We left the Potions classroom in silence.
Not the awkward kind.
Not the tense kind.
The heavy kind.
The kind that settled into your bones and stayed there.
I didn't ask Blake what she was thinking.
I didn't need to.
She walked beside me with her usual composure—back straight, steps even, chin lifted—but the warmth she'd carried earlier was gone. Not replaced by anger. Not by resentment.
Guarded.
Careful.
When she'd first followed me into that classroom, she'd been quietly excited. I'd seen it in the way her eyes lingered, in how she stood a little straighter, like a child about to meet a story she'd grown up hearing.
Someone who had known her parents.
Someone who had stood beside them.
Someone who could have been… family.
And then she'd been met with hostility sharp enough to cut.
Even though it hadn't been meant for her—even though it had been born of old ghosts and mistaken identities—the damage was still done.
A first impression like that never faded easily.
I knew Blake.
Once her guard went up, it didn't come down because of apologies or explanations. Only time. And actions. Consistent ones.
Words alone never worked.
So I let the silence stand.
We walked through the stone corridors, the dungeon chill slowly giving way to warmer air as we ascended. The castle was alive now—footsteps echoing, voices drifting from distant stairwells, doors opening and closing as students explored their new world.
Blake broke the silence first.
"Where are we going now?" she asked.
Her tone was neutral, but there was distance in it.
"To see Professor Flitwick," I replied.
She glanced at me, eyebrows lifting slightly, but didn't slow her pace.
"Why?"
"I want to restart the dueling club."
She stopped walking.
I took two more steps before realizing she wasn't beside me anymore, then turned back.
Blake stared at me like I'd just suggested summoning a dragon in the Great Hall.
"…You do realize," she said slowly, "that Dumbledore will shut that down immediately."
"I know."
She narrowed her eyes. "Then why—"
"Because," I interrupted calmly, "I'm not going to ask Dumbledore."
That made her blink.
I resumed walking, and after a moment, she fell into step beside me again.
"I'm starting with something else," I continued. "An all-house study club. Official. Academic. Completely harmless on paper."
"And unofficially?" she asked.
"Controlled spell practice. Theory discussions. Duel etiquette. Safety charms. Wand control."
She exhaled through her nose. "So… dueling club with extra steps."
"Exactly."
She shook her head, but there was the faintest hint of amusement in her eyes now.
"We just need permission from the Heads of House," I went on. "Flitwick first. He's practical. He values learning. And he won't dismiss the idea outright."
Blake hummed thoughtfully. "McGonagall?"
"Strict," I admitted. "But fair."
"Snape?" she asked dryly.
I smirked. "Already halfway there."
She looked at me sharply. "You planned this."
"Yes."
She sighed. "Of course you did."
We reached a quieter corridor—one that led toward Ravenclaw Tower and the Charms classrooms beyond. The stone here was lighter, the windows taller, sunlight filtering in through enchanted glass that painted the floor in shifting patterns.
"Oh," I said suddenly, stopping. "I almost forgot."
She gave me a questioning look.
"Liri."
There was a soft pop.
The air shimmered, and the small house-elf appeared between us, clutching a neatly tied bag nearly half her size. Her ears twitched with excitement, eyes bright.
"Did you get everything?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," Liri said proudly. "Liri brought everything Master asked for."
I accepted the bag, its contents shifting softly inside.
"Thank you, Liri."
Her face lit up.
"Liri is very happy to serve Master!"
Before Blake could even respond, the elf vanished with another pop.
Blake stared at the empty space for a moment.
She shook her head, but this time, the tension in her shoulders eased just a fraction.
We resumed walking.
Ahead of us, the familiar corridor leading toward the Charms wing came into view.
Professor Flitwick's domain.
We arrived outside Professor Flitwick's office shortly after.
The corridor here felt different from the dungeons—brighter, warmer, humming faintly with layered charms that responded to thought and sound alike. A place where magic felt curious rather than guarded.
Blake stopped first.
She knocked.
Then, without waiting too long—confident but polite—she opened the door and stepped inside.
I followed a half-step behind her.
"Oh!" came a cheerful voice from within. "Miss Black and Mister Salvius–P. What a very unique pair."
Professor Filius Flitwick stood behind his desk, perched atop a stack of cushions as usual, eyes bright behind his spectacles. He looked genuinely pleased to see us—pleased, but also… surprised.
Blake glanced back at me.
"Hello, Professor," she said lightly. "Actually, Al had something to ask you. He just dragged me along."
I raised my hands innocently. "Traitor. Pushing me to the front."
Flitwick chuckled.
I stepped forward and reached into the bag Liri had brought, carefully pulling out a chilled glass bottle.
"Professor," I said, holding it out, "this is for you."
He peered at it, curiosity sparking.
"A muggle cherry soda," I explained. "I was reading through one of my parents' journals. They mentioned that whenever they came to you for guidance, they always brought cherry syrup soda with ice."
I smiled faintly.
"I thought you might enjoy this—muggle version, but made properly."
For a moment, Flitwick didn't speak.
Then he accepted the bottle with both hands, as if it were something fragile.
"Ah," he said softly. "Your parents were always thoughtful."
His expression warmed, eyes misting just slightly.
"I was very glad when they got married," he continued. "Very glad indeed. Two brilliant minds—and kinder hearts—finding each other."
He sighed.
"And I must say… I was quite shocked yesterday. Hearing both of your names again. After so long."
"We were too," Blake said quietly. "When we found out."
Flitwick nodded, gaze moving between us now—not as Head of Ravenclaw, not as a professor, but as someone who remembered.
"It seems," he said gently, "that you knew each other even before Hogwarts."
"Yes," Blake replied. "We grew up together. In the orphanage."
Flitwick blinked. "Ah. I see."
"Professor McGonagall knows," I added. "But I don't think she had time to tell anyone else. She found out properly during the Sorting."
Then he shook himself slightly.
"I digress," he said brightly. "What brings you here today?"
I straightened.
"Professor," I said, "we'd like to start an all-house study club."
His eyebrows lifted.
"A place where students from all houses can practice spells, improve together, get help from upper years, and—when possible—guidance from professors."
"Once a month," Blake added. "Outside normal lessons."
Flitwick considered this carefully, fingers tapping lightly on the soda bottle.
"That is a noble idea," he said at last. "Very much in the spirit of Hogwarts."
Then, more cautiously—
"But I cannot decide alone."
"Of course, Professor," I said immediately. "I'll be visiting the other Heads of House as well. We were hoping you could discuss it together and come to a decision."
Flitwick smiled.
"That sounds perfectly reasonable."
He lifted the bottle slightly.
"And thank you," he added warmly, "for the cherry soda."
"You're welcome, Professor."
We inclined our heads respectfully.
Then turned and left his office, the door closing softly behind us.
The first piece was in motion.
After we left Professor Flitwick's office, Blake slowed.
"I'll head to the library," she said after a moment. "Badeea wanted to show me a restricted-reference workaround."
I nodded.
She hesitated, then added quietly, "Thank you… for earlier."
I met her eyes. "You didn't need to say it."
That earned me a small, tired smile.
She turned and disappeared down the corridor toward the moving staircases, posture composed but guarded—walls rebuilt, not higher, just… firmer.
I watched her go for a second longer than necessary.
Then I turned the other way.
Professor McGonagall's office sat where it always had—orderly, austere, precise. Even the air around it felt disciplined, as if magic itself stood straighter here.
I knocked once.
"Come in."
I entered.
Professor Minerva McGonagall sat behind her desk, quill moving rapidly over parchment. She didn't look up immediately, but I could feel her attention sharpen the moment I crossed the threshold.
"Yes?" she said crisply.
"Good morning, Professor."
She finally raised her head—and paused.
Ah.
Recognition.
"Mr. Salvius–P," she said, setting the quill down. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
I reached into the bag Liri had prepared and placed a small, neatly wrapped parcel on her desk.
"This is for you, Professor."
Her eyes flicked to it, then back to me—skeptical, but curious.
"Ginger newt biscuits," I said calmly. "Muggle-made base, enchanted glaze."
Her eyebrows lifted despite herself.
"I read in my mother's journal," I continued, "that you used to offer her ginger biscuits whenever she stayed late in your office. She said you claimed it 'helped with thinking'—but that you always made sure she ate before difficult conversations."
For a moment, Professor McGonagall didn't speak.
Then she removed her glasses.
That alone told me I'd hit something real.
"…Your mother," she said quietly, "had an excellent memory."
She unwrapped the parcel with care, revealing the biscuits inside. The faint scent of ginger filled the room—warm, sharp, grounding.
"She also had a terrible habit of forgetting meals," McGonagall added, lips thinning just slightly. "Someone had to intervene."
I allowed myself a small smile.
She looked at me more closely now—not assessing, not judging—but measuring something deeper.
"You handled yourself well yesterday," she said after a pause. "Both of you did."
"Thank you, Professor."
"I imagine," she went on, "that the coming weeks will not be… simple."
"No," I agreed. "But manageable."
That earned me a sharp look—half approval, half warning.
"I suspected," she said slowly, "that there was more behind Arcturus Black's recent reappearance."
Her gaze didn't waver.
"You confirm that suspicion."
"I do."
McGonagall nodded once.
"Very well," she said. "Then I expect you to remember something, Mr. Salvius–P."
"Yes, Professor?"
"Hogwarts is a school," she said firmly. "Not a battlefield. Not a political chamber. Whatever legacies you carry—leave them at the door when possible."
"I will try," I said honestly.
That seemed to satisfy her.
She studied me for a moment longer, fingers resting lightly against the edge of her desk.
"And now," Professor McGonagall said, tone returning to its usual precise sharpness, "I suspect you did not come here solely to deliver nostalgic baked goods."
I inclined my head. "No, Professor."
Her eyebrow arched—an invitation, not impatience.
"I wanted to inform you," I said, "that I'm seeking permission to start an all-house study club. A structured one. Supervised. The aim would be to let students practice together, receive guidance from upper years, and—when appropriate—consult professors on spellwork outside the standard syllabus."
She leaned back slightly in her chair.
"A study club," she repeated, testing the words.
"Yes," I continued evenly. "Once a week. Voluntary. Open to all houses. I intend it to reduce unsupervised experimentation and… friction."
McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line—not displeased, but thoughtful.
"That is," she said after a pause, "an ambitious proposal for a first-year."
"I'm aware."
Her eyes sharpened. "And whose idea was this truly?"
"Mine," I replied without hesitation. "Though I intend to consult all the Heads of House before proceeding. I would prefer the decision be collective."
That earned me a nod.
"Sensible," she said. "And unexpectedly diplomatic."
She reached for one of the biscuits, broke it cleanly in half, and tasted it.
"Very well," she said. "I will discuss it with the other Heads. Do not take silence as approval, Mr. Salvius–P."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
She allowed herself the faintest hint of a smile. "You may go."
I bowed my head slightly and turned to leave.
As my hand reached the door, her voice stopped me once more.
"And Alastair."
"Yes, Professor?"
"Try not to exhaust the goodwill of the staff in your first week."
I smiled. "I'll pace myself."
This time, when I left, the door closed with a sense of finality—not dismissal, but acceptance.
From there, I headed down toward the greenhouses.
The air changed as I approached—warmer, more humid, carrying the rich scent of soil and growing things. It was a stark contrast to stone corridors and stern offices.
Professor Sprout's door was propped open, as usual.
Inside, she was fussing over a tray of seedlings, humming softly to herself.
I knocked lightly on the frame.
"Oh!" she said, looking up with a bright smile. "Yes? Can I help you, dear?"
"Good morning, Professor Sprout."
"Well good morning to you too," she replied cheerfully. "And you must be—ah. Salvius–P. Yes, I remember now."
I reached into Liri's bag again and placed a glass bottle carefully on the nearby worktable.
"I hope this isn't inappropriate," I said. "I didn't know your preferences, so I brought something simple. Muggle cola."
She blinked.
Then laughed.
"Well I'll be," she said, picking it up and examining the label. "I haven't had one of these since my niece visited last summer."
She popped the cap with her wand and took a sip.
"Oh that's dreadful," she said immediately.
Then took another sip.
"And strangely addictive."
I relaxed a fraction.
"I wanted to ask your opinion on something," I said, mirroring the tone I'd used with McGonagall. "I'm proposing an all-house study club. Shared practice, supervised sessions, guidance from upper years and—when available—staff."
Her expression softened, interest replacing amusement.
"That sounds lovely," she said at once. "Ambitious, but lovely."
"I've already spoken with Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall," I added. "I wanted to inform you before discussions among the Heads begin."
Professor Sprout nodded thoughtfully.
"Hogwarts could use more cooperation these days," she said. "Especially among the younger ones."
She smiled at me, warm and genuine.
"I can't promise anything yet," she said, "but you have my support in principle."
"Thank you, Professor."
She waved a dirt-smudged hand. "Just make sure no one tramples my greenhouses in the name of learning."
"No promises," I said lightly. "But I'll try."
She laughed, and the sound followed me back into the corridor as I left.
Two more conversations completed.
Two more pieces set.
The board was taking shape.
King about to be cornered.