The morning dawned bright and cold over the Fisherfield wilderness, the frost-covered ground shimmering under the weak sunlight. Hermione stood at the edge of their camp, adjusting the straps of her bag as she prepared for the day ahead. Her breath formed small clouds in the crisp air, but she barely noticed. Her mind was focused on the task at hand—the search for her family’s anchor stone.

  The tome from Gringotts had provided clues, pointing her to this remote corner of Scotnd, where ancient magic lingered in the shadows of the Munros. It was here, beneath the winter solstice sky, that the path to the anchor stone would be revealed. She could feel the magic pulling her forward, a faint hum at the edge of her senses that grew stronger with every step closer to their destination.

  "Are you ready for this?" Dan asked, his voice steady but ced with concern. He adjusted his own pack, his sharp eyes scanning the rugged ndscape ahead.

  Hermione nodded, gripping her wand tightly. "I’m ready," she said, her voice firm.

  Emma joined them, a warm smile on her face despite the chill in the air. "We’ll follow your lead," she said softly. "But if it gets to be too much, you’ll let us know, won’t you?"

  "I will," Hermione promised, though the weight of her words sat heavily in her chest. There was no room for hesitation now. This was her family’s legacy—her responsibility—and she would see it through, no matter the cost.

  The hike toward A' Mhaighdean, one of the Fisherfield Munros, was gruelling. The narrow trail wound through rugged terrain, crossing icy streams and climbing steep ridges. The air grew thinner and colder as they ascended, the wind biting at their exposed skin. Hermione pushed forward, driven by the ever-present hum of magic that seemed to grow louder with each step.

  Her parents followed close behind, their silence a testament to the difficulty of the climb. Dan’s military training showed in his steady pace and unfgging focus, while Emma’s quiet determination carried her over each obstacle without compint. Hermione couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for bringing them here, into a world they didn’t fully understand, but their unwavering support bolstered her resolve.

  By midday, they reached the base of the mountain. The sheer rock face loomed above them, its dark surface glinting faintly in the sunlight. At first gnce, it seemed impassable—a solid wall of stone rising toward the sky. But Hermione knew better. This was the pce.

  "This is it," Hermione murmured, her fingers brushing the worn pages of the Gringotts tome in her bag. The intricate star charts were etched into her memory, their alignment tonight the key to unlocking the path. "The stars of the solstice will reveal the way. We’ll need to wait for them to align."

  Dan set his pack down and surveyed their surroundings with a soldier’s precision. "Then we’ll camp here," he said. "Better to be ready when the time comes."

  Emma gnced up at the rock face, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself. "This pce feels… alive," she said softly. "Like it’s waiting for something."

  "It is," Hermione replied quietly. "Magic like this doesn’t just exist—it lingers. It’s part of the nd, tied to it. It’s been waiting for someone to cim it."

  The hours passed slowly as the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the wilderness bathed in shadow. Hermione sat by the fire, poring over the tome, her fingers tracing the intricate consteltions and murmuring the spells under her breath. The magic woven into the charts was ancient, yered with complexity, and it demanded precision.

  As the first stars appeared, Hermione felt the magic stir, a faint tremor that sent shivers down her spine. She stood at the base of the cliff, her wand steady in her hand, as the consteltions began to align. Their light illuminated the faint patterns etched into the stone, forming shimmering consteltions that mirrored the charts in the tome.

  "There," Hermione whispered, pointing toward the glowing patterns. The consteltions pulsed faintly, their light shifting as if guiding her forward.

  Dan stepped closer, his breath visible in the freezing air. "What now?"

  Hermione raised her wand, her hand steady despite the pounding of her heart. "We follow the light."

  She traced the consteltions with her wand, her movements slow and deliberate. The magic responded instantly, the shimmering patterns fring brighter before sinking into the stone. A deep rumble shook the ground, and the rock face began to shift, the stone parting to reveal a narrow passage.

  The air that spilled out was sharp and cold, carrying a faint metallic tang. Hermione took a deep breath, her voice steady. "Stay close," she said, stepping into the darkness.

  The passage opened into a cavern unlike anything Hermione had ever seen. The walls and ceiling were a crystalline ttice, shimmering with an inner light that refracted into shifting rainbows. The magic here was overwhelming, pressing against her senses like the weight of an ocean.

  At the centre of the cavern stood a pedestal of raw crystal, its surface glowing faintly. Resting atop it was the anchor stone—a fwless gem swirling with colours that moved like liquid light. It pulsed faintly, as if alive, and Hermione’s magic responded to it instinctively, recognising it as something long-lost yet familiar.

  "This is it," Hermione said softly, her voice trembling. "The anchor stone."

  She stepped closer, her eyes drawn to the intricate runes etched into the pedestal and woven into the crystalline ttice of the walls. The markings were sharp and unfamiliar, unlike any runes she had studied at Hogwarts. They pulsed faintly, alive with magic.

  "What is this nguage?" Hermione murmured, running her fingers over the smooth surface. The runes seemed to shift under her touch, rearranging into patterns that defied comprehension.

  Dan and Emma joined her, their expressions a mix of awe and confusion. "Is it some kind of code?" Dan asked.

  Hermione shook her head. "No. These aren’t just words—they’re magic. My family must have created this nguage. It’s tied to the anchor stone, to the ttice. It’s part of its power."

  As her fingers lingered on the runes, images flooded her mind—her ancestors carving the markings, their voices chanting in a nguage she didn’t understand. She saw them weaving their magic into the ttice, binding it to the stone and to their bloodline.

  "The stone will hold. The family will protect. The legacy will endure."

  The words echoed in her mind, heavy with the weight of generations. Hermione stumbled back, her magic fring uneasily as she struggled to process the visions. The anchor stone pulsed faintly, its light shifting as if responding to her hesitation.

  Before she could speak, the air in the cavern grew colder, the light from the anchor stone dimming. A familiar presence swept through the space, sharp and unyielding.

  "You’ve found it," a lilting voice echoed, soft and cold.

  Hermione turned sharply, her wand snapping up. The Winter Fae stepped out of the shadows, her silvery hair shimmering like frost in the dim light. Her piercing blue eyes locked onto Hermione, and a faint smile curved her lips.

  "You," Hermione said, her voice steady despite the fear curling in her chest.

  The Fae inclined her head, her expression unreadable. "You’ve come far, child," she said. "Farther than most."

  Hermione’s grip on her wand tightened. "What do you want?"

  The Fae’s gaze flickered to the anchor stone, her smile faintly widening. "To ensure you finish what you’ve begun," she said. "This stone is the legacy of your bloodline, but it will not bind itself. To make it yours, you must use blood magic."

  Hermione swallowed hard, the memory of her st ritual rising unbidden in her mind. "My blood?"

  "And mine," the Fae said softly. She stepped closer, her presence overwhelming. "The stone is unique, tied to both your family’s magic and the wilds. To bind it, you require blood freely given from both—a descendant and a Fae."

  Hermione frowned, confusion fshing across her face. "Why would you help me?"

  The Fae’s expression softened, the mencholy in her voice unmistakable. "Because I promised Mab," she said quietly. "Long ago."

  Hermione blinked, the name tugging at the edges of her memory. "Mab? Who’s Mab?"

  The Fae’s gaze turned distant, her voice heavy with sorrow. "Once, she was my closest friend," she said simply. "That is all you need to know."

  The words hung in the air, den with emotion Hermione couldn’t quite pce. She wanted to press further, but the look in the Fae’s eyes stopped her. Whatever had happened between her and Mab, it was a wound that had never healed.

  Extending her hand, the Fae stepped closer to the pedestal. "The choice is yours," she said, her voice soft but commanding. "Bind the stone and cim your legacy, or leave it uncimed and let it fade into the void. But choose quickly—the stone will not wait forever."

  Hermione stared at the anchor stone, its swirling light pulsing faintly. The runes seemed to shift, their patterns beckoning her forward. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, her voice steady despite the weight of the decision.