The following evening, Lilith found herself walking the quiet, candlelit corridors of Hogwarts, her destination already clear in her mind. The library had always been a place of refuge for her, a space where she could lose herself in books rather than expectations. But tonight, it wasn't comfort she sought. It was answers.

As she pushed open the heavy wooden doors, the familiar scent of aged parchment and ink filled the air. A few scattered students sat hunched over their desks, buried in essays and textbooks, but the library was quiet. The only sounds were the occasional scratch of quills against parchment and the faint rustle of pages turning. Madam Pince gave her a wary glance but didn't interfere as Lilith made her way toward the restricted archives, where the older records were kept.

The atmosphere in the library was different at night. It felt heavier, more sacred. As if the books themselves were aware of the secrets they held, waiting patiently for the right person to uncover them. The towering shelves cast long shadows, the candlelight flickering against their dust-covered spines. Lilith moved carefully, her fingertips trailing lightly over the old tomes as she searched for what she needed.

Finally, she found them. Hogwarts Yearbooks – 1940s to Present. The books were stacked high, their leather-bound covers cracked with age. Some of them looked like they hadn't been touched in decades. She pulled down several thick volumes and carried them to an isolated table near the back of the library, away from prying eyes.

She sat down, the weight of the books heavy against the wooden surface, and let out a slow breath. This was it. If there were answers to be found, they would be here.

Unfolding a piece of parchment and dipping her quill into ink, she methodically flipped through the books, looking for any names that could match the initials C & F. The candlelight flickered as she skimmed the lists of graduates, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Time passed unnoticed as she worked, her focus unwavering. She traced her finger over name after name, each one a potential clue, a fragment of the past waiting to be pieced together. Finally, after what felt like hours, she had narrowed it down to a short list:

Caspian Nightingale (Class of 1976, Slytherin)

Charles Fairchild (Class of 1946, Gryffindor)

Christopher Fawley (Class of 1960, Ravenclaw)

Francesca Valentyne (Class of 1976, Slytherin)

Lilith's breath caught slightly at the first name.

Her father.

Her heart pounded as she stared at it, the inked letters burning into her vision. Caspian Nightingale. It couldn't be him. He was too controlled, too meticulous to have ever left something as careless as initials carved into a tree. And yet, his name was there, written in the same book she was holding in her trembling hands.

But then her eyes flickered down to the second name on the list—Francesca Valentyne.

Her brow furrowed. The surname wasn't familiar, not in the way the others were. The Fairchilds, the Fawleys—those were families she had heard of before, names that carried weight among the pureblood elite. But Valentyne?

She pressed her fingers against the page, tracing over the name absentmindedly. Was this who the F belonged to? Had Caspian known Francesca? Had they been friends? More than friends? The thought made something uneasy coil in Lilith's stomach.

Her quill hovered above the parchment, but she didn't cross her father's name off. Not yet.

Instead, she flipped further into the book, scanning the lists of extracurricular activities, prefect assignments, duelling club members—anything that might tell her more. And that was when she saw it.

Caspian Nightingale and Francesca Valentyne had been paired as Potions partners for two years in a row. They had both been part of the Advanced Magical Theory Society. And there, beneath their names, in a grainy old photograph, they stood side by side.

Lilith swallowed hard as she took in the image. Her father looked younger, but his expression was the same as ever—calm, reserved, composed. But Francesca...

She was smiling. A bright, genuine smile, as if the photographer had caught her mid-laugh. Her hair, dark and wavy, framed a face that was sharp and clever. There was something familiar about her, something Lilith couldn't quite place.

Her hands gripped the book tighter.

Had they been friends? Or had they been something more?

And why had she never heard her father mention this girl before?

The initials C & F suddenly felt heavier, more significant. They weren't just a random set of letters carved into an old tree. They had meaning. They had history.

And if Caspian Nightingale had been one of the people who left them there, then that meant there was something in his past that he had never wanted Lilith to find.

Her stomach twisted. She had thought she knew who her father was. But maybe, just maybe, she had never really known him at all.

The library suddenly felt too small, too suffocating. Snapping the book shut, she hurriedly packed her parchment and quill into her bag. She needed to think. She needed air.

As she strode toward the exit, one thought echoed in her mind, louder than all the others.

Who was Francesca Valentyne?

And why had Caspian Nightingale buried her in the past?