Not a snake of flesh, but a curse-script: a living language that devoured other languages. If unleashed, it would erase every spell, every incantation, every whispered Lumos and shouted Expelliarmus —replacing them with silence. The ancient French sorcerer who created it had intended to end the Hundred Years' War by rendering magic mute.

But as Elodie reached for the vial, the shadow-language lashed out—not at her, but at Sebastian. It wrapped around his throat, and when he tried to shout, only a voiceless rasp emerged. His lips moved, but no spell, no sound, no Latin, no English, no French. Silence.

She didn't mind. She had a mission of her own.

Sebastian Sallow stepped out from behind a pillar, his wand low but ready. "I followed you," he said. "You've been sneaking around for days. What is this place?"

But Elodie wasn't alone.

The shadow-serpent recoiled. Not because of power—but because it could not consume what was never spoken aloud. Elodie's silent intention, her soul-deep meaning, bypassed the curse entirely. The vial cracked. The un-color bled into nothing.

That night, Elodie heard scratching in the walls. Not Peeves. Not a house-elf. Something older.