The next morning, sunlight poured through Ravenclaw Tower's tall, arched windows, catching the dust motes in lazy swirls and bathing the common room in a gentle glow. In one of the plush armchairs, Elijah sat with meticulous poise, a dainty porcelain teacup of untouched coffee cooling by his side.
Though he wasn't troubled by the bright morning—he was an Original, after all—the day's warmth offered little comfort for his thoughts.
He held himself unnaturally still, slender fingers absently toying with the cup's handle. It was a fleeting distraction at best; his gaze drifted to some invisible point between old memories and new uncertainties.
All around him, studious Ravenclaws fiddled with homework. The academic normalcy did nothing to ease the tension lodged in Elijah's mind.
A sudden shriek shattered the serenity. A nearby third-year's ill-timed Transfiguration turned a quill into a plush raven toy, which promptly let out a piercing cry.
Elijah blinked and refocused, setting the teacup aside.
The day's first lessons begin shortly, he reminded himself.
The bustle of students packing their bags and exchanging final bits of homework advice wafted through the room.
He noted, with mild annoyance, that Marie Slater—his newly acquired study partner—was nowhere to be seen.
I can't let her wander around aimlessly, now can I?
With languid grace, he rose to smooth the front of his immaculate robes. They were mostly black, with only the faintest trace of blue to mark his House allegiance, but he wore them with a quiet elegance that invited sidelong glances from his housemates.
His schedule for the morning drifted through his thoughts.
Care of Magical Creatures first, then a convenient free period that might turn out to something interesting.
§
By the time Elijah made it to the Great Hall was already filled with the subdued rumble of conversation.
He entered without so much as a glance towards Dolores Umbridge, taking a seat at the Ravenclaw table and arranging a single slice of toast on his plate.
He didn't plan to eat it. Appearances, after all, must be maintained.
Eventually, Marie appeared.
He caught her flustered expression as she approached, cheeks tinted with warmth. "Morning," she managed, almost shyly.
He inclined his head graciously. "My dear Miss Slater, I trust you slept well?"
She exhaled as if relieved by his cordial tone. "As well as one can, with all this… tension."
Elijah's eyes narrowed with polite curiosity. "Tension, you say? You look pensive, love. Is something troubling you in particular?"
She bit her lip, leaning closer to keep her voice low. "There are rumours of new decrees—more restrictions on spell practice. Students are worried Umbridge is planning to forbid all extracurricular wand practice. And then…" She faltered. "There are these strange sightings near the forest. The Professors haven't said anything yet, but there are students who swear they heard howling or moaning at night."
A faint smile touched Elijah's lips. Howling? Surely not werewolves at this time of the month… "Fascinating. Perhaps the castle has decided to amuse itself by conjuring a new rumour," he offered lightly.
Marie tried for a laugh, though worry still shadowed her features. "We've got Care of Magical Creatures first—think there'll be something… unusual this time?"
He smiled. "One can only hope."
Before she could reply, Professor Flitwick flitted past, urging everyone not to be late for class. With a quick farewell, they headed out of the Great Hall, Elijah's measured strides matching Marie's more hurried pace.
§
Their lesson took place on a gentle slope of grass near the Forbidden Forest—an ironic location, given the latest reports of eerie noises.
Elijah lingered at the edge of the assembled Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, keeping a polite distance while Professor Grubbly-Plank introduced the topic of the day.
"Bowtruckles," she announced briskly, "anyone know what they are?"
"Elijah," Marie whispered. "Isn't it odd we're coming so close to the forest if there really is something out there?"
He offered a smooth shrug. "If the staff deemed it dangerous, they would certainly confine classes to safer grounds—Umbridge's meddling aside."
Patricia Stimpson raised her hand at once. "They're small, twig-like creatures that guard wandwood trees. They are usually peaceful, but they'll go for your eyes if you threaten them or their tree."
Professor Grubbly-Plank beamed. "Precisely, Miss Stimpson. They're protective little things, vital to preserving wandwood. Now—pair up! One partner offers woodlice to keep the Bowtruckle calm, the other takes careful measurements."
A murmur of assent rippled through Elijah's housemates.
Marie tugged lightly on Elijah's sleeve. "We'll be partners, then?"
A soft laugh rumbled in his throat. "I'd have it no other way, love." He adjusted his cuffs, his dark robes standing out against the more practical attire worn by the others. A few curious glances followed him as he moved.
Professor Grubbly-Plank beckoned them all closer to the nearest tree. A cluster of Bowtruckles perched on a spindly branch overhead, their twig fingers shifting in wary interest. Marie stepped forward carefully, squinting against the sunlight. "Here, little friend," she coaxed, offering a plump woodlouse.
One of the Bowtruckles scuttled down the trunk, black eyes gleaming as it snatched the morsel. Another chittered in protest, inching closer as if it, too, craved attention. Marie laughed, delighted by their tiny, delicate movements.
Elijah observed their cautious advance. "They may be small, but they defend their territory quite fiercely," he murmured. "Do be careful, darling."
She nodded, recalling Patricia Stimpson's cautionary words. "I'll feed the second one while you measure the first?"
His answering smile was as warm as it was reassuring. "Certainly." Leaning in, he reached into his bag and pulled out a notebook.
§§§
"Dear readers, on this most splendid Valentine's Day, I extend to you my warmest regards," Elijah said from his armchair and sent a piercing look towards you.
"In the midst of my own ventures, I find myself in need of a rare ingredient—powerstones, those enigmatic gems of formidable potential. Should you, by chance, come into possession of one, or more, I would be ever so grateful if you might send them my way."