The first thing Helena saw as she descended from the dormitory to the common room was Cassandra, standing near the fireplace with a look of slight impatience, while Draco Malfoy stood next to her, visibly uncomfortable and with a noticeable blush on his cheeks. The scene was so peculiar that Helena stopped for a moment, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
It's not like she really knew Draco Malfoy, but in just four days of casual interaction, she had learned enough to form an opinion: an arrogant, spoiled boy always eager to prove his supposed superiority. In a way, he reminded her of Dudley, though Draco at least seemed to have a hint of sophistication that her cousin never showed. Still, seeing him like this, like a puppy with its tail between its legs, was… unexpected, but not unpleasant.
"It's a satisfying sight, isn't it?" Lucian's voice echoed from behind her, soft and teasing.
Helena turned slightly to look at him. Lucian was leaning against the wall, watching the interaction between Cassandra and Malfoy with a barely perceptible smile on his lips.
"A little, yes," Helena admitted, letting out a small smile. She didn't enjoy seeing others suffer, but something about Malfoy's humiliation felt somewhat just. "What's going on?" she asked, turning her attention back to the scene in front of her.
"The world of high political spheres," Lucian replied, his tone as tired as it was unconcerned, as if talking about a game he had seen too many times.
Helena raised an eyebrow, expecting a more concrete explanation.
"On the train, Malfoy was rude and disrespectful to Cassandra," Lucian continued, crossing his arms. "Of course, he was; at that moment, he had no idea who she was."
"And now?"
"Now he knows, and he's realized he made a mistake," he explained, his tone laced with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Though I must admit, he deserves credit for putting his pride aside. Not everyone would do that."
Helena looked at him more intently, intrigued by his words.
"What do you mean?"
Lucian exhaled slowly, as if about to give her a lesson.
"It's simple: it all comes down to their families," he said calmly. "Cassandra's family has considerable influence in the magical community, not just in her home country, but internationally. Their power mainly lies in France, but it would be a mistake to underestimate them."
"And the Malfoys?" Helena asked, still trying to piece things together.
"The Malfoys are one of the most prestigious families in Britain," Lucian admitted, tilting his head slightly. "But their position has declined in recent years. Their connection to You-Know-Who, whether voluntary or not, isn't looked upon favorably, at least not publicly."
Helena absorbed the information in silence, watching as Malfoy appeared more and more uncomfortable under Cassandra's calm but steady gaze.
"So, is all of this because of what happened on the train?" she ventured.
Lucian gave a small smile, as if the question seemed obvious to him.
"It might seem like just a childish disagreement, but when it comes to families like Cassandra's and Malfoy's, things are never that simple. There are expectations, appearances, and... consequences."
Helena watched Cassandra for a moment. The young woman spoke in her usual tone, calm but authoritative, and seemed to be controlling the conversation effortlessly. Malfoy, in contrast, could barely keep his composure.
"Cassandra seems to enjoy this," Helena murmured, a trace of admiration in her voice.
"Of course she does," Lucian replied, with a wry smile. "Though she'd never admit it. Cassandra can be very vengeful if she puts her mind to it."
Lucian's tone softened considerably on those last words, as if he feared someone else might overhear him.
Helena watched him with interest.
"You're surprisingly observant."
Lucian tilted his head, accepting the comment with a mix of humor and modesty.
"One doesn't survive long without that quality."
There was something in the way he said it, a shadow crossing his face for a brief moment, that made Helena want to ask more. But at the same time, she knew any answer would be personal, and she wasn't sure Lucian would want to share it.
Before she could decide, the clock in the common room chimed. Cassandra turned toward them, with an expression that clearly indicated her conversation with Malfoy was over.
"Let's go. We don't want to be late for class, do we?" she said, with an ironic tone, though her elegance remained intact.
Helena nodded, casting one last glance at Malfoy. The boy was still red, but his relief was now evident as Cassandra walked away.
The Slytherin common room, with its imposing design and intricate secrets, suddenly felt like the stage for a much larger and more dangerous game than Helena had imagined.
…
If Helena were honest with herself, the happiest part of her day at Hogwarts wasn't the classes where she learned magic, but the meals in the Great Hall. Every meal was a spectacle: the plates magically filled, the floating lights softly illuminated the space, and the enchanted ceiling above them reflected the whims of the weather outside, changing between sunny, cloudy, or starry days. There was something comforting about the place, something that made Helena feel connected to the magical world in a way the classrooms didn't.
That evening, as she was about to start her dinner, she noticed Harry gesturing excitedly from a distance. He was walking toward her with a scroll in his hand, while his owl, Hedwig, perched on a nearby rack.
"Look at this!" Harry exclaimed, leaning toward his sister and holding the scroll in front of her.
Helena took it with curiosity and began to read aloud in a quiet voice:
*Dear Harry and Helena: I know you have Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come have a cup of tea with me at about three o'clock? I'd love for you to tell me all about your first week. Send me your reply with Hedwig.
With affection,
Hagrid.*
The handwriting was large, slanted, and somewhat messy, but the message was clear and warm.
"What do you think?" Harry asked, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.
Helena smiled.
"That sounds wonderful," she said eagerly, handing the scroll back to him. "Write back and tell him I'll be there. I wouldn't miss it for anything."
As she spoke, she gestured toward an empty spot at the table in front of her, inviting Harry to sit.
Harry paused, glancing at the vacant spot with some hesitation.
"Can I?" he asked quietly, as if he were breaking some rule.
Helena blinked, confused. Since arriving at Hogwarts, she hadn't seen anyone sit at a table that wasn't their own house's, but she didn't remember hearing that it was forbidden.
It was Cassandra, who had remained silent until then, who broke the tension.
"There's no rule against it. Just sit down," she said in her usual calm tone, cutting a piece of meat with indifference.
Harry still hesitated for a moment, feeling the gazes of other students, but finally took a seat.
For a moment, Helena noticed the eyes of some of her Slytherin peers on them. At the Slytherin table, there was an unspoken code: everyone was expected to stay within their own circle. However, after a few minutes, most lost interest in them.
For Harry, the situation was different. From the Gryffindor table, he noticed several students whispering, exchanging looks as if he had just broken some sacred code.
Trying to ignore the stares, Harry began serving himself food while speaking to Helena.
"I really don't understand why it's a problem," he said, keeping his voice low. "Is it so wrong for me to sit with my sister?"
Helena looked up, offering a small smile.
"People can be... curious," she replied calmly. "If it helps, it doesn't seem to matter much here."
Harry frowned, recalling the conversations he'd had over the past few days. Some of his Gryffindor peers seemed convinced that Slytherin was inherently "evil." According to them, all dark wizards had come from that house, as if it were an undeniable fact. However, that didn't match his experience. Lucian and Cassandra didn't behave like fairy tale villains, and Helena, of course, could never be evil. She couldn't even bring herself to kill a spider, something Harry clearly remembered from his life with the Dursleys.
Meanwhile, Cassandra watched the scene silently, though a faint smile crossed her lips when Harry started talking to Helena.
"This shouldn't be so complicated," Harry said, helping himself to some mashed potatoes.
Cassandra glanced at him sideways and spoke calmly:
"Sometimes people need labels to feel secure."
Harry nodded slowly, unsure if he completely understood the comment.
Minutes later, the conversation continued peacefully. Harry and Helena talked about their classes and the anecdotes of the week, while Cassandra occasionally chimed in with brief comments.
"By the way, where's Lucian? I haven't seen him since classes ended," Helena asked, glancing at Cassandra with curiosity.
"Frankly, I don't know. He's probably exploring the castle. After all, he can never sit still—he's always causing problems for others," Cassandra replied, but the end of her sentence darkened slightly, as if recalling something she didn't like.
Helena and Harry exchanged a brief glance, and before they knew it, they both started laughing. Cassandra's expression softened slightly, though she maintained her usual reserved demeanor.
…
The moment Lucian entered the library, the noise from outside seemed to fade away. It might have been the effect of a charm, though he didn't pay much attention to it; he was there for a clear purpose.
He had heard something intriguing and needed to confirm the truth of those words. His steps were slow but purposeful as he walked down the corridors. His eyes moved with curiosity over the shelves, mentally noting the titles that might interest him later.
Eventually, he found the person he was looking for. The young man appeared to be in a study session with other students. Lucian observed the scene for a moment, weighing his options, and then decided to approach anyway. Calm and confident, he took a seat in front of the group.
The conversation halted abruptly. Everyone turned to look at him, clearly surprised by his presence. For a few moments, only the faint rustling of pages closing could be heard.
"The session is over. Go to dinner, I'll catch up with you in a moment," said the one who seemed to be the leader of the group, his voice firm and controlled.
The others did not protest. They quickly gathered their things and left, casting fleeting glances at Lucian as they exited. It was clear they knew that what was about to be discussed shouldn't be overheard by anyone else.
"So, what brings you here?" the leader asked, his tone polite, though his eyes glinted with a hint of calculation.
Lucian smiled nonchalantly, leaning slightly back in his seat.
"Well, you said I could find you if I needed something." His casual tone contrasted with the other's seriousness.
The prefect raised an eyebrow, visibly surprised.
"I didn't expect it to be so soon," he admitted, letting out a brief laugh.
"Oh, don't worry, Arthur." Lucian waved a hand as if to dismiss any misunderstanding. "I just need to satisfy my curiosity. I heard there's going to be a little competition in the common room tomorrow."
Arthur, now understanding what Lucian meant, fell silent for a moment. Finally, he sighed.
"I see. So that's it," Arthur said thoughtfully. "I suppose someone has been talking without paying attention to their surroundings."
Lucian didn't respond, but his expectant gaze made it clear he was waiting for an explanation. Arthur crossed his arms before continuing.
"It's a tradition. No one knows exactly when or who started it. In theory, it's meant to strengthen unity and control within our house. But over time, it's been twisted to serve personal interests."
Lucian raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. Arthur continued.
"The competition you're talking about is based on duels. They're held to establish a sort of hierarchy within the house. The strongest take positions of influence. It's not mandatory to participate, but if you want to be taken seriously or have a voice in important decisions, you don't have many options."
"And what happens to those who lose?" Lucian asked. His tone was still casual, but his eyes gleamed with curiosity.
Arthur gave a half-smile, tinged with irony.
"It depends. A while ago, those who lost could find ways to make up for their defeat: intrigues, favors, alliances... It was as much a game of strategy as it was of strength."
Arthur fell silent for a moment, as if unsure whether to say more. Finally, he sighed and spoke more seriously.
"Currently, the followers of you-know-who have twisted the tradition to promote and protect their beliefs. And when something or someone interferes with them..."
Arthur trailed off, but Lucian didn't need him to finish the sentence. With a soft but firm tone, he completed it: "They eliminate them."
Arthur nodded slightly.
"Of course, nothing drastic. After all, we're still on school grounds. But they make sure those who disagree with them have no way of rising up."
The silence that followed was tense, filled with mutual understanding.
Lucian, still seated across from Arthur, let his thoughts wander for a moment. He had often wondered how the Slytherin house had become so associated with prejudice and darkness. He couldn't believe that all members of a community were inherently evil. However, Arthur's words were starting to give him some clarity.
Most Slytherin students were pure-blood or at least came from established magical families. Muggle-borns were a rarity in the house, and that alone marked a fundamental difference. The values and traditions that magical families passed down to their children had a significant weight in the house's dynamics, especially when shaped by decades of exclusivist ideology and loyalty to figures like Voldemort.
Lucian could now see how that mentality was perpetuated. It wasn't something that had arisen out of nowhere; it was a system carefully fed by those with the power and influence to do so.
Arthur watched him in silence, as though he could guess the direction of his thoughts.
"Not everyone is like that," he said, as if answering an unasked question. His tone was low. "There are those who don't agree with those ideas, but... Slytherin is not an easy place for dissenters."
Lucian lifted his gaze, sensing the sincerity in Arthur's words.
"And what about you, do you agree?" he asked bluntly.
Arthur let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Let's just say I'm pragmatic. If you want to survive here, you learn to play by the rules... or at least pretend to."
Lucian leaned back in his seat, pondering the prefect's words. He understood the logic behind them, but he also knew he wasn't the type to simply adapt to others' games.
Finally, he stood up, adjusting his robes calmly.
"Thanks for the information, Arthur." His tone was polite, though his gaze reflected quiet determination.
Arthur nodded, his expression still serious but with a faint gleam of recognition in his eyes.
"I trust you'll face any obstacles with the same confidence you're showing now," he said, his words carrying a mix of warning and respect.
Lucian responded with a confident smile, one that didn't need words to convey his self-assurance. After a brief exchange of goodbyes, he turned on his heel and left, retracing the steps that had brought him there.
As he walked through the corridors toward the common room, his mind kept working, processing what he had learned. His conversation with Dumbledore echoed with unsettling clarity: the Slytherin house was deeply wrapped in prejudice. But that didn't mean everyone within it deserved it.
Though he had only been there a few days, Lucian had already noticed that not everyone was happy with how things were being run. There was an underlying discontent, hard to detect but undeniable, among those who seemed tired of the power dynamics that defined their house. Yet, it was clear that change was not easy. Without influence or support, rebelling against the system was little more than a futile risk.
Lucian smiled to himself, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. Well then, what if he gave them the opportunity? Would they be able to rise up and take an active role in shaping their destiny, or would they remain hidden, with their tails curled, afraid of the consequences?
In the end, it didn't matter too much what others did. Lucian was clear that his path wouldn't depend on the rules imposed by others. If Slytherin was a board, he would not be a piece moved at others' whim. No. If there was a game, then he was determined to be the player.
…
Friday afternoon soon arrived, and Helena descended the wide stone stairs toward the castle grounds. By her side walked Cassandra, her usual impassive expression in place. Although Helena had insisted that Lucian join them, he had politely declined, mentioning he had other matters to attend to but wishing them a pleasant afternoon before parting ways.
The sky was overcast with slowly moving clouds, but it didn't seem like rain was imminent. The fresh air and the scent of freshly cut grass filled the atmosphere, creating a tranquil mood as the two young women made their way to Hagrid's hut, located near the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
As they approached, Helena studied the hut. It was simple, made of wood, with a crossbow and a pair of rubber boots resting by the door. Though small, there was something cozy about its rustic appearance.
"It's a curious place to live," Cassandra remarked in her neutral tone, her eyes evaluating every detail of the hut.
"Yes, Hagrid is… unique," Helena replied, smiling as she thought about Hagrid's personality.
In front of the hut, they saw Harry and a girl Helena recognized instantly: Hermione, the same one who had been searching for Neville's toad on the train. The two were chatting while waiting, and Harry was the first to notice their arrival.
"Helena!" he exclaimed, waving his hand to greet them.
"Hello, Harry. It's good to see you've settled in well," Helena said with a smile, nodding toward Hermione.
Harry nodded, smiling too. Then, Hermione stepped forward, offering a slight smile as she introduced herself.
"Although I've introduced myself before, it's a pleasure to meet you again. My name is Hermione Granger," she said politely.
Helena nodded kindly.
"Helena Potter, pleased to meet you, Hermione." She smiled, then gave a quick glance at Cassandra, who was silently observing the new girl.
"Cassandra Beaumont," she said simply, her soft and calm voice offering little more.
Hermione nodded and, though slightly surprised by the brevity of the response, smiled warmly.
"A pleasure," she said.
"Ready to go in?" Harry asked, glancing toward the hut. "Hagrid must be waiting for us."
Helena nodded, and the four of them approached the hut's door. When Harry knocked, they heard frantic scratching and several barks.
Then, they heard Hagrid's voice saying, "Back, Fang, back!"
Hagrid's large, furry face appeared as the door opened.
"Come in," he said, pulling an imposing black dog back.
He let them in, tugging at Fang's collar. The hut had just one room. From the ceiling hung hams and pheasants, a copper pot simmered on the fire, and in one corner was a huge bed covered in a patchwork blanket.
"Make yourselves at home," Hagrid said, releasing Fang, who, despite his intimidating appearance, was clearly much friendlier than anyone could have expected. Once freed, Fang lunged straight at Harry, beginning to lick his face.
"It's good to see you, Hagrid," Helena said with a smile, watching as Fang pounced on Harry. "This is Cassandra, by the way," she continued, gesturing toward her friend, who was quietly observing Hagrid and taking in the details of the environment.
Cassandra raised an eyebrow but eventually approached, extending her hand to Hagrid. Her expression was calm, but not without curiosity.
"It's a pleasure," Hagrid said, grinning ear to ear as he shook Cassandra's hand enthusiastically.
Cassandra returned the gesture, though her gaze remained thoughtful, as if silently weighing something.
"And this is Hermione," Harry continued, after finally managing to free himself from Fang, who had now settled quietly on the floor. "She's from Gryffindor, like me."
Hermione smiled widely, gazing at Hagrid with some admiration while extending her hand toward him.
"Pleased to meet you, Hagrid," she said warmly and politely, a little more enthusiastic than Cassandra.
"It's good to see you're all doing well," Hagrid remarked as he made his way to the fireplace. In a large kettle, the water was already boiling, ready to be poured into several cups. With careful movements, he poured tea and cut generous slices of cake.
"Come on, have a seat. The snacks will be ready in a moment," he added with a smile, finishing the last preparations.
Helena sat next to Cassandra, while Harry and Hermione took the other side of the table. The cake was dense and dry, enough to challenge their teeth, but everyone pretended to like it. Cassandra, for her part, simply politely said that she wasn't particularly hungry.
"So, how are the classes going?" Hagrid asked, sitting down with them, his interest piqued.
The group of four talked about their favorite subjects and their first impressions of the Hogwarts staff. Hagrid, laughing, mentioned:
"Filch, that old fool... and his cat, Mrs. Norris, is another case. I'd love to introduce her to Fang one day. Did you know she follows me around every time I go to the school? I'm sure Filch sends her to spy on me."
Harry, still laughing from the comment, told Hagrid about his first Potions class with Snape.
"I don't know what he has against me. It's like he hates me," Harry said, frustrated.
"Rubbish!" Hagrid responded firmly. "Why would he hate you?"
However, Harry noticed that Hagrid had averted his gaze when answering, as if trying to avoid the topic.
"By the way, Helena, how's it going in Slytherin?" Hagrid asked suddenly, changing the subject with a too-obvious casualness.
As Helena began to answer Hagrid's question, Harry found himself lost in thought, staring around the small hut. His gaze landed on a folded newspaper on the table. He recognized the headline instantly:
RECENT ROBBERY AT GRINGOTTS.
Curious, Harry picked up the newspaper and read aloud in a low voice:
"The investigation into the robbery at Gringotts on July 31st continues. It is believed to have been the work of dark wizards and witches. The goblins insist nothing was taken. The vault that was broken into had been emptied on a previous occasion. 'But we're not going to tell them what was there, so keep your noses out of this, if you know what's good for you,' said a Gringotts spokesperson."
"Hagrid!" Harry exclaimed suddenly, interrupting Helena's conversation with the gamekeeper. "That robbery at Gringotts happened on our birthday! It could have happened while we were there!"
Helena stopped speaking, frowning as she listened to her brother. She reached out and took the newspaper from his hands to read it herself.
Cassandra and Hermione exchanged intrigued glances, though they remained silent.
"Harry..." Helena said in a warning tone, trying to calm him down.
Hagrid, meanwhile, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He muttered something unintelligible and hurriedly refilled more cups of tea while offering another piece of cake that no one really wanted.
"It's nothing you need to worry about. It's a matter for the goblins and the Ministry," Hagrid said, trying to sound nonchalant, but his nervousness was evident.
Helena couldn't help but recall something: the Gringotts vault seven hundred thirteen, from which Hagrid had taken a small, crumpled package during his visit. "The vault that was broken into had been emptied that very day," the article had said. It was too much of a coincidence.
Hagrid avoided the Potters' inquisitive stares, shifting the conversation toward classes and the excitement of the upcoming weeks at Hogwarts. But Helena couldn't stop thinking about it.
As they headed back to the castle for dinner, their pockets full of pieces of cake they had been too polite to reject, Helena couldn't push the thought from her mind.
It was clear Hagrid had retrieved the package just in time, Helena thought as she walked in silence. The idea unsettled her. She clearly remembered him saying it was an order from Dumbledore. Then another question arose:
Did Dumbledore know what was going to happen?
If he did, why hadn't he warned anyone? Why send only one person?
And then, an even more unsettling thought slid into her mind:
What could be inside that small, crumpled package?
Helena tried to organize her thoughts, but Hagrid's hut, the newspaper clipping, and the gamekeeper's words seemed to weave into a puzzle with no immediate solution. She glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye, but he seemed lost in his own thoughts.
It didn't make sense to share her doubts right then. Perhaps later, when she had more pieces of the puzzle, she could seek answers. For now, all she could do was watch, listen, and, above all, remember.
…
The Slytherin common room was more crowded than usual that night. Green and silver lights cast irregular shadows on the walls, intensifying an atmosphere that already felt more tense than usual. Whispers filled the air, creating a constant murmur that made Helena uneasy. There was something not quite right, but it was hard to pinpoint what.
As Helena entered the common room, she noticed Lucian sitting on a sofa, away from the center of the room. He had a relaxed posture. Helena felt the urge to approach him, but before she could take a step, Cassandra stopped her, placing a gentle but firm hand on her arm.
"No," Cassandra whispered barely audible, shaking her head. Her expression was hard to decipher, but in her eyes, there was a gleam that mixed caution with something that almost seemed like a warning.
Helena frowned, puzzled. Cassandra's gesture was strange, and the atmosphere only heightened her discomfort. Before she could insist, a figure stepped in her way. Gemma Farley, a sixth-year prefect, stood in front of the students who had entered, most of them first-years.
"Wait a moment," Gemma said, her tone firm, almost cutting. "There's an important announcement for everyone. You are not allowed to leave the common room until you hear it."
She paused for a moment, her cold gaze seeming to soften briefly as she looked over the younger students. Then, she tilted her head slightly toward them, just enough for only the nearest students to hear, and continued in a low whisper, barely audible:
"No matter what happens, don't you dare open your mouth. Just nod, even if you disagree."
Helena felt her spine tense at those words. Around her, the other first-years exchanged quick glances, their expressions wavering between confusion and nervousness. No one dared to question, and a tense silence spread through the group, which dispersed throughout the room.
As the minutes passed, the tension in the common room grew. Helena couldn't help but notice a trace of unease on the faces of some of the older students, an emotion that bordered on panic.
Soon after, a movement at the entrance caught everyone's attention. Several figures emerged from the shadows of the doorway, their firm footsteps echoing against the stone floor. Helena recognized Marcus Flint, a known bully from the sixth year, accompanied by James Rosier, one of the house's more reserved prefects. There were other students with them, but their faces were less familiar, though no less intimidating.
Gemma Farley, who until then had remained upright and composed, seemed to tense her posture even further. As soon as she saw them, she began to speak. Her voice, typically authoritative, now carried a tone of rigidity that was hard to ignore.
"Listen carefully," she said, letting her gaze sweep over every student gathered. "In Slytherin, cunning and power are everything. Our house has always upheld the purity of our blood and our magic as fundamental values. We have a reputation to maintain, and therefore, a loyalty that must not be questioned or broken."
The air grew heavier with her words, and Helena felt the atmosphere about to become even more oppressive. What exactly was Gemma talking about? Why did her tone seem so deliberately solemn?
"However, we have always been magnanimous," Gemma continued, her voice resonating with almost ceremonial harshness. "So, once again, you'll be given the opportunity to change things. Those of you who are unhappy with the decisions being made in our house may step forward."
Helena observed with a mix of curiosity and growing discomfort as no one moved. Most of the older students avoided eye contact, and some, as if unconsciously, looked down, as if trying to blend into the background was the best strategy.
The silence in the room was palpable, but in some way, it only heightened the tension. Instead of easing, it seemed to grow denser with each passing second, as no one dared to intervene.
Then, her gaze shifted to the two individuals in the center of the room: Flint and Rosier. Both stood, wands in hand, as if preparing for a duel. Flint, ever the provocateur, wore a mocking smile, an expression that left no doubt that he was enjoying the power he felt being the center of attention. Rosier, on the other hand, seemed more detached, indifferent to the situation.
Breaking the silence, Flint stepped forward, his mocking smile widening as he scanned the younger Slytherin students. His gaze stopped on a fifth-year student sitting in a corner, trying to go unnoticed.
"Tell me, Edgar," Flint said, raising his voice so everyone could hear, "It's been a year, how about you try your luck again? Maybe this time you'll have more success."
The young student, visibly nervous, looked away, but Flint didn't stop provoking him. The pressure of the stares from everyone in the room and the stifled laughter from some forced him to act. With a sigh of resignation, he stood and silently drew his wand.
Flint exchanged a glance with Rosier, and before Edgar could react, both raised their wands. A couple of well-coordinated spells knocked him to the ground immediately, leaving him sprawled on the floor, defenseless.
Murmurs spread throughout the room, mixed with looks of disapproval and fear. Rosier, with his cold, calculating demeanor, swept his gaze over the room until it finally stopped on Draco Malfoy, who had been watching everything from the side, trying to keep a low profile.
"Well, Malfoy?" Rosier said, his tone calm, but with an underlying sharpness. "Aren't you going to show what you're made of? Or would you rather stay seated? After all, your family name is already in the dirt, isn't it?"
Draco maintained his impassive expression, though a slight tremble in his jaw betrayed his irritation. He wanted to respond, to retaliate with some sarcastic comment, but he knew it wasn't worth it. His father had warned him that situations like this could happen.
He needed to hold back his wounded pride, which threatened to overflow. He knew Flint and Rosier were looking for a reaction; they wanted to humiliate him, to make an example of him because of his father's actions.
With a calmness he didn't feel, Draco simply shrugged, feigning indifference.
"I don't see the need to waste my time with you," he finally said, in a tone that tried to sound unconcerned.
Rosier, however, didn't let him off so easily. His cutting voice pierced the air:
"Coward."
The word echoed in the room like a spell cast with force. Draco clenched his fists, his eyes flashing with anger, and for a second, everyone thought he would raise his wand. But, with effort, he forced himself to remain in place. In the end, he simply turned his head to one side, avoiding any further eye contact.
Flint threw him a mocking look before searching for his next victim, leaving Draco with a mixture of relief and bitterness. His gaze swept the common room with the confidence of a predator looking for its next prey. Helena felt his eyes stop on her, and a shiver ran down her spine. However, before Flint could move toward her, Cassandra stepped in front of Helena with a nearly imperceptible movement, her posture protective yet subtle. It was enough to divert the bully's attention.
Afterward, Flint turned toward a distant sofa, where a young man with dark hair was sitting calmly, watching the scene with unsettling calm.
"And you?" Flint said, lifting his chin toward the boy. "You've been very quiet. What's going on, Grindelwald? Are you another coward, or are you afraid to get your hands dirty?"
The mention of the surname caused a murmur to ripple through the room. Some students looked up, surprised that someone had the audacity to speak to Lucian like that. Others began to retreat in their places, as if sensing that something dangerous was about to happen.
Lucian, for his part, didn't react immediately. His face remained expressionless, and for a moment, it seemed like he hadn't even heard the comment. The murmurs of the onlookers began to fade as all eyes focused on him, waiting for his response.
With calculated slowness, Lucian stood, his movement full of intimidating calm. Then, without warning, Flint's figure was thrown backward, as if an invisible force had shoved him with brutal force. The bully's body flew across the common room, crashing into an armchair that toppled over from the impact, before landing on the floor with a dull thud.
The silence that followed was absolute. Flint lay stunned, groaning weakly, while the other students stared at Lucian with disbelief and fear. Although he held his wand in his hand, no one had seen him point it, much less say a word. The only explanation was non-verbal magic, something most in the room could barely imagine mastering.
Lucian stood still, his figure radiating an eerie calm that filled every corner of the common room. His gaze, cold and calculating, swept slowly across the room, assessing each person one by one, as if weighing their worth on an invisible scale. There was no anger in his eyes, only a firm warning, cold as ice and sharp as a blade.
Finally, his attention stopped on Rosier, who had frozen in place after witnessing Flint being sent flying without Lucian uttering a single word. Lucian tilted his head slightly, as if considering an interesting idea, and then broke the silence.
"Well?" he said, with a mocking tone, his voice carrying a challenge that seemed to dare not only Rosier but anyone who dared intervene. "Do you want to try your luck?"
Rosier appeared to maintain an indifferent composure, but his eyes, now somewhat restless, betrayed his true feelings. When he received no response, Lucian let out a soft laugh. He took a step forward, tilting his head slightly as though evaluating his new target more closely.
"Don't worry," he added, his tone now almost friendly, though the venom behind his words was unmistakable. "I'll be gentler with you… in consideration of your last name."
Rosier reacted this time, his eyes flashing with pure hostility. His last name, apparently, was a sensitive subject, and Lucian had struck a raw nerve. Without thinking twice, Rosier quickly reached for his wand, ready to cast a spell that would make it clear he was not someone to be underestimated.
But he didn't even have time to speak.
A flash streaked across the room, followed by a sharp thud that echoed in the expectant silence. Rosier let out a choked gasp as a forceful impact struck his stomach. Before he could process what had happened, his body was hurled backward, crashing into the wall with a dull thud.
The murmurs faded into complete silence, broken only by Rosier's low groan as he crumpled to the floor, dazed. His wand rolled away from him, useless.
Lucian stood motionless, the same serene expression he had worn from the beginning, his wand casually resting in his right hand. It was evident he had made no effort, or if he had, he didn't show it. The non-verbal magic he had used only made the atmosphere around him feel heavier.
"You've got slow reflexes, Rosier," he remarked coldly, his words filled with a biting indifference. "Maybe you should practice more before trying something so impulsive."
The tension in the Slytherin common room was almost palpable, as if the air had become denser after Lucian's remark. Meanwhile, the young man settled back on the sofa with calculated indifference, all eyes were still fixed on him, some with a mix of astonishment and fear, others with a silent respect they dared not express openly.
Flint and Rosier's friends, who had seemed so confident moments before, remained frozen in place. No one dared to step forward, not even to help Rosier, who was still trying to recover from the blow.
Lucian allowed the silence to stretch, as though enjoying the uncomfortable dominance he had imposed. Finally, when the tension reached its peak, he spoke again.
"Well," he said, his tone filled with implicit authority. "I think we can call it a night. It's a good time to sleep."
His words were an order disguised as a suggestion. He calmly rose from the sofa, tucked his wand inside his robe, and began walking toward the stairs leading to the dormitories, ignoring the stares that followed him.
As his figure disappeared up the stairs, the hesitant murmurs returned, and the students began to move again, as if they had been paralyzed the entire time.
Doubts, nervousness, amazement, joy, and even fear; a true array of emotions flooded the common room. No one seemed to know exactly how to react. The younger students looked at Lucian as if he were an untouchable, almost legendary figure, while the older ones tried to mask their discomfort, aware that the balance of power within Slytherin had just shifted drastically.
In a more secluded corner, Helena and Cassandra exchanged a silent glance. Cassandra wore a restrained expression of approval, as if Lucian's performance had been exactly what she expected from him. She didn't seem surprised, but satisfied, as if everything had gone according to a plan only she knew.
Helena, on the other hand, was lost in thought. Her eyes reflected a mix of intrigue and slight concern as her mind tried to process what she had just witnessed.
She knew Lucian was advanced in magic, that was clear from the moment she had first met him. But this? Defeating two older and seemingly more experienced opponents, and doing so without visible effort, was not something that could be achieved with simple home lessons or innate talent.
There was something more.
"This isn't normal," Helena thought, interlacing her hands in her lap as she watched the room slowly begin to empty. What kind of training had Lucian received? Where did that absolute control, that terrifying calm, come from?
Noticing Helena's prolonged silence, Cassandra gave her a brief smile.
"Surprised?" Cassandra asked, leaning slightly toward her, her tone as casual as if they were talking about the weather.
Helena hesitated before responding.
"More like… intrigued," she finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, careful not to be overheard by anyone else. "Even though I'm new to the magical world, I know what he just did isn't something anyone can pull off."
Cassandra shrugged with an elegance that seemed innate, but her gaze betrayed a hint of deeper emotions.
"He's a Grindelwald," she said confidently, her tone lower than usual. "Even if something seems impossible, he has to make it possible."
There was something more than confidence in those words. It was almost a mix of sympathy and sadness, as if she fully understood the weight of what she had just said and all it implied.
Helena didn't answer right away. Her thoughts grew darker as her gaze instinctively drifted toward the stairs Lucian had disappeared up. Perhaps it was the first time since meeting him that she could begin to understand the weight of the name he carried.
The name Grindelwald was not just a last name; it was a long shadow, a mark that evoked both fear and fascination in those who heard it. But now, after what she had witnessed, Helena understood that legacy was also a burden, one Lucian carried with unsettling serenity.
For a moment, she thought of her own last name: Potter. Helena Potter. It had only been five days since Hogwarts began, and she already felt how that name weighed on her as though it were something larger than herself. The looks, the expectations… She didn't have to do much to realize that everyone expected something from her. A great heroine? An exemplary student?
Helena wasn't sure how to handle it. She was just beginning to discover who she was in the magical world, but already she felt she didn't have the luxury of making mistakes, not with so many people watching, judging her even before she could prove anything.
And then there was Lucian. He didn't seem to carry that same insecurity. He seemed made to bear the weight of his last name, or at least, that's how it appeared. While she felt overwhelmed, he remained indifferent, as if the opinions of others didn't affect him. How did he do it? That controlled coldness, that unshakable calm. Had he learned it, been taught it, or was it simply part of who he was?
Helena let out a barely audible sigh.
"He's a Grindelwald," Cassandra repeated softly, as if those words were a sufficient answer.
Helena wasn't so sure. No matter how much she tried to compare her experiences with Lucian's, she knew there was a fundamental difference between them. He seemed to have accepted the world's view of him as an inevitable fact. She, on the other hand, wasn't sure she would ever be able to do the same.