As the students rose from their tables and began making their way toward the common rooms, Elias found his path quietly clearing. Hufflepuffs looked at him with a mix of curiosity and wariness. Ravenclaws, ever thoughtful, seemed intrigued. And even some older Slytherins nodded respectfully at him as they passed.
By contrast, Ron Weasley elbowed past with deliberate force.
"Excuse you," Elias said coolly.
Ron stopped, face red. "You think you're clever, Blackthorn? Picking a fight in front of everyone?"
"No fight," Elias replied, straightening his robe. "Just a question that needed answering."
Harry placed a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Leave it."
But Elias's gaze locked with Harry's for a moment—two cold, calculating minds evaluating each other.
"Not everyone's impressed with your drama, Blackthorn," Ron muttered.
Elias gave a faint, polite smile. "Then perhaps next time, try not breaking half the rules in the school. You won't have to worry about points."
Ron lunged forward, but Harry held him back. Hermione, silent, watched Elias with narrowed eyes—like she wanted to say something, but couldn't.
Elias turned and walked calmly back toward the dungeons, the last sounds of Slytherin laughter echoing behind him.
The celebration had long ended. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall had dimmed into a tranquil canvas of stars, and students had dispersed into their common rooms—some jubilant, others stormy with frustration. But high above the slumbering castle, the Headmaster's tower remained alight with flickering candlelight.
Inside the circular office, Professor Snape stood beside the tall windows, his silhouette half-illuminated by moonlight. He said nothing, arms folded across his chest, black robes rippling faintly in the draft of the open window. His expression was difficult to read—though Dumbledore, seated behind his wide desk, could always decipher the subtle lines of disapproval or satisfaction etched in Severus's face.
Fawkes let out a quiet trill in the corner, but neither man acknowledged it. The air was still, heavy with unspoken thoughts.
Dumbledore sighed, his fingers laced together on the desk. "You heard what young Mr. Blackthorn said tonight."
Snape didn't move from his place at the window. "I did."
"He did not raise his voice. Did not insult. He merely asked a question. And I answered."
"That question," Snape said softly, "was a sharp blade beneath a silk glove."
Dumbledore gave a dry smile. "He does have a particular talent for that, doesn't he?"
Snape finally turned. "You gave the Gryffindors extra points. After awarding none to the others who faced the same danger. It was not a fair action, Albus. I would not be the only one to think so."
Dumbledore's expression grew serious. "Perhaps not. But it was not done without purpose."
Snape narrowed his eyes. "Ah, yes. The grand plan for the Boy-Who-Lived."
Dumbledore leaned back slightly, gaze distant. "Harry is... not like Elias. Elias knows who he is. He has a sense of identity—of self-possession—that most children his age lack. But Harry... Harry doubts himself far more than he lets on. He needed the recognition. He needed the belief that bravery is rewarded."
Snape's lips thinned. "And you thought inflating Gryffindor's triumph would help him develop confidence?"
"Yes," Dumbledore admitted. "Especially in the eyes of his housemates. And perhaps even the school. He has spent too long overshadowed by his name. I thought to give him something he earned."
Snape's expression hardened. "But you failed."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled for a moment. "So it seems."
There was a long silence between them.
"It was only a matter of time before someone said it," Snape finally said. "But I'll admit, I did not expect it to be Elias."
Dumbledore watched him carefully. "You disapprove?"
"No," Snape said simply. "I was... impressed. His words had the weight of logic, not ego. Slytherin House has always followed strength, Albus. But they respect control even more. Elias gave them both tonight."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "He may well become a leader within his House. Perhaps already is, for the younger years."
Snape returned to the desk, standing across from Dumbledore. "He is not an ordinary student."
"No, he is not," Dumbledore agreed softly. "And that is why we must be vigilant."
Snape tilted his head. "You suspect him?"
"I watch everyone," Dumbledore replied, though with a hint of weariness. "But no. Elias Blackthorn has done nothing to warrant suspicion. He minds his business. He studies. He does not court chaos."
"Until tonight."
"Even tonight, he did not seek drama," Dumbledore said. "He addressed what needed to be said—and I could not deny his point."
Snape's expression was unreadable. "He has the presence of a pure-blood heir and the intellect of a Ravenclaw. That combination is not to be taken lightly."
"Indeed," Dumbledore said. "Which is why I want you to continue keeping an eye on him."
Snape raised a brow. "Because you fear another Tom Riddle?"
Dumbledore was silent for a moment. "No. Because Elias may be something far more dangerous than that."
Snape's gaze sharpened.
"A leader Slytherin will follow willingly," Dumbledore continued. "One who doesn't need fear or flattery to command loyalty."
Snape didn't respond immediately. His arms folded again, and he turned his gaze back toward the moonlight spilling across the stone floor.
"And what would be so dangerous about that?"
Dumbledore's voice was quiet. "Because it means Slytherin may finally have a banner around which they unite—not out of tradition, but purpose. And if that purpose ever diverges from the rest of Hogwarts..."
The unspoken warning lingered in the air like mist.
Snape said nothing.
After a moment, Dumbledore leaned forward, speaking almost to himself. "For now, let him grow. Let him feel trusted. We will watch, yes, but we will not interfere—unless we must."
Snape gave a single nod.
As he turned to leave, Dumbledore added, "And Severus?"
Snape paused.
"Should he ever lose that control he values so highly... tell me first."
The Potions Master gave a barely perceptible nod before sweeping from the office in silence.
The torches lining the Slytherin common room cast long shadows against the stone walls, flickering as if they too whispered about what had occurred at the feast. Elias Blackthorn sat alone in the far alcove, an untouched book open in his lap. The room was abuzz with a quiet but electric satisfaction—Slytherin had, for once, won not just the House Cup but also the moral ground.
His words at the feast hadn't been dramatic. He hadn't raised his voice, nor had he spoken with malice. He had simply asked why three students had broken one of the school's strictest rules and faced no consequences. In return, he'd watched the smug light in Dumbledore's eyes flicker, the Headmaster forced to publicly concede and deduct points from Gryffindor.
A small victory—but one that echoed.
"You saw his face?" said a third-year boy across the room. "Dumbledore actually looked like he'd swallowed a sour Bertie Bott's bean!"
Laughter broke out in small clusters. Slytherin morale was at an all-time high, while the Gryffindors were still reeling from the reversal.
Elias didn't smile. He sat in quiet thought, fingers resting on the edges of the pages. He wasn't bothered by the murmurs—he had expected some backlash, perhaps even confrontation from the Golden Trio. What he had not expected, however, was how quickly the narrative shifted.
He had taken a step into the light, and now the entire school was watching.
'Not ideal,' he thought. He had spent much of the year carefully maneuvering through the chaos without standing too far out. Letting others take the spotlight while he quietly expanded his magic, gathered his resources, and laid the groundwork for what was to come. But tonight had been necessary. Even someone as meticulous as he couldn't sit silently while Dumbledore twisted the outcome of the House Cup with such blatant favoritism.
He sighed and closed the book softly.
There's no turning back now.