Morning at Hogwarts was always filled with a curious blend of chaos and quiet. Sunlight poured through the enchanted windows of the Great Hall, casting golden beams over the long tables as owls swept overhead, delivering letters and parcels. Cutlery clinked, toast was buttered, and sleepy conversations floated through the air.
Elias Blackthorn sat at the Slytherin table, carefully buttering a warm croissant, his movements unhurried as usual. His dark hair fell slightly over one eye, hiding the quiet alertness that had taken root in his gaze. Around him, the other students were in various stages of waking up—some yawning through bites of eggs, others flipping through last-minute notes before their first class.
Daphne sat beside him, already halfway through her breakfast, reading the Daily Prophet with mild interest.
"They're still going on about the Gringotts goblin incident," she muttered, flipping a page. "If you ask me, it's just another way to stir up fear about non-human magical beings. Typical Ministry tactics."
Elias offered a small nod, though his attention was elsewhere. He could feel it again—that subtle weight. A glance from the staff table. A flicker of interest.
Dumbledore.
The Headmaster sat in his usual central seat, twinkling blue eyes mostly hidden behind half-moon spectacles as he sipped from a goblet. But Elias knew he was watching. Not constantly—but just enough to remind him that suspicion had taken root.
Beside Dumbledore, Professor Snape was deep in conversation with Professor Vector, but Elias could see the man's eyes flick toward him occasionally, as if measuring something.
So it begins, he thought calmly.
The enchanted ring on his finger, nestled subtly under his sleeve, continued to shield his magical signature. Even if Snape or Dumbledore tried to sense his magical core, they would find it unremarkable—average for a first-year, maybe a touch above average on a good day. The truth of his strength was locked away, hidden behind layers of enchantments only his family knew.
As the final bells echoed through the hall, Elias rose with the other Slytherins and made his way to the first class of the day—Charms with Professor Flitwick.
The Charms classroom on the third floor was already buzzing when they arrived. Professor Flitwick stood on his stack of books at the front, enthusiastic as ever.
"Today we begin our work on the Summoning Charm, a most useful bit of magic!" he squeaked. "Accio! A charm so powerful it can retrieve objects across great distances—though I expect we'll start with something smaller."
As the lesson began, Elias partnered with Blaise Zabini, a quiet boy with sharp eyes and a similar preference for silence. Daphne worked with Millicent Bulstrode a few rows back, though she kept looking over at Elias as if checking something.
Flitwick moved through the room, offering encouragement and corrections. Most of the class was struggling—wands waving too forcefully, incantations mispronounced. A few students managed to make their quills shiver or wobble toward them, earning excited squeals.
Elias remained focused.
"Accio," he murmured, flicking his wand just so.
The small cloth target on the far end of the desk slid into his hand with a soft flutter. Smooth. Effortless. Controlled.
Blaise raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Just nodded.
Professor Flitwick clapped his hands. "Well done, Mr. Blackthorn! Excellent control—ten points to Slytherin!"
The compliment earned a few looks—one from Hermione Granger, who seemed surprised, and another from Ron Weasley, who scowled and muttered something under his breath.
Elias ignored them.
He wasn't here to impress anyone.
Their next class was Herbology out in the greenhouses, and by the time they arrived, the chilly January wind was tugging at cloaks and chilling fingers. Professor Sprout greeted them cheerfully, directing them to pairs of potted plants with bright orange leaves and suspiciously twitching stems.
"Today, we'll be working with Snagleaf Shrubs! Be careful—they bite."
The work was messy, involving dragon-hide gloves and a bit of patience. As Elias deftly snipped away overgrown stems and sprinkled powdered root-growth over the soil, he remained quietly aware of his surroundings.
He could feel it again—Snape's gaze, lingering from the edge of the greenhouse. The Potions Master wasn't even supposed to be there, yet had apparently "passed by" on his way to check ingredients with Professor Sprout.
Their eyes met once—just once.
Then Snape moved on.
Back in the common room that evening, Elias sat before the fire, his Charms book open in his lap though he wasn't really reading. The flickering flames cast soft light on his face, shadows dancing in his eyes.
They're searching for signs, he thought. For proof that I'm not what I appear to be.
He could sense Dumbledore's interest growing—especially now that Quirrell's behavior had become harder to ignore. Snape might not fully trust him, but even he had admitted Elias showed no signs of dark magic. And he didn't.
Not yet.
But Elias knew suspicion was like fire on dry wood—once sparked, it spread quickly. He would have to remain careful. Methodical. Even as he continued training privately in the Room of Requirement, even as he deepened his studies with family grimoires, he would keep up appearances.
Let them look. Let them guess. They'll find nothing.
The ring concealed his reserves. His soul was clean—unscarred by forbidden arts. And as long as he stayed ahead of them, he could shape the path forward without interference.
Daphne's voice broke the quiet.
"You're brooding again," she said, sitting beside him. "You always look like you're plotting something."
He gave her a faint smirk. "I find it helps people keep their distance."