The morning of early March brought a peculiar quiet to Hogwarts. The gray skies outside the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall mirrored the lingering chill in the air, though the students were abuzz with talk of spring and the nearing exams. For Elias Blackthorn, however, the weather and idle chatter meant little. His mind was already far ahead, entwined in plans that had been slowly, carefully woven since the start of the year.
In the privacy of his dormitory, the enchanted mirror shimmered faintly atop his desk. He locked the door with a wordless spell, added a privacy charm to muffle sound, and placed a silver coin on the mirror's surface. Instantly, the glass rippled like water, and a familiar face emerged within it—Lucian Blackthorn, stern as ever, though the faint creases around his eyes revealed more curiosity than irritation this morning.
"Father," Elias began with a calm nod.
Lucian returned it. "Elias. You called earlier than expected. I presume you've made progress?"
"I have." Elias leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "It's time."
Lucian's eyes sharpened, gleaming with intrigue. "So soon?"
Elias nodded once. "Dumbledore's continued presence at Hogwarts is the only thing delaying my next move. If he remains, I can't move on the Philosopher's Stone. He may not know everything, but he suspects enough. I need a distraction—a reason for him to be pulled away from Hogwarts."
Lucian folded his arms in thought. "You're suggesting political leverage."
"Exactly," Elias replied. "As the President of the International Confederation of Wizards, Dumbledore is obligated to attend emergency summits. If a situation were to arise in the U.S. Ministry of Magic—perhaps one urgent enough to require his guidance—it would be difficult for him to refuse."
Lucian raised a brow. "You've considered the details, then?"
"I have," Elias replied, eyes narrowing slightly. "An international dispute about magical creature trade. It's believable, it aligns with his role, and it would require personal presence. If it's escalated through the right channels, Dumbledore will have no choice but to go."
Lucian was silent for a moment. Then he gave a small smile, one Elias rarely saw. "You're not just using your name, Elias. You're using influence. That's power."
"Will you handle it?" Elias asked quietly.
"I already have connections in the American Department of International Magical Cooperation. I'll see to it that they receive word of a diplomatic emergency. A few old favors should be enough to move the issue to the top of their agenda. Dumbledore will be summoned formally within the week."
Elias allowed himself a breath of relief, though he didn't relax entirely. "He'll be suspicious. He'll take precautions."
Lucian gave a nod of agreement. "Naturally. He'll leave someone behind to monitor things while he's gone. Likely Severus Snape."
Elias's expression remained composed. "That's fine. Let him watch. I'll ensure there's nothing for him to find."
Lucian studied his son for a moment. "Tell me this, Elias. Do you still believe this plan is worth the risk? You're manipulating a Headmaster, deceiving a Dark Lord, and risking exposure."
"I do," Elias said firmly. "Because if the Stone is taken by Quirrell—by Voldemort—it will vanish forever. If Dumbledore seals it away again, I may never learn its secrets. But if I take it under the right circumstances… no one will suspect me. They'll blame Quirrell, as planned."
There was a pause on the other side of the mirror. Lucian then nodded, more solemn this time.
"I taught you how to walk among dragons without getting burned. I didn't expect you to ride one."
"I learned from the best," Elias replied with a hint of dry amusement.
Lucian leaned back in his chair. "Very well. I'll set the gears in motion. You prepare your end. Once Dumbledore leaves, your window will be short."
"I only need one night," Elias said.
As the mirror's surface returned to a quiet shimmer, Elias exhaled slowly. Everything was aligning. Soon, Dumbledore would be gone, Quirrell would make his move—or be made to believe he should—and amidst the chaos, Elias Blackthorn would claim the most sought-after alchemical artifact in magical history.
That evening, inside the Headmaster's office, Albus Dumbledore stood by his desk, a formal parchment in hand bearing the crest of the American Ministry of Magic. His brow furrowed, eyes tracing the diplomatic summons. Across from him, Professor Snape waited silently, his hands folded behind his back.
"They've called for me to mediate a dispute on magical creature regulation," Dumbledore murmured. "It's unusual… too sudden."
Snape inclined his head slightly. "You suspect manipulation."
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. But I can't ignore this. As President, I must attend. And yet… something in this castle grows darker by the day."
"Quirinus Quirrell," Snape said at once. "His behavior has grown erratic."
"I've noticed," Dumbledore admitted. "Keep an eye on him while I'm away. But not just him…"
Snape's expression darkened slightly.
"Elias Blackthorn," Dumbledore continued, turning toward the window. "Brilliant. Disciplined. But too disciplined. Too perfect. I see shades of Tom in him—not in ambition or cruelty, but in solitude."
Snape didn't reply for a moment. Then said carefully, "I've seen him roaming the halls late at night, venturing into restricted areas. But never anything dark. His magical aura remains… unusually controlled."
"Controlled," Dumbledore repeated. "Yes. And yet, he walks like someone who knows more than he should. A boy his age shouldn't carry himself like that."
Snape nodded. "I will watch him closely."
"Good," Dumbledore said softly. "I hope we are wrong about him. The world doesn't need another Riddle."
Outside, the wind howled softly across the castle grounds. The game was on—and all the players were finally in motion.
The heavy snow had not yet melted from the edges of the castle grounds when Elias stepped back from the enchanted mirror in his dormitory. The pale reflection of Lucian Blackthorn had faded, leaving behind only his own thoughtful expression staring back at him. Plans were now in motion, gears turning behind veils of power and influence—quiet, untraceable, and precise.
Lucian would use the political weight of the Blackthorn name within the International Confederation of Wizards to orchestrate the situation. A diplomatic dilemma involving cross-border legislation over magical beast protections—a topic guaranteed to be inflammatory to the American branch of the Confederation—would be presented. As President, Albus Dumbledore had no choice but to attend the urgent summit in Washington, despite the proximity of the Philosopher's Stone and the threats it faced.
Still, Elias knew Dumbledore wasn't naive. The Headmaster would not leave the school unguarded. And true to prediction, the very next morning, a subtle yet visible shift passed through the castle.
Severus Snape's eyes followed Elias even more than usual.
In Potions class, the man's black gaze lingered too long when Elias perfectly sliced roots without glancing down. In the Great Hall, Snape entered last, his attention cutting through the room like a blade, always landing briefly—knowingly—on Elias. The young Blackthorn didn't react. He stirred his tea, looked bored during class, and yawned when appropriate.
Let them watch.
Let them assume.
That very night, hidden behind the shifting walls of the Room of Requirement, Elias pushed himself harder. Complex transfiguration exercises, followed by three rapid incantations of non-verbal offensive spells, lit the stone walls in bursts of silver and violet. The room, sensing his intent, had conjured a practice dummy woven with magic-resistant materials. It held up better than the last one—but even that began to smolder under the impact of his augmented magic.
His core had stabilized since the first strengthening ritual. With a power level equivalent to a Hogwarts graduate, concealed behind the shielding ring on his hand, Elias appeared harmless to all magical senses. The concealment was near perfect.
Even Snape's Legilimency-infused stares hadn't pierced it.
By the end of the week, rumors of Dumbledore's departure were already swirling through the corridors. The older students speculated over the reasons—some said it was political; others, that it was a personal matter. No one truly knew. Dumbledore had left quietly, not even bothering with a full announcement at dinner.
Only the staff knew. And perhaps one or two others.
In his absence, Professor McGonagall had assumed control over day-to-day matters, while Snape's patrols had grown increasingly thorough. Still, Elias was cautious. He reduced the frequency of his nightly excursions, spacing them with longer gaps and casting minor illusions in the hallways whenever necessary.
Meanwhile, the Golden Trio—Harry, Ron, and Hermione—continued with their own secret investigations, blissfully unaware of the deeper game being played right under their noses. Elias had caught glimpses of them whispering near the third-floor corridor. Sometimes, Hermione looked nervous. Other times, she walked briskly with a firm, determined expression. Elias never followed.