Truth Searching

The next few days after their first meeting passed in a blur of whispered discussions and frantic note-taking. Harry had never met anyone like Hermione before, someone who not only shared his thirst for knowledge but seemed to thrive on it.

Every day, they met at the library, combing through books, searching for anything that could confirm what they already knew in their hearts.

Magic was real.

But so far, every book they had found was a disappointment, and today was no different.

Harry sat across from Hermione at one of the library's wooden tables, flipping through a particularly thick tome titled The Secrets of the Arcane: A Historical Perspective. It sounded promising, but as he scanned the pages, his hopes faded.

"Another one about Merlin," he muttered, slumping slightly.

Hermione let out a frustrated sigh, snapping shut the book she had been reading. "This one was the same—just myths and legends. There's nothing concrete. No actual spells, no explanations, nothing." She frowned. "Why does no one seem to know anything real about magic?"

Harry glanced around before lowering his voice. "Maybe they're not supposed to. If magic is real, then the books wouldn't just give it away."

Hermione considered that, tapping her fingers against the cover of her book. "I suppose that makes sense, but still, it's frustrating."

She leaned back, staring up at the ceiling as if searching for answers in the wooden beams. Harry could tell she wasn't ready to give up, not yet.

Despite the disappointment, they kept reading. Even if the books weren't what they were looking for, neither of them wanted to forget a single word.

Harry closed his book with a quiet thud, exhaling. "At least we're learning something, even if it's not what we wanted."

Hermione nodded, but her lips pressed together in thought. "Yes, but what if we're looking in the wrong places? If magic is hidden, then maybe the people who know about it don't write it in books we can find in a normal library."

That made Harry pause. She was right. If the wizarding world existed, why would it leave traces behind in everyday books?

He sat forward, meeting her gaze. "Then we need to find a different way."

A slow smile spread across Hermione's face. "Exactly."

They left the library together, their conversation continuing as they walked.

"So what do we do now?" Harry asked.

Hermione bit her lip in thought. "Well… if real magical books aren't in normal libraries, then that means there must be places where they are." She hesitated. "Maybe a special bookshop? Or… maybe even people who know about it."

Harry frowned. "But how would we find them? We can't exactly ask someone if they know about magic. They'd think we're mad."

Hermione sighed. "You're right. But that doesn't mean we should stop looking."

They reached the end of the street where they usually parted ways. Hermione adjusted the strap of her book bag, looking determined.

"I'll do some more research when I get home. Maybe there's something we're missing," she said.

Harry nodded. "Me too. We'll figure it out."

Hermione smiled. "Of course we will. See you tomorrow?"

"If the Dursleys aren't back yet."

As she walked away, Harry felt something new settle in his chest, something he hadn't had before.

Companionship.

For the first time, he wasn't alone in this.

As Harry returned to his cupboard, he thought about Hermione's words.

There had to be something more. A place where real magic existed.

And he had a hunch he might know where to start looking.

That night, Harry lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The thin blanket barely kept the cold at bay, but he hardly noticed. His mind was elsewhere.

Hermione was right. They had been looking in the wrong places. If magic was real, if there were people who practiced it, then it wouldn't be hidden in ordinary libraries. It wouldn't be in books that just anyone could find.

Which meant they needed a different approach.

Harry turned onto his side, shutting his eyes. His memories had never failed him before. If there was something he had missed, something important buried in his dreams, he would find it.

He focused, pulling the first dream to the surface of his mind. The one that had started it all.

A street of cobblestone, uneven under his feet. Buildings stacked high, leaning toward one another, their windows glowing with golden light. A hum filled the air, an energy that made his skin tingle. The scent of ink, and something he couldn't quite name.

The entrance had been a key detail. A brick archway, shifting and rearranging itself to reveal the hidden street beyond.

Harry forced himself to slow down, to take in every detail. He had been too stunned the first time, too overwhelmed by the sheer reality of the dream to properly observe his surroundings.

The bricks had a pattern to them. Not just random movement, but something deliberate. A specific section shifts first, almost as if…

His breath hitched.

It had been a sequence. A way to open the entrance.

His pulse quickened. That meant it wasn't just a hidden place, it was protected. There was a method to accessing it, something a regular person wouldn't know.

His dream had given him more than just a glimpse. It had given him a clue.

But there was something else.

As he sifted through the details of his dream, something flickered at the edges of his memory, something he hadn't noticed before.

A sign.

Weathered and worn, hanging just above a doorframe. It swayed slightly as if caught in a breeze Harry couldn't feel. The paint had long since faded, the words erased by time, but the image remained. A cauldron. Blackened with age, yet unmistakable.

His brows furrowed.

It hadn't seemed important before, just another part of the scenery, blending in with the rest of the shops and crooked buildings lining the street. But now, as he focused, he realized it stood apart.

It was near the entrance.

Close enough that it might be more than just a shop. More than just another building.

The thought sent a thrill through him. If the sign had once held words, then it had been meant to be read. And if it was right next to the shifting brick archway, then maybe, just maybe, it was connected.

A hidden entrance. A worn-down sign. A place lost in time.

Harry's fingers curled into the blanket.

He had just found his first landmark.

He sat up slowly, heart hammering. If he could find that sign, if he could recognize the archway, then he could find his way inside.