The golden plates gleamed under the candlelight, polished to perfection. The Sorting Ceremony had ended at last, the new first-years now settled nervously among the tables. With his usual serene smile, Albus Dumbledore rose from the staff table, his silver beard catching the flickering glow as he raised his arms for silence.
"Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts!" His voice echoed throughout the Great Hall, commanding attention without effort. "Before we tuck in, allow me to introduce a new addition to our staff."
Elias raised an eyebrow, already anticipating what was to come.
"This year, the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts will be filled by none other than Professor Gilderoy Lockhart."
Polite applause filled the hall, especially from the Hufflepuff table, where a few students clapped with genuine excitement. The man in question stood dramatically, his long cloak billowing slightly as he waved both hands like a showman. His teeth sparkled unnaturally white beneath his perfect smile.
"Is that a hair charm?" Daphne muttered beside Elias.
"Most likely," Elias said without looking away. "Or several."
Draco scoffed. "Defense Against the Dark Arts, taught by a man who's more interested in combing his hair than casting spells. We're doomed."
"I doubt he'll survive the year," Elias replied calmly.
Lockhart beamed, taking a slight bow before retaking his seat, clearly reveling in the attention. Professor Snape, sitting two seats away, looked as though he'd swallowed a potion gone terribly wrong.
"And now," Dumbledore continued, "let the feast—begin!"
With a wave of his hand, the empty plates instantly filled with roast beef, potatoes, roasted vegetables, pies, and a variety of puddings. The hall came alive with the clinking of cutlery and murmurs of conversation as everyone began to eat.
Elias served himself calmly, adding slices of roast lamb and buttered carrots to his plate. Around him, the Slytherin table buzzed with quiet excitement, students exchanging stories of their summers or gossiping about the professors.
Daphne leaned over slightly. "Do you think he's really done all the things in his books?"
Draco snorted. "He writes about defeating banshees with nothing but a harp and a wink. He's either lying or completely mad."
Elias didn't answer, but the amused glint in his eyes was telling enough.
Then, just as Elias reached for his goblet, the doors to the Great Hall burst open with a low groan. Every head turned.
Filch, the caretaker, stood awkwardly in the doorway, his clothes damp from the evening mist. He shuffled forward with a note in his hand, making his way toward the staff table.
Professor McGonagall stood and read it swiftly. Her expression tightened.
"I'll need to excuse myself, Headmaster," she said curtly.
Dumbledore nodded, already rising from his seat. "It seems we have a...situation. Please continue enjoying the feast."
The two left swiftly, sweeping down the center aisle between the tables. A few students craned their necks, whispering and nudging each other.
Elias didn't need to guess. The news had already reached the Slytherin table.
"They crashed a flying car into the Whomping Willow," Blaise muttered. "Idiots."
Draco's grin was wide. "I told you they'd be expelled.
"Unlikely," Elias said, setting down his fork. "Dumbledore won't let that happen.
"Pity," Draco said with a sigh. "But maybe house point deduct?
Laughter spread among their group. The mood lightened again as dessert appeared, including a particularly rich chocolate tart that Elias found enjoyable, though he ate sparingly.
As the feast wound down, the flutter of wings above the tables announced the arrival of the post owls—surprisingly early for the year. A few letters and papers dropped from the rafters. One thick copy of the Evening Prophet landed right in front of Daphne, who blinked in surprise.
"Already?" she murmured, unfolding the paper.
Draco leaned in. "Let me guess—the front page?"
Daphne nodded, eyes scanning the article. "'Flying Car Chaos: Boy Who Lived and Friend Risk Muggle Lives.'"
Elias shook his head faintly. "That will echo for days."
They rose with the rest of Slytherin House as the prefects led them out of the Great Hall and down through the dungeons, past stone corridors dimly lit by green-flamed torches. The cool air grew heavier as they approached the hidden entrance.
"Pureblood," one of the prefects said clearly.
The stone wall slid aside with a soft grind of stone, revealing the Slytherin common room—an elegant chamber of green-tinted shadows, silver chandeliers, and dark leather furniture. The lake shimmered faintly through the submerged windows, casting rippling patterns on the stone walls.
Elias stepped inside, instantly feeling at ease. The familiar coolness of the dungeon soothed him. The other students dispersed—some toward their dormitories, others toward the fireside to chat.
Draco dropped into one of the large armchairs. "Here's to a year of watching Potter try and fail to be normal."
Daphne joined him with a tired laugh. "At least it won't be boring."
Elias didn't speak. He moved toward one of the arched windows, staring out at the dark waters beyond. The shadows danced with mystery.
He knew this year wouldn't be boring.
The first full morning back at Hogwarts arrived draped in early autumn mist. From the windows of the Slytherin common room, the lake was a silvery blur, the fog clinging low to the dark water as if unwilling to let summer go.
Elias Blackthorn rose before most of the other boys in his year. His morning routine was silent, efficient—he dressed in his neatly pressed robes, adjusted the dark green tie with a simple charm to keep it crisply knotted, and slid his wand into the inner pocket of his robe. By the time Draco and the others began to stir, Elias was already reviewing his class schedule.
"Double Herbology first thing," Draco muttered with a groan, rubbing his eyes. "With the Hufflepuffs. Brilliant. Mud and Mandrakes."
"We'll live," Elias said without looking up from the parchment. "As long as you remember your earmuffs."
They arrived in the Great Hall to find breakfast already in full swing. The long tables were heavy with platters of eggs, bacon, toast, and pumpkin juice. Elias took his usual seat beside Daphne and calmly began buttering a slice of toast as owls swept down from the rafters overhead, delivering letters and morning editions of the Daily Prophet.
Across the room, Harry Potter sat at the Gryffindor table, his black hair sticking up in all directions and a small smudge of ink already on his cheek. Elias watched briefly as Ron Weasley scowled at the newspaper article his brother Percy held up to show him.
"Still the center of attention," Daphne murmured, glancing in the same direction.
"Some people chase trouble," Elias replied. "Others attract it without trying."
The walk to Herbology was a damp one. The greenhouses sat glistening with dew beyond the castle walls, steam curling faintly against the glass panes. Inside Greenhouse Three, the air was thick with warmth and the scent of wet earth. Professor Sprout stood at the front, her patched hat slightly askew, and her robes streaked with dirt from wrist to elbow.
Elias took his place at a bench beside Daphne, sharing a set of dragon-hide gloves and earmuffs. Draco paired with Theodore Nott, while the Hufflepuffs spread out nearby, cheerful and eager despite the early hour.
"Today," Sprout called out brightly, "we'll be repotting Mandrakes."
She drew back a curtain to reveal a row of pots containing wriggling green leaves. As she pulled one from its pot, a small, muddy creature appeared—a pale, crying infant-shaped root, shrieking with fury.
Sprout quickly stuffed it into a new pot filled with rich soil, muffling the sound. "Mandrakes can be dangerous in their mature state, but these are still young. Even so, earmuffs on, everyone!"
The class was quickly filled with the odd sight of students stuffing wriggling plants into new pots while trying not to be deafened. Elias worked in quiet efficiency, carefully patting the soil around the base of the plant before moving to the next.
Draco, on the other hand, fumbled with his gloves, muttering curses when one of the Mandrakes bit his finger.
"Wouldn't mind throwing one of these into Potter's bed," he grumbled behind his earmuffs.
Their next class, after washing off the dirt, was Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall swept into the classroom in her usual brisk manner, robes billowing and her spectacles gleaming with precision. Today's lesson was on turning beetles into buttons, a deceptively simple task that required focus and finesse.
Elias transfigured his beetle on the third try, the small black insect twitching once before turning into a smooth, round silver button. Daphne managed hers shortly after, giving Elias a small nod.
"Excellent, Miss Greengrass. Mr. Blackthorn, precise work as always," McGonagall said, pausing at their table.
From the corner of the classroom, Ron's beetle gave a pathetic twitch and sprouted a single buttonhole before scuttling off the desk. Harry's beetle had vanished entirely, though no button had taken its place.