"Welcome home, son."
Elias stepped into the grand Blackthorn estate, the warmth of the ancient manor enveloping him like a long-lost memory. The scent of burning pinewood filled the air, and magical lanterns flickered gently against the high stone walls. A roaring fire in the great hearth sent golden light dancing across the polished floors and framed portraits of generations long past. His father stood in front of the hearth, tall and proud, the silver streaks in his dark hair glowing softly in the firelight. His mother appeared a moment later, her eyes alight with affection and something sharper—curiosity.
The fireplace glowed warmly, casting long flickers of light across the Blackthorn estate's drawing room. The walls, lined with aged tomes and velvet curtains, muffled the world outside. Snow tapped faintly at the windows, but inside, the silence was intimate and loaded with the weight of unspoken thoughts.
Lucian Blackthorn sat by the hearth, fingers clasped around a glass of elven wine. Elias sat opposite him, the flames reflected in his calm, intelligent eyes. The holidays had brought them together, but the cheerful air of celebration seemed to hang outside the room's threshold. Here, there was something heavier—truths long held in silence.
Lucian exhaled slowly, setting his glass aside. "You're growing into your name, Elias," he said, voice thoughtful. "But power, real power... comes with knowing when to be seen, and when to disappear."
Elias nodded. He could sense what was coming.
"There's something I should've told you long ago," Lucian continued. "Not everything is black and white in this world. The Dark Lord... and Dumbledore—two sides of the same coin, each convinced of their righteousness, each willing to shape the world to their design."
He leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the fire. "And yet, while others chose sides, the Blackthorns did not. We watched. We calculated. We survived."
Elias said nothing, letting his father speak freely.
"I made sure we were useful to both of them, in our own way. Gold to the Ministry. Resources to the Order when they needed to move quietly. And, when necessary, silent support to those who followed Voldemort... without ever swearing allegiance." Lucian's voice was low, measured. "It wasn't loyalty. It was business."
Elias absorbed that in silence. It explained much—their wealth, their immunity, and why the Blackthorn name had never appeared on either list of heroes or villains. They had walked a razor-thin line and made it out unscathed.
"But the Malfoys..." Elias ventured.
Lucian's eyes flashed. "The Malfoys chose a side. They basked in the Dark Lord's favor, mistaking proximity for safety. When he fell, they paid the price. Favors can be forgotten. Names, remembered."
There was a long pause between them.
Lucian finally turned his gaze toward Elias, seriousness etched into his face. "You'll be targeted. Not for what you've done, but for what you represent. Dumbledore... he doesn't trust noble families. He tolerates them, even uses them when needed—but he fears what we could become. He's watching you, Elias."
"I know," Elias replied evenly.
Lucian's lips curled slightly at his son's calm demeanor. "Good. Be careful. Play the long game. You don't need to defy Dumbledore or follow him—just stay ahead of him."
"I'm not interested in anyone's war," Elias said. "I only want to carve my own path."
Lucian nodded approvingly. "That's the Blackthorn way."
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting golden reflections on the polished obsidian floors of the Blackthorn Manor. Outside, winter had blanketed the estate in white silence. The windows framed the falling snow like portraits, but inside the study, warmth, history, and quiet power filled the space.
Lucian Blackthorn stood behind his desk, a glass of deep crimson firewhisky in hand, his sharp eyes fixed upon his son with unreadable depth. Elias, seated in a high-backed chair before him, met the gaze with a calm that defied his eleven years.
"You've done well so far," Lucian said finally, his voice carrying the weight of generations. "But you're not a child anymore, Elias. And you're no ordinary wizard."
Elias inclined his head slightly. "I know, Father."
Lucian set his glass down with a soft clink and walked over to a long wooden cabinet carved with ancient runes. With a wave of his wand, the runes shimmered, and the cabinet clicked open. From within, Lucian withdrew a small, velvet-lined box and turned back to Elias.
"This ring has been in our family for centuries," he said, approaching. "It was not forged to dazzle or display wealth—but to protect. It was crafted by our ancestor, Alaric Blackthorn, during a time when magical politics were even more treacherous than today."
Elias leaned forward as Lucian opened the box.
Inside rested a ring of midnight silver, its surface so polished it mirrored the flickering firelight like liquid night. At its center sat a single obsidian gem, rimmed with delicate silver inlays that twisted into the shape of the Blackthorn crest—thorns coiling around an eye.
"It hides magical presence," Lucian explained. "Not through illusion, but by wrapping your core in silence. It will make your magical reserves appear as though you're barely above a first-year, maybe second. No matter how much power you cultivate, to others—including magical devices and most detection spells—you will seem unimpressive."
Elias picked up the ring and held it between his fingers. The obsidian was cold, but not unpleasant. It pulsed, faintly, as if it recognized its new bearer.
"You trained relentlessly since the moment you awakened your magic. You've surpassed fifth-year reserves already. Impressive—but dangerous."
Lucian's tone deepened. "There are many who would seek to control you… or destroy you. Dumbledore is one of them. He watches you not because of who you are now, but because of what you might become."
Elias's eyes darkened. "And this ring… will keep me hidden?"
Lucian nodded. "Precisely. Dumbledore will see a talented but manageable boy. The Ministry will dismiss you as another noble's heir coasting on lineage. Even those cursed blood purists will underestimate you. Use that to your advantage."
Elias slipped the ring onto his finger.
Instantly, he felt a curious sensation—like a veil being drawn over his soul. His magical core, once vibrant and brimming beneath his skin, now settled into stillness. Even his own perception of his magic dulled, as if a shroud muffled it from the world.
"It works," he said quietly. "I feel... empty."
"You're not," Lucian said. "But they'll think you are."
There was a silence between them as the fire hissed. Then Lucian sat across from him, folding his hands.
"Elias," he said, his tone becoming solemn. "You must understand—our family didn't survive the Dark Lord's rise and fall by swearing allegiance. We survived by playing both sides. Carefully. I gave the Order minor information, just enough to win their trust. To Voldemort's side, I offered resources discreetly, just enough to keep suspicion at bay."
Elias watched him with silent curiosity.
"The Malfoys chose loyalty. We chose survival."
Lucian leaned back.
"I despised Voldemort's ideology. He was powerful, but reckless. And Dumbledore—he is wise, but his wisdom is burdened by ideals. He won't allow our kind to rise again. Not truly. He'll say the war is over, that blood status doesn't matter, but he will never allow noble families to shape the world."
"So," Elias said, voice even, "he fears control falling into the wrong hands."
Lucian's lips curved slightly. "And who defines 'wrong'? That's the real question."
Elias looked down at the ring, the gem catching the light like a sliver of night.
"I won't show my strength," he said. "Not until it matters."
Lucian nodded, satisfied. "Good. Train, learn, grow. Hogwarts is a field of testing. Your professors, your peers—they'll never suspect the fire you keep hidden. When the time comes… strike. Not before."
They fell into silence again, the kind that passed between two men who understood each other.
Eventually, Elias stood. "Thank you, Father. For the ring... and the trust."
Lucian gave a rare, approving nod. "You carry the weight of our legacy, Elias. But you also carry the key to forging your own path. Make it count."
Elias turned to leave but paused at the door. "I won't fail."
Then, with quiet footsteps, he left the study.