frowned. "It's completely safe-"
"There's no such thing as safe time magic," he interrupted, the words trembling.
She tried to explain that Professor McGonagall had given it to her so she could attend all her electives, that it could only go back a few hours, that it wouldn't even work outside Hogwarts grounds.
Gabriel gave a hollow laugh that quickly spiraled into something almost hysterical. "Of course. Of course it wasn't just the Defense Professors who were insane or stupid."
"Gabriel!" she hissed, scandalized. "That's Professor McGonagall you're talking about!"
He reached forward and took both her hands - gently, but with the intensity of someone gripping the edge of a cliff. His expression was desperate. "Please," he said quietly. "Please just… take it off."
Hermione froze at the look in his eyes, then wordlessly slipped the chain from around her neck, carefully placing it on the ground. The moment she did, Gabriel exhaled shakily, his shoulders dropping in relief.
"Thank you," he whispered.
He looked up at her again, eyes tired and red. "You already know everything I'm about to say, but- Hermione, time isn't safe. It's one of the Mysteries - and they're called that for a reason. You mess with it, you get paradoxes, feedback, timeline collapses-" His voice cracked. "People meet their past selves and explode, or start aging backwards until they die as fetuses. Or they get erased - just gone, their face erased from photos, their name stricken from papers, and their friends and family remember that someone existed that isn't there anymore, but can't remember who."
"Gabriel…" She cupped his face between her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Nothing bad is going to happen."
He didn't seem to hear her. His eyes were glassy, his voice small. "My mum's already dying, Hermione. I can't lose you too."
She blinked, lips parting - then, acting on pure instinct, she leaned forward and kissed him.
It wasn't graceful. Their noses bumped, their teeth clinked awkwardly, and it lasted barely more than a heartbeat - but to Gabriel, it felt like the world itself had cracked open, light and warmth bursting through every nerve.
When she pulled away, her face was crimson. "Nothing bad is going to happen," she said firmly, though her voice wavered. "Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore have both used this Time-Turner for years. It's perfectly safe. I'm taking every possible precaution."
Gabriel blinked slowly at her, still dazed, his mind clearly lagging several seconds behind.
"Gabriel?" she asked softly. "Are you- are you alright? I didn't mean to- I mean, I just- I'm sorry for-"
"Can I have another one?" he interrupted.
Hermione froze, staring at him.
Then her eyes darted to his lips.
"Oh," she muttered faintly. "Oh, sod it."
And she kissed him again.