The morning sunlight streaming through the tall windows of the Charms classroom felt like a personal affront to Chris. His eyes, already stinging from lack of sleep, narrowed against the brightness as he stifled a yawn behind his hand. The riddle of the stone lion had kept him awake long after he'd returned to his dormitory, its words echoing in his mind with maddening persistence. "Seek the sun beneath the crest, where burning heart may pass the test." He'd tried fire in every form he could conjure, yet the stone had remained obstinately unresponsive, its ruby eyes seeming to mock his efforts.
"Mr. Emrys, are you finding the ceiling particularly fascinating today?" Professor Flitwick's voice, high and squeaky but sharp with gentle reprimand, cut through his thoughts.
Chris straightened in his seat, realizing he'd been staring blankly upward while lost in contemplation. "No, Professor. Sorry, Professor."
"Quite all right, my boy, but do try to keep your attention earthbound. Today's charm requires precision." The diminutive professor stood atop his usual stack of books, his wand tracing elegant patterns in the air. "Now, as I was saying, the Lumos Solem charm represents an advancement of the basic illumination spell you mastered in your first year."
Susan nudged Chris from her seat beside him. "Late night in the library again?" she whispered, her expression a mixture of concern and amusement.
"Something like that," he murmured back, forcing himself to focus on Flitwick's demonstration.
The professor was now creating a ball of light at the tip of his wand, similar to the standard Lumos charm but with a distinctly different quality. While Lumos produced a cool, bluish-white glow, this light burned with the warm, golden intensity of natural sunlight.
"Unlike the basic Lumos," Flitwick continued, "Lumos Solem generates true magical sunlight. The incantation must be delivered with particular emphasis on the second word, Lu-mos SO-lem." He demonstrated again, and this time the light intensified dramatically, casting sharp shadows across the classroom and causing several students to shield their eyes. "The wand movement is a simple forward thrust, followed by a small upward flick, as though you are casting the light into the sky."
Hannah raised her hand. "Professor, what's the practical application for magical sunlight?"
"Excellent question, Miss Abbott!" Flitwick beamed. "Magical sunlight has several important uses. It can repel certain dark creatures that shun daylight. It provides perfect illumination in the darkest environments. Some rare plants respond only to this specific magical frequency of light. And, in sufficient concentration, it generates enough heat to be felt as a burning sensation, useful for warming charms in extreme cold."
Chris's attention snapped fully into place at the word "burning." Something stirred in the back of his mind, a connection forming but not yet complete.
"Now then, everyone partner up!" Flitwick clapped his small hands together. "Take turns casting the charm while your partner observes your technique. Remember, pronunciation and wand movement must work in harmony!"
The classroom filled with the sound of students practicing the new incantation, scattered beams of golden light shooting in various directions. Some produced only a faint glow, while others managed impressive flashes that momentarily turned the classroom as bright as noon in summer.
Chris paired with Susan, his movements mechanical as his mind continued to process the niggling thought that had taken root. When his turn came to cast, he raised his wand, focused his concentration, and spoke the words with careful precision.
"Lumos Solem!"
The light that burst from his wand was startlingly powerful, a concentrated beam of pure sunlight that struck the wall with such intensity that it left a momentary afterimage when he ended the spell. Several nearby students turned to look, and Professor Flitwick gave an appreciative squeak.
"Splendid work, Mr. Emrys! See how the light maintains its properties even at a distance, true magical sunlight rather than mere illumination!"
Chris stared at his wand, the missing piece suddenly clicking into place with such clarity that he nearly gasped aloud. Sunlight. The riddle wasn't asking for fire, it was asking for sunlight!
"Seek the sun beneath the crest," he whispered to himself, the words taking on new meaning. The crest needed sunlight directed at its underside, not fire applied to its surface. And "burning heart" – it wasn't a test of courage as he'd assumed, but a reference to the intensity needed in the spell, the power required to generate magical sunlight strong enough to be felt as burning.
"Chris?" Susan's voice sounded far away. "You've gone all strange. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he replied, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. "Better than fine."
For the remainder of the class, Chris could barely contain his impatience. He practiced the spell over and over, each time refining his technique, strengthening the intensity of the light he produced. By the end of the lesson, his version of Lumos Solem was creating a beam so concentrated that Professor Flitwick advised him to be careful where he aimed it.
"Magic of this brightness can damage the eyes if directed improperly," the professor cautioned, though his expression showed clear pride in his student's achievement. "Most impressive progress, Mr. Emrys. Ten points to Hufflepuff for exceptional spellwork!"
When the bell finally rang, Chris packed his bag with unusual haste, his mind already racing ahead to the abandoned classroom on the third floor. The stone lion waited there, its ruby eyes holding secrets he now believed he could unlock.
"What's the rush?" Hannah asked as he nearly knocked over an inkwell in his hurry. "I've never seen anyone so excited to get to History of Magic."
"I just remembered something I need to check in the library," Chris replied, the half-truth coming easily. "A reference for that essay on the International Statute of Secrecy."
Susan raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "That essay isn't due for two weeks."
"Better to start early," Chris said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Save me a seat? I won't be long."
He was out the door before either of them could respond, his pace quickening as he headed not toward the library, but up the moving staircases toward the third floor. The stone lion had kept its secret for centuries; it would only have to wait a few minutes more.
Chris took the stairs two at a time, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor as he raced toward the third floor. His exhaustion from the previous night had vanished, replaced by a surge of adrenaline that made his fingers tingle with anticipation. The answer had been so obvious once Flitwick explained the properties of magical sunlight. "Seek the sun beneath the crest", not fire applied to the stone surface, but concentrated sunlight directed at the area beneath the lion. History of Magic could wait; a millennium-old secret could not.
The corridor stretched before him, deserted during class hours. Still, caution had become second nature. He paused at the corner, activating his silver bracelet with a subtle gesture. The HUD flickered to life against his palm, confirming what his senses already told him, the hallway was empty, no wandering prefects or professors to witness his truancy.
When he reached the abandoned classroom, the door creaked in protest as he pushed it open, dust motes dancing in the shaft of light from the corridor. He closed it firmly behind him, casting a quick silencing charm to ensure any noise wouldn't carry. The room looked exactly as he'd left it the night before, ancient desks pushed against walls, the blackboard's faded diagrams barely visible in the gloom.
"Lumos," he murmured, illuminating the tip of his wand with standard light before approaching the tapestry that concealed his discovery.
The tattered fabric came away easily, revealing the stone lion crest that had frustrated him for hours the previous night. In the wandlight, the ruby eyes gleamed with what now seemed like anticipation rather than mockery. Chris studied the carving with new understanding, noting details he'd overlooked in his exhaustion. The lion's head was positioned at a slight downward angle, its gaze directed toward the floor beneath the crest. The very pose of the beast seemed to be guiding him, pointing to the area where the "sun" should be directed.
"Of course," he whispered, a smile tugging at his lips. "You've been telling me all along, haven't you?"
He took a step back, positioning himself at the optimal distance for the spell. The standard Lumos still glowed at his wandtip, but it would be woefully inadequate for what he now understood was required. With a flick of his wrist, he extinguished it, plunging the room into near-darkness broken only by the thin shafts of light filtering through the grimy windows.
Chris raised his wand, focusing his concentration on the area directly beneath the stone lion. His heart raced with anticipation, but his hand remained steady, his stance grounded and confident. This was it, the moment when centuries of secrecy would yield to his persistence.
"Lumos Solem!"
The incantation left his lips with perfect pronunciation, the wand movement executed with the same precision that had earned Professor Flitwick's praise. A beam of brilliant golden light, as concentrated and intense as true summer sunlight, shot from his wand and struck the wall exactly where the stone lion's gaze seemed to direct.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the light began to behave in a way that defied natural physics. Instead of reflecting off the stone, it seemed to sink into it, absorbed by the ancient wall as though the masonry was drinking in the magical sunlight. The beam maintained its connection between his wand and the wall, creating a tether of pure light.
The ruby eyes of the lion suddenly flared to life, no longer merely reflecting his wandlight but generating their own inner fire. They pulsed once, twice, three times, each beat stronger than the last, until they blazed with an intensity that cast the entire carving in blood-red illumination.
A low rumble began somewhere deep within the wall, a sound Chris felt in his bones more than heard with his ears. The strange symbols around the circular border of the crest began to glow with golden light, one after another, igniting in a clockwise pattern until the entire rim was illuminated. The stone lion itself seemed to shift subtly, the carved mane rippling as though stirred by an unfelt breeze.
Then came the grinding of stone against stone, a sound that crescendoed from a whisper to a groaning roar. The lion's mouth, previously a snarling but static carving, began to move. The stone jaws parted slowly, revealing darkness beyond. The movement continued, the mouth opening wider and wider until it formed a perfect circular opening large enough for a person to step through.
Chris ended the spell, lowering his wand with a hand that trembled slightly from exertion and excitement. The sunbeam vanished, but the transformation remained. Where solid wall had stood moments before, there now gaped a dark passageway, perfectly round, lined with smooth stone that gleamed with an inner luminescence that lit the way.
A cool draft flowed from the opening, carrying the scent of ancient stone and stale air long undisturbed. It whispered against his face like the breath of centuries, an invitation from the distant past.
"Godric's Chamber," Chris murmured, satisfaction flooding through him. The feeling of accomplishment was intoxicating, a riddle that had remained unsolved for a millennium, yielding to his persistence and insight.
He approached the opening cautiously, illuminating his wand once more with a standard Lumos to peer into the passage. Stone steps spiralled downward, disappearing into darkness beyond the reach of his light. The walls of the passage were lined with the same strange symbols that had adorned the crest's border, now glowing faintly with their own inner light.
Logic suggested caution – returning to his dormitory to collect his notes, perhaps even waiting until nightfall when his absence wouldn't be noted. History of Magic had already begun, and his unexplained absence would raise questions. Susan and Hannah would wonder where he was.
But the pull of discovery was too strong to resist. The chamber had waited a thousand years; he couldn't bring himself to make it wait even a few more hours.
With a final glance back at the classroom, Chris stepped through the lion's mouth and onto the first stone step. The moment both feet crossed the threshold, the grinding sound resumed behind him. He turned to watch as the stone jaws slowly closed, sealing him inside the passage with a finality that might have terrified someone less determined.
Instead, he felt only exhilaration as he began his descent into the secrets of Godric Gryffindor.
The spiral staircase descended deeper into the castle than Chris had anticipated, curving downward in a tight coil that suggested he was well below the dungeons by the time the steps finally ended. His wandlight cast elongated shadows against the smooth stone walls, revealing more of the strange symbols he'd seen around the lion crest, their faint luminescence creating an eerie blue pathway in the darkness. The air grew cooler with each step, carrying the weight of centuries, yet remained surprisingly fresh, as though some ancient ventilation charm still functioned perfectly after a thousand years.
The staircase terminated in a perfectly circular chamber, its walls bare stone with no visible exit other than the passage he'd just traversed. The room was perhaps twenty feet in diameter, with a ceiling that arched overhead like the inside of a dome. At its center stood a simple stone pedestal, unadorned except for a single engraved phrase in Old English that Chris easily translated as, "Courage is not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it."
"The trial of courage," he murmured to himself, approaching the pedestal cautiously. He'd expected some form of test, but the empty chamber offered no clue as to what form it might take.
When his fingers made contact with the cold stone of the pedestal, the chamber transformed instantly. The solid walls around him dissolved like mist, the pedestal vanishing beneath his touch. For a moment, disorientation gripped him, then his surroundings solidified into something entirely unexpected.
Sunlight. Warm, golden sunlight filtering through the leaves of an oak tree. The scent of freshly cut grass and wildflowers filled his nostrils, and beneath his feet was not stone but soft earth covered in lush green. Children's laughter rang out, the sound so achingly familiar that his heart seemed to stutter in his chest.
"Daddy! Watch this!"
A little girl with chestnut hair and his own sapphire eyes ran across the park, her small hands clutching a kite that dipped and soared in the summer breeze. Her face was alight with pure joy, her laughter like silver bells. Not far behind her, a boy of seven chased after her, his dark hair windswept, calling out for his turn with the toy.
Chris felt his knees weaken. He knew this day. This perfect, golden day in the park with his children, just three months before…
The sky darkened suddenly, the sunshine replaced by the glare of headlights. The children's laughter transformed into screams that tore through his soul. There was a screech of tires, a sickening impact, and then silence, absolute, devastating silence broken only by the distant wail of approaching sirens.
Chris fell to his knees, a cry of anguish ripping from his throat. This wasn't just an illusion; it was his memory, the moment that had shattered his previous life. The park flickered around him, alternating between the sunshine of the happy memory and the dark horror of what came after. He pressed his palms against his temples, trying to block out the sounds, but they were inside his head, inescapable.
"Stop," he whispered, then louder: "Stop!"
But the illusion continued, relentless in its cruel precision. He saw himself kneeling on wet asphalt, cradling small, broken bodies. He felt again the howling emptiness that had opened within him, a void so vast it had consumed everything he was or ever hoped to be. The helplessness. The rage against fate. The knowledge that he had failed in the most fundamental duty of a parent, to protect.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the nightmare receded. The park returned, but altered, the colours muted, the edges blurred, as though viewed through a veil of tears. The children stood before him now, silent and solemn, their forms translucent in the strange half-light.
Chris struggled to his feet, his face wet with tears he hadn't realized he was shedding. This was the test, he understood now. Not a battle against some magical creature or a puzzle requiring clever solution, but something far more devastating, the courage to face his greatest pain.
He could turn away. Could close his eyes, deny the illusion, reject the memory. Part of him longed to do exactly that, to flee back up the spiral staircase and never return. But another part, the part that had carried him through the darkness after their deaths, recognized the purpose of this trial.
"Emily," he said softly, looking at his daughter's ghostly form. "James." His voice broke on his son's name. "I miss you. Every day, every moment, I miss you."
The children didn't speak, but their eyes, so real, so like they had been in life, watched him with impossible understanding.
"I couldn't save you," Chris continued, forcing the words past the knot in his throat. "I would have given anything, everything, to take your place. And when I couldn't bear it anymore, I..." He couldn't finish, the memory of his final desperate act in his previous life too painful to articulate.
He took a step forward, then another, closing the distance between himself and the spectral forms of his children. They didn't retreat, didn't fade, but remained watching him with those solemn eyes that seemed to hold wisdom far beyond their years.
"I was given another chance," he said, his voice steadier now. "A new life. And I've been so focused on power, on knowledge, on changing things... but the truth is, nothing I do will bring you back."
The admission cost him dearly, the words torn from the deepest part of his soul. Yet speaking them aloud seemed to release something that had been tightly bound within him.
"I love you both, more than I can ever express. And I accept that you're gone." His voice caught, but he pressed on. "I will live this second life well. I will help others. I will make a difference. And I will carry you with me, always."
As he spoke the final words, he reached out, his fingers passing through the insubstantial forms of his children. They smiled, sad, sweet smiles that broke his heart anew even as they began to fade like morning mist beneath a strengthening sun.
The park dissolved around him, returning to the bare stone chamber. But Chris was no longer alone. Standing before him was the figure of a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with a lion's mane of russet hair and a beard to match. He wore robes of deep crimson, embroidered with gold thread that caught the light as he moved. Though semi-transparent, there was no mistaking the presence that radiated from him.
"Godric Gryffindor," Chris breathed, recognition immediate despite the centuries that separated them from any portrait or description.
The apparition inclined its head in acknowledgment. When it spoke, its voice was deep and resonant, filling the chamber with sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
"Many have sought my chamber," Gryffindor said, his accent ancient but his words perfectly clear. "Few have found the entrance. Fewer still have faced my trial. Most who reach this point expect a test of physical bravery, a duel, perhaps, or some fearsome beast to overcome."
The ghostly figure took a step closer, its penetrating gaze seeming to look through Chris rather than at him.
"True courage lies not in fearlessness, but in feeling fear and acting in spite of it. Not in denying pain, but in accepting it and continuing forward." Gryffindor's expression was solemn but not unkind. "You were offered the chance to turn away from your greatest suffering. Instead, you faced it willingly, acknowledged its reality, and chose to honor it rather than escape it."
The chamber seemed to pulse once with golden light that emanated from the apparition itself.
"You have proven your courage, seeker, and passed my trial. The Chamber of Godric Gryffindor is open to you."
As the words echoed through the stone room, the apparition of Gryffindor began to fade, its form becoming increasingly transparent until only a lingering golden glow remained where it had stood. In the space behind it, a doorway had appeared in the previously solid wall – an arch of red stone, carved with lions and phoenixes, standing open like an invitation to secrets hidden for a millennium.
Chris stood for a moment at the threshold of the red stone archway, his heart still raw from the trial he'd endured. Tears had dried on his cheeks, but the emotional aftermath lingered, a strange mixture of pain and release that left him feeling both hollowed out and somehow lighter. He drew a deep breath, composed himself, and stepped forward into the space beyond. Whatever secrets Godric Gryffindor had deemed worth protecting with such a personal test, Chris was now deemed worthy to discover them.
His first step across the threshold triggered another transformation, though gentler than the illusion of the trial. The bare stone corridor before him shimmered like heat rising from summer pavement, its outlines blurring before resolving into something entirely different. The magic felt ancient but elegant, like watching master craftsmanship unfold in real time.
What emerged from the magical mist was a chamber that embodied everything the name Godric Gryffindor had come to represent over the centuries. The circular room expanded far beyond what should have been physically possible within the castle's architecture, stretching perhaps forty feet in diameter with a domed ceiling that soared upward into shadows. The walls were covered in rich crimson hangings embroidered with gold thread, depicting scenes of magical duels, dragon hunts, and what appeared to be the founding of Hogwarts itself, four figures standing upon a hilltop, their wands raised toward a castle taking shape in the distance.
Braziers of hammered gold stood at intervals around the perimeter, each burning with flames that cast no smoke yet illuminated the chamber with warm, flickering light. Between them, glass-fronted cabinets displayed artifacts that made Chris's breath catch: a set of dueling gauntlets that still hummed with protective enchantments; a battle-worn shield bearing the Gryffindor crest; crystalline vials containing swirling substances that might have been memories, potions, or something else entirely.
The floor beneath his feet was polished red granite inlaid with a massive golden mosaic of a lion in mid-roar, its mane flowing outward in stylized rays that reached toward the walls like sunbeams. And at the precise center of this artistic masterpiece, atop a simple pedestal of white marble, rested a single book.
Chris approached it slowly, his footsteps echoing in the hushed chamber. Each step closer revealed more details of the tome waiting on its marble throne. It was larger than a standard textbook, perhaps fourteen inches tall by ten wide, and several inches thick. The cover was bound in deep crimson leather that showed the patina of extreme age yet remained supple and unmarred by cracks or tears, preserved, undoubtedly, by powerful magic. Set into the cover was a raised emblem of a lion fashioned from gold, its eyes two perfect rubies that caught the light from the braziers and seemed to follow Chris as he moved.
This, then, was Godric Gryffindor's personal Grimoire, perhaps the most significant magical text no living wizard had seen in a millennium. Its pages would contain spells, potions, and magical theories crafted by one of the greatest wizards in history, knowledge that had been lost to time until this moment. Chris felt the weight of historical significance as he circled the pedestal, hardly daring to believe what stood before him.
The book emanated a subtle magical aura, a faint shimmer in the air around it that suggested layers of protective enchantments. Yet there were no obvious locks or seals, no warnings inscribed on the pedestal. The Grimoire waited, seemingly unguarded after the trial that had protected it, as though the book itself would decide whether to accept or reject whoever sought its knowledge.
"The trial was the true protection," Chris murmured to himself, understanding dawning. "Not to keep people out, but to ensure only the worthy could access what's inside."
He had a sudden mental image of the Founder himself standing in this very spot centuries ago, casting the final enchantments on his legacy, ensuring that only those who demonstrated true courage, not just bravado or physical fearlessness, but the deeper courage to face one's greatest pain, would be granted access to his most precious magical knowledge.
For a moment, Chris simply stood in quiet appreciation of Godric's wisdom. A lesser wizard might have protected his secrets with deadly traps or creatures to be defeated. Instead, Gryffindor had designed a test that ensured his knowledge would pass only to those with the emotional strength to use it responsibly.
With reverence bordering on solemnity, Chris reached out and placed his hand on the Grimoire's cover. The leather felt warm beneath his palm, almost alive with contained magic. For a moment, nothing happened, then he felt a gentle pulse, like a single heartbeat resonating through the book into his hand. The ruby eyes of the golden lion flashed once, and the subtle magical aura surrounding the Grimoire shifted, opening like a flower to welcome rather than ward.
The book had accepted him.
Chris let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. His fingers traced the edges of the cover, feeling the perfect craftsmanship, before carefully grasping it to open the Grimoire. The cover yielded without resistance, falling open to reveal parchment that should have been brittle with age but instead remained perfect, as though the ink had dried mere days ago rather than centuries.
The first page bore a simple inscription in a bold, flowing hand:
"To the seeker who has proven their heart equal to their curiosity, I offer the knowledge of a lifetime. Use it with wisdom, with purpose, and always with courage.
- Godric Gryffindor"
Below the inscription was the beginning of what appeared to be a treatise on magical theory unlike anything taught at modern Hogwarts. The text spoke of magic not as a tool to be wielded but as a partnership to be nurtured, of spells as conversations rather than commands, of power drawn not just from incantation and wand movement but from the very essence of the caster's being.
Chris turned the page, and then another, each revelation more fascinating than the last. Time seemed to lose meaning as he stood there, absorbed in the words of a wizard who had helped shape the magical world a thousand years ago. In these pages lay not just spells and potions, but an entirely different approach to magic itself, one that had been lost to time until this moment.
And now it was his to learn, to master, and perhaps someday, to share.