The days at Hogwarts slipped into rhythm, but Elias Blackthorn's life never truly settled into the routine of an average student.
Each morning began the same way. The soft chime of the enchanted pocket watch on his bedside table stirred him before sunrise. He dressed with quiet efficiency, tying his green-and-silver Slytherin tie without even glancing at the mirror. By the time most students stumbled bleary-eyed toward the Great Hall, Elias had already reviewed the day's schedule, read a chapter from an ancient runes text, and mentally reviewed half a dozen advanced charm patterns.
The castle's corridors buzzed with activity as classes resumed in full force. Professors swept through the classrooms with robes billowing and chalk flying. First came Charms with Professor Flitwick, where Elias nonchalantly performed the Summoning Charm with greater strength and control than some seventh-years. Then Transfiguration, where even Daphne narrowed her eyes at how effortlessly Elias transformed needles into butterflies.
Draco, though occasionally brash, had his own strengths. In Potions class, he often took the lead when paired with Elias—though not without a few sarcastic remarks.
"Careful, Blackthorn," Draco muttered as they brewed a Swelling Solution together, "wouldn't want to melt the cauldron again."
Elias raised an eyebrow. "That was your rat spleen that went in early."
Daphne smothered a laugh from across the room.
Despite the daily banter, the three of them had grown sharper—not just in class, but in the hidden hours after dinner.
Each night, under the cover of shadows and silence, they returned to the Room of Requirement.
Elias never had to ask it twice. The door welcomed them like an old friend, revealing the same magical training hall: candlelit, private, and alive with enchantment.
The trio stood in a loose triangle across the dueling floor.
"Again," Elias said.
Draco raised his wand. "Expelliarmus!"
Daphne flicked her wrist. "Protego!"
The shield shimmered between them just in time, deflecting the red beam that ricocheted toward the wall with a satisfying crack.
"Better," Elias nodded. "But Draco, stop locking your elbow."
"I wasn't—"
"You were," Elias said dryly.
Draco grumbled, but reset his stance without argument. Somewhere along the way, his pride had learned to make room for growth.
Daphne, meanwhile, had flourished. Her style of spellcasting was elegant, her motions fluid, almost dance-like. But there was strength behind it too. She picked up nonverbal casting faster than Draco and had recently mastered a stunning charm that knocked a dummy off its base.
"Where did you learn that?" Draco had asked the night before, rubbing his arm after a friendly duel.
"Elias," she'd replied with a smile.
But not all of Elias's evenings were spent teaching.
Some nights, after Draco and Daphne had left, he remained behind—alone beneath the flickering candlelight, poring over ancient runic scripts and the notes he had begun compiling.
He had made progress.
Each symbol from the Book of Gods now had tentative translations beside it. The scripts were maddening—sometimes literal, sometimes poetic. Some referenced the movement of celestial bodies, while others described concepts like "soul conduction" and "elemental channeling." He was still far from unlocking the deeper spells, but he felt it: the knowledge was there.
All it required was time.
By late October, the corridors were lined with floating jack-o'-lanterns and fluttering paper bats. Warm smells drifted from the kitchens, and whispers of the Halloween feast buzzed through every common room.
"Do you think Lockhart will dress as a vampire or a banshee this year?" Daphne asked one afternoon, as they left the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
Draco smirked. "Whatever it is, it'll be ridiculous. That man's a walking peacock."
"I wouldn't be surprised if he writes a book about himself defeating a pumpkin monster," Elias muttered under his breath.
They laughed together, winding their way down the staircases toward the Great Hall, past portraits in black velvet costumes and enchanted suits of armor rattling with eerie laughter.
But even as the air filled with excitement, Elias felt a creeping sense of tension.
The Halloween feast at Hogwarts was a spectacle of warmth and wonder. Candles floated low tonight, casting a golden glow across heaping platters of roasted meats, buttered vegetables, and pumpkin pies. The enchanted ceiling above reflected the stormy skies outside, flickering with the occasional flash of lightning that added drama to the laughter and chatter filling the hall.
Elias Blackthorn sat at the Slytherin table, a silver goblet in hand as he listened to Draco's animated tale about a failed prank involving charmed broomsticks and a Gryffindor first-year who'd ended up hanging upside down in the Entrance Hall.
Across from him, Daphne snorted into her pumpkin juice. "Honestly, Draco, you can't keep blaming the Gryffindors when your own spell backfires."
"It didn't backfire," Draco defended. "I simply didn't expect the broom to fly toward Filch's office."
Elias smirked, letting the conversation carry around him as he nibbled on roasted pheasant. The atmosphere was lively, with music playing softly from the far end where enchanted skeletons performed on ghostly instruments.
And yet… something was off.
The Golden Trio was missing.
Neither Potter, nor Granger, nor the youngest Weasley were present at the feast.
He took a slow sip of pumpkin juice, his sharp grey eyes lifting toward the staff table. Professors sat with varied levels of engagement—McGonagall chatting lightly with Professor Sprout, Flitwick chuckling at a joke Lockhart was no doubt telling about himself.
But Snape…
Snape sat unusually quiet, fingers steepled, dark eyes sweeping the Great Hall like a predator among prey.
And for a brief moment, they locked with Elias's.
Elias didn't flinch. He simply returned the gaze with the calm confidence he'd learned to wear well. Snape's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker there—recognition, calculation. The same as last year.
He's watching me again, Elias thought. Though less than before…
It made sense. With Dumbledore back and the Philosopher's Stone long dealt with, Snape had fewer reasons to keep Elias under constant scrutiny. Still, the Potions Master never forgot those he suspected of being more than they seemed.
As the final desserts faded from the tables, Professor Dumbledore stood, raising a hand. "I trust you all enjoyed the feast. Prefects, please begin leading your Houses back to the dormitories."
The benches scraped against the stone floor as students rose, chattering and full. Elias stood with his House, Draco and Daphne walking just beside him as they made their way toward the entrance hall.
But as they stepped into the wide corridor, a crowd had already begun to form near the foot of the stairs.
"There's something written on the wall!" someone shouted.
Elias pushed forward with the Slytherins. And then he saw it.
Red, glistening letters, as if painted in fresh blood, stretched across the stone:
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
Below it, lying rigidly on the floor, was Filch's cat—Mrs. Norris.
Her body was stiff, fur bristled unnaturally, eyes glassy and wide with terror.
Draco stepped ahead, reading the words aloud with relish. "Enemies of the Heir, beware." He turned toward the gathering crowd, eyes gleaming. "You'll be next, Mudbloods."
There were gasps. Whispers erupted. Professor McGonagall and Flitwick pushed through the throng alongside Snape and Dumbledore.
Elias stepped closer under the guise of concern, but his eyes studied the cat with keen precision. He could feel it—no injuries, no blood. A curse? A potion?
Petrification, he thought. But not by a wand. Not directly, at least.
"Everyone, back to your dormitories!" McGonagall barked. "Now!"
"Potter, Weasley, Granger—stay where you are," said Snape sharply, spotting the trio at the edge of the scene.
As students began retreating, murmuring in disbelief, Dumbledore glanced toward Elias.
"Mr. Blackthorn," he said gently, "would you come with us as well?"
Elias blinked, surprised but composed. "Of course, Headmaster."
Dumbledore gave a nod, gesturing toward Gilderoy Lockhart who had just arrived in a flourish of turquoise robes, confused and babbling about hearing someone scream.
"Lockhart, if you don't mind… your office is nearby. We need a quiet place to discuss this."
"Ah—yes, yes, of course! Right this way, Headmaster!"
They entered Lockhart's office, still decked in framed portraits of himself, all of which looked equally confused.
Dumbledore conjured several chairs and gestured for everyone to sit. Flitwick, Snape, McGonagall, and Lockhart flanked the sides.
Elias sat silently beside the Golden Trio, who glanced sideways at him. He offered them nothing.
Dumbledore's gaze swept the group. "Does anyone know how this happened?"
"Professor," Lockhart interjected immediately, "it's quite obvious. This is the work of dark forces. I daresay—something I've encountered once in Marrakech involving cursed crocodile tears and a—"
"Thank you, Gilderoy," McGonagall said flatly.
Snape leaned forward, eyes flicking between Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "Perhaps they know more than they're saying."
"I swear we don't!" Harry said quickly. "We just… found her there."
"Then perhaps a neutral voice might offer insight," Dumbledore said softly, turning to Elias. "Mr. Blackthorn, I asked you here because I believe you have a sharp eye—and perhaps a valuable perspective. Did you see anything unusual?"
Elias glanced at the trio before answering. "No, Headmaster. I was with my House during the feast, and only saw the cat after the crowd had gathered."
Snape, still watching him, spoke with deliberate calm. "And what do you think happened, Blackthorn?"
Elias paused thoughtfully.
"Mrs. Norris was not injured. Her body was too stiff to be unconscious—this was petrification, most likely. But I didn't sense wand magic or residual spell traces.
Flitwick nodded, stroking his beard. "Very astute."
Hermione gave Elias a strange look—half surprised, half intrigued.
Dumbledore folded his hands. "I agree. We will investigate further. For now, let us ensure Mrs. Norris is safely moved and the message is removed."
"What about punishment?" Snape asked sharply, looking toward the Trio again.
"None until we know the truth," Dumbledore said with finality. Then he turned back to Elias. "Thank you for your insight. You may return to your common room."
Elias stood with a quiet nod. "Good night, Headmaster."
And as he stepped out of Lockhart's office into the silent, haunted corridor, the words still burned in his mind.
The Chamber of Secrets has been opened.