After lunch came Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"Here we go," Draco said as they headed up the stairs. "The peacock show begins."
They filed into the Defense classroom to find it plastered with garish, framed photographs of Gilderoy Lockhart. In each one, the professor smiled, winked, or struck heroic poses with dramatic lighting. On the chalkboard behind the desk, he had written in looping script:
Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, Five-Time Winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award
The man himself stood beside the board, gleaming with confidence.
"Welcome!" he said, flashing that same brilliant smile. "Let's start the year off with a little quiz, shall we?"
There was a collective groan.
Elias raised an eyebrow as Lockhart handed out parchment.
"Now, now," Lockhart said cheerfully. "This isn't for marks! Just a little test to see how well you've read my books."
The quiz, it turned out, had nothing to do with actual Defense magic. It included questions like What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color? and What is Gilderoy Lockhart's ideal birthday gift?
Draco rolled his eyes. "If I wanted to waste time, I'd write fan mail."
Elias didn't even bother filling out most of it. He handed in his parchment blank, his expression unreadable.
Lockhart scanned the pile and beamed. "Ah, Miss Granger—full marks, wonderful! As for the rest of you—study harder next time!"
The rest of the class involved Lockhart releasing a cage of Cornish Pixies, which immediately caused havoc. They tore through the classroom, overturning desks and ripping pages from books. Ron and Harry struggled to hold them back, while Hermione tried to cast a freezing charm. Lockhart, to no one's surprise, fumbled his wand and ducked behind his desk.
"Pixie pestilence," he cried. "Don't worry, I'll handle it!"
Elias, meanwhile, waved his wand once and cast a quick containment ward, catching three of the creatures in a bubble of magical energy. He said nothing, simply handing them off to Daphne as he calmly walked away from the chaos.
"Well," Draco said afterward, as they left the classroom with their robes half-torn. "If I didn't think he was a fraud before, I do now."
Elias didn't answer. But the look in his eyes said he had already known.
After the chaotic start to the term, Elias Blackthorn slipped back into routine like ink settling into parchment. His days passed in quiet observation, measured spellwork, and silent progress. While others fretted over Gilderoy Lockhart's glittering incompetence or speculated over the Weasley twins' latest prank, Elias had his eyes fixed on a more important goal: power, precision, and preparation.
The nights, however, were his alone.
Or at least, they had been.
One evening, as the castle darkened and curfew approached, Elias stood before a blank stone wall on the seventh floor. He walked past it once… twice… and on the third pass, his thoughts were clear: I need a room for magical training and study. One that hides from all others. One that listens only to me.
The door to the Room of Requirement shimmered into being.
It was exactly as he had imagined: wide, candle-lit stone floors lined with dueling dummies, reinforced walls, shelves of old books, and open space for spellcasting. At the far side was a long table, already stacked with the texts he had begun using to decipher the Book of Gods—ancient scripts of proto-runes and classical Aramaic, cross-referenced with magical context and symbology.
He stepped in, letting the silence wrap around him like a familiar cloak.
With a wave of his wand, a conjured dummy sprang to life. Elias squared his stance, muttering incantations under his breath as his wand sliced the air.
"Depulso."
The dummy was blasted backward, its base scraping the floor.
"Glacius!"
Frost spread rapidly from the wand's tip, freezing the air around the target.
It wasn't about flashiness. It was about control. Repetition. Understanding the flow of magic like a second language spoken without words.
He practiced until his arms grew sore and the candles burned low—then turned to the ancient scripts, repeating symbol patterns by wand tip and memory, trying to match the arcane runes with what he had seen briefly in the Book of Gods.
The next morning, over breakfast in the Great Hall, Daphne leaned toward him and whispered under the hum of conversation.
"You've been studying something lately. Training again, aren't you?"
Elias glanced at her sideways, sipping his tea. "You're imagining things."
She raised a perfectly shaped brow. "I'm not stupid, Elias. I know the signs. Your reflexes, the way you always seem to finish the harder charms quicker than anyone else."
He didn't answer at first.
Then, after a moment, he said quietly, "Would you like to join me next time?"
Daphne's smile was genuine. "Yes."
They made plans to meet after dinner the following evening.
But the next day, as Elias and Daphne climbed the stairs toward the seventh floor corridor, footsteps echoed behind them.
"Oi, wait up!" came Draco's voice.
Elias turned slowly. Draco was alone, hands in his pockets, but his tone was unusually earnest.
"I heard you two whispering yesterday. About some place. About training."
Daphne stiffened slightly. "You were eavesdropping?"
"I was nearby," Draco said, brushing it off. "Look, I've been meaning to ask Elias anyway. You've been getting… better. Quicker. Even Professor Flitwick noticed it last week. I want in."
Elias considered him for a long moment. He had planned to keep the Room of Requirement a secret between just himself and Daphne—for once, a place untouched by the rest of Hogwarts.
But then again, there was something practical about letting Draco join.
Not just for politics, but for influence. And for control.
"Fine," Elias said at last. "But if you're coming, you follow my lead. No complaints, no arrogance. What happens in the room stays there."
Draco gave a sharp nod. "Deal."
Elias led them through the seventh floor corridor, pacing three times past the stone wall with the same thought as before. The door appeared as smoothly as ever, and they stepped inside.
Draco's eyes widened. "Merlin…"
Daphne, meanwhile, looked around with quiet curiosity. "This place is enchanted. It's not just hidden—it listens."
"Yes," Elias said. "It adapts to what we need. As long as you know what to ask."
They began with basic dueling techniques—stances, disarming spells, stunning charms. Elias corrected Daphne's wrist flicks with quiet precision, and gave Draco blunt advice that—surprisingly—Draco took without complaint.
After thirty minutes of drills, they moved to reaction training—floating candles and moving targets that required timing and accuracy. Daphne was a quick study, graceful and deliberate. Draco, while more aggressive, showed natural magical force.
They took a break near the enchanted table, where a flask of cool water had appeared.
"So," Draco said, glancing at the ancient parchment scattered across one side, "this is what you've been studying?"
Elias nodded. "Ancient magic. Forgotten structures. Runes no one bothers to teach anymore."
Draco tapped a finger against a glyph. "I've seen something like this in my father's study."
Elias gave a faint smirk. "Of course you have."
They stayed another hour, sparring and rotating through spells—no more than third-year level, but executed with intensity and refinement. When they left the Room, sweaty but focused, it was near curfew.
As they parted ways near the dungeons, Daphne turned and said softly, "Thank you, Elias. That was… exhilarating."
Draco didn't say much—but Elias noticed the flicker of respect in his eyes.