Rewritten Magic: The Chronicles of Harris Wells ( A HP Fanfic)

The fire in Elara Vayne's office flickered restlessly.

Books lined every wall, and enchanted maps shimmered faintly above her desk, detailing layers of Hogwarts others had long forgotten. But her gaze wasn't on the fire or the maps. It was fixed on a single page of parchment, now blackened at the edges, as if scorched by magic.

She had found it in her desk drawer this morning, though she hadn't placed it there.

One word had been inked across the center in a language long dead.

Nemorath.

Her heart sank when she saw it.

Not because she didn't know what it meant, she did.

Because she knew exactly what it meant.

A knock echoed at her door. Three sharp raps.

"Enter," she called.

It opened to reveal the last person she expected to see at this hour.

"Albus," she said.

Dumbledore stepped inside, his blue robes glittering faintly with starlight, as if he'd been walking beneath the night sky.

"You felt it too," she said quietly.

He nodded, his eyes losing their usual sparkle. "Something has stirred in the deep. Something that should not have been touched."

Elara rose, walking to a tall bookcase. She ran her fingers across the spines before drawing out a narrow, rune-covered tome, Wards of the Wyrm Deep.

She placed it gently on the table and opened it to a bookmarked page. A circular symbol almost identical to the one Harris had stood upon earlier was drawn in faded ink.

"This seal," she said, voice calm but firm, "was never meant to be disturbed. Not by children. Not by anyone."

Dumbledore sighed. "You believe it was the Codex?"

She nodded. "There's no other way they could have found the chamber. The Codex of Avalon doesn't simply reveal knowledge. It tests the wielder. And I fear our young Mr. Wells has passed a trial he wasn't yet prepared for."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The fire crackled.

Then Dumbledore asked, "What was sealed there, Elara?"

Elara closed the book with a soft thud.

"It was once called the Shroudborn. A creature born not of flesh, but of ancient magic twisted by fear and time. It was trapped there during the Founders' era, bound by enchantments drawn from blood, memory, and phoenix fire."

She glanced toward the window, where the stars blinked coldly above the Forbidden Forest.

"If that thing truly wakes…" she whispered, "…it won't stop with just the castle."

Dumbledore turned to leave, but paused at the door.

"Can it be stopped?"

Elara looked down at the scorched parchment. The name still pulsed faintly.

"I don't know," she said. "But I suspect Harris might."

When the door shut behind him, Elara moved to her cabinet and drew out an old wand, older than her teaching years, older even than her time as a Curse-Breaker.

It was wrapped in dragonhide and etched with runes she hoped never to use again.

"We may not have a choice," she said softly to herself.

Outside, the castle groaned.

And somewhere beneath it, something moved.