Hogwarts: The Wizard’s Rebirth

The fire in the Slytherin common room burned low when Elias Blackthorn stepped through the stone entrance, robes catching a flicker of emerald light as the door slid shut behind him. The usual chatter was muted tonight, replaced with hushed whispers and narrowed eyes. The glowing green lanterns cast deep shadows, and every student inside had the same tight, curious expression.

Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass were sitting on the leather couch closest to the fire, both of them turning toward him the moment he entered.

"You're finally back," Draco said, standing. "What did Dumbledore want?"

Elias moved toward them, voice calm. "Nothing much. He simply wanted to know if I noticed anything unusual about the magic used on Filch's cat."

"And did you?" Daphne asked quietly, eyes sharp with curiosity.

"Petrification," Elias replied, settling down on the arm of a chair. "But not by wand magic. 

Draco let out a low whistle. "Blimey. The whole school's going mad. Some of the first-years already think they're cursed."

"I'm not surprised," Daphne muttered. "Did you see the writing on the wall?"

Elias nodded, though his gaze lingered on the flames. "Yes. I saw it."

For a few moments, they sat in silence, the only sound being the soft crackle of the fire and the murmured whispers of students behind them.

"Do you think it's really the Chamber of Secrets?" Daphne asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Elias didn't answer immediately. "I think there's truth in the legend," he said finally, then stood. "I'll see you both in the morning."

He didn't need to look back to know they were still staring after him when he vanished into the boys' dormitory.

By the next morning, Hogwarts had transformed.

The buzz in the corridors wasn't about Quidditch, homework, or the latest dungbomb disaster—it was all about Mrs. Norris, the blood-red warning on the wall, and the ancient legend of the Chamber of Secrets.

"She was hanging by her tail!"

"Completely stiff—like a statue!"

"They say someone in school did it!"

Elias moved through the halls quietly, listening without appearing to. Even the ghosts were whispering among themselves, and the Bloody Baron glided silently past the Great Hall with an unusually grim expression.

At breakfast, Draco was in his element, basking in the attention.

"I'm telling you, my father always said the Chamber was real," Draco declared loudly, his voice carrying across the table. "Only the Heir of Slytherin can open it. You wait—this is just the beginning."

Elias gave him a look, but said nothing. Daphne rolled her eyes and turned to her porridge.

It wasn't long before whispers turned into questions—so many that in that afternoon's History of Magic class, Professor Binns was finally forced to address them.

The classroom was as cold and dull as ever, with the ghostly professor floating slightly above his chair, lecturing in his usual monotone about the International Warlock Convention of 1289.

But Hermione's hand shot into the air before he could finish his sentence.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Binns droned.

"Professor," she said eagerly, "could you tell us about the Chamber of Secrets?"

There was a stir across the room—heads turned, whispers broke out. Even Ron and Harry looked up with sudden interest.

Professor Binns blinked—or would have, if he still had eyelids. "My subject is history, not myths and legends."

"It is history," Hermione insisted. "A part of Hogwarts' history."

Binns let out a discontented sigh and hovered a little higher. "Very well."

Elias watched silently from his seat at the back, arms folded across his chest as Binns finally relented and began.

"According to legend, the Chamber of Secrets was created by Salazar Slytherin himself, one of the four founders of Hogwarts. He disagreed with the others about admitting Muggle-born students. He believed only pure-bloods deserved to learn magic. When the others refused to agree, Slytherin left the school."

Some students nodded; others looked unsettled.

"It is said," Binns continued, "that before he departed, he built a hidden chamber somewhere within the castle. None but his true heir would be able to open it. Inside, it was said to house a monster that would one day purge the school of all who were unworthy."

He paused.

"But let me be perfectly clear: this is pure fiction. A story. There is no Chamber. It has been searched for many times by many professors—including more competent minds than Gilderoy Lockhart—and it has never been found."

"But someone did open it," said Seamus from the front. "The message was on the wall!"

"Mrs. Norris was attacked!" added Dean.

Binns looked mildly annoyed, as if he were being asked to entertain a fairy tale. "Coincidence and mischief. Nothing more."

But no one believed it. And as the students filed out of the classroom, the tension in the air felt heavier than ever.

Down the corridor, inside a quiet nook behind a tapestry, Harry, Ron, and Hermione huddled together.

"Come on," Ron said, whispering as they walked, "it's obvious who it is, isn't it?"

Harry frowned. "You mean…?"

"Malfoy," Ron hissed. "He's always going on about pure-bloods, and how his father told him the Chamber is real."

"I don't know," Hermione said slowly. "I mean, yes, he's obnoxious and obsessed with bloodlines, but he doesn't strike me as the type to open some secret, ancient monster chamber."

"Then who do you think it is?" Ron demanded.

Hermione hesitated. "I'm not sure. But…"

"But?" Harry asked, eyebrows raised.

Hermione looked around, then leaned in a bit closer.

"Blackthorn."

"What?" Ron said, eyes wide.

Harry blinked. "Elias Blackthorn?"

"Exactly," Hermione said, lowering her voice. "He's from an old pure-blood family, the kind that's practically royalty in the wizarding world. And no one really knows what he does. He's powerful, precise in class, and Snape practically leaves him alone. Doesn't that seem suspicious?"

Harry frowned. "He was at the feast. But Dumbledore called him when he called us. Maybe he suspects something too."

Hermione nodded slowly. "I think we need proof. We can't just accuse someone like Elias without it."

Ron gave her a look. "And how do we get proof? He's not exactly going to tell us, 'Oh yes, I'm the Heir of Slytherin. Do come in and have a butterbeer.'"

Hermione's eyes lit with a spark. "Polyjuice Potion."

Harry blinked. "You mean—pretend to be someone else and ask him ourselves?"

"Yes. If we can become Slytherins, we might be able to get close to him. He might let something slip."

"I agree," Hermione replied, her eyes scanning the room as if trying to find answers in the air itself. "We could use the Polyjuice Potion to find out more. If we turn into him, we might learn something, even if we have to be careful."

Ron's eyes widened. "You want us to steal ingredients from Snape?"

Hermione hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. "I don't like it, but it's the only way we can get what we need. Snape keeps the best supplies, and with the potion, we could get the answers we need."

"I don't know..." Ron said, looking unsure. "What if we get caught?"

Hermione frowned. "It'll be risky, but we've done risky things before, right?" She gave Harry a pointed look. "It's the only chance we have. The longer we wait, the more dangerous it gets."

Ron looked at her, then at Harry, who nodded in agreement. "Alright, fine," Ron muttered. "But I'm not getting caught because of this. Snape's already suspicious of us."

The following day, classes resumed as normal. McGonagall's sharp voice echoed through the corridors as she lectured her students on Transfiguration, while Flitwick's high-pitched voice guided them through charms. The classrooms buzzed with activity, but none of the students could shake the thoughts of the mystery they were trying to unravel.

Elias Blackthorn, however, was deep in his studies, as he had been all week. While his classmates pondered the possibility of the Chamber of Secrets, he focused on mastering his spells and learning more about the ancient texts he had been studying. He was in the Room of Requirement once again, practicing complex incantations and refining his magical abilities.

The next day, after their classes, Elias led Draco and Daphne to the Room of Requirement. As usual, the room appeared as they walked past the blank wall, and they stepped inside to find a spacious area filled with practice dummies, various magical items, and enchanted objects. Elias had already set up a few targets for them to practice on.

"Alright," Elias began, his voice steady and commanding, "I'm going to teach you a few advanced spells. They're not for the faint of heart, so focus."

For the next hour, Elias walked them through complex incantations, teaching them how to enhance their spells for more precise and effective results. Both Draco and Daphne showed considerable talent, quickly mastering the basics of the spells Elias demonstrated. He had to admit that they were both fast learners—Draco's arrogance sometimes got in the way, but Daphne's natural aptitude for magic was impressive.

The day of the Quidditch match arrived, and as usual, Slytherin's team was ready to face Gryffindor. The air was crisp as the students filed into the stands, their eyes fixed on the pitch. Draco Malfoy, as a new member of the team, was particularly excited. His father, as always, had made sure that the Slytherin team had the best equipment, including brand-new Nimbus 2001 brooms for all the players.

Elias, who had no interest in the game itself, watched with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. He knew that the game was more than just a spectacle—it was about the pride of each house, and the players, especially Draco, took it seriously.

As the match began, it didn't take long for things to heat up. The Gryffindor team was doing well, with Harry Potter flying with determination, despite the presence of Draco Malfoy on the other side. But just as the game seemed to be in full swing, something strange happened. Harry's broom began to behave erratically.

Elias, watching from the sidelines, felt a strange unease. The broom was moving on its own, as if it had a mind of its own. It was almost as if someone—or something—was manipulating it.

Elias watched as Harry struggled to regain control of his broom, his body jerking in the air as if he were a puppet. He could hear the gasps and shouts from the crowd as Harry's broom threatened to send him flying uncontrollably. Dobby's magic was powerful, but it wasn't enough to stop the inevitable crash.

"Potter's going to fall," Draco muttered under his breath, though his words were laced with concern. He might have been a Slytherin, but no one wanted to see anyone get hurt on the field.

Elias shook his head. "It's not just the broom. Someone's controlling it."

Before he could say more, Harry finally managed to regain control, and the match continued. But the damage had been done. The Slytherin team had won, but the spectacle of Harry's broom and the truth behind it left a sour taste in Elias's mouth.