Date: March 9, 1981
The snow was melting at Hogwarts, leaving behind patches of mud and a steel sky. Yet, within the castle, the tension seemed even colder. James Potter barely spoke during meals. This silence was not from weariness: it was a decision. After weeks of mulling over his intuitions, he had finally understood one thing: suspicions were no longer enough. It was time to act.
Since the night of the trial in the Room of Requirement, since the duel he had lost against Marius Valdris, James knew that danger was lurking. And the more time passed, the more he perceived the web that this Slytherin was weaving in the shadows. Rumors were circulating: some Slytherins were disappearing at night, then returning with a harder, almost inhuman look. And always, at their center, Marius, calm like black water, speaking little but listening to everything.
That evening, after dinner, James stood up before the meal ended. His eyes met Lily's, who gave him a questioning look, but he turned his head away. He couldn't tell her. Not yet.
He climbed the stairs to the seventh floor, crossed the deserted corridor, then stopped in front of the stone wall. Three times, he walked past it, thinking hard: A place where no one can surprise us. The door appeared with a whisper.
Remus was already there, leaning against a column, arms crossed. His gray eyes fixed on him without a word. A few minutes later, Sirius entered, accompanied by Peter, who trotted behind him.
"So?" asked Sirius, closing the door. "Have we gathered again to hear James rant about the Slytherin?"
James stood before them, fists clenched.
"No. We've gathered to do something."
Remus raised an eyebrow. Sirius shrugged. Peter looked at James with a mix of worry and excitement.
"Listen to me," said James firmly. "We're no longer talking about a simple rival. This kid... he's building something. I've investigated. He moves at night. He recruits. He has two Slytherins who obey him blindly. And it's not just influence. It's something else."
"Something else?" repeated Sirius, skeptical. "Like what?"
James took a deep breath.
"Like... dark magic."
The word fell among them like a stone in a frozen lake. Remus paled slightly. Peter swallowed.
"Are you sure?" asked Remus, his voice low.
"As sure as I can be without proof," replied James. "But I won't wait for him to serve it to us. So here's what we're going to do: we're going to organize. Not to report to Dumbledore, not yet. To watch him, understand what he's preparing. And if we can, stop him."
Sirius sketched a crooked smile.
"You want to set up... a secret club?"
James met his gaze.
"Call it what you want. But if we do nothing, I swear that in a few years, we'll regret not having acted."
Remus nodded slowly.
"So, it's decided."
James took from his pocket a piece of blank parchment.
"We leave no written trace of what we do, no detailed plan, no names. We keep this among ourselves."
Sirius, amused despite himself, said:
"It sounds like a real plot, Potter."
James did not smile.
"That's exactly what it is."
While the torchlight flickered on the castle walls, far below the stones, in a room that even the founders would have refused to tread, Marius Valdris stood motionless before a runic circle drawn in blood.
Around him, the air vibrated with ancient magic, older than the language he murmured. His words were hoarse, guttural, tearing the silence like fangs. Each syllable carried the bitter taste of the Dark Age.
At his feet lay a house-elf, its body shaken by spasms. Its skin, once supple and brown, cracked like scorched bark. Its eyes, once moist with servitude, blazed with a reddish hatred. Its bones twisted, its fingers lengthened into slender claws.
Cassian and Travers, kneeling at a distance, held their breath. They knew that what they were seeing had no place in this world.
Marius lowered his hand. The elf let out a cry that was anything but human. Its eye sockets deepened, its teeth became fangs. When it stood up, panting, it was no longer an elf. Its arched legs seemed made to pounce, its clawed fingers to lacerate. Its eyes were nothing but embers.
Marius watched it, his face impassive, but his eyes gleaming with an icy glow.
"Kneel."
The creature threw itself at his feet.
"You are no longer a slave," he murmured. "You are my Shadow. My firstborn."
It growled in a guttural tone:
"Lord..."
Cassian swallowed.
"What... what will it do?"
Marius didn't even turn his head.
"What I order it to. And soon... there will be hundreds."
His gaze rose to the stone ceiling, but in his mind, he already saw something else: a creeping army, emerging from the depths, a new Mordor beneath the walls of Hogwarts.
At the same moment, in the Gryffindor common room, James Potter stared at the parchment he had just torn and thrown into the fire. The circle he had just created had a name: The Brotherhood of Dawn. An ironic name, he thought, when he remembered Marius's gaze: a gaze that promised no dawn.