The morning light streamed through the windows of the Gryffindor dormitory, but I was already awake, sitting cross-legged on my bed, my mind focused and calculating. The events of the previous night replayed in fragments—the conversation with Harry, the magical oath, the look of unease in Dobby's eyes. I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair.
Had I said too much? Had I diverted enough attention from what truly mattered?
I reminded myself that the point of revealing what I did was to misdirect. Dumbledore wouldn't sense magic from a memory. Even if he probed Harry's mind, what would he see? A boy witnessing a display of power, nothing more. But still, I'd been careless. I hadn't locked the trunk properly. That wouldn't happen again.
With precise movements, I slipped out of bed. The dormitory was quiet, the soft breathing of my classmates filling the room.
Focus, Sky. Focus on what matters.
I needed to shore up my plans. The Vanishing Cabinet project had to move forward faster. I couldn't afford complacency. Too many variables, too many risks. And this—this was my countermeasure.
The Central Hub. My greatest logistical achievement. I allowed myself a small smirk, thinking of that simulated forest clearing, forever bathed in warm, golden light. Ten pairs of cabinets, enchanted down to the last detail.
Four pairs placed already: Nicholas Flamel's, the Grangers', the twins', and my own. That left six. Six that could shape the future, if placed wisely.
Newt Scamander, I thought. He'll cross paths with Hogwarts again. That connection could open doors. Beauxbatons, Durmstrang—alliances that could span borders. But I wouldn't push it. Tempting fate never ended well. Timing mattered. Timing was everything.
I moved through the motions of my morning, but my mind raced.
How many layers of misdirection could I weave before someone truly saw me? I played the part: the witty Gryffindor, the chaotic student, the sharp-tongued prankster. I buried my intent beneath charm and humor.
But Hermione saw through it sometimes. Hermione, who now practiced Occlumency under my guidance. Her progress was steady. I was proud of that. At least one person who could keep up.
By the week's end, my mind turned to the Diary. That cursed object gnawed at the edge of my thoughts like a splinter under the skin. I'd delayed long enough. It was time to act. But before I set off for Flamel's château, I mentally revisited the design of my Vanishing Cabinet network, reassuring myself of its reliability and secrecy.
The Central Hub wasn't just a storage space—it was a marvel of magical logistics, hidden deep within Gringotts. I had built it to simulate a sunlit forest clearing, an environment designed to feel calm, natural, and timeless. The circle of cabinets stood like silent sentries beneath the perpetual golden light. Each cabinet pair worked as a portal, one side stationed in a trusted location, its twin linked securely to the Central Hub. No external connection was possible without my consent; the enchantments saw to that.
Four pairs had found homes so far. Flamel's cabinet stood within his private study, behind layers of his own wards. The Granger family's was tucked away in my bedroom inside the trunk I had left with them before heading to Hogwarts.
The Weasley twins had theirs hidden inside the studio briefcase I gifted them; so far, they had been using it as storage without realizing its true purpose. If they didn't discover it by Christmas, I planned to reveal its function then. And mine—mine was my anchor, my constant lifeline back to safety.
One of the remaining six pairs was already reserved for Hermione as her Christmas present. The remaining five sat waiting, their destinations still undetermined, their potential enormous.
Every time I used the system, I marveled at its efficiency. From Hogwarts to the Central Hub, from there to Flamel's, the transitions were smooth, seamless, invisible to anyone who might seek to follow. It was a network, a railway of magic, designed to keep me one step ahead of the world's meddling eyes.
That weekend, I made the journey without hesitation, stepping through each cabinet like a conductor moving down the cars of his private train. Efficient. Just how I like it.
I knocked gently on the inside of the Vanishing Cabinet's door—it was only polite not to barge in unannounced after all. I waited, listening for his response. After a moment, I heard Nicholas's voice call, "Come in." I stepped out into his lab, where his eyes twinkled with that familiar mix of warmth and exasperation. "Ah, Sky. Here to tinker with your magical train station again?"
I snorted softly. "Maybe. Or maybe I brought something even more troublesome."
When I produced the Diary, the shift in his demeanor was immediate. The humor faded, replaced first by exasperation, then curiosity, then a solemn recognition I hadn't seen before.
He said nothing at first, but I could see it in his eyes: This was no ordinary problem.