The days following Ez's first Quidditch match passed in a whirlwind of activity. His victory as a first-year had solidified his growing reputation, earning nods of respect from older students. But beneath the surface of success, Ez knew he had far more important matters to focus on—the mysteries of his lineage and his magic.
---
Late at night, illuminated by the dim blue glow of his wand, Ez flipped through the Ravenclaw Grimoire, his fingers tracing the ancient script. Each page held knowledge long forgotten, detailing esoteric spells, elemental control, and enchantments tied to wisdom and perception.
One passage in particular caught his eye:
"To awaken the true blood of the Raven and Ice, the heir must endure the Trial of the Mind and Body. Only through hardship shall the power be tamed."
His ice magic was reactive, flickering at the edges of his control, but this suggested there was a trial—one within Hogwarts. The thought sent a thrill of excitement through him. But what exactly would this trial demand?
---
Ez's growing reputation had begun attracting the attention of noble students, especially from Slytherin.
During a break between classes, he was approached by Atticus Rosier, a sixth-year Slytherin from one of the oldest pureblood families.
"The House of Malverne holds considerable weight, young heir," Rosier mused, studying Ez with keen eyes. "And now you hold the Ravenclaw name as well. Have you given thought to your future alliances?"
Ez met his gaze evenly. "I believe power should come through merit, not birthright alone."
A flicker of something—perhaps amusement—crossed Rosier's face. "An idealist, are we? That's rare among our kind. We shall see how long that lasts."
The conversation left Ez thoughtful. He had no intention of being dragged into pureblood politics, but he couldn't ignore the reality: his titles carried weight, and sooner or later, he would need to navigate these waters carefully.
---
Despite the political maneuvering, Ez found comfort in his friendships.
Cedric Diggory continued to be an easygoing presence, often encouraging Ez to practice more advanced dueling techniques.
Elena Selwyn, as sharp-tongued as ever, teased him mercilessly about the attention he was receiving from female students.
Adrian Selwyn kept pushing him during training sessions, determined to outmatch Ez's spellwork and strategy in friendly competitions.
One afternoon, as they walked to the Great Hall, Elena smirked at Ez.
"You realize half the girls in this school are watching you now, right? Between Quidditch, your noble name, and that whole brooding mysterious aura—"
"I don't brood," Ez said flatly.
"You absolutely do." Cedric chuckled.
"Oh, and I heard your little sisters were at the match. Did Daphne enjoy watching her favorite brother win?" Elena added with a smirk.
Ez rolled his eyes. "Daphne isn't my sister."
"But she certainly acts like she is," Adrian muttered.
The conversation shifted, but the topic lingered in Ez's mind. Daphne and Astoria had indeed attended his match, along with his family. He had barely had time to talk to them afterward—perhaps he should send an owl?
---
That evening, Ez made his way to the library, seeking books on Hogwarts' hidden chambers in hopes of uncovering more about his "Trial."
As he browsed a secluded aisle, a voice spoke from the shadows.
"Curious, are you?"
Ez turned sharply, his wand at the ready. An older wizard, perhaps a retired scholar, stood nearby, his gaze piercing.
"The power you seek is not just yours to wield, but to bear," the man continued. "Tread carefully, young Lord."
Ez felt a chill creep up his spine—not from fear, but recognition. This man knew something.
"Who are you?" Ez demanded.
The scholar merely smiled. "A mere observer of history."
And before Ez could question him further, the man disappeared into the maze of bookshelves.
---
As Ez returned to the Ravenclaw Tower, his mind churned with unanswered questions. His magic, his lineage, the hidden trial—everything was slowly falling into place.
He was no longer just another student at Hogwarts. He was the heir to a forgotten power, standing on the precipice of something greater.
And he would not stop until he uncovered the truth.
---