Lilith couldn't focus on anything else.

Even as she walked through the halls of Hogwarts the next morning, the name Francesca Valentyne echoed in her mind. It was a name she had never heard before, a ghost hidden in the past, tied inexplicably to her father. Caspian Nightingale—her father, the man who had spent his life shaping hers, controlling it—had carved his initials alongside hers. But why?

The Great Hall was bustling with morning chatter, students eating breakfast while owls swooped in, delivering mail. The scent of roasted bacon and fresh bread filled the air, and laughter rang from the Gryffindor table where a group of third-years had started an impromptu game of Exploding Snap. But Lilith hardly heard any of it.

She absently pushed her food around on her plate, her mind elsewhere. A lump of untouched eggs and a half-eaten slice of toast sat before her, but she had no appetite. Her thoughts were tangled, her instincts screaming at her that something wasn't right.

Theo slid into the seat beside her, plucking a piece of toast from the platter. He studied her for a moment before speaking.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he remarked, chewing idly.

Lilith blinked, forcing herself to focus. "Not a ghost," she murmured. "A name."

Theo raised an eyebrow, his expression sharpening. "A name?"

She hesitated, debating whether to tell him, but before she could, a flutter of wings signaled the arrival of the morning post. A sleek black owl swooped down, landing in front of her with eerie precision. Its talons gripped the table as it extended its leg, a dark green wax seal pressed onto the envelope it carried.

Lilith's stomach twisted into knots. She knew that seal. The Nightingale crest. A letter from her father.

For a long moment, she just stared at it. The world around her seemed to fade, the clamour of the Great Hall dulling to a distant hum. Then, with careful fingers, she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, her breath steady but shallow.

𝔏𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔥, 

ℑ 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔲𝔭 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔡𝔦𝔢𝔰. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬 𝔯𝔬𝔬𝔪 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔶𝔢𝔞𝔯. ℑ 𝔢𝔵𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔬 𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔣𝔬𝔠𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔡, 𝔞𝔰 𝔞𝔩𝔴𝔞𝔶𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔲𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔲𝔭𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔑𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔞𝔩𝔢 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔡𝔦𝔤𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔶. ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔦𝔫𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔲𝔫𝔰𝔲𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔫𝔶. ℑ 𝔫𝔢𝔢𝔡 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔰 𝔢𝔵𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔴𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔶, 𝔏𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔥, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔡𝔬 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔬 𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔠𝔱 𝔲𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔯𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔶. ℑ 𝔢𝔵𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔶𝔬𝔲.

 ℭ𝔞𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔞𝔫 𝔑𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔞𝔩𝔢

The parchment trembled slightly in her hands as she read the words. Cold. Curt. Impersonal. There was no affection in his writing, no inquiry into her well-being—just expectation. Command.

Her father knew something. Somehow, in some way, he knew she had been searching for answers. He had always been meticulous, always aware of more than he let on. But how much did he truly know? And more importantly—who had told him?

Theo finally spoke, his voice quieter now. "What did he say?"

Lilith exhaled through her nose, her fingers tightening around the letter. "The usual. Don't embarrass the family. Don't associate with the wrong people." She forced a smirk. "I suppose that includes you."

Theo smirked back, but his gaze was thoughtful, analysing. "You think he knows?"

Lilith tapped her fingers against the wooden table. "Not yet," she murmured. "But if I keep digging, he will."

And she had every intention of continuing her search.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

That night, long after curfew, she returned to the library. The halls were silent, the torches flickering low as she moved through the castle, her steps careful and precise. The shadows stretched long across the stone floors, and the air carried the faint scent of old parchment and candle wax as she slipped inside the library.

She made her way toward the restricted section, past towering bookshelves filled with ancient tomes, their spines cracked with age. The dim lighting made the rows feel endless, like stepping into another world entirely. She barely acknowledged the rustle of a passing page in one of the enchanted books or the distant creaking of wooden shelves settling in the still air.

Lilith reached the same spot she had occupied the night before, her collection of yearbooks and records still waiting. But tonight, she wasn't just looking for a name.

She was looking for a story.

Her fingers traced over the name Francesca Valentyne again, pressing into the ink as if she could extract something from it. The girl had been in Slytherin. The same year as Caspian. They had been in the same clubs. Partners in class. But there was nothing else. No mention of her in later records. No accomplishments, no known affiliations. It was as if she had vanished after graduation.

And that was what unsettled Lilith the most.

She dug deeper. She flipped through records of student achievements, duelling tournaments, prefect logs—anything that might give her more information. Her hands moved faster, frustration gnawing at her when she found only fragments, scattered and disconnected.

Until finally, she found something different.

A report, buried in the back of a school disciplinary ledger from 1976:

Incident Report: Francesca Valentyne. Unauthorized activity outside school grounds. Suspicious conduct noted by faculty. No further action taken.

Lilith frowned, rereading the words over and over. Then, at the bottom of the page, another line caught her attention.

Student's blood status confirmed: Muggle-born.

Lilith froze, her breath catching in her throat.

Her father, Caspian Nightingale—who had raised her under the weight of blood purity, who had drilled tradition and family honour into her from the moment she could walk—had carved his initials beside those of a Muggle-born girl.

Her heart pounded. It didn't make sense. Caspian Nightingale had never so much as acknowledged Muggle-born witches and wizards, let alone formed any kind of connection with one. And yet, here it was. Proof that he had.

She swallowed, shutting the book with shaking hands. This was something her father had never wanted her to find. Something he had buried so deep that even his own daughter had never known about it.

Francesca Valentyne wasn't just a name from the past. She was something more. Something important.

Lilith pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to think, to piece it all together. Had they been friends? Had they been—?

No. She couldn't even entertain that thought yet.

But she knew one thing for certain.

She couldn't tell anyone about this. Not Theo. Not Victoria. And certainly not Draco Malfoy.

This was hers to uncover. Hers to understand.

And for the first time, Lilith realized—maybe she didn't know her father at all.

As she slipped the book back onto the shelf, her fingers lingered over the spine. She wasn't done. Not even close.

She was going to find out the truth.

No matter what it cost her.