The Great Hall shimmered with golden candlelight, the enchanted ceiling above echoing the star-filled skies of a warm June night. The long house tables buzzed with anticipation and excitement. Students whispered and chuckled, exchanging glances as they awaited the final announcement of the House Cup winner. At the head table, the staff sat in their places, dressed in festive robes, their expressions mostly relaxed—save for Professor Snape, whose gaze rarely wavered from Harry Potter seated at the Gryffindor table.
Elias Blackthorn sat at the Slytherin table, composed and silent amidst the murmurs of his housemates. His green and silver tie was perfectly knotted, his robes immaculate as ever. Though he appeared disinterested, his eyes flicked between Dumbledore and the Gryffindor table, keenly aware of what was about to unfold.
Slytherin banners hung proudly overhead—emerald snakes coiled in triumph. For the seventh consecutive year, Slytherin had claimed the House Cup, their point tally far surpassing the others.
Or so they believed.
Dumbledore stood slowly from his golden chair, the usual twinkle in his eye dimmed but not extinguished.
"Another year gone," he said, his voice echoing across the hall. "And once again, our minds are filled with wonderful memories. But before we enjoy our well-deserved feast, we must take a moment to acknowledge those students who have shown remarkable bravery and valor in recent days."
Elias's fingers curled slightly on the polished surface of the table.
Here it comes.
"I must award some last-minute points," Dumbledore continued, turning his eyes toward the Gryffindor table, "for extraordinary courage, intelligence, and loyalty."
Whispers erupted instantly among the students.
"To Mr. Ronald Weasley, for the best-played game of wizard's chess Hogwarts has seen in many years—fifty points!"
Applause rang from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Slytherins exchanged angry glares.
"To Miss Hermione Granger, for cool logic in the face of fire—fifty points!"
More cheering.
"And to Mr. Harry Potter, for pure nerve and outstanding courage—sixty points."
The Gryffindor table exploded into ecstatic celebration, but the Slytherin table began to roar in disbelief.
"That's cheating!" someone shouted from the far end.
Elias remained still, eyes trained on Dumbledore as the old man raised a hand to speak again.
"We are now tied between Slytherin and Gryffindor…"
A hush fell.
"…but there is someone else who deserves recognition. Someone who exhibited loyalty when others would have faltered. To Mr. Neville Longbottom—ten points."
The Gryffindor table erupted once again, but this time, the noise from Slytherin was unmistakable. Disbelief and fury.
Elias stood.
The Great Hall slowly quieted as all eyes turned toward him. Even Dumbledore's hand paused midair as he noticed the tall, composed first-year rise from the Slytherin table.
"Headmaster," Elias said politely but firmly, "might I ask a question?"
Dumbledore gave a slight nod, his gaze curious.
"If I recall correctly, the third-floor corridor was forbidden to students this year under threat of serious punishment. Is that not so?"
"Yes," Dumbledore replied cautiously, "that was indeed the warning given."
"And yet," Elias continued, voice calm but carrying across the hall, "three Gryffindor students—first-years, no less—entered that corridor, breached the protections guarding the Philosopher's Stone, and very nearly died."
Silence.
Elias took a step forward, still addressing the Head Table. "Under normal circumstances, any student caught breaking such rules would receive detention, loss of points, and possibly even suspension."
Professor McGonagall opened her mouth but said nothing.
"So why," Elias said, his tone sharp now, "are these three being celebrated instead of punished?"
Gasps echoed throughout the hall. Even several Gryffindors looked uncomfortable.
Dumbledore's smile faded. "The situation was... exceptional, Mr. Blackthorn. The actions of Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley, while breaking the rules, also protected the school from a great threat."
"With respect, Headmaster," Elias said coldly, "rules must apply equally to all students, regardless of House or circumstance. Otherwise, what example are we setting?"
A murmur of agreement ran through Slytherin, even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students looking uneasy now.
Professor Snape glanced sideways at Dumbledore with a rare gleam of satisfaction.
Dumbledore sighed. "You raise a fair point, Mr. Blackthorn."
He turned toward the Great Hall. "In light of this, I must amend the House Cup results. For their rule-breaking, I deduct fifteen points each from Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley."
A stunned silence.
"Gryffindor loses forty-five points," Dumbledore said.
The Slytherin table burst into applause, cheers filling the hall. The emerald banners shimmered more brightly than ever.
Elias inclined his head respectfully and returned to his seat.
The feast appeared with a sudden burst of magic, platters of roast chicken, mountains of mashed potatoes, golden goblets brimming with pumpkin juice.
But the mood had shifted.
Gryffindor, though still victorious in many eyes, now sat quietly, aware of the blow to their image. Slytherin students raised their glasses to Elias, muttering praise. Even older students gave him nods of approval.
Elias said nothing, merely eating calmly as the feast carried on around him.
From the staff table, Dumbledore watched him quietly, eyes narrowed in contemplation.
Beside him, Snape allowed the faintest smirk to twitch across his face.
In that moment, it was clear to everyone: Elias Blackthorn was not to be underestimated.
The celebrations at the Slytherin table roared well into the feast. Green and silver banners swayed proudly overhead, and the clinking of goblets filled the enchanted ceiling with a low, rhythmic echo. There was laughter, backslaps, and even a few first-years being lifted onto shoulders—one of them being Elias Blackthorn, who quickly, and with some irritation, asked to be put down.
At the Gryffindor table, however, the mood was a thundercloud on the horizon. The gold and red house banners had been dimmed—more out of courtesy than magic—and no one was celebrating. The loss of forty-five points had not cost them the House Cup in number, but it had cost them something more intangible: pride.
Ron Weasley stabbed moodily at a chicken leg, muttering furiously to himself as he kept glancing across the Hall toward the Slytherin table. "Who does that Blackthorn think he is?" he growled. "Standing up like that and acting like some kind of judge—"
"He was right, Ron," Hermione said quietly, not meeting his eyes. "We did break the rules. And we weren't punished for it."
Ron turned to her, eyes wide with disbelief. "You're agreeing with him?"
"I'm saying he made a fair point. That's not the same thing."
Harry remained quiet. He hadn't touched his treacle tart, which was usually his favorite. His fingers were laced together beneath the table as he stared at the glimmering platters of untouched dessert.
"He humiliated Dumbledore," Ron snapped, lowering his voice but with a sharp edge. "In front of everyone. And what's worse, Dumbledore let him."
"He didn't humiliate anyone," Hermione said, still calm but with a hint of unease. "He asked a question. A logical one."
"Well, I don't trust him. Never did," Ron said, glaring again at Elias, who was calmly eating roasted lamb between quiet conversations with older Slytherins.
Harry finally spoke, his voice low. "He's watching us. He has been all year."
Ron gave him a sideways look. "You noticed that too?"
Harry nodded, eyes still on Elias.
Hermione bit her lip. "Do you think he knows something?"
"I think he's planning something," Harry muttered. "He always looks too calm. Too in control."
At the Slytherin table, the mood was entirely different.
"Brilliant, absolutely brilliant," drawled Cassius Warrington, a fourth-year. "Did you see Dumbledore's face? Like he'd swallowed a lemon."
"Never thought I'd see a first-year make the Headmaster admit a mistake," said another.
Elias remained quiet amidst the praise, nodding politely when spoken to but offering little in return. It wasn't pride that kept him silent—it was calculation. He had made a move, an open one, and now he had to measure the ripple it would cause. Already, he'd seen the gleam of caution in Dumbledore's eyes. And Snape… Snape had looked almost amused. Almost.
But he had no illusions.
A subtle shift had occurred tonight, and Elias knew better than anyone: sometimes a single move on the chessboard told your opponent the entire strategy.
From the corner of his eye, he watched the Gryffindor table.
Ron was fuming. Harry was thoughtful. Hermione, oddly, looked conflicted. She had always struck him as someone who followed rules—but perhaps didn't like being called out for breaking them.
Good. Let them stew. Let the discomfort fester.
By the time dessert was done, Slytherin had erupted into cheers again, singing the House anthem—drawn out, off-key, and completely tuneless—while Gryffindor remained slumped in silence.