Hogwarts' Secrets [Tatiana]

[Tatiana Beautero]

Tatiana sucked in a quiet breath as the chamber lurched and rejected Burial, her hand snapping out instinctively to steady herself against the wall. The cold, watching sensation prickled along her spine, and for a moment she didn’t move—just listened to the stone settle, to the silence returning in careful increments.“…Merlin,” she murmured, then let out a breath that was half laugh, half awe. Her eyes flicked back to the runes, lingering on Truth now seated at the bottom, and something in her expression sharpened; not fear, but respect. “Alright,” she said softly. “Message received. This place doesn’t end stories. It preserves them.”

She stepped closer to Derek again, voice lowered, excitement tempered now by a deliberate calm. “That reaction...” she gestured faintly to where Burial had been rejected, “...that wasn’t a trap. It was a refusal. Like the room itself disagreed with us.” As the passage revealed itself, she leaned forward slightly, peering down the sloping stairs without crossing the threshold. The scent hit her next, and her lips curved with something like reverence. “Parchment,” she echoed. “Untouched history. Not curated. Not edited.” Her gaze slid to Derek, eyes bright but cautious. “They didn’t hide this to keep it safe,” she said. “They hid it to keep it honest.”

She adjusted her grip on her wand, not raising it yet. Not rushing. “We passed the first test because we listened instead of forcing it,” she added quietly. “So let’s not ruin their faith in us now.” A beat; then a small, excited smirk slipped through. “But Derek… if this is what they buried beneath the library, I can’t imagine what Hogwarts didn’t want remembered.” Tati nodded toward the stairs. “After you. I’ll watch the walls.”

[Derek Cross]

"It was a like when a professor smacks your hand for giving the wrong answer that you should have known," Derek said to how the room reacted to the wrong choice, "It wanted us to still get it right. Which means if anyone had come down here... I wonder how many times you could get it wrong before something more drastic happens. Luckily, I brought you along," he smirked at her, "Two heads are better than one."

At what she surmised about them keeping it hidden, nodding in agreement, then looking down, "It might not be that they didn't want it remembered... we just forgot to come looking," he said, looking down the stairs, "Maybe," he tacked on quickly. He nodded in agreement on going first, planning on it anyway, so that he could still take the brunt of anything that did happen. He went slowly, testing each step before going down, but it seemed the puzzles had come to an end as the stairs opened into a large chamber glowing a soft blue, with strange luminescent stones scattered around. But beyond that, there were shelves of books, piles of parchment, artifacts tucked in alcoves, and a central dais with runes written around the exterior. As he stepped into the room, cautiously, there was a ripple in the air.

Then, much like the rest of Hogwarts, a spirit came floating up out of the center of the dais. He looked as tangible as the rest of them, but he was ancient-looking, crooked, leaning on a cane, even though he and the cane were floating, staring down a hawk-like nose at them, peering through spectacles at them.

"Well! It's about time," he grouched.

[Tatiana Beautero]

Tatiana followed a step behind Derek, every instinct buzzing as the stairs opened into the chamber—and then she stopped short. “Oh,” she breathed. It wasn’t fear that rooted her in place, but sheer magnitude. Her eyes moved slowly, almost reverently, over the glowing stones, the shelves bowing under the weight of forgotten knowledge, the careless stacks of parchment that looked one wrong breath away from crumbling into dust. This wasn’t a room so much as a confession Hogwarts had been holding for centuries. “This isn’t…” She swallowed, trying again. “This isn’t just a cache.”

Her heart hammered as she took another step in, senses overloaded. It felt old in a way the castle itself rarely did—older than pride, older than politics. Important in a way that didn’t need explanation to be understood. Then the air rippled. Tatiana jumped, a sharp gasp escaping her as the spirit rose from the dais. Her wand came halfway up on instinct before she caught herself, shoulders stiff, eyes wide as the ancient figure took shape. The grouchy declaration earned him a stunned blink, then a quiet, incredulous laugh she hadn’t quite meant to let out. “Right,” she muttered under her breath. “Of course there’s a ghost.”

She lowered her wand fully and immediately looked to Derek, stepping just slightly closer to his side; not hiding, but anchoring. Her voice dropped, awed and a little overwhelmed. “Derek,” she whispered, eyes never leaving the spirit, “please tell me you read something...anything...that explains why Hogwarts has an ancient spectral archivist glaring at us like we’re late for detention.” Tati drew in a steadying breath, composure settling back into place as she straightened. If this room demanded patience, then so did its guardian. Aloud now, careful but respectful, she inclined her head toward the spirit. “I… apologize if we’re intruding,” she said honestly. “We didn’t come looking for trouble.”

A pause; then, unable to help herself, wonder crept into her tone. “But whatever this place is… it feels like it’s been waiting.”

[Derek Cross]

The spirit looked at her and gave a click of his tongue, "Put your wand down, girl," he grouched, "No one comes down here looking for trouble. Though no one really comes looking down here. Did I hide the door that well, really?" he gave a huff of a laugh.

"Were you actually waiting on us to find it?" Derek asked him, still rather awestruck himself, "As for what I wish I could tell you, no. There were only speculations about what was down here," he said, shaking his head, "Who are you?"

The spirit pursed their lips in annoyance before answering in a croak, "I don't know."

Derek's brows rose, "Oh. Do you know how you got down here?"

"I was one of the ones who made this room. It was always meant to preserve information of the world, so that no matter the ebb or tide of favor or power, the truth would always remain," they said, "But in an effort to preserve the texts... the last thing I can remember was the spell preserving me as well," he shook his head, "I was old. Obviously," they looked down at themselves, "My mistake only cost me, and none of the young students who helped me in this venture. But I did not expect them to never return," he sounded a little sad at that.

"If you can remember who helped make it, what made you forget who you are?"

"I did not write it down anywhere. And after so long, with no one to say it, I forgot."

"Well... that's depressing." Derek looked over at Tatiana, "Are we allowed to look around?"

"Did I not just say that was the point?"

Derek held up his hands in apology, "Looking around then."

[Tatiana Beautero]

Tatiana stayed quiet as the exchange unfolded, lowering her wand fully at the spirit’s sharp instruction and keeping it there. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush to fill the silences—this room deserved to be listened to first. Her gaze moved slowly between the ghost and the chamber itself, absorbing the weight of what was being said. A place meant to preserve truth. So thoroughly preserved that even its keeper had been lost to it.

The sadness in the spirit’s voice settled uncomfortably in her chest, and she found herself clasping her free hand at her wrist, grounding herself while the enormity of it all sank in. She flicked a brief glance at Derek when he looked to her, offering a small, understanding nod; this is bigger than either of us,before returning her attention to the room. When the spirit gave his brusque permission, Tatiana didn’t move right away. Instead, she took a careful step forward, almost reverent, as if crossing into a chapel rather than a hidden archive.

“Careful,” she murmured softly to Derek, more reminder than warning. She began at the nearest shelf, not touching at first: just reading spines, scanning labels, eyes widening incrementally as she realized how unfiltered the information seemed. When she did reach out, it was with two fingers, barely brushing the edge of a parchment as though testing whether the room itself would object.

“No wards triggered,” she whispered, mostly to herself. She moved slowly, deliberately, mindful of every step and every breath, cataloging rather than collecting, observing rather than handling. Whatever this place was, it wasn’t meant to be disturbed—only witnessed. After a moment, she glanced back toward the dais and the spirit, voice quiet but sincere. “Thank you,” she said simply. Not for permission—but for trust. Then, with renewed care, she turned back to the shelves, awe written plainly across her features as she continued to explore, one cautious discovery at a time.

[Derek Cross]

Derek nodded to the reminder. "Had a few too many mistakes with not doing that," he said as he started walking around the room. "Did you do all the enchantments?" he asked the spirit, looking over the texts.

"I didn't. I had help from fellows. We were establishing this room as the center of a school. That way, ancient materials would never come apart. So we'd never lose the real history," he explained.

As Derek passed the dais where the spirit hovered, he realized that its center was a pool of water. The whole thing was just like it was meant to be, a typical mystical appearance. Which fit the idea that this room was meant for student use. He then noted the runes around the based ot it, etched into the black marble surface.

Curious about everything, it was hard to pick where to go, but he spotted a table of scrolls along the back table, "So everything in here is preserved... meaning we won't damage it opening it."

"Correct."

"Miss Beautero, this is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of find," Derek breathed in wonder before starting to carefully open some of the scrolls. "It's got details about the materials needed to build the school," he held it up toward her, giving an amazed kind of laugh.

"You'll find information about the founders, the schools, the ideologies, the world at the time, and notable figures in our history," the ghost explained.

On Tati's side of the room, she'd find another pile of scrolls that hadn't been sorted, and looked like they'd actually been dropped at some point; she'd also find one that stood out. One with a crimson ribbon sealed at the crosspoint with a wax seal bearing an intricate V in the center. In it, she'd find a contract written up by someone with the last name Valtoris that would have some Professor Hathaway being bound to the crypt upon being sealed inside. Whether Hathaway had signed so willingly was unclear; only his name was written in what could be assumed to be blood at the bottom. He either was desperate to protect the information, or he'd been sacrificed for that reason. It did say that he could actually hurt anyone in the crypt if they transgressed the rules.

[Tatiana Beautero]

Tatiana moved much the same way Derek did: slow, deliberate, eyes everywhere; but her attention fractured the moment she noticed the unsorted scrolls. Disorder stood out down here like a raised voice in a cathedral. She crouched beside them, carefully straightening one, then another, her fingers pausing when the crimson ribbon caught the light. Her breath stilled. The wax seal—that mark—made her stomach drop before she’d even broken it. She glanced once toward the spirit, then back to the scroll, and with a care that bordered on reverence, eased it open.

She read. And then she didn’t read anything else. The room seemed to recede around her, the blue glow dulling as the words burned themselves into her mind. Bound. Sealed. Protector. The name at the bottom written, not signed; made her throat tighten painfully. Blood didn’t lie. Blood didn’t leave room for interpretation. Tatiana sat back on her heels, scroll still open in her hands, fingers trembling despite her effort to still them. “Oh,” she whispered, the sound barely there. Not discovery, understanding.

She looked up at the spirit then, really looked at him, the crooked posture, the cane he didn’t need, the irritation masking something far older and sadder. Her eyes softened, glassy with emotion she didn’t yet let spill. When she turned to Derek, it was instinctive; seeking him the way one does when something is too heavy to hold alone. She held the scroll out slightly, not yet offering it, just… acknowledging it. “Derek,” she said quietly. “This wasn’t just preservation.” Her gaze dropped back to the contract, thumb brushing the edge of the parchment without daring to touch the ink again. “Someone paid for this place. Not with magic. With themselves.”

For a long moment, she didn’t move. Didn’t explore further. Couldn’t. Finally, she carefully re-rolled the scroll and set it back exactly where she’d found it, as though misplacing it would somehow deepen the injustice. She rose slowly, swallowing hard, and folded her arms around herself; not for warmth, but composure. “I don’t think,” she said softly, eyes still on the dais, “that he was meant to be remembered as a ghost.” It wasn’t an accusation. It was grief. Only after a beat did she draw a steadying breath and nod faintly to Derek, silently telling him she was alright; just… changed by what she’d seen.

[Derek Cross]

Derek was in the middle of reading something about how they were deciding who to go with to help gather the materials when she came over. He looked at what she was showing him, half reading it to himself. His brow rose with understanding, hitting him, "Oh. That would explain a lot," he murmured, looking around the room, "This room is all but frozen in time, which is probably... stay over there," he said as she was returning the scroll.

He stopped at the edge of the dais. "Can I come up?" He asked the spirit.

"What for?"

"Just want to look in the water, Professor Hathaway," he said, using the name that was on the scroll.

The spirit started in surprise, "Heavens be... when was the last time someone said that name...?" he sounded wistful.

Testing his luck, Derek put his foot on the dais. When nothing happened, he stepped all the way up and walked slowly over to the edge of the pool of water, and looked down. "Yeah... That's what I thought," he murmured, seeing the bones at the bottom of the pool. Frozen at the moment, he'd had enough. He moved back from the dais, putting his hands on his sides as he looked at the runes at the bottom of the dais, "He knew he was bound to the room," he murmured, "And made his sacrifice worth it."

"Without me to keep an eye on things, someone would ruin the books." A line repeated to convince himself he was doing what was right. That his death meant something.