The halls of Hogwarts were steeped in whispers.
It had started as a normal evening, or as normal as things could be in the dreadful year that was Harry Potter's fifth.
The castle, as ancient and steadfast as ever, had borne witness to many peculiar happenings over the centuries… But this?
This was different.
This was something new, something wrong and… old.
Very old.
Oliver Graves, a seventh-year Ravenclaw, had vanished yesterday.
No one had seen him since the evening before, and the Ravenclaw table at breakfast had been a flurry of hushed speculation.
Professor Flitwick had attempted to quell the concerns of his House, assuring them that students sometimes found themselves in peculiar predicaments—perhaps trapped in a secret passageway or ensnared by Peeves' latest prank.
Yet, the hours had stretched on, and Oliver had not returned.
Even Umbridge, in all her self-righteous arrogance, had been forced to acknowledge the disappearance, sending Filch to conduct a fruitless search of the castle grounds.
The Hogwarts mill was churning with rumours.
Some whispered that Oliver had been spirited away by dark forces, while others claimed he had lost his way in the forbidden forest, as he was last seen near there.
A few even suggested that he might have been kidnapped and placed in the Chamber of Secrets.
Harry had barely paid any attention to the matter, especially to that last rumour.
Between the looming spectre of his Occlumency lessons with Snape, Dumbledore's unsettling absence, and the ever-growing tyranny of the Inquisitorial Squad, a missing student felt almost mundane in the grand scheme of things.
It wasn't until dinner that his interest was piqued—because that was when Oliver returned.
He strode into the Great Hall with an eerie, effortless grace, his robes pristine despite having supposedly disappeared for an entire day.
Heads turned as he moved toward the Ravenclaw table, his expression unreadable, his posture perfect, too perfect.
The murmurs swelled, a rising tide of unease rippling across the room.
Luna Lovegood, sitting nearest to where Oliver took his seat, cocked her head at him with open curiosity. "You look different," she said dreamily. "More handsome."
Oliver smiled.
Or, at least, that's what it should have been.
There was something unnatural about the way his lips curled. "Nothing's changed," he replied smoothly, his voice richer and deeper.
Across the hall, Hermione nudged Harry, frowning slightly. "He looks oddly… well. Wouldn't you expect someone who'd been missing to look at least a little dishevelled?"
Harry narrowed his eyes.
The truth was, he hadn't known Oliver Graves well—just another face in the sea of students—but something about the way he carried himself now made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Even Malfoy, always poised with a cutting remark, was watching the Ravenclaw table with an unusual quietness, his pale brows slightly furrowed.
Then Oliver picked up his goblet and drank.
The reaction was instant, imperceptible to most but not to those who had been watching closely.
He stilled mid-sip, the liquid lingering too long in his mouth, his throat working to swallow as though the taste were foreign to him.
A flicker of something passed over his face—distaste, confusion? But just as quickly, it was gone, masked beneath that same perfect smile.
He set the goblet down, but he did not eat.
The night passed, but the whispers did not.
Students gossiped in common rooms, speculating in hushed voices.
Was he trapped somewhere? Did Umbridge have something to do with it? Had he run away and come back?
Professor Umbridge rose from her seat at the High Inquisitor's table, her pink robes impeccably pressed and her demeanour as stern as ever.
Her plump cheeks flushed with authority as she surveyed the room, her narrow eyes lingering momentarily on the Ravenclaw table where Oliver sat with an unsettling composure.
"A word, Mr. Graves," Umbridge began, her voice sickly sweet, silencing the remaining chatter. "After dinner."
All eyes followed her as she turned to walk down the aisle towards the staff table, her steps precise and deliberate.
A collective intake of breath swept through the students, the atmosphere thick with anticipation.
Some exchanged worried glances, others simply observed, curiosity piqued by the command.
Oliver remained silent, his expression unreadable, though a subtle tension underlay his poised exterior.
As Umbridge reached his side, she placed a heavy, gold-embossed hand on his shoulder, her grip firm.
"I need to speak with you about your disappearance," she said, taking a tone that one would use with a child. "It is imperative that I learn the circumstances surrounding your absence and you understand the consequences of breaking school rules. Such behaviour undermines the very structure of discipline that I have worked so hard to establish at this institution"
Oliver's lips suddenly widened.
"Umbridge, please. My name is Elijah," he said softly.
A stunned silence fell over the Great Hall.
Students and faculty alike turned their gazes toward Oliver, now officially Elijah, their expressions a mix of fear—for the Ravenclaw—and surprise.
Umbridge's eyes widened slightly, taken aback by the unexpected correction.
"Elijah?" Umbridge echoed everyone's question, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Even Peeves, who had been drifting near the chandeliers, seemed to pause in midair to witness the exchange.
"Elijah," Umbridge repeated, forcing an overly sweet smile that did little to hide her mounting frustration. "I must insist that you speak plainly, Mr. Graves."
Behind them, Professor McGonagall rose from her seat, her expression grave as she eyed the strange seventh-year.
"Dolores," she said sternly, her voice carrying a quiet authority that commanded the attention of the entire hall, "perhaps it would be best to continue this conversation in the Hospital Wing?"
She glanced at Elijah—Oliver?—with a mixture of concern and suspicion. "He may require medical attention."
Umbridge's saccharine demeanour cracked for the briefest moment. "Yes, my dear. You are correct."
Harry caught the flicker of anger in Professor McGonagall's eyes—anger that she quickly tempered behind a tight-lipped frown.
It wasn't lost on anyone that Umbridge was doing everything in her power to override any authority still held within the school's walls.
"Very well," McGonagall said stiffly, her lips thinning, "then perhaps Madam Pomfrey—"
"Madam Pomfrey can be informed later," Umbridge interrupted with a girlish giggle that set Harry's teeth on edge.
"For now, I shall handle this myself." She turned again to Elijah, her fingers tightening ever so slightly on his shoulder. "Come on, you will come to my office. We'll straighten out this… confusion."
A ripple of unease washed through the students.
No one relished the idea of being summoned to Umbridge's office.
Elijah only offered a charming smile in return.
He inclined his head politely. "If that is what you wish, Professor."
Umbridge bristled at his tone, as though unsure if she was being mocked.
She gave a curt nod and swept from the table, her pink robes flouncing around her ankles as she headed back to the door.
Elijah followed Umbridge out of the Great Hall, disappearing into the corridor…
But as the castle settled into an uneasy slumber, one thing was certain—a Ravenclaw had returned, but he was not the same.
And Hogwarts would never be the same again.