The warmth of the manor was more noticeable now than ever before. The flames that danced in the grand fireplace of the dining hall cast long, flickering shadows against the tall marble pillars and gilded edges of the ceiling. A gentle snow blanketed the gardens outside, the windows misted with condensation from the contrasting cold beyond.
Elias Blackthorn stood near the window, his posture quiet but alert, fingers gently curled as he watched the soft snowfall. His breath came slow and deliberate—partly because he was still adjusting to the rush of magical energy coursing through his body. The core strengthening ritual completed just that morning had left a subtle but unignorable weight within him. Magic no longer felt like a whisper waiting to be summoned—it pulsed through his veins like blood itself.
From behind, he could sense his father entering the room.
"You've stabilized well," Lucian said with a nod, observing him. "Faster than expected."
Elias turned slightly, offering a faint smile. "It's stronger than I imagined. My control is holding, but barely. I didn't expect the difference to be this… profound."
Lucian stepped beside him, hands behind his back. "You've stepped into the level of a fully trained wizard now. Most Hogwarts graduates don't possess reserves like yours even by their N.E.W.T. exams. The expansion worked—but remember, power is not simply about what flows through you. It's about how you wield it. Let your instincts guide you, but never let them command you."
Elias nodded. "I've been meditating to steady it. Holding my wand now feels different. Even spells I used to need vocal incantations for are responding to will alone."
"That's expected," Lucian said. "Increased reserves can sometimes cause spells to overcharge. Watch for that. Subtlety is key."
Dinner that evening was quiet, but lavish. The dining table was adorned with silver-trimmed plates and floating candles that hung just above, bathing the room in golden light. A great roasted pheasant sat at the center, flanked by delicately seasoned vegetables, Yorkshire pudding, and steaming bowls of rich stew. The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg wafted in from the warm goblets of mulled mead.
Lady Celeste Blackthorn, ever the regal matriarch, looked across the table with a graceful smile. "Elias, you seem different," she remarked, lifting her wine glass. "More grounded. There's a calmness in you tonight."
Elias inclined his head politely. "I've… had some clarity recently. And strength to back it."
Lucian gave a brief nod of approval from the other end of the table. "He's grown."
The conversation flowed into family matters, a few humorous memories from Lucian's school years, and even a brief discussion on the subtle politics brewing among some of the old families. Elias contributed occasionally, his thoughts sharper than ever before, but he remained composed—his mind focused on how to integrate the power he now carried.
Later that night, long after the dishes were cleared and the manor had grown quieter, Elias sat by the fire in his private study, a cup of herbal tea untouched beside him. The room was dim but welcoming, shelves lined with ancient tomes and Blackthorn heirlooms.
He extended his hand slowly and cast a simple Lumos.
The wand lit up instantly, but the light was far brighter than usual—sharp and pure, more radiant than a mere first-year's light charm. He quickly cancelled it, narrowing his eyes. Even the simplest of spells now had weight. He would have to re-learn finesse.
"I'll have to practice restraint," he murmured.
The next few days passed in a blur of discipline. Elias dedicated hours to refining his control. He used shielding charms and binding spells, cast transfigurations on increasingly delicate targets—feathers, fine sand, parchment—to see where the magic would fail or overshoot. His room, sealed and warded by Lucian himself, became a training ground in secret.
The energy he once summoned with struggle now surged forth with little effort, and he began to layer it carefully, practicing techniques far beyond the level expected of a first-year. Not all of it was brute force. Control was key. And Elias was determined to master it.
On the final morning of the holidays, he walked through the manor garden as the sun cast a pale glow over the frost-kissed hedges. His power no longer felt wild—it was steady, ever-present, a quiet flame beneath the surface.
Lucian found him there. "You're ready to return?"
Elias nodded slowly. "I am. I'll keep my head low. I'll act weaker. But when the time comes… I'll be prepared."
His father's expression was unreadable. "Good. Then let the world underestimate you.
The whistle of the Hogwarts Express pierced the still winter air as clouds of white steam billowed along the platform. Snow lay in soft layers over the cobbled stones of King's Cross Station, and flurries continued to drift lazily from the sky above, casting the platform in a dreamy haze.
Elias Blackthorn stood by the open door of one of the train's compartments, clad in an immaculate black winter cloak lined with silver. A subtle enchantment on the fabric kept out the cold entirely, and he wore a dark wool scarf over his high-collared uniform. His black trunk had already been lifted aboard by one of the Blackthorn manor's house-elves, and his owl—Aurelian—was perched in a small enchanted cage nearby, quiet and regal.
Behind him, other students moved with excitement and chatter, laughter echoing off the vaulted ceiling as parents waved goodbye. The holiday had come to a close, and Hogwarts awaited once more.
"Elias!"
The familiar, cool voice of Daphne Greengrass cut through the noise as she appeared from the crowd. She was dressed in a rich emerald green cloak with matching gloves, her long blond hair tucked beneath a fur-lined hood. Trailing just behind her was Astoria, who waved quickly before being led off by an older witch—presumably their mother.
"I was wondering when you'd turn up," Daphne said, stepping into the train and motioning toward an empty compartment.
"I arrived early," Elias replied with a nod, following her inside. "I dislike the rush."
Inside the compartment, it was comfortably warm. The enchanted glass resisted the cold outside, and golden light shone from softly glowing orbs nestled into the ceiling corners. The moment they sat down, the noise of the platform dimmed, sealed behind a privacy charm that muffled outside sounds.
Daphne settled opposite him and removed her gloves. "So," she said, tilting her head, "how were the holidays at Blackthorn Manor? Grand, I imagine."
Elias gave a small smirk. "Predictably so. Piles of gifts from people I barely remember meeting. Business partners, minor nobles, even a few foreign magical families. My study looked more like a warehouse."
Daphne raised an eyebrow. "That sounds… exhausting."
"It was," he said flatly, though his eyes gleamed with amusement. "At some point I stopped opening them and had the house-elves sort them. I think there were six different sets of dragon-hide gloves. And at least three wands from Eastern crafters. Gifts for a twelve-year-old."
"Did you send any back?"
"I had to," Elias said with a sigh. "My mother insisted. I spent half a day giving instructions to the staff—who gets what, how much to spend, what quality of wrapping paper to use. Some families care more about presentation than the gift itself."
Daphne leaned back and crossed her legs. "That sounds very Blackthorn of you. The Greengrasses keep it simpler. Our family only exchanges gifts within our circle—mother, father, Astoria, and myself. I got a few charms books and a new wand holster. Not as dramatic as a room full of gifts."
"I envy the simplicity," Elias murmured, eyes briefly drifting to the window where the train had begun to move. The city blurred past in a flurry of white and grey. "Too many obligations come with too many names. And expectations."
"Still," Daphne said, lips curling into a small smile, "you didn't seem to hate it."
"I didn't," Elias admitted. "There's power in being remembered. Even if only for appearances."
A sharp knock interrupted their quiet conversation, and the door slid open.
"Mind if I join?"
Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, flanked by his ever-silent bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle, who remained in the hallway. His grey eyes flicked to Elias, then Daphne.
Elias gestured casually. "If you can manage to be tolerable for the next few hours, I suppose I won't curse you into next week."
Draco scoffed but stepped in with a smirk. "Please. I bring tales from the Malfoy estate."
Daphne rolled her eyes. "This should be good."
Draco dropped onto the seat beside Elias, tossing his silver-blond hair back. "Father hosted half the Wizengamot for dinner. It was boring until one of the guests offended Mother and accidentally turned his own wine into vinegar."
"Accidentally?" Elias asked, unimpressed.
Draco grinned. "Well. Not exactly."
The three of them fell into a comfortable rhythm of conversation. Talk of holidays passed—formal parties, gift exchanges, family duels, and the occasional whispered scandal about this lord or that heiress. Elias, as always, spoke less but listened carefully. Every mention of shifting alliances or political guests was mentally filed away.
At one point, Draco leaned in slightly. "I heard from Father that the Ministry is keeping close tabs on Dumbledore lately. Too much… odd behavior from Hogwarts this year."
Elias blinked slowly, hiding any reaction. "Odd behavior?"
"You know," Draco said in a whisper. "The whole business with the troll. Rumors that something's hidden at the school."
Daphne sighed. "There are always rumors. Let's not ruin the trip with wild guesses."
Elias simply leaned back. He knew the truth already—far more than either of them could guess. But as always, silence was his greatest weapon.
The train ride wore on with food from the trolley—Daphne bought peppermint toads, while Draco hoarded pumpkin pasties—and games of wizard chess, which Elias quietly declined. Outside, snow still blanketed the countryside, the hills a sea of white as the sun slowly began to set.
As Hogwarts loomed into view in the distance, a great black silhouette against the frosted sky, Elias looked out the window one last time before pulling on his gloves.
The train pulled into Hogsmeade station, and the chill winter air rushed in as doors opened. The next chapter of the school year had begun, and Elias Blackthorn stepped down onto the snow-laced ground—magic hidden, power contained, mind sharper than ever.
And far above, Hogwarts stood waiting once more.