January faded into memory, and the bitter chill of February began to settle over the stone walls of Hogwarts. The skies outside the castle were often grey, and the lake had frozen over in a shimmering sheet of ice that glinted faintly even through the snowstorms. Inside, however, things weren't much warmer—not just in temperature, but in mood.
The whispers still hadn't stopped.
Students moved in huddled groups between classes, casting suspicious glances at one another. Some wore protective charms, talismans made of silver, or even bizarre homemade necklaces of garlic or salt. Fear lingered like a cold draft down the corridors, refusing to dissipate.
Elias Blackthorn, however, moved through the castle as if none of this concerned him. And to a certain extent, it didn't.
He had seen through Potter and his friends' plans weeks ago. It wasn't hard to deduce. The way they sneaked around, but ignored them as always.
They really thought they were clever, Elias mused, the corner of his lips twitching upward. But he hadn't said a word. No reason to interfere. He had his own priorities.
The Room of Requirement remained his haven.
Every night after classes, he would walk through the same hallway three times, focusing on his intent: a place to study, to grow, to learn powerful magic. The door appeared without fail, revealing a large, private training chamber outfitted with magical dummies, spell-deflecting walls, and stacks of old magical tomes.
This was where he practiced—advanced spellwork, combat dueling, and most importantly, the translation of the Book of Gods.
It had taken him weeks of disciplined effort, but Elias had finally managed to decode roughly the ancient tome.
He hadn't cast any of those dark spells, of course. But reading them offered power through knowledge.
Outside of his training, classes resumed as usual, though everything seemed overshadowed by the recent attacks.
Herbology was damp and muddy. Professor Sprout had them working with Flitterbloom and Bubotubers, which exploded if squeezed incorrectly. Draco had accidentally burst one during a class, covering Crabbe in a bubbling green slime. Daphe and Elias had laughed behind gloved hands.
In Potions, Snape remained as intense as ever. He still lingered near Elias during lessons, occasionally commenting on his technique or glancing at him with those deep, analytical eyes. But compared to last year, the pressure had lessened. It was as if Snape had stopped searching for something in Elias. Or perhaps, he had merely grown distracted by other matters.
The talk of the school was still the identity of the Heir of Slytherin. And though Harry Potter was the favored suspect among the more paranoid crowd, whispers had started to spread about others.
"I heard it's a girl this time," said a third-year Hufflepuff near the library shelves.
"No, I swear I saw Montague whispering to a suit of armor! That's not normal."
"They say Blackthorn's always off doing something in secret. Maybe he knows who the heir is?"
Elias heard the rumors, but ignored them. It was foolish paranoia, born from fear. Still, he made a mental note to enhance the warding spells around the Room of Requirement, just in case someone decided to snoop.
Daphne and Draco had continued their nightly training with him as well. Daphne had grown more precise with her hexes and now favored the Confringo spell. Draco, on the other hand, leaned toward aggressive offensive spells—Expulso, Petrificus Totalus, and more. Both had improved, and Elias, though still clearly ahead of them, appreciated the company.
Meanwhile, Valentine's Day decorations had started appearing at Hogwarts, despite the circumstances. It felt oddly tone-deaf.
Large pink flowers hung from the suits of armor, which groaned every time someone approached. Madam Pince was horrified to find rose petals scattered between pages of books. And Lockhart—of course, Lockhart—was preparing something "special" for the students.
Of course he is, Elias thought dryly, flipping through his notes in the common room one evening. Leave it to Lockhart to host a Valentine's Day party during a crisis.
He received an owl from his mother that week, a neatly written letter with her elegant handwriting.
"Hope your term is going well. We're keeping a close eye on the situation at Hogwarts. Your father told me about the ritual's success—well done. Remember, power needs control, and discipline. Don't overdo it."
There was a small package attached: new enchanted gloves, resistant to most forms of spell backlash. Elias smiled slightly. He appreciated her gestures, even if she still occasionally asked questions about girls or Daphne.
They're just friends, he reminded himself for the twentieth time that month. But for some reason, his mind often returned to Daphne's laughter when she cast a perfect disarming spell or the way her eyes narrowed when she focused.
No time for that now.
He was close to unlocking the next portion of the Book of Gods, and that knowledge might hold the key to unraveling not just ancient mysteries, but the path to true magical mastery.
Elsewhere in the castle, the trio of Gryffindors continued their investigations. Hermione's brow was perpetually furrowed as she buried herself in books and parchment. Ron looked frustrated more often than not, and Harry, though quieter, seemed to be watching everyone—always looking for signs.
Elias passed them once near the Great Hall. Their heads turned slightly toward him.
He just offered a polite nod and walked on, his emerald-trimmed robes brushing lightly against the stone floor.
Let them wonder.
Let them chase the shadow of a mystery that he already knew the answer to.
The bitter February wind blew across the Hogwarts grounds, tugging at the scarves and cloaks of the gathered students as they made their way down to the Quidditch pitch. The weather had been grim all week — gray skies, frozen earth, and an icy drizzle that seemed to soak through even the thickest wool. But today the clouds had cleared, if only slightly, and the match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff was still set to go ahead.
Elias Blackthorn sat beside Daphne and Draco on the stands, wrapped in a dark green scarf that fluttered in the wind. The three Slytherins had come more out of curiosity than enthusiasm — it wasn't their House playing today, after all. But with the recent string of attacks still fresh in everyone's mind, the excitement of a match brought a welcomed, if temporary, distraction.
"Well," Daphne said, pulling her cloak tighter around her, "let's see how Potter fares today. Think he'll fall off his broom again?"
Draco smirked. "I hope not — wouldn't want him to use that as another excuse for attention. Last time, it was the rogue Bludger. What is it this time? A cursed Quaffle?"
Elias gave a quiet chuckle but didn't comment. His thoughts were elsewhere, though he kept a careful eye on the pitch. As usual, he was calmly watching everything, saying little, but noticing much.
The stands began to fill as the two teams marched onto the field, brooms in hand and faces set. Madam Hooch stood in the center of the pitch, whistle poised.
But before she could blow it, a loud voice echoed through the stadium.
"All students must return to the castle immediately!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Professor McGonagall stood at the entrance of the pitch, her tartan cloak whipping in the wind, her face grave and pale.
"There has been… an incident," she added, voice tight.
A stunned silence followed.
Elias stiffened. He glanced toward Daphne and Draco, both of whom looked surprised.
"We'll finish the match another time," McGonagall added. "Prefects, lead your Houses back to their dormitories immediately. Gryffindor and Slytherin students are to go through the Entrance Hall. Now!"
Elias rose to his feet with the others, his eyes narrowing. Something had happened — something serious. He could feel it in the air, that unmistakable shift in atmosphere. The excitement of the match had vanished, replaced by a cold dread.
As they walked briskly back to the castle, whispers flew through the groups of students.
"Do you think it was another attack?"
"It has to be — why else cancel the game?"
"Who was it this time?"
Elias didn't speak. He kept walking in silence, feeling the tension building like static in the air. Something had changed — he could feel it.
By the time he reached the Slytherin common room, a flurry of rumors had already begun to swirl.
"Someone said a Ravenclaw sixth-year was found near the library—"
"No, it was a Hufflepuff in the dungeons—"
"Two people this time!"
It wasn't until that evening, after dinner, when Elias returned to the common room, that the truth began to emerge. He'd just taken his seat beside Daphne when Draco came striding in, a smug look on his face.
"You won't believe it," Draco said, practically glowing. "Two more of them — that Granger girl and some Ravenclaw Prefect."
Daphne blinked. "Hermione Granger?"
Draco nodded eagerly. "Petrified. Both of them. Found near the library, stiff as boards."
Elias kept his face neutral, but his eyes sharpened. Granger. That would shake Potter's little group.
"Who told you?" Daphne asked.
"My father," Draco replied with satisfaction. "I owled him earlier, and he wrote straight back. Said the school's in chaos. He even went to a school board meeting today — they've voted to suspend Dumbledore."
Daphne's mouth fell open. "Suspend him? But… he's the Headmaster!"
Draco leaned back against the stone wall, clearly relishing the moment. "Not anymore. The school governors decided he wasn't doing enough. And guess what else? They've sent Hagrid to Azkaban."
"What?" Daphne gasped.
Elias narrowed his eyes slightly, though he didn't appear surprised. He already knew Lucius Malfoy had orchestrated this — he had seen the glint in the elder Malfoy's eyes when he'd spoken vaguely about "making changes" at Hogwarts over the holidays.
"It's true," Draco continued. "Father says they had enough reason to suspect that giant. They're taking precautions."
Daphne frowned. "But he's harmless. Strange, maybe. But not dangerous."
"That's not what the Ministry thinks," Draco said with a shrug.