Memento Vivere

by RedRizzler

Summary:

Harry Potter is dead
The wizarding world is in shock due to the News. The chosen one, the boy who lives, died in a simple housefire. Dumbledore lost his golden boy, who should be used to defeat the dark lord once more. Now he is in need of a new chosen one.

But the new chosen one hides alot of secrets. However, some things just dont add up ... And the house of cards built on lies, starts collapsing.
All while being haunted by a self absorbed ghost. Who apparently was a former student of Hogwarts as well ... With one hell of a handsome face and one hell of a big ego.

Notes:

This is just a fun idea I came up with after seeing the movies once more. I dont know how regularly I am going to update. After all I decided to at least post the first chapter already, so I can safe drafts of the chapters I already have. As well as I need to translate everything into english and its probably gonna take a while.

I also need to add, that this fanfiction is veeeeeery slowburn. Like for real it takes ages, till you get to the good stuff. But to keep it interesting, at some point it gets really disturbing to read, so read with cautions.

Importantly I do not own the series Harry Potter, it belongs to J.K.Rowling. This is just a simple fanfiction, if anything seems similar to the books its because it is from the books. (Adding this, cause I think its important? but Im not sure, just wanna stay safe) And as well, Im going to add alot more tags as time passes. This is just a fast description.

Chapter 1

September, 1988

Harry Potter was the only wizard to survive the deadliest of all curses. No one could stand against Lord Voldemort, but this boy dodged the killing curse as a baby and banished the darkest magician of all time.

In the wizarding world he is considered a miracle, the boy who lived, the hero of all, the chosen one.

His fate was predetermined.

He would one day be a great wizard like his mother.

He would become one of the best Quidditch players in school like his father.

Dumbledore's golden boy

Harry Potter will be the hero who will defeat the dark lord when he reappears.

...

The very boy who lived died in a fire at the age of eight ... The firefighters only arrived when the flames lit up the night sky so brightly that it took them until dawn to get the fire under control.

Mrs. Figg, the neighbor across the street, could only look on in horror and hope thatlittle Harry was OK. The next morning, the horrific news came. Only Dudley Dursley was saved just in time and nothing was found of the rest of the family.

Everything burnt to rubble and ashes.

Dudley was taken to the nearest hospital with severe burns and broken bones; he would never look the same again. His entire body was covered in severe burns, his psyche suffered the most, which is why Marge Dursley decided to have him admitted to a psychiatric hospital after his recovery. He had had his whole life ahead of him - he had only just turned nine - and now he had nothing.

When Mrs. Figg heard the news of Harrys' death, she cried bitterly.

The boy who lives... lived, was able to fend off a killing curse, but was brought to his knees by a simple fire. In tears, she informed the headmaster of Hogwarts. In the hope that he could give her other news.

Dumbledore came personally to investigate the matter, but his hands were tied too. All he could determine was that the fire was not caused by magic. The fire department suspected that it was a gas leak. The family went to sleep, closed all the windows and the gas accumulated throughout the house.

All it took was a small spark... to set everything on fire.

The flames burned most strongly in Petunia and Vernon Dursley's bedroom. The two had no chance of surviving. The two children's rooms were directly opposite each other, and it was a miracle that Dudley came out alive.

In this extreme situation, he jumped out of the window without thinking and suffered several bone fractures in addition to all the burns. That was exactly what saved his life. The fire department and the police could not explain why Harry did not do the same.

If only he had jumped out of the window...

Nobody could have guessed why he didn't jump out of the window... or couldn't jump.

Because there was no window in his room.

Marge Dursley took over the organization of the funeral. Her sister Petunia and her husband Vernon were given a magnificent farewell with beautiful coffins and gravestones at the cemetery in Little Whining. They were buried right in the center; you just had to walk straight into the cemetery and you were there. Their grave was covered with flowers and mementos. There were no remains in their coffins because the fire was so hot that everything was pulverized. Their gravestone bore their full names, their birthdays and the day they died. A good saying was thought up for the two of them underneath.

Harrys' funeral was not so... magnificent.

Because Harrys' remains could not be recovered either, Marge Dursley saw no reason to spend money on a coffin. He was buried at the very edge of the cemetery, in the cheapest grave Marge Dursley could find. His tombstone bore only his initials... nothing more, because everything else cost too much money.

No one from the family was with him when the victims were mourned.

It was only a few weeks later, when the news made the rounds in the wizarding world, that all sorts of wizards and witches gradually came and left flowers for his sad grave. Many did not even find it, as it was so hidden and barely labeled.

Even Severus Snape visited the little boy's grave. The only remnant of his great love was now also gone forever. Even if he did not know him and detested the boy's father, he was still a child who should not have died like that.

Severus Snape knew that Dumbledore wanted to present this boy as a hero of the wizarding world as soon as he reached the right age, now he wondered what his next step would be. Because the dark lord will return… and that is exactly when they needed the Chosen One. The boy who was destined to defeat the Dark Lord.

But he was dead now.

There was mourning at Hogwarts for several weeks. The students did not know him, but he was a legend and would remain a legend forever. A picture of the Potters was put up in the trophy hall as a reminder of what the family had achieved. Harry was barely a year old in it.

At first the students and professors stopped in front of it to pray for them, but the more time passed, the more the picture was forgotten. Nobody paid any attention to it anymore, because time took its course and everything went on as usual.

When Dudley was in a relatively stable condition months later, he was visited by Dumbledore. The ancient wizard wanted to know what had happened that night, whether there was perhaps still a spark of hope that the chosen one was alive.

Without him he could not stop Voldemort.

But when Dumbledore confronted him about what had happened and pressed him for details, the little boy panicked and hyperventilated. Before calling a nurse, he used Legilimency, but Dudley's memories showed nothing useful.

The boy woke up from the explosion, tried to save his parents, but only watched as they burned to death. He barely managed to save himself. There was no trace of Harry. Even though young Harry Potter was protected from Voldemort in this house by his mother's love, he was not protected from a gas explosion. Something the headmaster did not think could happen.

Without any further evidence, he returned to Hogwarts.

~~~

April, 1991

"Sylas Ashford, get your arse down to the kitchen immediately!" the voice could be heard throughout the orphanage. It was not particularly large and housed only a very limited number of boys. It was far out in the southeast of England in the town of Ashford.

Sylas hurried down the stairs to the kitchen with a stiff face. If there was one thing he had learned here, it was to keep his emotions under control.
No one was his friend here.

The head of the orphanage, Theodore Ashford, stood in front of the sink and looked angrily at the boy. "Didn't I tell you this morning to do the dishes?! What have you been doing all this time?" he asked, pointing aggressively at the boy and the dishes.

Sylas swallowed his own anger. He truely did his housework that morning, but the other boys in the home must have played a bad game with him.

"The others are trying..." before he could continue, Theodore Ashford came up to him angrily and punched him in the face. He fell heavily to the ground and his nose began to bleed. "Stop lying! Don't blame others just because you can't take responsibility!" The man crouched down in front of him and grabbed Sylas by the collar.

His tone suddenly changed from aggressive to very friendly "Don't get me wrong, Sylas. I'm not punishing you with this physical violence. But we are a community here, a family... aren't we?" He always did that. At first he was angry and let his frustration out. Then he always brought the family card and that family stuck together.

"You're right, Mr. Ashford. I'm sorry, I'll take on my responsibility immediately," the dark-haired boy murmured. You should never contradict him. Always agree, then he would let it go. He let go of his collar and gently stroked his head "That's what I wanted to hear. It wasn't that difficult, was it? You really have to start improving. After all, you've been here for over 2.5 years. You should know how things work."

"Of course," he murmured quietly and stood up, swaying slightly.

Without looking Mr. Ashford in the eye, he started washing up. He didn't like staring into his empty blue eyes. They always looked as if he wanted to shoot himself at any moment. As if he was only running this orphanage because he had no other choice. Sometimes he heard him crying in his office and he wondered what the reason for his miserable condition could be.

Not much was known about the director. His age was only speculated upon; from the gray streaks in his black hair and the wrinkles on his face, many assumed that he must already be well over 40. Nothing was known about his own family, his origins, or his career. There were no pictures of him on the walls, nor of the orphans themselves.

The home itself was a very desolate place. A lot of screaming and fighting happened behind closed doors. The authorities had been aware of the problems at this place for a long time, but decided to ignore them.

The furnishings were simple and minimalistic. Only the bare essentials were put in and often it was second-hand furniture or equipment that had been rotting for years. Only Mr. Ashford's office had more style. Sylas often had to go to his office when the other children got him into trouble again.

In total there were around 8 boys, aged between 6 and 16. For unknown reasons Mr. Ashford was not allowed to take in girls. As soon as you turned 18 and were of legal age, you were chased out of the home because the responsibility of a child's life no longer laid within the orphanage.

The home was also under the protection of the church, which stood right next door. The town of Ashford was very religious and because of the church, no one dared to do anything about the abuses. Because according to the church - who were completely in the dark about the conditions - Mr. Ashford was running the orphanage to their complete satisfaction. To the benefit of the authorities, as they could save money.

Mr. Ashford therefore attached great importance to looking good to the church. Because some of the donations they collected went to him to improve the orphanage.

At least that's what the priest thought about what would happen to the money.

Theodore Ashford was not only a terrible director of an orphanage, but also had a drinking and gambling problem. It was all too common for him to come back drunk and beat the boys to a pulp. The next morning he would always give a sermon about not fighting among themselves.

What would the residents think?

Many of the orphan boys developed behavioral problems due to his borderline personality.

There was a golden rule here. Hit or be smashed. Nobody trusted anyone.

Solidarity, community, family, trust.

Those were all words that did not exist in this institution.

The newcomers usually recognized the situation within the first two weeks, but many still had trouble adjusting to the situation. Mr. Ashford solved the problem by beating the newcomers even harder than he usually did. After the fourth time, most kids had understood how things worked here.

Do what you are asked to do, no matter what you think about it.

Sylas dried the dishes and was putting them away when the oldest of the home came into the kitchen.

"It looks like Theo is in a good mood today," Michael grinned at him. He was a lot taller and plumper than Sylas, but just as sadistic as Mr. Ashford. His hair was shaved into a buzzcut because he thought he wouldn't have to wash his hair anymore that way. General personal hygiene was not one of Michael's strengths, which is why everyone always avoided him. He smelled worse than a troll.

Sylas already had the theory that he did it on purpose so that no one would dare to stand up to him.

"Asshole," the dark-haired boy growled at him. Sylas only spoke to the other children in short sentences, a precautionary measure.

Michael just laughed and gave him the middle finger. He - like many orphans - came here when they were just born. The church had a baby hatch for desperate mothers. In addition, it had also happened that small children were left standing in front of the church. It wasn't often that small children were given away, but when they did, they went straight to hell.

Because Theodore Ashford would never take care of a baby or small child. That was always the job of one of the orphans. Usually the one who was hated the most. At the moment that would be Sylas.

After Sylas had finished his job, he went back to his room. Luckily for him, he was given the privilege of a single room. Unfortunately for him, that was one of the reasons why the others couldn't stand him. Because everyone else had to share two rooms and the rooms were really small and stuffy.

Sylas himself was also only given a storage room that just about had room for a bed, a desk and a small chest of drawers. He was even granted his own sink. The only disadvantage was that there was only one small window at the top of the wall, which barely let in any sunlight, but at least he could stand in here and not have to duck the whole time.

On one of the walls he had put up a free calendar that he had received from the church. He always marked in it when he noticed a regularity in the house. For example, Mr. Ashford would leave the house every Wednesday and Thursday evening and come back drunk. He would make a racket that was hard to ignore.
Michael would sneak out on Friday and Saturday evenings and not come back until early in the morning. When you met him in the morning, he stank of cigarettes and alcohol. But since Mr. Ashford was a heavy drinker and smoker himself, he never noticed the smell.

And thenThere was the entry he wrote every third Monday. Cissy would come to visit him and teach him new things. He didn't know this woman until he came here. Two months after he was brought here, she showed up for the first time and then she came by every three weeks.

It was another reason why people didn't like Sylas. Cissy was an incredibly attractive and noble woman. They were jealous that she only came here to talk to Sylas. If another child wanted to talk to her, she ignored them. Some even had the theory that the two had a sexual relationship and that Mr. Ashford was selling Sylas' body to get more money.

Cissy would come by again that evening and Sylas wanted to make a good impression. She wouldn't appreciate him sitting in front of her with a bloody nose. He immediately washed his face, but he couldn't hide the bruises.

Sighing, he dried his face and lay down. His nose hurt like hell and the headache was slowly coming on. How was he supposed to concentrate when Cissy was teaching him new things?

It was spring break, so Sylas spent the whole day hiding in his room. He had wedged his chair under the door handle so that no one could come in without asking. He had learned his lesson early on...

He kept hearing shouting and running in the hallways. As long as he didn't make a sound, the others would forget that he lived here too. His headache got worse, so he curled up and pulled the covers over his head. The dark-haired boy didn't notice that he was falling asleep.

It was only when there was a few knocks on his door that he woke up. Cissy's soft voice rang out, "Sylas? Are you in there?" Without hesitation, he pushed the chair away and looked into the loving smile of this woman. The upper part of her hair was black and tied back, while the lower part of her blonde hair was left open. She was very elegantly dressed. Her presence alone made the house dead silent. Because she had a look that made even Mr. Ashford flinch. Her aura would not tolerate any noise. She was loving to Sylas, but strict to the rest of the house. Her noble lineage could be seen from afar.

When her gaze slid to his bruises, her smile thinned into a line. She entered the room, closed the door behind her and asked "Did Theo hit you again?" Sylas shook his head and muttered "I got into a fight with the others."

Cissy sighed quietly, took out her wand and flicked "Episkey" once. Sylas felt the pain subside. He muttered a quiet thank you, then sat down at his desk and waited to hear what was happening today. "Well then, I hope you reviewed the last session well. We will continue with the history of pure-blood families," she said and began to tell the story.

When Cissy began to explain and show him the wizarding world just over two years ago, he could hardly believe her. Not even when she claimed that he was also a part of it. How long had he wished to wake up from his nightmare and start in a new world? That was exactly what would be possible for him on his 11th birthday.

Soon he would be able to leave this shithole and go to Hogwarts. His destiny was to become a real wizard and he did not want to disappoint Cissy. She had already said several times that Sylas could be a good student. If he got into the right house, he could find true strength.

He had already asked her several times which house she used to be in and which one she liked best, but she only said that the Sorting Hat would know where Sylas belonged. He just had to trust that it was the right decision. Sometimes it could take a while to feel comfortable. She still made him realize that he was a long way behind in terms of knowledge of the magical world and that he really needed to catch up.

Sylas noticed, however, that the woman who was so loving to him was keeping something from him. He could feel it. He could always rely on his intuition. He thought she was very calculating, someone who did nothing without a good reason. Sometimes he wondered if he could really trust her. But whenever he had doubts, she looked at him with that loving motherly look that he had never known before.

When she had that look, he felt guilty for questioning her. Maybe there really were nice, considerate people in this world. Who just wanted to help each other in times of need.

It was almost midnight when Cissy finished her lesson. Sylas had taken a lot of notes so that he could reread them. He had just finished writing his sentence when Cissy ran her hand through his hair. It was quite long and he had parted it in such a way that it covered his left forehead. Because if you brushed the hair aside, you could see some cigarette burns and that was exactly what Cissy took a closer look at.

"I can heal that for you if you want. They are only light burns. You would only see a little bit," she murmured, but Sylas just shook his head. "The others might get suspicious otherwise," Michael in particular had enjoyed showing off his scars to everyone. He knew exactly how much he hated these wounds. If they were suddenly no longer there, Michael would definitely make sure there were new ones.

Cissy gave him a sad smile and hid it behind his hair again.

"The letter from Hogwarts will be here soon. I'll send you everything you need, then you just have to go to Ollivanders with Theo and get a wand. I think you'll definitely manage that," she explained to him.

"Why can't I choose the things with you?" asked Sylas, disappointed. It was one of those moments when he had the feeling that Cissy had other things in mind. "Diagon Alley has eyes and ears everywhere. It wouldn't be good if I was seen with an unknown boy. After all, I also have a reputation that I don't want to lose," she explained.

He had often noticed that she attached a lot of importance to what others thought of her. He had also asked her several times if she couldn't just take him with her, but she always said no.

It wasn't possible, she kept saying.

He wouldn't understand, was also one of her excuses.

He accompanied her to the front door, where he got a kiss on the forehead. She walked a few meters and then apparated away. Another new thing he had learned. Wizards and witches could teleport away at will. A skill he really wanted to learn.

He simply had to know this entire world inside and out. He wondered how strong he could become. Completely lost in thought, he slipped back into his room on tiptoe. The door was properly barricaded with his chair and he lay down in his bed.

A sudden cold breeze blew through his storage room.

He was back.

Sylas opened his eyes and he was floating in the air in front of him. The ghost that had haunted him since he was little. Whenever he talked to him, he was declared crazy. Because for everyone else, he spoke to the air.

Sylas himself declared him to be an imaginary friend, but the older he got, the more he realized that he was simply cursed and haunted.

The ghostboy had black hair that was combed perfectly fluffy to the side, his brown eyes always had a red shimmer in them. His face was the definition of perfection. No flaws could be found in it, no wrinkle, no scar, no asymmetry. He had perfekt skin. Every time, he wore the same school uniform. It was a simple white shirt, a gray sweater vest, green tie and gray pants. Over that he wore a coat that also shimmered in the color emerald green on the inside. Sylas couldn't tell how old that ghost looked, maybe a few years older then him. Just his looks alone had this charming effect. He was an eye candy. 

Sylas had never seen a better looking person ... or ghost?

I thought the aunt would never leave.

"Be a little more respectful to her. She teaches me everything I need for the coming school year. Otherwise I'll be a complete outsider again," he grumbled.

You'll be an outsider anyway if you don't adapt. No matter how much knowledge you have, it's no use if the people around you, don't like you.

He had turned onto his back and was lying in the air, with his hands behind his head. He was very strict about his opinions. Far back in the past, he used to tell him stories about the wizarding world, but Sylas never believed him. As mentioned, he was declared an "imaginary friend", but when Cissy came and told him about it, he knew that this ghost had really spoken the truth.

"Knowing about it is still better than being thrown in at the deep end," he grumbled and turned onto his stomach. He didn't feel like talking to him. Oliver, that's what this ghost called himself, didn't let that go and started stroking Sylas' neck with his finger.

A sly smile spread across his face. Teasing the boy was his favorite pastime.

Sylas's hair immediately stood on end and a shudder ran through him. Oliver's touch was ice cold. He couldn't feel him directly, but it left behind a coldness he had never known before. "Leave it alone, Oliver!" he growled and hid under his blanket.

Spoilsport

Oliver came and went as he pleased, there was no regularity. Sometimes he disappeared for weeks until he suddenly reappeared and annoyed him. Since Sylas knew that his stories were true, he tried to get all possible information out of him.

However, the ghost was stubborn about not revealing alot. The only thing Sylas knew was that he belonged to Slytherin. Cissy had explained the different houses and their colors to him. He tried to remember as much as possible of what Oliver had told him in his early childhood, but the memories were very vague. All he had left were images of him floating over him again and again and again, talking about wizards, spells and potions. 

Curse his patchy memories.

Chapter 2

July 1991

Sylas was getting more and more impatient every day. He could hardly wait until he finally had that letter between his fingers. It was the ultimate proof that it had to be reality. Then it couldn't be a figment of his imagination.

The last few weeks at school were hell for him. Everyone from the orphanage went to the same public school and they had all turned the other students against him. Bullying was the order of the day here. The teachers did nothing about it. Because the problems that the orphans had among themselves were none of their business.

Especially since the others found out that Sylas would no longer be at the same school but at a private academy, things got worse and worse. For them, it was now proof that Sylas had sold himself to Cissy to get away from this filthy place.

Just as he was climbing the stairs to his room, he was suddenly grabbed by his sweater from behind and pulled down. He fell backwards down the steps and the two youngest, Jack and Bryan, ran past him. They giggled and stuck their tongues out at him.

Sylas groaned several times in pain as he fell. He lay on his back on the floor and had to gasp for air. Everything was spinning around him, he was fighting with himself to stay conscious. He definitely didn't want to find out what the others would do when he wasn't conscience.

Oliver's head appeared from the ceiling. He looked at the boy below him and could only shake his head. The ghost floated down and placed his hand lightly on Sylas' chest. He felt cold again. He didn't like it before, but the cold made it easier for him to concentrate on not falling into the darkness.

Come on, Champ. Or do you want the others to see you lying here like a weakling?

Sylas took a few more deep breaths before finally standing up. His whole body hurt. Especially his ribs. The steps had hurt more than he thought they would, but at least he didn't die. Slowly, with his hand firmly on the banister, he climbed the stairs again.

He barricaded himself in his room and lay down in his bed. His head was still pounding with pain. "I can't wait until I'm out of here," he grumbled quietly and put an arm over his eyes.

Oliver, who had of course followed him, put his hand on his forehead so that he could ease the pain. It wasn't much that he could do, but it was something. Sylas just let him do it, because the cooling hand actually felt very good.

~~~

After a few hours he heard a lot of noise in the hallway. Oliver was nowhere to be seen. Sylas put his ear to the door and tried to listen. He could hear Jack and Bryan's voices and their howling. Apparently they did something stupid and were now being punished for it.

With a glance at the calendar he knew it was Wednesday. On Wednesdays it was best to avoid Mr. Ashford. Unless you want to get acquainted with his fist and the floor.

He removed the chair and opened the door a little so he could listen better.

"We swear we weren't in your office, Mr. Ashford!" sobbed Jack. There was a loud thud on the floor. "Shut up! Who else but you stupid kids would go into my office and steal the church's money! Only you know the least of all what the consequences are!" Theodore Ashford was beside himself. Because this money was meant for new alcohol.

"But we've been here much longer than Sylas. He did it!" Bryan defended himself.

For a moment there was dead silence.

All that could be heard was the gulping of the two boys. Suddenly, heavy footsteps were heard climbing the stairs.

Sylas' heart sank. He immediately closed the door, lay down and pretended to be asleep. Just at the right moment, because Mr. Ashford opened the door without knocking and asked loudly, "Little bastard, did you steal my money?!"

There was nothing but anger in his eyes.

And you could tell from his smell that he was alcohol. So he was not quite 100 again.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Ashford," he muttered quietly and stayed in his bed. His face remained as stiff as ice, because one small emotion and the head of the home would go crazy. Without asking any more questions, Theodore Ashford started to rummage through the entire room.

"Woe to you if you lied to me," he growled.

He ripped everything out of every drawer and even moved the furniture, but in the end he really found nothing. "You were lucky again," he hissed and left the room with a bang of the door. Sylas had not noticed until then that he had held his breath.

"Those little bastards were really hoping he would take his frustration out on me," he growled. As already mentioned, you couldn't trust anyone here. It was everyone against everyone. Oliver floated out of the ceiling again with a sinister grin on his lips.

When Sylas saw it, he immediately raised an eyebrow, but he remained silent.

What the ghost did was none of his business.

All that could be heard was the screams and howls of the two youngest. No one helped them. When it was quiet for half an hour, he crept downstairs to check. In the living room he saw the two boys lying there bleeding and half unconscious. Only Jack had the strength to look at him.

"You miserable bastard," he hissed at him.

Sylas couldn't help but smile smugly.

"Your punishment for this afternoon." He watched him until he passed out completely. It gave him a feeling of satisfaction. Sometimes he asked himself if he was a worse person because of it. Simply put, yes, he was. But he had his reasons.

It doesn't matter if the others see you as a bad person

He looked next to himself with wide eyes. Oliver was standing right next to him and was watching the whole thing too. Only now did he notice how much bigger the boy actually was. "You can read my mind?" he murmured uncertainly.

It was only when he asked him about it that Oliver noticed his mistake. For a moment his facial expression slipped, but it turned into a playful grin again.

Whoopsie Daisy

With these words he disappeared through the next wall. "Little bastard, what are you still hiding from me?" he growled. He immediately went back to his room and barricaded the door. He had actually expected Oliver to be here, but he didn't show up.

A short time later he heard the two eldest, Michael and Sebastian, talking to each other. Their room was right next to his and the walls were very thin.

"He was talking to himself again. What is wrong with the boy? I'm starting to get really scared of him," Sebastian murmured. Michael gave a short laugh.

"Afraid of Sylas? He's two heads shorter than you and so thin, you'd just have to sit on him and he'd break. The voices are probably telling him to finally kill himself." Sylus had sat down with his back against the wall, his knees drawn up. They told him that often. Not the voices, but the other children in the home. If he was honest, he had thought about it a lot, but when he met Cissy, these thoughts improved.

Things will be different at Hogwarts than in the home. He will be liked there.

"Dude, have you ever seen his arms? He's really crazy, I'm telling you," laughed Michael. Unconsciously, he rolled the sleeves of his sweater further over his hands. He put both hands over his ears. He didn't want to hear anything more.

The laughter in the next room suddenly turned into screaming and the two teenagers ran out of the room. Sylas pricked up his ears and waited to see what was going on. He was being watched quietly and secretly from an upper corner of his room.

They came back with Mr. Ashford in tow.

"What are you, please? 5 years old?" he slurred slightly.

"Mr. Ashford, we swear there's something in the cupboard! It broke the light bulb and then escaped into the cupboard!" Sebastian explained.

"What kind of monster is that?"

"It was a blurry black figure, we only saw it out of the corner of our eyes," explained Michael. Sylas frowned. They would never call the head of the home if it had been a joke. They had to be serious. Maybe they could see Olivier after all?

He heard footsteps running through the next room and then two hard knocks.

"Never call me again for such nonsense! You're men, behave like men!" he growled at the two of them and left the room. Before he disappeared back into his office, he knocked on Sylas' door and just said "10 p.m. in my office."

Sylas' heart immediately started beating faster. That could only mean one thing...

The letter had finally arrived!

His previous depressive mood immediately lifted. He stared at his alarm clock for the rest of the evening. With every minute that passed, he became more and more nervous and tense.

What if it was a rejection letter? What if they didn't want him there at all. All sorts of thoughts raced through his head, often making no sense at all. When it was finally a few minutes before 10 p.m., he slipped silently to the home director's office.

He knocked once and went in. His office was not big, but had everything he needed. There were bookshelves on the walls with all kinds of different genres and from different eras. In front of it was his desk with an office chair. Documents over documents were piled up. Sylas couldn't help but notice the glass of whiskey on the table. He just wouldn't stop drinking.

"Come here, Sylas. The letter", he murmured. Sylas couldn't quite figure out how to classify Mr. Ashford. He seemed unusually calm. When he took the letter from him, he had this look on his face. As if he wanted to claim the letter for himself.

He opened it hesitantly and read it quietly to himself. From line to line, he couldn't help grinning. Finally, he had it in his hand. The piece of paper that would change his life. Finally, he had a place where he really belonged.

"I need confirmation from you that you go to school there. Here, paper and pen," growled Theodore Ashford. He hesitantly took the parchment and began to write the confirmation. "But Mr. Ashford, I don't have an owl to send it." He didn't answer him, but just opened the window, whistled once, and a small, chubby owl with black plumage sat on the windowsill.

Sylas's brain began to rattle. Theodore Ashford literally ripped the letter out of his hand and gave it to the owl. "Are you a wizard too?" he blurted out. An ill-considered question. A question he would regret asking within the next minute.

Theodore Ashford sat down angrily, filled his glass with whiskey, and pushed it over to him. Sylas made no move to touch the alcohol. He wouldn't be eleven for less than a week, and he wasn't allowed to drink alcohol.

"Drink damn it!" he slammed his fist on the table. Sylas flinched and took the glass in his hand. He sniffed it and briefly grimaced. "Don't worry, my boy. The more you drink, the less disgusted you are and the more liberating it is," he hissed. The dark-haired boy looked at his director again to see if he really meant it.

His eyes tolerated no contradiction.

Reluctantly, he began to empty the glass bit by bit. It was horrible and it burned in his throat. The warmth in his stomach was unusual, unpleasant. He started to gag a few times, but Theodore Ashford's look said it all.

Throw up and you will regret it.

While he was trying to keep the contents of his stomach down, the headmaster began to explain, "I'm not a wizard, but I come from a magical family. A pure-blood family, in fact. In the magical world, there are so-called squibs. These are people who are born into wizard families but have no magical abilities. A disgrace to society. When my relatives found out what I was, I was removed from the family tree and abandoned in the Muggle world. I was cast out, insulted, had to change my last name. I hate you wizards and witches, you who wave your oh-so-great wands around. You can all go to hell."

Sylas listened quietly. No matter what he said, it would only make him angrier.

"Cissy will take care of your errands for the materials. We're both going to Diagon Alley next week to get your wand. We'll do it as quickly as possible, as discreetly as possible," the director explained. He wasn't thrilled to have to step foot back into this world.

"The letter said something about a pet..." Sylas brought up the subject cautiously. Not sure how it would go down. Mr. Ashford looked at him briefly, annoyed, but finally sighed. "Fine, we'll get the wand and then your damn pet," he hissed.

With a wave of his hand, he shooed the boy out of his office. Sylas had to suppress his grin. But before he got to his room, he had to turn into the bathroom and vomit up the entire contents of his stomach.

Whether it was the excitement or the alcohol, he couldn't say.

~~~

The days passed slowly. While the younger kids helped out at the church, Sylas took care of the home's garden. It was covered in weeds and desperately needed mowing. The elders of the home were forced by Mr. Ashford to look for work in the city so they could earn money… for the home… basically for his drinking.

It was still morning when Sylas was weeding. Mr. Ashford whistled out of one of the windows to get his attention. "We're leaving in 30 minutes." For a moment he wasn't sure what he was talking about until he remembered. His heart immediately started beating faster and he practically ran to his room to get dressed properly. He was at the door 20 minutes ahead of schedule. Only then did he realize how cleverly Mr. Ashford had arranged everything. None of the other children were in the house and they were all out for the entire day.

None of them would notice their absence.

Silently, Mr. Ashford put a cap on the boy. He also wore one with sunglasses. Apparently he wanted to avoid being recognized, which Sylas could understand well. Without a word, they got on the train and headed for London.

They reached Charing Cross Road. Many Muggles were out shopping or just soaking up the sun. Mr. Ashford walked straight to a pub.
The Leaky Cauldron.

The pub was between a book and record shop. Sylas noticed how many Muggles didn't pay any attention to the pub at all. As if there was an invisible barrier around it. "That's the Leaky Cauldron. It's the secret magical passage to Diagon Alley. Otherwise, you can get to Diagon Alley using the Floo Network or by Apparating," explained the head of the dorm.

Sylas listened carefully. He had already heard a lot from Cissy, but he didn't want to give the Squib the feeling that his knowledge was irrelevant. The pub itself was quite busy, considering it looked very shabby. Nobody paid any attention to the two new guests. Mr. Ashford spoke briefly to the landlord, who led the two into the back yard. They were standing in front of a stone wall.

The landlord took out his wand and muttered "Three up..., two to the side." When he had found the right brick, he tapped it three times with his wand. Sylas' eyes went wide as the wall began to open for them and behind it a completely new world opened up. The difference to the normal Muggle world was clearly visible.

Diagon Alley was very winding and there were many shops that he had never heard of before. You could hear the strangest things and owls hooting. The people here all wore completely different clothes than in the Muggle world. If a Muggle were to report this, he would be declared crazy. Or how can you prove that dragon liver is sold here and that you have magic wands?

"Stay close behind me and don't talk to anyone. It's easy to get lost here," Mr. Ashford muttered to him. Sylas did as he was told and looked at all the new shops as he passed. They walked past Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor. Many students from Hogwarts were sitting in the shop eating ice cream. They had bought their books for the year and were enjoying their free time together.

There was also a rush at the Flourish & Blotts bookshop. There was already a line stretching out the door. "These crowds are making me sick," grumbled the head of the dorm, walking a little faster than usual. Sylas didn't let his idiotic mood get him down.

They came to a shop that had no customers. This was because they usually used the same wand every year. "Go in without me, I'll wait outside," he grumbled. His mood was at rock bottom and the longer they stayed in Diagon Alley, the grumpier he became.

Sighing, Sylas entered the small, shabby shop. He was excited... his first wand. In the window there was just one wand on a purple cushion and above the door was written Good Wands Since 382 BC.

Everything was filled to the ceiling with long boxes. His heart began to tingle, the whole place was bursting with magic. It was quiet in the shop and he couldn't see anyone.

"Good day," an old man suddenly came out of a corner and stared at Sylas with his glowing eyes. It was as if he was scanning him from top to bottom. As if he could tell which wand would suit the boy just by looking at him.

"Hello, I need a wand," Sylas muttered quietly to himself. He could have refrained from saying the last part. What else would you buy in this shop? Mr. Ollivander just nodded up and down quickly "Of course, of course... I've sold hundreds of wands, as did my father... and his father... and his father before that!"

He immediately pulled out a tape measure and asked for his dominant hand "You must know, Mr...?"

"Ashford, Sylas Ashford"

"Mr. Ashford, it is not the wizard who chooses the wand. Extend your arm again, please." Sylas did as he was told. Every now and then he cast uncertain glances over his shoulder, just to see if Mr. Ashford was still hiding in a dark alley.

"Are you alone here, Mr. Ashford? I don't see anyone with you."

"No..., no. My headmaster is waiting outside. He is not a fan of other... wizards, though."

"Hmm"

Mr. Ollivander took the measurements from shoulder to fingertip, from wrist to elbow, from feet to shoulders, from knee to crook of arm and finally from ear to ear. Sylas was no longer sure if all these measurements were really relevant or if his ignorance was being mocked. Cissy already mentioned that Mr. Ollivanders was very... peculiar, but knew his job excellently.

He also began to talk about his wand knowledge "Every wand consists of an individual piece of wood and a powerful magic core. We here at Ollivanders have been using unicorn hair, phoenix feathers or dragon heart fiber for generations. All very, very powerful cores that can tempt any wizard to great things... but also to bad things... Only your own wand will give you excellent results."

While Mr. Ollivanders was explaining his life's work, he began to rummage around between all the boxes. The tape measure had taken on a life of its own. He came back with a stack of boxes and placed them on a small stool. With a flick, the tape measure fell to the floor.

The first wand was pressed into his fingers. Beech wood and dragon fiber heart.

But as soon as he started waving it around, Mr. Ollivander took it away again.

The second one was used now, maple and phoenix feather, but here too he snatched it away from him again.

It went on like this for half an hour. The more wands Sylas tried, the more frustrated he became. Slowly he began to doubt whether he was even a wizard. But Mr. Ollivander seemed to be happy with this long search.

"You are a difficult customer - very difficult - I haven't had one like you for a long time. A real challenge, how exciting," his enthusiasm was clearly audible, "Well then, come with me, Mr. Ashford. We're using a different method. After all, the wand chooses the wizard!"

He led the boy to one of the back shelves and instructed him to run his hand over all the boxes. The right wand would come to him. When the boy asked how he would notice, Mr. Ollivander gave him only a vague, trivial answer. Sylas harbored his doubts and slowly began to run his hand up and down row by row. Each box felt either ice cold or like nothing at all. He could already see the end of the shelves and began to panic slightly.

In the last row in the furthest corner, he felt it.

A warmth like he had never felt before. His stomach began to tingle and he immediately took out the box. "Have you found it?" asked Mr. Ollivander. Sylas nodded and went back to the entrance. He opened the box carefully and out came a beautiful yew stick. Carefully, as if he could destroy it at any moment, he took it out and waved it a little.

Little sparks came from the tip of the stick and suddenly everything seemed easy for him, as if nothing could stop him.

"Very good, very good. I wonder - unusual, very unusual - yew and the phoenix feather," Mr. Ollivander muttered to himself. Sylas gave him a questioning look. He noticed the wand seller's face slowly draining of color.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold. Absolutely every one, Mr. Ashford. It's just that the phoenix that your feather came from also has a second feather, a brother. And this magical tribe that is yours, well..." Mr. Ollivander didn't seem to know how to express it.

"Should I be worried?" Sylas asked.

"Oh no, certainly not. There are legends about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and many say he's long dead. He won't be after you anyway. You're just a normal student who needs a wand. The wand chooses the wizard... and with that wand you can do great things."

Sylas went through all the lessons he had with Cissy, but the phrase He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named didn't ring a bell. Should he ask Mr. Ashford? Cissy wouldn't be coming by anymore, as she was busy preparing for her own son. Even if he asked more, he was sure he wouldn't get a better answer out of him, so he paid for his wand with the Galleons Mr. Ashford gave him and went back out the door.

He got a final bow from Mr. Ollivander, who was already mentally somewhere else. He had to report these strange occurrences to the headmaster.

Chapter 3

Notes:

Hi guys!
Thank you all for the comments, Kudos and the Hits!
It's nice to see, that other ppl seem to enjoy this idea, because I originally wasn't sure, if it would be well received.
Stay tuned for more! I hope see you all till the end of this journey, as long as this may gone on!

As Sylas left the shop, a still grim Mr. Ashford came towards him. "Damn it, how long did that take?! You could have just taken a wand and been fine. Do you know how long I've been waiting for you! Diagon Alley is even more crowded now than usual," he went off without paying any attention to the boy.

"Mr. Ollivander said that the wand choses its wizard," Sylas explained quietly, but Theodore Ashford wasn't having any of it..

"Shut up, we're going to Gringrotts first and Cissy will take care of your pet. I'm not going to stay here any longer, than I have to. You can shove your wand up your damn ass," Sylas let the subject drop. But despite that, he was a disappointed that he wasn't allowed to choose his own pet. He'd never had a pet of his own. Except if you maybe took the spiders into consideration. 

They walked for a while, dodged many other wizards and witches and had to make many turns until they finally reached the magnificent Gringrotts. The bank could be seen from a long way away. It was a large snow-white house with a brightly polished bronze gate that towered high above the other shops in Diagon Alley. They had to climb white steps before they could enter the bank.

In front of the entrance stood a goblin, barely a meter tall, wearing a scarlet and gold-embroidered uniform. Cissy had explained to him about these creatures. They were very peculiar, did not like wizards and had their own rules. They did not care who walked into their bank, as long as the money was circulated. You should never anger a goblin and you should not cheat him out of his money.

Theodore Ashford stopped once again. "Go all the way to the back, there you ask for the Ashfords' safe. Here is the key. The goblins and I ... have our differences," Sylas began to wonder whether the head of the home had made the entire magical world his enemy.

When he entered, he had to walk through another silver gate, that said:

Stranger, just come in, Be careful and remember that anyone who wants to serve the sin of greed, And wants to take, makes money, Will lose with great pain. If you look for a treasure in these halls that you will fall for, Thief, be warned and tell you, More than gold awaits you here,

According to Cissy's explanations, this place was the safest place in the entire magical world. Nothing came in or out here without being noticed. She once mentioned that every well-known pureblood family has their safe here, for valuable items and their wealth. When he heard that, he had an idea, which he needed to text out. 

A long corridor opened up in which many goblins were doing their work on high stools to the left and right. They probably wanted to compensate for their size and feel more powerful than wizards. Countless doors led to further private rooms for more personal conversations. The goblin at the very end of the corridor was already completely fixated on the boy who was heading towards him.

"Good day," Sylas began, "Does there happen to be a safe belonging to the Potter family?" He did not speak out loud, even if the goblins played by their own rules, you never knew where their eyes and ears were.

The goblin looked at him with a raised eyebrow, "Who wants to know?"

" ... A distant relative of the Potters," Sylas maintained fixed eye contact with the magical being and let him know that his inquiry was serious.

He received another suspicious look from the goblin, "Does this alleged distant relative have his key with him?"

Sylas' eyes widened briefly and he shook his head. How was he supposed to get to the safe without the key? Of course, it wasn't that easy to get to a safe.

"Hmm, well then, if you really are related, we can find out quite easily. Please follow me," the goblin got down from his stool and led him to a more private room. There was no furnishing in this room except for two sofas facing each other and a table in the middle. Under the furniture lay a crimson carpet, which made everything stand out alout. The walls and the ground shown withe like a fresh snowed in field. Above the door hung a simple clock. 

Sylas sat down and observed the Goblin with cautions eyes. He was not sure, whom he could trust or not. Maybe this could be a big mistake, but he took the risk to be discovered. The Goblin didn't sit down, but just stood infront if the couch. 

"We goblins have our own kind of magic that works very differently than yours. Among other things, we can only find out whose family you belong to by sensing your magic core. If you really belong to the family, you get full access to the safe. Please lie down so that I can carry out the investigation," the goblin asked and came around the table. 

Sylas lay down and the creature stood directly in front of him. He kept moving his hands left and right. A strange bright light appeared above the boy. It took a few minutes before the goblin finished and sat down on the sofa opposite. His face seemed pleased with the results. 

"Well then, apparently you really are related to the Potters. You now have full access to the safe. If someone comes with the key and wants to open their safe, should we confiscate the key and report the wizard?", he asked and out of nowhere a parchment with a quill appeared.

Sylas thought about it for a few minutes, but there were too many risk, that came with it. His intuition told him, that it was a bad idea. "No, no one should know that someone was at the Potters' safe, but I would like to be notified if someone wants to open the safe. I expect the utmost discretion from you."

The goblin grinned at him, "Of course, we can arrange that"

Sylas arranged for some galleons to be brought to him from the Potters' safe, but also from the Ashfords'. He would never, ever give the orphanage a single gold piece voluntarily. Everything would be either used for alcohol and or for gambling, and he would absolutley not tolerate that. Mr. Ashford shouldn't be able to control him more than necessary.

He had to wait about 20 minutes until another goblin came in with two bags and a box. He put the goods on the table. He immediately put the Potters' bag in his backpack. The goblin opened the box and a cloak came out. It looked ordinary and didn't really stand out. Maybe the cloth it was made out, could been out of more expensive material, but Sylas wasn't educated enough to know more. 

"Excuse me, but what is this?" he asked cautiously.

"This is an invisibility cloak", said the Goblin, "Throw it over yourself and no one will be able to see you anymore. It previously belonged to James Potter, but after his only heir died, Dumbledore ordered that the cloak be put into safekeeping."

Sylas had to suppress a grin. Cissy had often mentioned that she did not like the headmaster because, in her opinion, he made many inexplicable decisions. This was not a bad decision, however. If he had not asked for the Potter's safe, the pretty piece would have been gathering dust in the dungeons forever. This gave him alot more opportunities. Hiding in plain site, with a mere cloak ... it was like a dream come true. 

He hid the cloak in his backpack and accepted the Ashfords' bag. When he looked at the time, he knew, that Mr. Ashford won't be pleased about his lon departure. His mood was already down the drain and waiting so long won't make him any happiere. He thanked the goblin and left the bank in a rush. Theodore Ashford was standing at the bottom of the white stairs, smoking all the passers-by.

When he spotted the boy, he pulled on one of his ears, "What's your excuse this time? Wizards have to get their galleons themselves? 45 minutes to get a paltry bag of gold..."

Sylas looked at him with sparkling, angry eyes. The head of home ruined the entire new experience he was allowed to have. All the magic that was floating in the air, all the new visual and auditory experiences, disturbed by the weight of a damned Squib who had no control over his own life.

Theodore Ashford immediately grabbed him by the chin and pulled his face up slightly. It hurted pretty badly and his face contorted in pain. The old man's expression was emotionless and his eyes were radiating a dangerous energy. He was having none of this childs bullshit. 

"Look at me like that again," he hissed quietly, "I'll scratch your eyes out." 

Sylas nodded silently, and his face got released. Theodore Ashford put on a fake smile and patted him on the cheek. "Remember, always be respectful, right?"

If only Sylas weren't so small and weak..., he couldn't wait to learn magic, so he could get his petty revenge on that damned Squib. Oh, what he could do to him with no one knowing and with no proof. 

His shitty mood ruined the entire experience for him, he just wanted to go back to his room and hide among his things. At that moment he was glad, Cissy took care of his pet. They scurried through Diagon Alley in silence. With envious eyes, Sylas watched the other students enjoying their day and laughing together. Maybe next year he could get his materials with his new friends.

He really wanted to eat an ice cream at this shop too...

Suddenly he ran into a half-giant with a full beard. Sylas fell to the ground. "My goodness, are you okay? I'm sorry, you're so small, I missed you," laughed the half-giant. He held out a hand to the boy, which he took.

"I'm sorry too, I didn't see you either... despite your size," Sylas was fascinated by him. Hagrid noticed how he was being admired and started to laugh slightly.

"It's not every day that you meet a half-giant, is it? I'm Rubeus Hagrid, gamekeeper at Hogwarts." At Hogwarts, his ears perked up.

"Hogwarts? Are you a teacher there?" he asked with curiousity.

Hagrid shook his head in amusement. "Teacher? No, not at all. I'm not suited to that. I just look after the animals and the Forbidden Forest", he laughed, "You look like you're a student at Hogwarts too. What year are you in?"

"First year, sir. It's all pretty exciting."

"Just call me Hagrid ...?"

"Sylas, Sylas Ashford"

"Okay, Sylas, if you're at Hogwarts, come and visit me. You look like a friendly boy," Hagrid smiled warmly at him and patted the boy on the back. The encounter with the half-giant made the day a little better and at least he had now made his first friend at Hogwarts - even if it's just the gamekeeper.

Suddenly, he was yanked away by the arm.

"Didn't I tell you to stay close behind me?!" Mr. Ashford was furious. If he had lost the boy, Cissy would have gone mad.

"How are you treating that poor boy!", Hagrid immediately pulled Sylas towards him and looked angrily at Mr. Ashford

When Theodore Ashford saw the half-giant, his mood sank even further. "Hagrid... what a - surprise," Mr. Ashford made no effort to hide his disgust at the giant.

Hagrid himself did not seem particularly pleased either. "I don't think you should stay here too long," grumbled the half-giant.

"Sylas, we're leaving, now", Theodore Ashford grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him along. The boy waved to Hagrid one last time before disappearing into the crowd. All the while, he wondered what it was about the director that nobody liked him very much. Many seemed to know him and he seemed to want to avoid everyone.

As soon as he was at Hogwarts, he would ask Hagrid.

~~~

A few days after he was in Diagon Alley with Mr. Ashford, a house elf appeared in his Storeroom. She introduced herself as Popsy and belonged to Cissy. Popsy brought him all his school books, as well as robes and cauldrons. He wondered how she knew his measurements, because the robes fit him perfectly. Popsy apparated several times until she had everything with him and finally came with a cage containing a beautiful snow-white owl.

Sylas stared at the animal bewildered.

"Doesn't Mr. Ashford like her, sir?", murmured Popsy uncertainly. "The lady has been looking for a long time, her name is Hedwig."

Sylas pulled himself together and smiled at the house elf, "She is beautiful, please give my thanks to your lady, Popsy."

Popsy apparated away again with a smile. While Sylas observed the beautiful owl, Oliver's head appeared from the ground.

Not a fan of owls? They are very practical, especially at Hogwarts, he said and flew around the animal. To his astonishment, the animal followed him with its eyes. 

Look, not only practical, but also sensitive to their environment, he began to make silly faces in front of the owl.

"Leave Hedwig alone, it's bad enough that she has to be in such a small cage," Sylas grumbled.

Just before Hedwig could snap at Olivers transparent tongue, he turned away and looked at Sylas with a raised eyebrow, Tell me, what's wrong? Something about the owl bothers you, he became impatient.

Sylas said nothing to him and started reading his books. The better prepared he was for the upcoming lessons, the better he could integrate. Cissy had also packed him a few extra books. Among other things, there was a Hogwarts: a history, Quidditch through the ages and the fairy tales of Beedle the Bard. They weren't books that gave him any more knowledge about the society. But they were books whose stories everyone in the magical world knew.

General knowledge.

Which he desperately needed.

~~~

September, 1991

Sylas spent most of the last few weeks in his room. Just so, he wouldn't get in the way of Mr. Ashford and spoil his mood. In any case, he wouldn't put past the head of home, to keep him locked away, so he wouldn't be able to get the Hogwarts expirience the man himself couldn't get. Being locked away wasn't perticularly enjoyable ... 

To pass the time, he went throught the books Cissa sent him. He was still working his way through tales by Beedle the Bard. It is an interesting book, with a lots of tales for children, but something astonishing. A lot mor fascinating was the book Hogwarts: a history. It gave him alot of inside of how the school works, the interieur, about all seven schoolyears. It didn't take him long to finish it. A history of Quidditch is the least favourite of him of all three books. He couldn't grasped the idea on how the sport really worked. Maybe it would make more sense to him, if he saw a game one day. Cissy had probably sent him this book because the whole of Hogwarts was obsessed with that sport.

Since he had a lot of new things related to a magical world, he always hid them under his invisibility cloak and shoved everything under his bed. If the other children got their hands on these books, Mr. Ashford would be furious. As well, because Cissy explained to him, that Muggles shouldn't not find out about the wizarding world and there could be great consequences if someone leaks it. Therefore Sylas felt bad to leave Hedwig all the time in his cage in the trunk. She needed so fresh air, so she could fly around. So he let Hedwig outside in the nature, always keeping an eye on her, through his tiny window. At night he snatches her back inside. 

Cissy told him through a letter, that she woulnd't come by anymore, because she herself was busy with preparing her own son for the upcoming schoolyear, but she kept sending him letters with alot o reminders. She kept stressing how important manners were and that he should definitely stick to the rules. And if he breaks the rules, he should at least make sure he doesn't get caught. A cunning advise from a cunning woman.  Finally in her last letter he received, she wished him a successful first school year and he shouldn't let himself get down.

It was the first time anyone had said something like that to him. Until then, he had always been told he was a good-for-nothing or a freak. His cheeks were slightly red as he read the sentence.

Finally the day, Sylas desperately was waiting for arrived. On the morning of September 1st, the time had come to leave the shithole he lived in. Before he left, Mr. Ashford gave him his train ticket and told him to go to King's Cross station. It was not a tearful goodbye. It was more like the head of the home was happy to have one less bastard to care for. At the same time, Sylas saw the jealousy in his eyes. How must it feel to know about something so unbelievable, even if you were born into such a family, only to end up as a Squib. Sylas couldn't help it but the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

Served the headmaster right to end up so embittered.

With Oliver on his side he began his travel joourny to King's Cross. He arrived half an hour before the clock struck 11. Shortly before his departure, Cissy generously gave him an infinity trunk. These were extremely spacious and there were many different versions of them. The interior of some was as big as an entire castle, while others were only as big as a small storage room. The trunk he got was more of an extra room.

Thanks to the good piece, he didn't have to walk around with a huge shitload of luggage.

Sylas read through his train ticket to see which platform he had to go to. "Platform 9 ¾... Platform 9 ¾?" he muttered quietly to himself. He hadn't been to a train station very often, but every child knew that there would never be a platform like that. No muggle would be able to help him. First of all he went to Platform 9 and 10, it had to be somewhere in between. He looked for other wizarding families, if he asked politely they would surely help him. 

Oliver looked at him in confusion, because the boy stopped moving at all and seemed to be waiting for something. 

What are you doing? You're going to miss the train. 

"I don't know where Platform 9 ¾ is, so I'm waiting for another wizarding family to come by."

Oliver raised an eyebrow at him, which earned him a nasty look.

Are you an Idiot? I used to go to Hogwarts, why are you not asking me?

Sylas looked at him dumbfounded. How could he forget that? Probably because he had been plastering the ghost about his time in Hogwarts, that he didn't consider him as an option to ask. Because the ghost straight up refused to answer most of his questions, so Sylas stopped asking.

Oliver pointed to a wall a few meteres away, Do you see that wall there between Platform 9 and 10? You have to go through it.

Sylas looked at the ghost with an 'are you serious' look, whereupon Oliver sighed and rolled his eyes. I'm not telling you any goblin crap. If you don't believe me, just wait until someone does.

That's exactly what they did, which made Oliver a little bit upset, but they didn't have to wait for long. A family full of redheads ran through the wall one after the other. Sylas' mouth dropped slightly open. It was so obvious and yet none of the Muggles noticed. How many times had he experienced magic but never realized it?

He only walked towards the wall when the whole redhead family except the mother and daughter had gone through. As the two of them walked past him, he made eye contact with the woman for a second. She gave him a friendly smile. Sylas then stopped briefly. He watched the two of them go. They didn't look rich, but they radiated a happiness that he would never experience.

That red hair...

Sylas shook his head briefly and turned to the magical portal. He wasn't sure if it was a requirement that you had to run. So he ran. His heart was pounding against his chest as he was close to the wall and then came the surprise. A beautiful crimson locomotive was standing on platform 9 ¾ . Hogwarts students and their parents were everywhere. Suitcases were being checked in and tears were flowing everywhere you looked.

Sylas didn't have anyone like that, so he got on the train straight away. There were already a lot of students inside, chatting excitedly. Most of them were sitting in the compartments with their house members. He also saw a few students who hadn't been assigned anywhere yet, but he didn't sit down with them. They all seemed to already know each other. Sylas felt out of place just sitting down.

Luckily for him, he spotted an empty compartment, which gave him relief. He stowed his suitcase under his seat and looked out the window, watching as the crowd on the platform bustled about. The air was thick with steam from the scarlet Train, and the excited chatter of students filled the compartment hallway. The moment felt surreal  he was finally here.

Finally on his way to Hogwarts.

Observing other people was one of his favorite activities, no matter how trivial it sounded. He kept studying the wizards and witches on the platform. Analyzing how they behaved based on their body language and facial expressions.

It was one of the things that gave him an advantage in the home. Only by body language could you predict the next moves of your counterpart. On one or two occasions he had actually managed to dodge the blows of the director, but he had never dared to strike himself.

The observer becomes the observed.

Sylas raised his eyebrows and looked at Oliver in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

The black-haired boy nodded his head in one direction. Sylas looked in that direction and looked into gray eyes. An older gentleman with long ash-blonde hair and a very expensive-looking suit was watching him. Just by his appearance you could tell that this man was an aristocrat. He felt better than everyone and looked down on everyone.

Next to him stood a boy about Sylas' age. He was the spitting image of this man. They must be related, he had no doubt about that. His attention was suddenly drawn to someone else.

"Excuse me, but are those places free?"

He turned around. A girl stood in the doorway, about his age, with golden hair cascading to her chest. But what truly caught his attention were her eyes—deep, vivid blue, like the ocean before a storm. He had never seen anything like them.

"Of course, you can sit down, I'm Sylas Ashford," he introduced himself.

"Ashford?", she tilted her head slightly, "I've never heard of that name before. I'm Daphne Greengrass, nice to meet you." She slid into the seat across from him, crossing her legs neatly, "Are you a muggle?"

Sylas' heart pounded wildly in his chest. "N - No, I'm a pureblood", he said quickly, "My ancestors originally came from England, but then emigrated to Europe hundreds of years ago. We've only recently returned."

Daphne gave him an apologetic smile. "Oh, of course. Forgive me for asking if I caught you off guard. You know, some people here are complete pure-blood fanatics. Just being near a muggle is unbearable for them."

"I've heard about it, but I didn't think it would be that bad," he frowned.

Daphne studied him for a moment, as if weighing whether to ask more. Before she could say anything, the door slid oppen again and another student stepped inside.

He had darker hair, slithly tousled, and striking blue eyes - lighter than Daphne's but just as piercing. In the darkest night, you would recognize this bright blue. There was somethin in his posture, a quiet confidence that made Sylas instinctively straighten. Artistocrat, he noted. 

"Theo! Nice to see you again!" Daphne greeted him. They hugged each other briefly.

At his name, Sylas held his breath for a moment. He had to tell himself several times not to project his experiences onto the boy. They may have had the same name, but they were not the same person. A name should not cloud his judgment. 

"Sorry for intruding so suddenly", the boy said smoothly, sliding into the seat beside Daphne, "I'm Theodore Nott, pureblood."

"Nice to meet you, Sylas Ashford, also a pureblood," he introduced himself. It had been a while since people his own age had treated him so nicely. It felt... strange, not having to brace himself for ridicule or hostility.

"Ashford?", Theo's gaze sharpened, "are you from here or perhaps Ireland?"

His blue eyes were fixed on the boy in front of him. If Sylas wasn't used to Mr. Ashford's deadly gaze, he would be quite intimidated by the boy's gaze.

"My ancestors originally come from England. They emigrated to Europe. We've only just returned."

Theo nodded, his lips curving slitghly, "Then I imagine you'll be in Slytherin."

"You should know that your blood status doesn't determine which house you go into. After all, the Weasleys aren't in Slytherin and they're all purebloods," said Daphne, while rolling her eyes. 

Theo smirked, "Of course I know that, but lets be honest - have you ever heard of a Muggle-born in Slytherin?"

"Heard of it? No. But there definitely has been."

"Which house do you want to be sorted into?", Sylas asked and earned some dumbfoundend looks of the two.

"Slytherin, of course. Both of our families go back generations where everyone was in Slytherin. As purebloods and heirs to our families, we have a reputation to uphold," Theo explained proudly. 

Cissy immediately came to mind. She had told him something similar about how she had to uphold the family's reputation. He thought it was just her, that would do anything for her family. Apparently, however, it was common for aristocrats to be very devoted to their family and their legacy. 

"Did your parenty go to Hogwarts too?", Daphne asked, "Which houses were they in?"

Sylas hesitated, his palms felt kinda sweaty "I-I don't know where they went to school. My grandparents raised me and didn't talk about them. They are... well..."

Daphne took his hand in hers and looked at him with a sad smile "Please forgive me. I always seem to ask the wrong questions." Her eyes radiated such kindness and her voice was just as soft as an angel...

His chest tightend by that act of kindness. When was the last time someone apologized to him?

The door opened again and the blond boy from the platform came in. He strolled inside as if the train belonged to him.

"Are those seats free? The rest of the compartments are already full," he had already sat down while he was asking the question, ignoring the frowning look from Daphne.

"It would still be more polite to wait for the answer first, Draco," Daphne hissed at him. Behind him appeared two somewhat beefier boys who flopped down onto the remaining seats without a word. 

"I knew the answer would be yes. No need for unneccesary formalities" he grumbled. Only now did he notice the newcomer in the department. His gaze landed on Sylas, scrutinizing him.

"I've never seen you here before. I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy and this are Crabbe and Goyle."

"Sylas Ashford," he said briefly.

Just as Draco was about to ask where he came from, Theo said "Before you even ask - his ancestors come from here, emigrated to Europe and now they are back."

Theo got a nasty look from Draco, but he just grinned at him and said "What? I knew what you were going to ask. So no need for formalities, right?"

Daphne stifled a laugh and Sylas found himself fighting a smile. Theo had beaten Draco at his own game. 

They heard a loud whistle. The great clock outside on the platform struck 11 o'clock sharp. The trip to Hogwarts was finally about to begin.

Through the window, Daphne waved to her parents. Sylas caught a glimpse of a familiar blond-haired man standing a little apart from the crowd - Mr. Malfoy. The older man wore a satisfied smile as he watched the train pull away.

He was directly looking at Sylas.

A chill ran down his spine

It was as if Mr. Malfoy wanted Draco to find him.

Chapter 4

The whole train ride the newbies talked excitedly about what they had been up to in the past few weeks. Either they were abroad, playing Quidditch or accompanying their family at work.

Sylas remained quiet and reserved. Not because he had nothing to say, but because he had no interest in admitting that he had spent most of his summer gardening. More importantly, he wanted to observe, to get a sense of who these people were before he engaged with them. He paid particular attention to their posture and behavior, looking for the unspoken signs that revealed more than words ever could.

Draco Malfoy sat upright, dominating the conversation with an air of entitlement, his sharp glances warning others when something displeased him. His pride in his lineage was obvious, his every movement a testament to his privileged upbringing.

Daphne Greengrass, poised and confident, spoke nearly as much as Draco but carried herself with a lightness that set her apart. She radiated an easy charm and didn't hesitate to challenge Draco when she disagreed with him.

Theodore Nott, in contrast, was more reserved, content to let the other two talk while he listened, interjecting only when necessary. He, too, seemed to be observing more than participating.

Then there were Crabbe and Goyle—dim-witted, slow to react, and seemingly there just to nod along to Draco’s words. They laughed at all his comments, especially the ones about Muggles, their presence defined more by obedience than by personality.

Every now and then his mind wandered off and he looked at the scenery. He had never been so far from home. His hands trembled, not with fear but with excitment. The thoguht of Hogwarts, the castle, the great hall, the common rooms - all of it stirred something deep within him. He had seen everything in pictures, read descriptions about it, but seeing it in person would be something else entirely

It was already dark when they finally arrived. The castle loome in the distance, a silhouette against the night sky, its windows glowing like scattered stars. But this sight alone testified to how powerful this school seemed. It was utterly magical. 

When the train came to a halt, the students began to disembark. From afar, a massive figure stood out against the dim light. "First years! Over here!", the booming voice of Hagrid. The other older students filtered away in another direction, presumably to the castle via another way.  

Sylas put his trunk with the other pieces of luggage and hurried with the others to Hagrid. He really wanted to say hello to him, but he got lost in the crowd and it was impossible for him to get noticed. The half-giant brought them to some boats and with them they crossed the lake to dock in a very small harbor. Hagrid got out of his boat and waited for them in front of a long marble staircase until all the newcomers gathered.

They walked upstairs together. Everyone was whispering with each other in excitment. Just before they entered the castle, Hagrid left them alone and told everyone to keep going. They would be expected. As they passed, Sylas managed to catch Hagrid's eye. Hagrid whispered to him with a smile "Good luck, Sylas."

From a distance they saw an old witch standing impatiently in front of a large door. She nervously tapped her finger up and down on her palm. Her hair was already gray and the wrinkles were unmistakable. Her lips were pressed into a thin line. She had striking features that further underlined her stern appearance. She was very tall for a woman and her posture was full of elegance. All the first years gathered in front of the witch.

"Good evening, I warmly welcome you to Hogwarts. The best school for magic and witchcraft. I am Professor McGonagall, one of your future teachers and head of the Gryffindor house. In a moment, you will all come into the Great Hall and be sorted into your houses. After that, there will be dinner and you will be led to your respective common rooms. I will let you know inside that you have arrived - wait a moment," Professor McGonagall walked into the hall and the newcomers all began to whisper to each other.

Everyone erupted into hushed speculation about what house they would end in. The redhead that Sylas noticed on the platform with his family earlier, told them that his brother had supposedly said that they had to take a test. The thought made Sylas feel sick. He already knew a thing or two from Cissy, but taking a test straight away? He was absolutely not ready for that. His hands began to sweat slightly.

When the redhead mentioned that they even had to compete against a troll, he thought he was really about to throw up. This had to be a joke, right? Why would they let inexperienced students compete against a troll? Sylas eyed the staircase leading away from the group. If it was real, he was seriously considering slipping away.

In the midst of the whispering, a toad suddenly croaked. Sylas and Theo, who was standing next to him, looked up a to se a Toad sitting a few stepy away.

"Who does it belong to? If McGonagall sees this, she won't be pleased," muttered Theo frwoning.

"Longbottom's," muttered Sylas back, watching as Neville Longbottom spotted his lost pet. 

"Travor!", he immediately pounced on it and tucked it away in his robe. Sylas just looked at him with a raised eyebrow. As if the toad was just some object. The whipering continued for several minutes and the nervoussness only grew. 

Finally the door swung oppen again and Professor McGonagall came out. She instructed the newcomers to follow her. Sylas' mouth fell open as he entered the Great Hall. The ceiling was covered with floating candles and the night sky was depicted. He had read about it in his book about Hogwarts. It was really amazing. A girl a few rows ahead also seemed to know the book. She told the student next to her everything down to the smallest detail.

In the large hall there were four long tables set up that belonged to their respective houses. Sylas looked at as many students as he could. Some barely noticed them, others were enthusiastic and curious to see the new students.

They stopped just before the podium. On it was a chair with an old hat on it. It urgently needed to be replaced, it would fall apart if you just barley touched it. Behind the chair was a table for the other teachers at the school.

McGonagall spoke again "Well then, this is one of the most important ceremonies in your career at Hogwarts. The houses are not only your friends, but also your family. You have classes together, you sleep in your house's dormitory and spend your free time in the common room. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own honorable history and each has produced important witches and wizards. During your time at Hogwarts, you earn points for the house with your great achievements, but if you break the rules, your house will lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points receives the House Cup, a great award. I hope each of you is an asset to the house you will be placed in."

Sylas exhaled slowly. Cissy had told him countless times about the sorting hat. He had to trust its judgment, but deep down he already knew where he wanted to be. He also now understood what she meant, when she said, he shouldn't get caught breaking the rules. House points seemed to be an important school tradition.

Daphne, who was standing next to him, murmured "Are you nervous?" Her smile calmed him down a little. Apparently she had noticed that he had been nervous when the redhead told them about the troll. He was certain, she was the kind of person who could definitely make friends with anyone.

"A little, but I've been told that the hat knows what it's doing and I can trust its judgment," he murmured back, even though trust wasn't his greatest strength. Neither was making friends or be apart of a family. 

"Wise words", she mused. "Still, I hope to see you in Slytherin,"

Sylas returned the smile and nodded. He hoped so too. Their attention turned back to the old, tattered hat, which suddenly had a slit in it. He began to sing a song in front of everyone.

You think I'm an old hat, I don't look good either. But I'm the cleverest of all hats, and if it's not true, I'll eat myself, my goodness! All top hats and fancy caps are just whiners compared to me! I know Hogwarts best and am ready for any head. Just put me on, I'll tell you exactly where you belong - because I'm clever. Maybe you're Gryffindors, says your old hat, because, as we know, bravery and courage rule there. In Hufflepuff, on the other hand, people are fair and loyal, they help each other where they can, and aren't afraid of work. If you're quick-thinking, teachable and wise, then I bet you'll set off for Ravenclaw. In Slytherin, they still know how to combine cunning and deceit, but you'll still find real friends here. Now go on, put me on, be brave, just trust the Sorting Hat!

McGonagall pulled out a parchment and began to call the students. Hannah Abbott was first - Gryffindor. Then came Ron Weasly - Gryffindor. Draco Malfoy - Slytherin. Luna Lovegood - Ravenclaw. Daphne Greengrass - Slytherin.

Each one received great applause from the respective table when they entered their house. Then finally his name was called. With shaking hands he stepped up onto the podium. All eyes were on him and only him. He didn't like having all the attention.

McGonagall slowly put the hat on his head.

Hmm, interesting, you have many desires, many wishes. The voice sounded as a quiet whisper in his head.

You are very curious, you want to learn a lot. Ravenclaw would suit you well, but your courage should not be ignored either, maybe Gryffindor ... - no..., that's not true. How is that possible?! He heard the hat laughing loudly to itself until it cleared its throat again. If the hat even had something like that

You would only be safe in one house, I am curious to see what you have in store. Only in this house will you find true friends and find your true strength. Sylas was not quite sure what the hat had seen or sensed, but he hoped that there was some kind of confidentiality here.

"Slytherin!" announced the hat.

The snake table burst into loud cheers. A weight was lifted from his shoulders. Relieved, he sat down next to Daphne and Theo, who had saved a seat for him.

"You've just joined the best house in all of Hogwarts," Theo said to him, playfully nudging him with his elbow. He was immediately introduced to all sorts of people from the house.

Marcus Flint - Quidditch team captain and Chaser
Penelope Beaumont - Prefect
Benedict Kingsley - Prefect
Blaise Zabini - Childhood friend of Draco
Pansy Parkinsons - Also childhood friend of Draco
And many others.

All these new people and impressions overwhelmed him a little, which is why he stayed quiet and just listened to the conversations. He would never be able to remember the names of all the Slytherins. When the last student was being sorted, Professor McGonagall handed over the floor to Professor Dumbledore.

"I'm welcoming you to Hogwarts! Before we begin the feast, I would like to take a minute's silence. Another student should have been here today - Harry Potter. Many of you probably know him as the boy who lived or the chosen one. But unfortunately he passed away three years ago in a tragic house fire. Let us think of him for a minute and hope that he is happily reunited with his family," the entire hall fell silent.

Everyone had their eyes closed and their heads slightly bowed. Sylas also had his head down, but he was looking at everyone around him. He was not aware of how famous this boy was. Why did a child guarantee such a great reputation?

After a minute, the headmaster continued, "May he rest in peace - Now, let's get to some more important information. The first years should be warned about the surrounding lands. It is forbidden to stay there. Mr. Filch has also asked me to remind you that magic is prohibited in the corridors. Entering the corridor on the third floor that leads to the right wing is taboo for everyone! If someone enters it anyway, they can prepare to die a painful death." A tense atmosphere spread. The whispering began, because everyone wanted to know why they were not allowed to do that, "Now then, a few words of encouragement! Lemons, goatee and lollipops!"

After that, all kinds of treats appeared on all the tables and the tense atmosphere was gone. Sylas was a little stunned by the last words, "Is Professor Dumbledore crazy? Or what was the last sentence about?"

Penelope started to laugh and said, "He's always like that, don't think about it too much. Potatoes?"

Sylas didn't even have time to answer before the vegetables were already being put on his plate. He was fascinated by how much food was prepared on the tables. In the home, the portions were very rationed and if you weren't careful, the plate would accidentally end up on the floor and you would have to go to bed with an empty stomach.

While everyone around him was grabbing and not getting enough, he ate very slowly. Every single bite was appreciated and really eaten. He wouldn't get a feast like that every day, and especially not when he had to go back.

His gaze slid to the teachers and examinded them all. He was wondering who was teaching what class. Some of them looked very pleasant, others looked like they were about to kill a student if misbehaving was occuring. His eyes slid to a professor with a weird looking turban and suddenly he got a slight headache. Maybe just coincidence. 

"Penelope?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"Who is that teacher with the turban?"

Penelope looked up at the podium, "Oh, that's Professor Quirrell. He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Draco ignored his question and started babbeling about another teacher, "Actually Uncle Sev wanted the job, but for whatever reason the old geezer Dumbledore refuses to let him. There is no one who wants it more than him and he knows the dark arts incredibly well."

"Uncle Sev?" Sylas asked cautiously.

"Severus Snape is my godfather. You'd be better prepared for his classes. He doesn't tolerate sloppiness and expects you to have looked at the material beforehand," Draco explained with a piercing look. As if he as well wouldn't tolerate his house being in a bad state either. Sylas made a mental note.

Severus Snape - High expectations, doesn't tolerate ignorance.

"Severus Snape is the best potion brewer there ever was. Madame Pomfrey always relies on his healing potions. He really is a genius in this field," Draco continued to rave about his godfather. Sylas never thought that one could admire someone so much.

In a way, he was jealous.

The evening flew by. The plates became emptier and emptier until Dumbledore instructed the prefects to take the first years to their respective houses. As a small group, they walked off and arrived at a tower with moving stairs. There were countless paintings on the walls, all of which spoke and even moved. Some picture frames were empty because they were visiting another one. Sylas was fascinated by this tower. It told countless stories.

"Be careful here, the stairs like to change direction. Don't get lost because of that!" said Penelope.

"Stay together!" Ben urged them.

They went down the stairs while the Gryffindors took the stairs up. Sylas spotted the clever girl - Hermione Grange - and the naive redhead - Ron Weasley -. They didn't notice him eyeing them.

Down in the dungeons of Hogwarts it was cold and very dark. The took many turns and it was easy to get lost in this labyrinth. Sylas prayed, that he memorized the way to the common room. After a few minutes of walking, the group came to an halt infront of a stone wall.

"This is the entrance to the common room. All you have to do is say the password and the way opens up. The password is always on the notice board inside and it is changed every week, so don't forget it! Otherwise you can sleep outside here until Mr. Filch finds you," explained Penelope with a stern voice.

"Purebloods" and the bricks began to shift little by little. It was just like the wall, when he and Mr. Ashford where about to enter the Diagon Alley. Inside they came to a large commonroom. The ceilings were high and there was a fireplace with a few sofas in front of it. Above the fireplace was the Slytherin symbol in green and silver and of course with a snake on it. They were under the lake and could watch the creatures that lived in the waters through the windows. The room was lit by a large old chandelier. Armchairs and sofas were scattered everywhere, but also tables to do tasks if you didn't want to go to the library. On the walls were pictures of famous Slytherins with their deeds and adventures. Some of them moved, others remained still. The notice board was right by the entrance. Lots of notes were hanging there. Among other things, the password, when your head of house Severus Snape had his office hours, a list of books for a deeper understanding and a list of students who offered tutoring.

"Well then, we warmly welcome you to the Slytherin common room. This will be your new home for the next seven years. Your suitcases are already in your room. Up the stairs to the left are the girls' rooms, if you go right you come to the boys' rooms. It is forbidden to have the opposite sex in your room. Professor Snape's office is outside, further down the dungeon and then immediately to the left. For the first week, we - the prefects - will accompany you to your lessons, so you won't get lost. You will receive your timetable tomorrow at breakfast, memorize it well," explained Ben, until Professor Snape himself entered the common room.

"Ah, very good, Professor Snape has a few words to say as well," said Penelope and let him have the floor. The Potions Master looked over the first years and paused for a moment at Sylas, but he didn't let that deter him and began to speak.

"Well then, welcome to Slytherin. One of the most magnificent and cunning houses here at Hogwarts. You can be proud to belong to this house", Snape said sternly, "First things first, we are Slytherin, we are a family and as family you protect each other, from anything that happens outside of the dormitory. When you leave these rooms you represent Slytherin. Therefore arguments are not taken outside, it's a sign of weakness. We are a proud house and all of Hogwarts knows that. Poor performance will not be tolerated, help each other with your studies or consult one of the older students. If you do happen to break the rules, make sure you don't get caught or you will be cleaning cauldrons for the next seven years. My office hours are on the noticeboard, if you have a concern, sign up and come to my office at the appropriate time. That's all, you are free to do what you like."

The professor turned around and left the room. The prefects shooed the newcomers into their rooms so they could unpack their suitcases and settle in.

Sylas shared a room with Theo, Draco, Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle. In the rooms there were six large green and silver four-poster beds. Each of them had a magical curtain for privacy. The beds were arranged in a circle and in the middle there was a magical stove that kept the room warm. It filled itself with wood and always stayed burning. Next to each bed there was a chest of drawers to the left and right for personal belongings, as well as a chest in front of the bed. Here too there was a slightly smaller chandelier hanging from the ceiling. On the floor was a green and silver carpet with the Slytherin badge on it.

Sylas was simply left breathless. He had fantasised about how it could look like, but he had never experienced anything like this. In his home they had no heating, only the stove in the common room. In winter it was always heated, but no one dared to spend the night there. Everyone preferred to wrap themselves in their blankets. Sylas remembered how often he couldn't sleep because of the cold. When he came down to the dungeon, he thought for a moment that it would be the same here.

He had never such big beds and when he laid down, he thought, he was in the fluffiest cloud to ever exist. The mattress and the beddings were so soft, he was about to get lost in them. 

The students' suitcases were next to the beds and they began to unpack and put everything away.

Well, Theo and Sylas unpacked, the others were talking about the latest Quidditch brooms and left their trunks as it was. After a while a heated argument made Draco, Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle move their conversation to the common room because they wanted Marcus Flint's opinion on which broom was the best.

There was silence between the two remaining boys for a while until Sylas spoke up.

"In the Great Hall, ... you all observed a minute's silence," he began. Theo sat cross-legged on his bed and rested his head on one hand. Sylas wasn't looking directly at him and was still putting his things away.

"We did."

"It was for that boy - Harry Potter - who died."

"Hmm."

"Who is that?"

"..."

Theo's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. "By Merlin, you don't know THE Harry Potter? The boy who lived? Where have you lived up until now, in Romania?"

Sylas flinched briefly. He hadn't expected such a reaction. "Well, my grandparents aren't... the youngest. I've never heard of the Potters. Except in the books I've read, but nothing specific is mentioned there," he muttered, slightly ashamed. 

"Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... well, whatever. Where should I start?," Theo muttered, "Harry Potter is the son of James and Lily Potter. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacked the Potters because he wanted to kill them. James and Lily Potter were hit with the Killing Curse. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named also wanted to kill their baby, but miraculously Harry was able to ward off the curse and killed him. This caused his legendary scar on his forehead. Every child in the wizarding world knows this story. That is the official version, but there are countless rumors and legends. Some say He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is still alive and looking for revenge. Others claim that peace has finally returned. Still others think that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had something to do with the house fire where Harry died and is now raising him in order to be the ultimate Death Eater."

Now he understood the expression the boy who lived. When Dumbledore gave his little speech, he seemed very affected that Harry Potter was no longer alive. But one thing the wizarding world had in common with the Muggleworld. Gossip seemed to be very popular among all human beings. 

"Who is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Theo looked at him as if he had asked him who the Queen of England was.

"You don't know anything at all. Did your family teach you nothing?"

Ashamed, he looked away and muttered, "A family friend taught me every now and then, but it seems like it wasn't enough."

Theo sighed loudly "Okay, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is actually Lord Voldemort, but no one dares to say his name because he was once the greatest and most dangerous wizard in the world. They say it brings bad luck if you say his name. He wanted to take over the entire magical world with his followers - the Death Eaters. He fought against Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. But then Harry came along and ruined all his plans. My father was one of them too, a Death Eater, I mean."

Sylas looked at him with wide eyes. Simply revealing something like that was incredibly foolish. Theo noticed his look and started to laugh.

"Don't you know that most of the parents of the students in Slytherin served the Dark Lord? Apparently there is no wizard or witch who has devoted himself to the darkness who wasn't in Slytherin. But that's just a prejudice from the other houses to make us look bad. Just because you're in Slytherin doesn't mean you're bad. The Greengrass family, for example. They are neutral towards Dumbledore and Voldemort. In other words, they haven't committed themselves to either side."

It wasn't even his first day at Hogwarts and he was already questioning whether he had made a mistake. Cissy's words kept echoing through his head. He should have faith in the Sorting Hat. How could he have faith when he was put straight into the nest of evil?!

"Hey ..., you better change your attitude right away. It's literally written on your face what you think. If someone else had seen that, you would have been the outsider straight away," the sharpness in Theo's tone told Sylas that he wasn't joking. He was right though, he couldn't change the fact that he had ended up in Slytherin.

"I'm sorry, I..." Theo interrupted him, "I don't blame you. You grew up among Muggles, even though they actually know about us. It's irresponsible of your family not to have taught you anything. But now you're in Slytherin and no one in this house will take that into consideration. Especially because many people don't think much of Muggles. Either you adapt or you get left behind and then I can't help you anymore."

Sylas nodded silently and thought about his words. If he wanted to be equal to a pureblood, he not only had to catch up on knowledge, but also behave like one, like a Slytherin. Theo had already laid down in his bed and drawn the curtains. He did exactly the same. Only first he dug out a notebook and started to write down important things, like what Snape said in his little speech, what Theo told him. But also what he had seen of the castle so far.

Suddenly Oliver appeared and flew to him. He had sat cross-legged in the air and folded his arms. He seemed content, nostalgic.

The castle really hasn't changed a bit, even the Slytherin common room has stayed the same.

Sylas hesitated for a moment because he didn't want the others to think he was talking to himself. One would think he's crazy as always.

Oliver sighed loudly The curtains also have a sound-dampening effect, as long as you whisper, no one should hear you.

"How long has it been since you were in Slytherin and Hogwarts?"

A very long time, I can't even remember the year.

Typical answer. Whenever Sylas asked him about his past, he only got cryptic answers. Annoyed, he rolled his eyes "Can you at least explain to me what makes a real Slytherin? You were one yourself, after all." Oliver looked at the boy in front of him and thought about his words.

Teaching a frog Quidditch would be easier.

He got a nasty look from Sylas. He immediately held his hands protectively in front of himself. OK, I can try. But it's going to be a tough nut to crack. You grew up among Muggles, which goes against the interests and preferences of the Slytherin, but we can work on that. Well then, what is the most important thing you need to know?

Oliver began to explain the origins of the house to him. About Salazar Slytherin, how he tried to only allow purebloods to attend school, but failed miserably. That's why it was said that only wizards with pure blood could come to Slytherin, but there were already some half-bloods and Muggle-borns who lived here. If you were sorted into the House of Snakes, you mostly had some of the following characteristics:

Ambition, resourceful, proud, determined, cunning, sharp-witted.

Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor were once good friends, but because of Slytherin's fanatical obsession with purebloods, they got into a heated dispute. This dispute has continued to this day, because the Gryffindors and Slytherins have disliked each other for centuries and are in constant rivalry with each other.

Oliver told old stories about the honorable house until late into the night and got so lost in his stories that he didn't notice that Sylas had long since fallen asleep. With a smile and a roll of his eyes, he left the room of the six boys and went back to his own business.

Chapter 5

The first official school week at Hogwarts began. The newbies left their rooms as a group and went to breakfast or class together. No one wanted to embarrass themselves in front of the others by getting lost. Apparently there were no such rules in any of the other houses, because many of the newcomers from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor quickly got lost and were regularly late for class. Their prefects did not consider it important to instruct the new students where each classroom was. The poltergeist Peeves wasn't helpful either. He always played tricks on them and the paintings that could talk were no help when it came to giving directions.

Sylas initially thought that the lessons at a wizarding school consisted of just waving his wand a little. Then he would be able to conjure up anything he wanted. In his head he had actually already made a list of things he wanted to conjure up. His opinion quickly changed when they had to go to Professor Sprout's greenhouse three times a week for herbology. They learned all sorts of things about the different plants, how to handle them and the risks. Sylas only knew about plants on one level. Namely mowing the lawn and weeding. Every Wednesday evening they observed the night sky, learned about the constellations and the movements of the different planets.

Sylas once went to class with a Muggle girl who was an absolute fan of astrology; she would pass the subject with flying colors.

The most boring subject was the history of magic, and interestingly enough, it was the only ghost who taught there. Apparently Professor Binns fell asleep in front of the fireplace one night and went to his class the next morning as a ghost, unaware that he had left his body behind.

Mr. Flitwick was a small professor who had to stand on several books so that he could be seen on his pedestal. He was a teacher of Charms and this was exactly what Sylas imagined magic to be. He could hardly wait to learn the multitude of spells.

While they were all very pleasant professors and tolerated disruption and lateness, Professor McGonagall was quite different. She was strict and did not hesitate to deduct points from students even from her own house. Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas were severely reprimanded for being late.

"Transfiguration is one of the most difficult and dangerous magics you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone who does anything stupid in my class will have to leave and will not come back. You have been warned," Sylas would never have thought that they would receive a half-threat right at the start of the first few lessons.

When the professor turned her table into a pig and back again, he could hardly wait to get started. What he could do with these things in his home... He had to suppress a smug grin. He would love to rub everything he could do in Mr. Ashford's face. Just to provoke him.

But to his disillusionment, Transfiguration was more than just difficult to use. Their first task was to turn a match into a simple needle, and no one had even come close to doing it. On the one hand, he was dejected, but on the other hand, it was a clear sign that he wasn't too far behind in terms of application. Professor McGonagal also wrote an incredible amount on the board. Sylas always copied from Theo because he couldn't read what she wrote. His eyes weren't the sharpest.

Sylas was most excited about Professor Quirrell. Defense Against the Dark Arts could only be exciting. After all, they would learn defensive spells that would help against dark magic. Oliver had told him that most Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort himself used almost exclusively dark spells.

But within the first ten minutes of class, he was disappointed. The entire classroom smelled of garlic. Professor Quirrell explained that it was to ward off a vampire he had met in Romania. He was sure that the vampire would come for him.

When asked about his turban, he claimed that he got it from an African prince. A zombie had attacked him and the wizard had saved him from the undead. When asked how he defeated the zombie, he quickly started talking about the weather.

Ron was heard whispering to Dean that his brothers claimed the turban was full of garlic, which is why it smelled so bad. Sylas came to the conclusion that the professor simply didn't shower and didn't get the turban cleaned. Ever since that thought occurred to him, he felt like gagging.

A professor who didn't shower.

Yuck.

On Fridays they had a double hour of potions. At the end of the week the first years of Slytherin had split into two groups. Theo, Daphne and Sylas preferred to keep to themselves. While Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, Blaise and Millicent went wherever Draco was. He had made himself the leader of the gang pretty quickly. Sylas had not expected anything else from the blond. He seemed to be exactly the type for this kind of power dynamic. Only Theo and Daphne were not impressed by him. They had taken a liking to Sylas and helped him when he had questions. The Trio was among the first in the large hall eating breakfast. 

"Who do we have potions with?" asked Theo as he bit into his toast.

"Gryffindor. It'll be fun. Snape can't stand the lions," said Daphne. Sylas was just choking down his cereal. He wasn't used to eating in the morning.

"Have you looked at the material yet, Sylas? Even though Snape is our head of house and favors us, he doesn't appreciate it when his own students come unprepared." Theo had been checking the boy all week to see if he was prepared. On one hand, Sylas appreciated that, but on the other hand, it annoyed him a little. He was like a nagging mother.

With his mouth full, he nodded and swallowed. "I looked at the material in the library yesterday. But I'm sure he won't be interested in me if the Gryffindors are there." When he discovered the huge library in the castle, he knew that it would be his new home for the next few weeks. Every book - every relevant book - had to be searched.

"All of this is about him getting one over on the lions. I'm not a fan of them either, so hopefully they embarrass themselfs today. They always have such big mouths and act like they know better," growled Daphne. She chewed on her toast, slightly angry. Earlier this week she was invovled in an argument wirht Hermione Granger, which left her with a sour taste of her. 

She heard the Muggle girl talking badly about Slytherin, which she wanted to correct. Everyone always claimed how evil Slytherin was, but if you're not in the house yourself, you will never know what its truley be like. But she was only confronted with some stupid statements from books. It had been proven that Slytherin was the worst house, Slytherin should be abolished... blah , blah , blah. When Ron Weasley thought he had to butt in, the Greengrass almost burst.

Theo and Sylas had to take Daphne out of the way, otherwise she would have cursed them and cost them house points. Half an hour later, she still took up the entire Slytherin common room for her frustration. Everyone who came in had the misfortune of being talked to by her. Daphne was proud to be a Slytherin and when necessary, her inner snake would come out.

If Hermione Granger had no enemies, then Daphne Greengrass was dead.

Suddenly all sorts of owls flew out of the windows of the large hall. Among them was Hedwig with a letter in her beak. "Thank you," he murmured to her and read the letter.

 

Hello Sylas

Would you like to come to my cottage this afternoon for a cup of tea?
 Would like to know how your first week was.
Please send me an answer through Hedwig.

Hagrid

 

"Who is it from?" asked Theo, trying to read from across the table

"From Hagrid, I met him in Diagon Alley and he said he would invite me to his hut sometime," he explained. As he thought about their first meeting, the questions he had came back to him. Hagrid seemed to be familiar with Mr. Ashford in a not quiet friendly way. 

"Hagrid, the half-giant? It's sort of a miracle that he'd invite a Slytherin over. He must really like you," said Theo. Sylas looked at him questioningly. Why should Hagrid's attitude towards him change just because he was in Slytherin? 

"He trusts Professor Dumbledore blindly. No matter what Dumbledore asks of him, he does it because he thinks it is the right thing to do. His loyalty to him should not be underestimated. Well, most of the Slytherin graduates have turned out to be dark wizards and witches who also opposed Dumbledore. That's why it's surprising that he's inviting you," explained Daphne.

Sylas had given up his cereal a few minutes ago. Hagrid's dislike of Slytherins was understandable, but it was a heavy burden on his stomach. He quickly scribbled down a reply for him and sent Hedwig on his way. He was determined to make a good impression.

As the Great Hall began to fill up, they went back to get their books and parchments for Potions. They waited on the sofa in the common room for the rest of their group to arrive so that Penny - the prefect wanted to be called that - could pick them up and take them to their classroom.

The Potions classroom was in the dungeons near the Slytherins. Theo and Sylas sat next to each other, while Daphne immediately sat next to Blaise. She had little to do with the other two girls in her year who came from the same house - Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode. Pansy was too arrogant for her and Millicent was always looking for a fight. It was bad enough that she had to share a room with the two of them. There were only arguments.

Down here, the only light he got was from the candles on the walls. The gloomy atmosphere made the animals in the jars even more creepy. If Sylas didn't know better, he would have said a psychopath lived here. When Professor Snape entered the room, everything fell silent. He exuded the same aura as Professor McGonagall.

Disobedience was not tolerated by him.

He began to read the list of names to check attendance. With each name he memorized the face very carefully. With Sylas he took a little too long, which made him a little nervous. His eyes were black as night. They radiated no warmth or other positive feelings. It was as if he was looking into the eyes of a living dead person who had nothing left to lose. But after a minute of uncomfortable silence he continued.

"You are here to learn the difficult science and exact art of potion making," his voice hissed throughout the room, but he was easily understood. No one dared to interrupt him. Professor Flitwich could take some notes on how to handle classroom better. 

"Since I have very little silly wand-waving , many of you will find it hard to believe that this is magic. I don't expect you to really learn to see the beauty of the gently bubbling cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of the liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind and beguiling the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, concoct prestige, even cork death - if you aren't a big bunch of fools like I usually have in my class," Sylas was impressed by his speech.

In the first few minutes, Professor Snape had made it clear that his course was very demanding and that you could achieve a lot if you tried hard. Sylas looked at his classmates. Some seemed nervous about failing and not being good enough. While Hermione Granger sat there full of self-confidence. Based on Daphne's incident, he could already imagine that she had already read through the entire textbook.

"Thomas!" Snape snapped everyone out of their daydreams, "What do I get if I add ground asphodel root to an infusion of wormwood ?" The Gryffindor looked at him with his mouth open. He had no idea, how could he? No Gryffindor opened the book before class ... except Hermione Granger. Her hand stood in the air like a one.

"Disappointing, very disappointing ... Weasley?! Where would you look if you had to get me a bezoar?" Ron Weasley, who was sitting next to Dean Thomas, looked at the professor with big, frightened eyes. He too couldn't say a word.

Granger raised her hand even higher, as if Snape hadn't noticed her already. "I don't tolerate sloppiness! Or do you Gryffindors think that this knowledge just comes to you ? Malfoy! What's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane ?"

Draco couldn't help but grin arrogantly, "There is no difference. It's the same thing, sir."

Granger's hand was already shaking from disregard. She just couldn't help it and didn't notice Snape deliberately disregarding her. Before the Potions master could say anything, Ron Weasley foolishly said, "Why don't you take Hermione? She knows the answer!"

You could have dropped a pin and heard it. Several Slytherins sucked in their breath. Never question the Head of the Snakes.

Snape looked the student in the eyes, slightly angry. First, he told Hermione to put her hand down. "Do you expect Miss Granger to write your exam too? Are you so foolish to expect others to do your studying for you?! For your information, Weasley, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so strong it is known as the Draught of the Living Dead. A bezoar is a stone from the stomach of a goat that saves you from most poisons. Wolfsbane and monkshood are also known as aconite. Any questions? 10 points deducted for your stupidity," there was dead silence in the classroom.

All that could be heard was Sylas writing down this information. The information about the bezoar seemed important to him. Snape's voice pierced the silence, "Why isn't anyone writing this down except Ashford?!" Everyone immediately took out their parchment and started writing.

The rest of the hour turned out to be pure hell - well, if you were sorted into Gryffindor. In pairs, they had to brew a simple healing spell for boils. Snape had something to criticize about everyone, but he always whispered little tips to the Slytherins as he passed by. Sylas teamed up with Theo and created some kind of liquid that could perhaps be considered a cure for boils.

"If I had boils I certainly wouldn't drink it, I think it's more likely to kill you," the dark-haired boy whispered to him. Sylas had to suppress a laugh, but he could only agree. Snape looked at their death brew and just wrinkled his nose.

"Well, for the first attempt it's... survivable." The two boys looked at each other, dejected but still amused.

While Snape was looking at the Slytherins' potions, Neville had managed to melt Seamus' cauldron into a strange lump. The brew seeped all over the stone floor and burned holes in the shoes. Everyone immediately stood up on their chairs and an unhappy Snape approached the Gryffindors. But he was too late to save Neville from the mess, because the boy fell awkwardly from his chair directly into the liquid. He groaned in pain. Not just from the fall, but because he had boils all over his arms and legs.

Snape snapped angrily at Ron and Dean for not intervening. After all, they worked at the same table and saw that Neville made mistakes. The two had to hold back a comment to avoid getting into more trouble.

After the double Potions lesson, the Slytherins - Draco, Pansy, Milicent , Crabbe and Goyle - were making fun of the Gryffindors in the common room. Sylas wondered if it was an important trait for a Slytherin to make fun of others. Or was it simply due to the rivalry between the two houses?

Sylas wrote a question mark in his notebook.

 

~~~

 

In the afternoon, Sylas set off alone to see Hagrid. He would have liked to take Theo and Daphne with him, just to show the half-giants that not all Slytherins were bad, but he decided against it. It was better for him to have a good experience with a Slytherin first - for starters.

His wooden hut stood on the edge of the forbidden forest. Next to his door lay a crossbow and a pair of galoshes. The hut suited the giant, it reflected him a little.

When Sylas knocked, he heard excited barking and scratching.

"Fang, move away!" Hagrid's voice was clearly heard.

The door was opened a crack and when Hagrid saw the boy, he opened it all the way. "Ah, Sylas, it's good that you came. Fang is already quite excited," he grinned and let him in. He tried to hold a huge black male dog by the collar. Without a doubt, if Hagrid hadn't held the dog, Sylas would be lying on the floor now.

The wooden hut was simply built. There was only one room that contained everything you needed for life. An open fire with a copper kettle, a huge bed with a tattered blanket, a wooden table and three chairs and a ham hanging from the ceiling.

"Make yourself comfortable, my boy," he said and let go of Fang. The dog came over to him very obediently and made room next to him. Sylas began to stroke him, drool dripping onto his seal. "Now tell me about your first week, how was it?"

While Sylas was talking about his course, the half-giant heated water over the kettle. He also gave him some biscuits, but they were so hard that he thought his teeth would break. He told him about the rumors from Professor Quirrell that there was actually a lot of garlic in his turban and about how Neville messed up the potion. Hagrid laughed a lot.

"Yes, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape are the strictest in Hogwarts. Snape scares me more though, always has that look on his face," Hagrid grumbled. He still remembered the time he lost Fang in the castle and Snape threatened to make the dog disappear if he wandered into his office.

"Hagrid – a question"

"What is it?"

"When we met in Diagon Alley, it seemed like you knew Mr. Ashford quite well."

"Of course, I helped him create a new identity. This man is not popular in the wizarding world, but too risky to tell you everything. You never know - eyes and ears everywhere," Hagrid whispered to him. Sylas nodded understandingly.

"Aren't Squibs welcome?"

"You have to know that during the times when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was up to mischief, there were more and more attacks on Squibs. It was called the Purge of the Unworthy. Complete nonsense, if you ask me. It's that typical Slytherin ideology that drags all non-magicians through the mud!" Hagrid only now realized what he had actually said. Disappointment spread through the boy.

"But of course you're not one of them, Sylas. I had my doubts at first, but I had to pull myself together. After all, you grew up with Mr. Ashford, so I wanted to be your friend," he tried to somehow get out of the situation.

"If you give me a chance, maybe I can introduce you to my classmates sometime? They really aren't all such pure-blood fanatics, I promise you," he asked shyly. Hagrid stroked his beard and thought for a moment.

"Hmm, maybe not next week," he grumbled. Sylas was more than happy with that. It was a step in the right direction. He noticed a newspaper on the table with a big headline about goblins.

 

News from the break-in at Gringotts

The investigation into the break-in at Gringotts on July 31st is continuing. It is generally assumed that it was the work of dark wizards or witches. However, it is unclear who exactly they were. Representatives of the goblins at Gringotts reiterated today that nothing was stolen. The vault that was searched happened to have been emptied on the same day.

"We won't tell you what was in it, though, so keep your nose out of it if you know what's good for you," an official goblin spokesman from Gringotts said this afternoon.

 

That day, he had been at Gringotts just a few hours earlier to pick up his Galleons. He wrinkled his nose.

"Is something wrong, Sylas?" Hagrid asked, munching on his biscuits.

Sylas showed him the Daily Prophet and said, "I was told Gringotts is the most burglar-proof place in the world. How could someone manage to get to a vault? Luckily, it was just being emptied."

"Yes, Dumbledore was really lucky that he sent me in time. Hogwarts is even safer than Gringotts," he realized in the middle of the sentence that maybe he shouldn't have said that. "But you don't know that from me, that I picked up something for Dumbledore! No one must know that the stone is in Hogwarts!" he stumbled again.

"A rock? Why is a rock so interesting?" asked Sylas frowning. But Hagrid just shook his head frantically.

"By Merlin, I'm not saying anything more about that!"

The boy could only smile and let it go, but it was still interesting. What secret does the headmaster have? This school year seemed to be getting even more exciting. Hagrid had given him a whole bag full of biscuits. He took them out of politeness, not wanting to hurt the half-giant's feelings. When he arrived in his room with the biscuits, he was given only questionable looks.

"Where did you get these?" Draco asked, taking one, but when he bit into it, he immediately regretted it. "Damn goblin crap, who the hell made these! If my father hears about this...!" Sylas didn't tell him that they were Hagrid's. Mr. Malfoy would certainly be able to make him lose his job, and he really didn't want to risk that.

But before Draco could get any more worked up about it, he found a fun side to it. He threw it at Crabbe and Goyle when they annoyed him. They were still bruised for days afterwards.

~~~

Ever since Daphne Greengrass read the notice on the bulletin board, she couldn't stop grinning slyly. She was one of the nicest witches in Slytherin, but when it came to watching Hermione Granger embarrass herself on a broom, she could lose her kindness. Broom flying wasn't something you could learn in theory.

"She's been grinning so creepily the whole time," Theo grumbled to Sylas. They were sitting on one of the sofas in front of the fireplace in the common room. The boys were playing wizard chess against Daphne in pairs.

"I don't think it's because she's winning," Sylas mumbled back and continued to examine the board. He tried every combination in his head, but it was slowly giving him a headache.

"She's winning?!" Theo shouted, shocked, and analyzed the board. In fact, the girl was about to beat their king. "Merlin, we can't even beat you with two of us," grumbled the dark-haired man. The blonde began to giggle quietly to herself.

"I can't wait until she finally embarrasses herself." She could already feel the satisfaction and was trembling with excitement. 

Sylas and Theo looked at each other worriedly. "Now the snake is coming out of you, isn't it, Daphne? That mudblood and all the Gryffindors can brace themselves. I'll make them all eat dust," Draco came straight towards them - as arrogant as ever - with his little gang. They were all grinning ear to ear. 

"What is a mudblood?", Sylas foolishly asked a little too loudly. Which made everyone look at him in disbelief. 

…

"You know as much as a wizard knows about how to use a toaster," said Draco dryly. Crabbe and Goyle started laughing. Sylas doubted that Draco even knew what a toaster was.

"How did you even get into Slytherin?" Pansy growled and looked at him in disgust. 

It was the first time she had spoken to him. He couldn't stand her aggressive manner. Sylas grabbed his neck nervously. How would he know such terms? Cissy had only told him about the pureblood families, Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, some creatures and the Ministry. They simply didn't have time for much more.

"Don't be such a troll, Draco, and you, Pansy, shut up. You can't know the term after only two weeks at Hogwarts," Daphne growled at them disapprouving.

"It's fine, it's fine. I just thought that a pureblood should know more," Draco grumbled, raising his hands protectively in front of him. Pansy just crossed her arms snippily.

Theo sighed loudly and began to explain, "Muggle-borns who have magical abilities are called mudbloods. No one knows exactly how Muggles suddenly have magical powers and say they are contaminating pureblood families."

While still looking angry at Draco and Pansy, Daphne added, "Children from pure-blood families are told that the Muggles stole the magical powers from another wizard or witch. That's why many people don't like them. We're born to hate them... Most of us, anyway." He remembered reading a similar story in the book The Tales of Beedle the Bard and he remembered how absurd he found it.

"The Weasleys," Draco said her name with disgust, "are one of the few pureblood families who love the mudbloods incredibly much and want to protect them. Their father is always after my fathers' neck."

Daphne looked at him with a raised eyebrow "That's not surprising, is it"

Before the Malfoy heir could reply, Theo clapped his hands to avoid further discussion "Alright guys, we should go to breakfast."

It was one of the few times that the newbies ate breakfast together. And that was only because Daphne was so excited to see Granger embarrass herself. She had been playing chess against Sylas since early in the morning because she couldn't sleep anymore and eventually Theo joined them. Playing chess had made them lose track of time.

The Great Hall was full and they began to eat. Sylas's food sat heavily in his stomach - as it always did - because he had no experience of flying a broom. He would embarrass himself in front of the Gryffindors and the Slytherins. Draco and Pansy would surely make fun of him again and he could really do without that.

It didn't take long for the owls to arrive with their mail. He hadn't received a letter since Hagrid's. Who would? Mr. Ashford certainly wouldn't send him one, he was glad he had one less mouth to feed.

Netherless he was jealous of Draco, because he always got a package with sweets in it. He always unwrapped it loudly at the breakfast table. But as soon as they were back in the room, however, he shared them with the others. Sylas had noticed for a while that Draco's appereance was all about show, but that was exactly what made a Slytherin. It was in his blood to be a real snake.

It wasn't just Sylas who noticed that he wasn't getting any letters, but also some of the Gryffindors.

"Hey Ashford, did your parents send you to Hogwarts to get rid of you?" Weasley called out to him. Sylas was a little taken aback by this stupid approach, but didn't let it show. It was like being back in the orphanage. Just avoid stupid insinuations.

"Are you going to cry, Ashford?" Seamus pouted and pretended to wipe away tears with his hands. The other Gryffindors started to laugh loudly.

"Well, at least I can afford a decent, tailored robe and don't have to buy anything second-hand," he hissed back. Slightly lying, Cissy could afford a robe like that, but they dont need to know that. 

While the Weasley's face turned bright red, the Slytherins started to laugh. "You showed him," said Daphne, patting him proudly on the shoulder, and Theo also nodded at him with a nasty grin. It wasn't really common for Sylas to come back with an better insult, so they were all the more surprised.

He had already had enough arguments with Michael and Sebastian at the beginning of his time in the orphanage because he couldn't keep his big mouth shut. The pain he endured from the beatings, were still lingering around. But someone like Ron Weasley orFinnigan Seamus would certainly not dare to fight with him. It was all just big mouths and nothing behind them.

Considering that magic was used here, he didn't want to know what was possible to hurt someone - well, not entirely, but he still wanted to know. Knowing too much is better than nothing.

A barn owl flew in and brought Neville a package from his grandmother. He nervously began to open it and pulled out a glass ball filled with white smoke. Sylas had never seen anything like it before. The Gryffindors looked at the ball with wide eyes.

"A Remembrall," he said proudly, "Granny knows I'm always forgetting things. The orb tells you when you've forgotten something, you just have to hold it tightly and when the smoke turns red, oh... oh ." The smoke in the Remembrall reflected a scarlet red and Neville began to sweat. He was far too busy trying to figure out what he'd forgotten when Draco snatched the orb from him as he passed by.

Daphne and Theo just sighed in annoyance and shook their heads. "He really can't stop," grumbled the blonde. It was always the same with the boy. Even when they were children.

"That's the rivalry between the lions and the snakes. Both sides just can't stop," grinned Theo. Even though he didn't often take part in such things himself, it was exciting to watch.

Ron Weasley, Finnigan Seamus and Dean Thomas immediately jumped up to take the ball away from him, or rather to fight with the arrogant snob. But Professor McGonagall had smelled trouble from afar and was standing in front of them. Her lips were so thin that everyone knew she was not to be messed with right now.

"What's going on here?"

"Malfoy has my Remembrall, Professor"

One look from her was enough for Draco to drop the ball back on the table.

"I just wanted to take a closer look," he grumbled and left the room with Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle. Professor McGonagall gave the other Slytherins another angry look before sitting down again.

They ate their breakfast in complete silence, secretly watching the Gryffindors. They listened as Granger dropped one fact after another about broom flying. Sylas knew she had learned it from the book Quidditch Through the Ages , but there weren't really any useful tips in there. But the way Neville hung on her every word was a source of satisfaction for the Slytherins.

Chapter 6

At around half past three in the afternoon, the time had finally arrived. The Slytherins scurried quietly through the castle, over the front steps and out onto the grounds. Thesky was a clear, crisp clue, with a gentle breeze whispering through the trees. A perfect day for flying - even for beginners.They walked further down the sloping lawn until they reached a flat, open space bordered by the looming shadows of the Forbidden Forest.

Madame Hooch was already waiting, her hawk-like yellow eyes sweeping over them as they approached. Several brooms were lying on the lawn to her left and right. They greeted the flying instructor neatly and lined up next to each of the brooms. Sylas looked at the woman from the side. She had short gray hair and yellow eyes like a hawk. He didn't know it was possible to have eyes that color.

After 10 minutes the Gryffindors finally arrived, breathless from running.

"Come on! We don't have forever!" she barked at the students. They stood in front of her, slightly out of breath, and she pointed to the other side with the brooms on the floor. "Come on, stand next to a broom!"

He eyed the broom beside him with growing skepticism. Even without knowing much about broom models, it was clear this one was ancient. The twigs at the tail were splayed in all directions, some clumped together with something unidentifiable. He didn’t even want to guess what it was.

"Stretch out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch , "and then say Up !"

As if in chorus, they all said up together.

The students echoed her in chorus. To his surprise, Sylas' broom immediately jumped into his hand. He blinked, glancing around. Most of the others were still struggling, including Daphne, who seemed more amused than frustrated. Because Granger, however, was near frantic, her broom stubbornly refusing to budge. Sylas couldn't help but smirk. She deserved that frustration.

Next, she explained how to properly mount the broom without sliding off the back. She walked the entire row to check the handles. She even had to correct Draco Malfoy, which earned him a laugh from the Gryffindors.

"Now listen carefully, when I whistle, push off the ground with all your strength," explained Madam Hooch , "Hold your broomsticks straight, climb a few feet into the air and then come straight back down again by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle, three, two..." but before her lips even touched the whistle, Longbottom had pushed himself into the air.

His nervousness had taught him better, and his fear of being left on the ground caused him to shoot up.

"Come back!" she shouted, but Longbottom was already tumbling through the air in a frantic, uncontrolled spiral. The broom bucked wildly beneath him, sending him soaring higher and higher. Gasps echoed through the students as he looped through the sky, his small frame barely clinging on.

A sickening crack echoed across the lawn as he crashed into the castle wall and tumbled onto the grass. Madam Hooch rushed to his side.

"Oh, oh... The wrist is broken," she was heard saying, "Come on, get up. None of you move while I take him to the hospital wing! The brooms stay where they are or you'll be thrown out of Hogwarts faster than you can say Quidditch!"

Longbottom cried in pain and limped with Madam Hooch to the hospital wing. When they were far out of sight, the Slytherins burst into laughter. For which they received dirty looks from the Gryffindors.

"This isn't funny! He's hurt!" Weasley snapped angrily at them.

But Draco and his group pretended to wipe away tears to make fun of them even more. Theo, Daphne and Sylas, watching from the sidelines, exchanged wary glances.

"I hope they don't do anything stupid," the eldest of them muttered, but Theo had spoken too soon.

Draco had discovered the Remembrall on the ground and was looking at it in the sun. A mischievious grin curled at his lips

"Give it back, Malfoy," Weasley growled.

The air grew thick and all the muttering from the other students died down. Everyone was looking at the two boys. 

"I think I'll stick it in a tree, then the slowpoke can pick it up himself," joked the blonde and hopped onto his broom. Before anyone could stop him, he vaulted onto his broom and kicked off the ground. He shot towards the nearest oak tree, dangling the small glass sphere mockingly

"What an idiot, he's going to get himself expelled," Daphne muttered, her eyes darting nervously between Draco and Weasley. 

"And it's going to cost us a lot of house points if he gets caught or if that stupid thing breaks", Theo muttered. "Draco, just see the situation!"

Suddelny Weasley also got on his broom and launchedafter him. The Gryffindors cheered, all except for Granger, she who crossed her arms, shaking her head.

Sylas narrowed his eyes. This was spiraling out of control. He thought about what the best solution would be for this situation. Everyone else was too afraid of being expelled if they fly up there. Which is indeed a great risk. But the problem was Draco started this non sense. If he gets caught, their would be no reasonable explanation on why he would have done that. Draco will get blamed and Weasley will get the praise for sticking up for a friend. 

High above, the two argued near the crown of the oak tree, their words lost in the wind. 

"Draco, stop it! You'll get expelled and cost us house points!" Daphne shouted, but she doubted the two stupid students could even hear her. So they continued observing them. Sylas watched them closely, monitoring their behaviour, their body language. If anything would hint, that something bad might happend, he would immediatly fly up there, to save Draco. 

Then, Weasley's face turned a furious shade of red Without warning, he lunged, grabbing for Draco's broom, causing him to nearly fell off. A collective grasp rippled throug. Sylas didn't hesitate for a second. He sat on the broom and pushed himself off with all his strength. Daphne shouted at him, he should put his ass back on the ground and was acting too impulsively. Netherless he didn't listen, he needed to save Draco from worse. 

Sylas shot right inbetween them, holding both of their broom handles so that neither of them would get any stupid ideas and looked at Draco with a sharp look.

"Are you both idiots?", he snapped, looking now at Draco, "Don't you realize what you're doing? Draco, you're going to get expelled! An dif that happens, how exactly are you going to explain that to your father? That you lost your place at Hogwarts over a stupid ball?"

Draco’s eyes flickered with surprise. Sylas rarely spoke, let alone addressed him directly. And yet here he was, daring to lecture him — in front of a Weasley, infront of all Gryffindors, no less. Draco clenched his jaw. His father had told him to keep an eye on Sylas, but he had never seen anything particularly special about him. He was an outsider, ignorant of pureblood customs, hardly fit for Slytherin. And yet, here he was, interfering. He dared to lecture a Malfoy! One of the most influential families ever in the wizarding world!

"Exactly, Malfoy. Your great father won't be able to save you then either," Weasley hissed with a grin, but he also received an angry look from Sylas.

"Shut up, Weasley. You almost knocked Draco off his broom if I hadn't intervened. What do you think would have happened then?"

The redhead fell radiosilent and his face bruned scarlet.

"Both of you, get down, before Madam Hooch or any other professor sees us", Sylas growled. "Before we all end up in trouble."

Draco's eyes darkened, but he relented. With an air of barely contained frustration, he descended. Weasley followed suit. Once they touched down, Sylas turned to Draco.

"Give them Longbottom’s Remembrall."

Draco, gritting his teeth, but after a long pause, he tossed the ball to a waiting Gryffindor. Relieved that he had prevented the worst, Sylas rejoined Daphne and Theo. As soon as he reached them, they slapped him on the shoulder. Both had pretty wrinkled foreheads and a slightly angry expression.

"Are you completely mad?" Daphne whispered to him in disbelief. 

"You should act like a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor!" Theo hissed, eyes darting around as if checking to see if anyone had overheard.

He looked at him in surprise. He had behaved like a Gryffindor? 

Sylas blinked at them. "I prevented Draco from getting us into more of a mess."

"You acted without thinking, you flew upstairs without any plan. Only a Gryffindor would act so impetuously," explained Daphne, crossing her arms. At that moment, Sylas had not thought about how he was behaving.

"I had to stop him from throwing the ball away," he murmured quietly, scratching his neck.

The two looked at him in confusion.

"How do you know he wanted to throw it away?" Daphne asked. There was no sign that Draco would have done that. The two Slytherins had watched closely from the ground and were sure that Weasley would have pushed Draco down.

"..."

They both raised an eyebrow and waited for an answer.

"Intuition"

Both sighed in unison. "Like a Gryffindor..."

~~~

Draco Malfoy ignored Sylas for the rest of the day and made it clear to him that he didn't approve of his actions. The little gang he had built up had been making fun of him the whole time. No one understood why he had acted like that. Even Theo took him aside again to tell him that he couldn't behave like that. He had criticized his own house in front of another house. He had mentioned several times that he should apologize to Draco. Otherwise, the whole thing could get out of hand.

At dinner, one could see the tense looks between Malfoy and Weasley. Neither of them was happy with how things had turned out between them that afternoon. When the first year Slytherins had finished eating, they wanted to retire, but Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas stood in their way as they left the Great Hall.

"What do you want, Weasley?" growled Draco.

"A duel today at half past eleven in the trophy room, who is your second?" Sylas looked confusedly between everyone. He had never heard of a duel or a second, he would have to go and read books. There was no way he was going to ask in public what that meant. People would just make fun of him again and he couldn't afford that.

A nasty grin appeared on Draco's face. "Crabbe is my second. See you, Weasley."

The troop trotted past the Gryffindors. But before they went down into the dungeon, Sylas sneaked off to the library. He still had time to find out more. The quickest way would be to ask Oliver, but this ghost was haunting the castle somewhere and wasn't appearing infront of him. He came and went as he pleased.

In the library, he picked out books about dueling and began to leaf through them in the furthest corner. Even when the lights were turned off and he should have gone back to the dungeons long ago, he stayed in the library. He didn't want to miss the duel between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

Shortly before half past eleven he sneaked out of the library towards the trophy room. He had to be extremely careful. Not only of Mr. Filch and his cat Mrs. Norris, but also of the prefects, the house ghosts and other professors. At that moment he cursed himself for not having brought his invisibility cloak with him. It would have been a great first use. 

Luckily for him, the trophy room wasn't far from the library. He hid behind a suit of armor in the dark and waited for someone to come by. It was awfully quiet. Only here and there, you could hear faint footsteps. In that moment Sylas realized how scary the castle was in complete darkness and no others students around.

It wasn't long before he heard two students whispering to each other and footsteps coming his way. Without a doubt, it was Weasley and Thomas. They had just entered the trophy room when Mr Filch's angry voice rang out. Sylas held his breath and pressed himself even further against the wall.

"Of course it's a Weasley!" Mr. Filch pulled the two boys out of the trophy room by their ears and swore all the way down the corridor. There was no other Slytherin to be seen anywhere. At that moment, the penny dropped. Draco had given Filch a tip that someone would be in the trophy room to get one over on the Gryffindors. How could he not have guessed that?

He quietly came out from behind the armor and wanted to sneak back into the dungeon, but unfortunately Mrs. Norris had spotted him and started meowing loudly. From a distance he heard the caretaker's voice again. His hands started sweating and immediately he took to his heels and ran.

Along the corridors, up some stairs, through a door, into a secret passage that only contained another door. He immediately ran there and wanted to hide behind it, but it was locked. He cursed quietly to himself.

"Has anyone ventured into the forbidden third floor, Mrs. Norris? Show me where the student is," Filch's voice was getting closer and closer. Sylas' heart was pounding wildly against his chest. He couldn't let himself get caught under any circumstances.

The looks he would get from Draco and Pansy, he could already feel it. They would start making him look like an idiot, because he didn't think Draco would trick the Gryffindors. With shaking hands he took out his wand and prayed that it would work. They had only recently learned this spell and until now it was always a 50/50 chance that he would manage it.

"Alohomora", he murmured quietly. After a few seconds he heard a click and immediately he was able to hide behind the door. He stayed close and pressed his ear to the wood, closeley listening to the surroundings, so he wouldn't get out to warly. Mr Filch footsteps were so close, Sylas was sure, it was over for him. Luck was on his side that evening. The footsteps became fainter and fainter, till nothing could be heard. 

Sylas breathed a sigh of relief and his tensed shoulders slacked down again, but there was no time to relax. Suddenly something smelled him and started to growl quietly. Slowly he turned around and looked into three pairs of large black eyes. A huge three-headed dog was sitting in the middle of an empty room.

Don't freak out, he couldn't panic now. Just a few minutes more and he could leave the room again. The Kerberos didn't take his eyes off him and Sylas didn't take his eyes off him.

Why the fuck would Dumbledore lock such a huge, dangerous creature in such a small room? With no food and mo water!

His eyes slid to the giant paw. Underneith seemed something hidden, something like a trapdoor. Hagrid's words echoed through his head. What are the chances, that this Kerberos was protecting that stone? It would be the only logical excuse on why Dumbledore hid such a huge monster inside the castle. 

But what Sylas really wanted to know, what kind off stone was he hiding, that it needed such protection? His hunger for curiousity and needing answers arose in him. 

After 5 minutes of dead silence, he slowly pushed the handle down again and left the room without losing eye contact. He closed it again, stopped for a moment to catch his breath and then sprinted for his life. 

He almost ran into the bloody baron, but managed to hide behind a suit of armor in time. Out of breath, he croaked the password to the stone wall and slipped in as quietly as he could. Luckily, everyone was already in their dormitories. He entered his room on tiptoe, and there, too, everyone had their curtains closed and seemed to be asleep.

Nobody had noticed his disappearance.

 

~~~

 

The incident was not discussed further and remained between the Slytherins and Gryffindors. There were only angry looks exchanged. Apparently Draco had told Mr. Filch that someone wanted to plant stink bombs in the trophy room. McGonagall lips the next morning were so paperthin, Sylas thought they had disappeard. 

The Slytherin could not hide their smug grin, whenever they walked past the too, because Weasley and Thomas were now forced to go and clean Snape's cauldrons for the rest of the year.

The other flying sessions they had with Madam Hooch passed without further incident. Sylas discovered that he really enjoyed flying. He felt completely free, especially when the wind danced through his hair and he could see everything from far above. But even though he found a new hobby, which he enjoyed. A greater consequences came it's way.

Draco made sure that no one in Slytherin forgot his actions. He didn't took the lecture as a helping signs. No, he perceived it as deepley disrespectful to him as the heir of Malfoy. So his little gang started to bully Sylas whenever they can. 

Pansy had the biggest mouth when it came to badmouthing Sylas. Every time they passed each other, she muttered to him that he was a Weasley lover or even dumber than a troll. Crabbe, Goyle and Millicent herself did the same. Interesting enough, the always only did it, when only Slytherins were around. 

The whispers behind his back and the looks he got, were the worst. Even though Sylas had been able to save Draco from worse, he was made out to be the fool. Apparently the Malfoy's pride was much more important than him being expelled. Many in Slytherin had started whispering that Sylas was a Muggle lover and would be better off joining the Gryffindors.

It was like being back in the orphanage, it's best to just ignore rumors and act like nothing is happening. Don't let it show. What hurt him a little, Theo and Daphne had gradually distanced themselves from him. Even though he'd never really had friends, he thought he was well on his way to finding some. At first they'd tried to stay with him, but when the insults spilled over to them, they distanced themselves. After that, it stopped for them immediately.

Not in his worst nightmares he would have thought, that the experience of being in Hogwarts would be as bad as being in the orphanage. He was once again in a position, where he could'nt trust anyone and was left alone. Maybe he fantasized to much about being in this school. All the innocent dreams he had about this place bursted into a million pieces. 

All in all, it was still interesting to see how Slytherin House worked. Sylas watched his other housemates likea hawke. Trying to understand their actions. Internally, they agreed to tease him, to laugh at him for his stupid questions, but as soon as they left the common room, they acted as if nothing ever had happened. No one from the other houses would even begin to suspect that they were having a fight among themselves - or whatever you want to call it.

He was still taken to breakfast, still sat next to Theo or Daphne during class. But as soon as they entered the common room, they moved away from him. It was like clockwork. He was deeply hurt by their actions, but this behaviour amazed him. He tried to wrap his head around it. Figure out, what the problem was. In the end he asked Oliver, what his opinion on this matter was.

Oliver had explained the whole thing to him in detail. As always, it was about reputation. Slytherin graduates always achieved very high positions in the Ministry or were generally influential. They became successful because they either had family in these positions or had good remaining contacts from Hogwarts. Even after graduation, they stayed in touch and helped each other.

He understood why Daphne and Theo had distanced themselves. Because they had something to lose and they couldn't afford that. Meanwhile for Sylas, he had no risk of being the outsiders of Slytherin. Never had he even thought about, what would happen after Hogwarts. Merlin, he was just eleven! Why would he worry about his future. 

Since Draco was now angry with him, the others joined in on his teasing. The Malfoys had a large fortune and a lot of power. No one wanted to incur his displeasure. 

Sylas began to understand what the hidden rules of the Slytherins were.

There were two types of students – those who had power and those who were too weak to grasp it.

If you were the latter, you had to adapt. That's why Oliver had told him that knowledge alone would be of no use to him. Because he had no power, and had to submit to the others. That's why Pansy always sucked up to Draco. If she could get him, she would be set for life. Crabbe and Goyle were simpler. They were just followers who needed a leader and Draco was the perfect person for that.

You must submit or you will be alone for the next seven years

He and Oliver were sitting in the Slytherin common room playing wizard's chess. It was early in the morning, so no one was there. All you could hear was the crackling of the fire, and sometimes you could see one of the sea people through the windows. They always came closer at night, when no one was there.

Sylas remained silent and moved the figure. Oliver himself could not move the chess piece, so he always pointed where he wanted which piece to be.

There's no point in ignoring me. You have two options: either you become a follower or you become king yourself, but you're missing a lot to be a king. Your socialization skills leave a lot to be desired.

He received a nasty look from the young Slytherin.

"Why decide straight away what I want to be? I don't want to be a follower or a king. I don't want to be subordinate to anyone, nor do I want to give orders to anyone. My main interest right now is, what kind of stone Dumbledore is hiding that even a Kerberos is looking after it," he murmured quietly.

He didn't want to know what it must look like to others when he sat there alone, playing chess with himself and then talking to himself. At the same time he couldn't care anyless. His thoughts only spiraled between his homeworks and the stone. It was a great distraction to have a riddle to solve. Otherwise he wasn't sure, if he would have handled it this good. But as well, he at least had still Oliver who talked to him. 

You don't want to be the king?! There's nothing better than having power over everything and everyone. That feeling of satisfaction when people do exactly what you ask of them because they depend on you.

Sylas raised his eyebrow and looked at him slightly disturbed. "What the hell have you been doing in your lifetime?" He got no answer, just a sly grin.

Sometimes he really wondered who exactly was following him…

Little by little, the common room filled up with Slytherins, the quiet hum of conversation growing into an ever present murmur. Sylas withdrew further into himseld, his expression unreadable. The older ones ignored him completely - for which he was quite grateful . but he could feel the weight of their judgment. Whispers traveled quickly in the dungeons, spreading like ink in the warer. Especially when they came from a loudmouth like Pansy Parkinson. 

And just as if summond by his thoughts, she appeared, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Playing chess alone again? How pathetic. Want me to join?", her voice was sickly sweet, dripping with sarcasm. Next thing he saw, was Pansy shoving the chessboard off the table, sending the pieces scattering across the floor.

Sylas remained still. His fingers twichted slitghly, but he didn't grant er the satisfaction of a reaction. Across from him, Oliver's voice echoed through the room, dripping with anger

If I still could do magic, you would be the first one I curse!

Sylas lips twitched - just the smallest movement - but it was enoguh. Pansys face twisted with irritation. She had noticed that small movement and immeaditly got angry. Sylas also noticed, the girl didn't like to be ignored. So he did it even more. 

"Oh? Did the voices say something funny to you? Or why are you grinning like an idiot for no reason?", she sneered leaning closer. So close he could smell her penetrating perfume. 

The dark-haired boy didn't respond to her provocations. Calmly he knelt down to the floor to pick up the chess pieces one by one. He had learned early on in his life that the best reaction was no reaction at all. That was the only way to handle people like her.  

Some Slytherins had seen him talking to Oliver at night. Obviously they couldn't see the ghost, so they started to wonder, who the hell that boy was talking to. He had tried to hide it at first, but the castle had eyes and ears everywhere. 

Alot of ridiculous rumors started spreading. Some whispered, that he was talking to the dead, others said he was arguing with his future self or - the most hilarious one - he was in an astrophysical connection with Salazar Slytherin.

He nither confirmed or denied any of them. If they were going to treat him like an outsider, they could think whatever they wanted about him. The more outlandish the rumor, the less they'd want to be near him. And that suited him just fine. He would have more time to think about the stone and the Kerberos. 

From across the room, Daphne and Theo looked at them worriedly- they always had an eye out for the boy, but at the same time were worried for their own future. Daphne tensed as Pansy leaned in again, her fingers thightenin on her robe. Theo, standing beside her, reached out to grab er wrist before she could move.

Pansy’s patience finally snapped. With a disgusted scoff, she spit at him—directly onto his hair. "Are you speechless, Ashford?" she taunted, waiting, hoping for a crack in his mask.

He didn't flinch, just for a moment he paused his movement to just continue with picking up the last chess piece. Pansy just tried to get a reaction out of him, and in no way, he would give her that. 

Without further comment, he turned on his heel and left the common room, hushing into a bathroom. He kept his steps even, his expression as emptiy as ever.

The moment he reached the bathroom, he turned the sink on full blast, dunking his head under the freezing water. He ran his fingers through his damp hair, scrubbing furiously, trying to rid himself of the filth of her. 

When he finally lifted his head, water dripped down his face, sliding over the burn scars on his forehead. He stared at his own reflection, at the piercing green eyes that held no warmth. His fingers curled into fists at the sight of the marks.

They were disgusting - but als proof. 

Proof that no one - not Pansy Parkinson, not the rumors, not Hogwarts itself - could bring him to his kneed. 

Seven years alone? He could endure that, he endured even worse. This was nothing. 

With a sharp exhale, he dried his hair and straightened his robe. By the time he returned to the common room, Daphne, Theo, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were gathered near the entrance, mid-conversation. The moment Sylas approached, they turned, heading toward the Great Hall for breakfast. No one spoke to him.

However, Sylas could feel the glances Theo and Daphne kept throwing his way – concern.

Their silence weighed heavier than words, but Sylas kept his expression cold, his gaze forward. If the had something to say, they should say it. Not just look at him like that. 

He wasn't in need of anyones pity. 

 

~~~

 

A few days later, he was up late playing chess with Oliver again. Only the crickling of the fireplace and the underground sealife could be heard. When the clock struck 12, and Sylas couldn't keep his eyes open anylonger, he decided to retreat back into his room. Sleep, he needed sleep. 

Funnily enough, when he stood infront of his room, he couldn't open the door. It wasn't locked or anything. He already tried the Alohomora spell. Apparently his roommates seemed to have literally blocked the door so that he couldn't get in. What a funny prank.

He sighed loudly and hushed back into the common room. Luckily there was a closet full of blankets, due to the coldness in the dungeons in winter. He sunggeled himself into the blanket on the sofa nearest to the fireplace and tried to fall asleep quickly. 

The crackling of the fire made it hard for him to fall asleep, but after awhile he dozed off into full darkness. Early in the morning silent footsteps and whispers woke him up. He lay still on the sofa and waited for something to happen. 

"Seems to be comfortable in front of the fireplace," he heard Malfoy chuckle quietly.

"Apparently he hears Salazar Slytherin's voice and plays chess with him regularly," he heard Blaise's quiet voice. 

"What nonsense, why would he of all people hear his voice? There's nothing interesting about him and his family. Salazar Slytherin was only interested in excellent and outstanding students," Draco muttered. "He doesn't even know the common etiquette for purebloods. He knows nothing at all!"

A stung pierced through Sylas heart. How could he know that? Since the incident he haid studied all their behaviours and making notes. Often he went to the library to read about what proper mannerism. He learned alot, but had already fucked up, before he could even try to put his new knoeledge on display. 

I'll give them a fright

Oliver smikred as he flew over to them. He put his icecold hand on the back of both boys' necks and their hair immediately stood on end. They squeaked quietly and looked around in alarm.

"D – Did you feel that too?" asked Blaise frightened, looking around to see where it came from. 

"The icy cold on the back of my neck? Then yes!" croaked Draco.

Sylas could only hear them quickly scurrying back into the room.

Exactly! Fear the great Salazar Slytherin himself!

He couldn't help but grin when he heard Oliver's nasty laugh.

Soft footsteps came down the stairs that led to the girls' rooms. Sylas lay down in anticipation of having to duel with Pansy, his hand already on his wand. But he only heard some rustling in a cupboard. His fingers twitched around his wand, ready to curse whoever was here with him. Suddenly he felt someone put a second blanket on top of him. He couldn't get a glance on who it was, because the footsteps scurried away quietly, but he heard the stairs to the girls room queak. 

There was only one girl who was concerned about him.

 

~~~

 

October 1991

Two months had passed since he had been at the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had finally mastered most of the basics and was enjoying the lessons a little more. It made his miserable situation in the Slytherin house slightly better.

That day they finally learned Professor Flitwick's levitation charm and not only was he excited, but everyone else was too. Ever since the professor made Neville's toad levitate, they all wanted to learn it.

Sylas teamed up with Theo. He was the only one - besides Daphne - who still talked to him during class. Even if it was strictly about the subject matter, it was better than getting ignored completely. But still, Sylas was hurt, that both of them never tried to approach the others to help him out. Seems like he had to deal with the problem himself without anyones help. 

On the opposite side where Sylas sat, he noticed Weasley and Granger in a group. They seemed to be discussing something in full heat. Weasley looked like, he was about to die on the spot, when Granger would stop talking to him. 

"So, don't forget that quick wrist movement we practiced!" squeaked the professor, who was standing on his pile of books as usual, "Waffle and wave! Remember, waffle and wave! Saying the magic spell correctly is also very important. Otherwise you'll summon a buffalo!"

The students immediately set to work, but many of them were unsuccessful. Finnigan's frustration led him to set his quill on fire, whereupon Thomas tried to put out the fire with his hat.

It didn't work for the Weasley either. He spoke the incantation and waved his long arms like windmill blades. Hermione criticized him for doing so.

"You're pronouncing it wrong. It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa , but the o is supposed to be pronounced long," Granger snapped at him.

The Weasley just rolled his eyes. "Do it yourself if you know everything better."

That's exactly what the Muggle-born did. Annoyed, she rolled up her sleeves and recited the incantation.

"Wingardium Leviosa," and indeed the feather flew further and further into the air. Everyone looked at the feather in the air in complete amazement. Once again the Weasley rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Oh, very good! Everyone, look, Miss Granger has done it, 5 points for Gryffindor!" The Gryffindors were in amazement and the Slytherins just gave her angry looks. Granger always got her house the points in this way. She collectet the points, like she was collecting pokemon. 

"Of course she can do the spell straight away. Little Miss Perfect can do everything too," grumbled Theo, annoyed with a sharp look on the muggle-born. 

In the last few weeks, Granger was almost always the only one who got everything right the first time. This was also because she spent most of her time in the library, studying. Sylas had seen her a little too often, and every book he borrowed was read by her first. 

The purebloods in his house were not amazed, that a mudblood was doing better at something, they were literally born for. 

Sylas tried his luck as well.

Waffle and wave and then the formula "Wingardium Leviosa"

A second feather slowly flew higher and higher through the air. Pure excitement flowed through his veins. The feeling of succeeding in a spell was the biggest high he ever felt. Especially when someone like Weasley or Pansy weren't able to do it. 

"Oh my goodness, very well done Mr. Ashford! We have talented wizards and witches in this year! 5 points for Slytherin," said Professor Flitwick happily, almost falling off his pile of books when he saw the second quill. The Gryffindors just gave the boy dark looks.

At the end of the lesson, they heard Weasley ranting about Granger. (Un)Fortunatley Granger had heard it and scurried away with teary eyes. Weasley got a headbutt from Thomas for being rude. The Muggle girl wasn't seen in any other classes for the rest of the day.

After class, Sylas sneaked away again into the library. It was tiring to spend the whole time pretending that the other Slytherins didn't hate him. Whenever no one was looking, he would hush away and hide in the farthest corner of the library. Apart from Granger, there were rarely any other students there.

Shortly before the Halloween feast, Theo found him. With a raised eyebrow he examined the boy. How did he know, where to search for him? 

"Dinner is ready, are you coming?", Theo asked with a tone in his voice, as if nothing ever happened. 

"I'm not hungry, thanks," he mumbled looking down again at his book.

He only heard him sigh quietly, "You can't hide for seven years. Just apologize to Draco, then everything will be as it was before."

Sylas tapped the page of the book with his finger over and over again. He had already thought about that, but he was too petty to give in now. Draco got protected from greater harm and he would for sure not apologize for that.

"I won't give him that satisfaction," he grumbled, annoyed. For a second there was a pause between them. As if Theo was trying to give him a chance, to change his mind, but Sylas remained stubborn. 

"Well, whatever you say," he said, leaving the boy alone again. It was the first time since the incident that Theo had spoken to him privately. 

He seemed ... worried.

Sylas could not get into his book again, his thought spiraled about the boy. Theo just risked to get cancelled by the Slytherins as well. But why would he do that? It wasn't like they were childhood friends or anything. 

Shortly after the feast had begun, Sylas decided to go back to the dungeon. Now he would be able to enjoy absolute peace and quiet in the common room, as the feast would probably last one or two hours. The Dark Baron was putting on a play and Dumbledore loved singing with the students.

He was walking down a corridor full in thoughts, when Oliver suddelny appeared from a wall. He seemed deeply worried. 

You have to go back to the dungeon immediately! There's a troll running around here!

Sylas just raised an eyebrow. "We're at Hogwarts, there definitely wouldn't be a troll running around here."

Nor should a Kerberos be hidden here , Sylas stopped at this sentence. The ghost made a  damn good point. He sighed loudly.

"And where is this troll?"

I don't know, I was in the great hall when this strange professor with a turban stormed in. After that I immediately looked for you.

"Oh, were you worried?" the boy teased, walking more quietly and cautiously through the corridors. It was the first time that Oliver blushed slightly.

G-goblin crap! Just go back to the dungeon, idiot! With that, he disappeared into the next wall. Sylas had to hold back his laughter.

But his laughter stopped as soon as he turned the corner. Because there stood a four-meter tall stupid troll with a club infront of the girls toilets. Snot was running out of his nose and even Longbottom couldn't look so stupid. He heard screams from inside the toilets. Some unlucky folks must have been stuck inside there. But he himself had no time to safe them. No way in hell, he could win a fight with a troll! His heart started racing and just as he was about to turn around, the troll spotted the small Slytherin. 

The green monster ran towards him and Sylas took to his heels. Adrenaline rushed through his vains and his fright or flight syndrome took him in full force. The smell was absolutely disgusting and almost made him threw up. Not even Michael smelled that bad.

Oliver flew angrily down from the ceiling. I said go to the dungeon and not to play catch with the troll!

"Shut up and tell me where to run! Preferably somehow out of the castle," Sylas snapped at him completley out of breath.

Oliver made a few snippy expressions on his face until he finally helped him. Continue down the corridor, then turn left down the stairs, go straight ahead and then there was a door that led to the greenhouses outside. But there was no time to catch his breath outside. He immediately hid between the houses. He heard the troll smash the door with his club. Loud grunting noises came from that direction. Sylas had to pull himself together not to fall over. Just this short distance and he was already dizzy.

Take your wand and fight him!

Sylas looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. "What the hell do you think I can do?! Make him float or blind him with Lumos?!" Oliver looked as if he wanted to strangle the boy.

ANYTHING is better than running away aimlessly. It will take a while for the professors to finally get here. Fight if your life is worth anything at all!

The last sentence stabbed straight into his heart.

He had no choice. Their were better deaths than being crushed to death from a troll with a club. He took out his magic wand and quietly scurried over to the troll. There was a shovel leaning against one of the greenhouses, which he immediately took with him. A simple but brilliant idea came to his mind.

On tippytoes he crept behind the troll and threw a stone at him. The monster became angry and looked back, but before he could swing his club, Sylas shouted "Lumos! " and immediately closed his eyes.

A bright light came from his wand and it became so bright that it blinded the troll for a moment.

"Wingardium Leviosa!", he prayed that it would work with a heavier object. It took a lot of concentration and alot of willpower, but he managed to levitate the shovel into the air and hit the troll on the head.

The monster immediately began to rage around him with his club and screamed in weird noises. Sylas tried hard not to get hit while he hit him again and again with the shovel. So close, he was so close to win the fight. The troll started to  wobble around, nearly falling to his knees. Just before the disgusting smelling monster passed out, he caught the young Slytherin with his club and hurled him a few meters away, directly into one of the greenhouses.

Sylas only saw small butterflies and Oliver floating above him, saying something, but he couldn't hear him. Olivers lips were moving, but no sounds came out of them. The ghost looked at the boy with great concern, as he drifted into a long, dark sleep.

That same night, Sylas regained consciousness for a very brief moment. He was in the hospital wing and his senses were completely clouded. Despite this, he saw Madame Pomfrey tending to another patient. All he saw was a long black cloak and a leg that had been almost torn to pieces by a dog. Blood was dripping like crazy on the floor and the hissing of the Potions Master was clearly audible.

But as soon as he had a clue where he was, he disappeared back into the darkness.

Chapter 7

Notes:

Thank you for all the Kudos, Hits and Bookmarks! I hope you enjoy this story just as much as I do!
I really enjoyed writing and editing this chapter even if it took me ages, till I was satisfied with the outcome!
Would love to see some of your thoughts in the comments!

Sylas drifted in and out of consciousness, words slipping through the haze like echoes in water. His body ached, a deep, dull pain settling into his bones, but the voices around him tugged him back toward awareness.

"I hope he wakes up soon," he heard Daphne's concerning voice.

"The way the troll messed him up, it's a miracle he's still alive," Draco's voice.

A dull thud echoed through the hospital wing. Following a sharp intake of breath.

"And whose fault is that?! You miserable idiot," Daphne snapped.

"Ouch! What was that for?" Draco hissed, insulted.

"If you hadn't incited the others to exclude him, he would have been with us in the great hall that evening and not hushing around in the corridors! Just because you couldn't swallow your damn pride while flying your broom," she continued to growl at him. All that came out from Draco was an incomprehensible mumbling.

Sylas slowly opened his eyes, blinking blearily against the bright light of the hospiatl wing. The blurry outlines of Daphne and Draco solidified on his left. To his right sat Theo and next to him - Sylas blinked again. Hagrid!

He tried to sit up, but the instant he moved, dizziness hit him like a curse. His stomach churned, his head spun, and a sharp pain shot through his ribs. He barely managed to suppress a groan before Daphne gently but firmly pushed him back down.

"You'd better stay lying down. Madame Pomfrey said that the impact gave you a concussion - in addition to... all the other injuries," she smiled encouragingly at him, still with a glance of concern.

Sylas' body felt wrecked, sore in places he hadn't even realized were injured. But none of that mattered anymore. They were here. He hadn't been sure they would be, not after how the last few weeks had gone. A wave of —relief?—settled in his chest.

"He's done ya a pretty dirty, that little fella", Hagrid rumbled, shaking his head. "Had to shovel all the dirt off yas before I could carry yas here."

Sylas hadn't expected the half-giant to be waiting here with the other Slytherins. The had waited here - together, peaceful without an argument. His mind flickered back to the many times he'd nearly stormed down to Hagrid's hut, ready to vent about how Slytherin treated him. Giving the Half-giant proof, that his house was really just for evil beings. But seeing them now, he was suddenly glad he had kept his mouth shut.

"The troll's club hit you bad. You broke several ribs and fractured your arm. Madame Pomfrey fixed the bones, but you'll have to swallow a few more vials until your body is completely healed," explained Theo. He tried to appear as calm as possible, but Sylas could tell from the glances his wounds got, how worried Theo must feel.

His gaze continued to wander to Draco and he waited for him to say something. It was indeed partly his fault, that he was scurring through the corridors that evening. He was wondering, if the Malfoy boy felt any remorse. 

"What is it?" the blonde asked, uncomfortable under his stare.

Daphne gave him a hard nudge him hard in the ribs, which made him cry immediately. "Bloody hell, stop that, Daphne! That hurts like hell!" With angry glances at her, he rubbed his side. For sure by now he must have some blue and violet spots on his skin. 

"Don't be so fussy. Sylas had it worse. Don't you have something to say to him?" she growled angrily at him. Theo also gave him a warning look.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and muttered, "I'm sorry about the whole broom business. It really hurt my pride, alright? so I wanted to get back at you."

Sylas could imagine how long the two of them had been trying to make Malfoy feel guilty, but he never thought he would even apologize. He raised an eyebrow, fighting a smirk.

"I never thought I would get a half-voluntary apology from a Malfoy," he remarked, his voice hoarse but amused.

Theo let out a quiet chuckle, while Daphne just grinned. Though Draco went as red as Longbottoms Remembrall.

Hagrid praised Sylas. "Ya really beat the troll, he was completely knocked out when I got there. No one was home in his little brain." You could hear a hint of pride in his voice.

"How did you beat him anyway? The whole school is spreading the wildest rumors," Theo told him.

Sylas laughed briefly. "Honestly, it's actually quite simple and so stupid at the same time. I'm impressed that it worked out so well. I bumped into him in the corridor - by accident - then lured him outside - stood behind him and threw a stone at his head - conjured up Lumos so bright that it blinded him for a moment and then ... well I beat it with a shovel using Wingardium Leviosa", he shrugged. "But then it caught me off guard."

Draco tried to look nonchalante about the incident, but you could see how impressed he was, from they boys quick thinking. Before anyone could comment further, footsteps coming their way interupted the conversation. 

"Simple", came the calm, knowing voice of ALbus Dumbledore, "and yet, highly effective. The simplest spells, when used cleverly, can work wonders and in your case - Mister Ashford - you protected your fellow students." 

Daphne nudged Sylas' arms and murmured, "You came at just the right time. The troll almost went into the girls' bathroom where the Crybaby Granger and I were in. You saved me from haunting the loo with Granger for an eternity - thank you." She only whispered the last part. 

Sylas couldn't help the smirking. 

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes swept over them. "I see you are well on your way to recovery. And with such fine company, I have no doubt your strength will return swiftly. The whole school is eager to see their hero back on his feet."

Sylas stiffened - Hero?

Dumbledore smiled knowingly. "I simply came to check on you. I shall leave you to your friends."

Friends? 

The word rattled around in his mind as Dumbledore left. 

Were they his friends? They shared classes. Ate together. But did that make them friends? They had avoided him for weeks, yet Theo and Daphne had always checked on him—ignoring the unspoken rule to stay away. And that night, when he had fallen asleep in the common room...

"I have to go now as well", Hagrid interupted his spiraling thoughts. "Fang is probably already waitin' for his lunch. Come visit me again, Sylas, and take your friends with you."

Friends. 

Sylas swalloed thickly, nodding. 

As soon as Hagrid left, Draco mumbled "Weird guy." Earning another slap from Daphne.

"Oh bloody hell, stop it! What is wrong with you?" he growled, rubbing his shoulder.

"I'll stop, when you stop being such a spoiled brat", she shot back. "Hagrid sat here with us for hours and that must have cost him a lot of courage!" growled Daphne. She found the half-giant very likeable and he was very easy to talk to. There was no way Draco was going to ruin this friendship because of his prejudices and stupid pride.

"He was a bit tense when he first came in," said Theo, "but since you didn't stop rambling about magical creatures, I guess he couldn't resist sharing his knowledge and warm up to us."

Daphne smiled proudly. No one could compete with her communication skills.

A limping Snape entered the hospital wing. His dark gaze swept over the gathered group, making it clear they were no longer welcome - They exchanged quick goodbyes before scurrying out, leaving Sylas alone with their Head of House. 

The tension in the air shifted instantly.

The familiar, ever-present severity of Snape’s expression remained, yet there was something else now—something subtler. A quiet, restrained concern lurking beneath the surface of his otherwise unreadable face.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Ashford?", Snape's voice was even, its usual bite absent. 

Sylas hesitated. "Well ... actually, the whole right side of my body hurts and I have a pretty bad headache," he admitted

Snape gave a curt nod, as if he already expected that answer. Then, after a pause, his voice dropped lower, measured. "Is there something you wish to tell me?"

Sylas froze, his fingers instinctively clenched the hospital blanket, and he swallowed hard. What did he mean?

Snape studied him for a moment, taking his silence as an answer. "When Madame Pomfrey treated you, she ... discovered some old scars on your body which are ... concerning,"

Sylas' heart stuttered. His hands trembled slightly and his throaght felt tight, as if he couldn't take a single breath anymore. Subconsciously he grab his arms, trying to feel, what's lurking underneath the hospital gowns. 

"Who knows?" he asked, his voice barley above a whisper. Not able to look his head of house in the eyes.

"Just Madame Pomfrey and myself"

A pause. Then, more cautiously - 

" ... and Dumbledore?" his hands clenched harder around the blanket.

Snapes expression darkned slightly. "I deliberately did not inform the headmaster."

Sylas loosened his fingers, his eyes widening.

"Because I am primarily responsible for your well-being," Snape continued, his tone edged with finality. "And as well, I did not see a benefit of making a ... spectacle about your situation. I also took the liberty of looking at your files. You were raised in an ... orphanage in Ashford." 

For a brief moment it remained quiet between the two, until Snape finally asked, "Are you being ... abused there?"

"..."

Snape's jaw tightened, but when he spoke again, his voice was softer. "Mr. Ashford, I can't help you, unless you tell me what's going on."

"It's nobody's business," Sylas hissed, blinking rapidly against the sting in his eyes.

"Sylas, I –"

"I don't need your help, Professor", he snapped, spitting the title like an insult. "Sir."

For a moment, Snape just watched him, dark eyes unreadable. Then, with a long, slow exhale, his usual mask of indifference slipped back into place.

"Very well," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

But Sylas saw it. The hesitation, the frustration, the concern.

"Madam Pomfrey conducted a full diagnostic assessment," Snape continued briskly, shifting the conversation forward. "You are malnourished - severely so. You lack essential nutrients, which will be addressed immediately. From now on, every Sunday, you will report to my office to collect a recovery potion."

Sylas kept his gaze fixed on his lap. 

"I have also instructed Mr. Nott and Miss Greengrass to ensure you eat properly," Snape added, his tone darkening slightly. "If you refuse, you will spend the remainder of your time at Hogwarts scrubbing cauldrons."

Sylas let out a slow breath, barely nodding.

"You will remain here for the next few days," Snape concluded. "Madam Pomfrey will watch over your recovery. I will see you in class."

His robes billowed slightly as he turned and strode towards the exit.

Minutes later, when Snape was finally long gone, tears were dripping onto his hands.

They had seen.

The had seen everything. 

All those horrible disgusting scars. He tried to rub his eyes dry, but they just wouldn't stop watering. The tears wouldn't stop slipping through his fingers, dripping onto the white sheets.

He reached for his forehead, a thick bandage wrapped around it, and when he rolled up the sleeves of his hospital gown, both were fully wrapped as well.

His stomach twisted. 

"Shit"

 

~~~

 

After a week with eagle-eye Pomfrey, Sylas was finally allowed to leave. This woman was a nightmare for any sick person. He wasn't even allowed to sit up, or else that woman would immediately get a crisis. At least she allowed him - only with a lot of naggy remarks - to receive visitors. Theo and Daphne always visited him after class and told him what they had learned or how the Gryffindors had embarrassed themselves. They also brought him all kinds of notes that they had made so that he didn't lag behind. Hagrid came by with freshly baked biscuits - they were so hard he thought his teeth are getting knoched out.

On the last evening before he was allowed to get back into school, Draco showed up and brought him chocolate. He apologized again privately for what he had done. Daphne must have managed to make him feel so bad about his behaviour. However, Sylas accepted his apology, just because hew knew, that Draco was sometimes just show. Maybe they wouldn't become friends right away, but if the Malfoy left his pride at home, a miracle could still be happening. 

Theo, Daphne and Draco picked him up after class to take him safely to the dungeon. At first Sylas thought their concern was a little excessive, but when he saw the masses of students who were literally lying in wait for him, he was glad they came for his rescue.

They formed a triangle with Sylas in the middle. This way they could walk through the masses in a targeted manner. Alot of girls screamed his name and tried to touch him, but they got shoved of by his bodyguards. The halls were massivley packed with students, no one could properly get through it anymore, till McGonagall came by. 

When Professor McGonagall saw the monkey business, her lips became as thin as paper. She yelled everyone off and deducted 20 points from each house for wicked behavior. She gave the Slytherins an extra 20 points for their extra care. The snakes couldn't help but grin.

The mood in the dungeons had changed as well. Where previously Sylas was avoided and only gossip took place - he was now surrounded by compliments and encouragement. His action with the troll seemed to have impressed many. The fact that he had indirectly saved Daphne in the process only brought him advantages - even if he hadn't even known that she was there. He actually just wanted to save his own ass. It showed the house that he was be loyal to them.

Apparently to get acknowledged by the Slytherin house, you would either need to come from a wealthy influental family, or impress them with your skills. Saving Daphne got him extra points. 

Only Pansy and Millicent watched the spectacle with grim expressions. But since they were now in the minority, they kept quiet and disappeared back into their room.

The first thing Sylas did, was going straight away to the bathroom. Madame Pomfrey had always used a refreshing charm on him, but his body still felt dirty. As if the essence of dirt and sweat was still present on his skin.

There were shared bathrooms as well as private ones. He immediately locked himself in one of the private bathrooms. His clothes landed carelessly on the floor and he began to remove the bandages with cautions. His arms were covered from top to bottom with burns and cut scars. He also had burn scars scattered across his chest and legs.

He took a closer look at them. The color seemed different to him... They were a lot paler than he remembered. Madame Pomfrey must have rubbed an ointment on them that was suitable for healing scars. But nothing could be done, to reverse this wounds and scars.

They were engraved on his skin for enternity. 

When he looked at his forehead in the mirror, it was the same. The scars were no longer as dark as before. You could still see them clearly, but they looked a lot better now. Gently stroked his forehead and a chill ran down his spine. It reminded him of the evening he got them.

Shortly after arriving at the orphanage, he met an angry, drunk Mr. Ashford who needed to take out his frustration on someone. Sylas was just eight ... a small, fragile, traumtatised boy, who stupidly went out his room at night, when Mr Ashford came home from a very bad gambling night. 

This memory always gave him goosebumps, and he immediately jumped into the shower. The warm water splashed onto his too-thin body. His right side was a rainbow of colors. Wounds took time to heal completely, even when magic was involved. He avoided looking too much at his body - it's nothing worth looking at. Just demolished flesh and skin. 

Freshly showered and with blow-dried hair, he went back into the common room and sat down with Daphne and Theo, who were playing wizard chess against each other. While playing, they told him about the Quidditch match, which he had unfortunately missed. Slytherin had beaten Gryffindor by a hell lot of points. Apparently it has not been possible to have a normal conversation with Wood - the Gryffindor team captain - ever since. His frustration and anger at the defeat took on a new form.

Sylas had to smirk at the story. It made him think of something else and not about his pathetic life. 

Although life maybe doesn't seem as pathetic anymore, when he had Theo and Daphne - when he had his friends by his side. 

 

~~~

 

December 1991

Christmas was just around the corner and winter had long since arrived in the castle. The common rooms were heated properly, while a cold wind whistled through the hallways. Even the windows began to rattle from the cold.

As the first years went into the courtyard, they were attacked by jinxed snowballs. The Weasley twins had been having fun and were immediately punished by Professor McGonagall. However, it did not stop them from using the same spell on Professor Quirrell. The man ran away screaming and tried to keep his turban on, as the snowballs were only aimed at his headgear.

Many owls were unable to fight their way through the snowstorm, and those that actually made it through had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid. The half-giant had a lot to do with shoveling snow, putting up Christmas decorations, and looking after the animals. They didn't even get a chance to visit him.

The worst thing about the freezing cold was when they had potions class in the dungeons. The classroom was freezing cold and they could see their own breath. One time, Longbottom's snot, which was running out of his nose, even froze. To counteract the cold, they always sat extra close to the cauldrons so they could warm up a bit.

When Sylas had to go to him to get the Recovery Potion, he always drank it extra quickly. Because Snape's office was just as cold. Sometimes he wondered how the professor could work in here. If you didn't move for a minute, you froze. The fireplace never seemed to be used, which made Sylas even more wonder. Why on earth wouldn't anyone use it, when it was freezing? Maybe Snape didn't need any warmth anymore, because his soul died many years ago. 

The previous week, Professor Snape came by and had the students put their names on a list on who would be spending Christmas at Hogwarts. Sylas didn't hestitate at all. If he had the chance to stay away from the orphanage, he would take it. Even if it was the second worse place in earth. This Christmas would be the best he would ever experienced - nothing could convince him otherwise. Of Slytherin, only Theo and Daphne remained at school.

Theo's family didn't celebrate Christmas and Daphne's family were abroad for work and wouldn't be able to make it home in time. He had prayed that Pansy and Millicent would simply not be staying. Even though the pushing around was long over, he just couldn't stand them. After all everything seemed to have turned back to normal. The Slytherins were not completley ingoring him again and the whispers and rumours behind his back stopped. Draco had an on going beef with Ron Weasley; Daphne had an ongoing beef with Hermione Granger. As well as Longbottom being always the victim, wherever he went. That boy was haunted with misfortune. 

It was the last official day of school and they were walking up the stairs after their Potions lesson. Sylas rubbed his hands together to warm them up a bit. He couldn't wait till he had a hot tea or something similiar in his hands. But the conform needed to wait, because he still had a mystery to solve for this year. The riddle about the stone and the Kerberos was still not solved. 

"Finally, the last lesson is over. I thought Snape would never stop talking," Daphne muttered as her stomach rumbled.

"Taking a full class on the last day is something only Snape would do," Theo said exhausted. It was desperatly time for all of them to have a small break.

Even Professor McGonagall had let them talk more than usual during class, which wasn't the norm considering her threat at the beginning of the year. Anything that didn't have to do with Transfiguration didn't belong in her classroom.

"Go ahead, I have to go to the library for a minute," said Sylas and was about to disappear into the next corridor, but Daphne had grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him back. They had been watching the boy like hyenas since the troll incident.

"When did you plan to eat lunch?" Theo asked dangerously, squeezing his eyes. 

"The library will still be there in 20 minutes," said Daphne with a slight angry glances. 

Both had a scary smile on their face and neither of them tolerated any protest. With a sigh, he gave in and let his friend pull him along. The large hall was already quite full. There were a few Christmas trees standing on the walls to the left and right, decorated slightly. Hagrid must have put them up after breakfast. The conversations in all the houses mainly revolved around what they were doing during the holidays or what gifts they were expecting.

"What are you doing in the library anyway? You're even worse than Granger," asked Theo as he forked at his beans.

"Your nose is in a book so often that you could be mistaken for a Ravenclaw," said Daphne. "At least you're no longer behaving like a Gryffindor, but behaving like a Ravenclaw? I don't know if thats better."

Sylas wasn't sure wether to feel offended or laugh. "I'm doing ... research."

He had been trying for weeks to find out what this stone and the Kerberos were all about. He was pretty sure that Snape had something to do with the whole thing. The wound the professor had during the halloween incident, seemed to be coming from a large dog. His memory was vague about it, but he was conivnced, it was the dog who bit him. The question still remained, if Snape wanted to protect the stone or steal it.

If Sylas hadn't had the conversation with him in the hospital room, he wouldn't have ruled out the possibility that he wanted to steal the stone. But it didn't seem credible to him that he would do something like that. Snape cared far too much about his students, for him to endanger them. 

Only when Theo nudged him from the side did he realize that his thoughts had taken over. They were apparently waiting for an answer and watched him with raised eyebrows. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"What kind of research are you doing?" Daphne repeated her question. 

Sylas looked around carefully. There were too many eyes and ears in this castle, especially in such a packed room like the great hall. With cautions, he told them to come a little closer to him so he could whisper something to them.

"I know what Dumbledore is hiding on the third floor. I saw it ," he whispered to them, barely audibly. Theo almost choked on his beans, looking at him, dismayed. Daphne froze in her tracks, mouth fully open. 

Sylas had to suppress a laugh; they both looked like they had seen Peeves in a tutu dress. For the rest of their lunchbreak, they remained silent. All lost in their thoughts. It seemed like Theo and Daphne weren't so sure, as to wanna know, what exactly lay behind the third floor. After finishing their lunch Sylas vanished to the library.

The next evening, when everyone had left, he would tell them about it.

He had already thought about whether he should let them in on the secret. At first he was torn because he wasn't sure how much he trusted them. But the last few weeks had shown him that they would definitely not rat him out. Even when they kept their distance after the broom incident, they still cared for him. It wasn't like being back in the orphanage. They indeed cared. Giving him a lecture about how his actions were inadmissible, yes, but snitching on him? Never.

Besides, they had a lot more knowledge of the magical world than he did. Maybe they knew what this stone was all about.

When the next day rolled around, there was chaos in every house as everyone packed their bags to go home for the holidays. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff took everything they could find with them. Their families wanted to see what they had been doing in the last few months. Ravenclaw had to pull themselves together and not just pack their books so they could switch off for a while, and Slytherin only packed the bare essentials.

Daphne, Theo and Sylas played wizard's chess in silence. They knew what kind of conversation would follow when everyone finally left. Always with an eye watching the brick wall as the other students left. Draco approached them frowning. Never had he seen those three in such an unrelaxed state. 

"Merlin, why are you sitting here so tense? Relax, it's Christmas!" grumbled Draco, who remained standing next to the sofas with a small suitcase. He always stayed with his own gang, but every now and then he started to joined the trio. It seemed like, he enjoyed having people around him, who won't suck up to. Refreshing - for once. 

"Is this somehow about your honor or why is no one answering me?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"In wizard chess, it's always about honor", Daphne said, gazing at her opponents. "The one who wins shows dominance and is the smarter one." So far, she hadn't lost to either of them once. She was a master at it and she would defend her title with her life - if must be. 

"Magic chess has nothing to do with intelligence, only with strategic thinking, and what the hell does showing dominance mean?" Theo looked at her, confused, and the girl started to giggle briefly.

"I've always won so far, which means that I'm the better witch," she said, grinning while shrugging her shoulders.

"What the hell, does that have to do with being a better witch?" Sylas was now completely confused. Daphne was the best speaker he had ever met, but the number of rubbish arguments she can create that made absolutely no sense were very impressive in his own way.

"I won," she said simply and moved the knight. She skillfully tossed her hair back.

The two boys looked at the board in shock.

Lost again...

Draco laughed at them, which earned him angry looks.

"I want to see how you beat her," Sylas hissed at him.

"Exactly, talking big and then not being able to do anything," Theo continued to goad him.

Draco couldn't let that go and chased the two of them away. They put the pieces back in their original position and started a new game. Concentrated, they moved the pieces across the board, stealing each other's power and showing no mercy. Both sat on the sofa with extreme confidence to win this game, but there could only be one winner. Sometimes they moved the chess pieces so fast, Sylas couldn't keep up with the game no more. 

After half of an hour, however, they were interrupted by Blaise. "The train is about to leave, we really have to go now", he said while approaching the group. 

Sighing, Malfoy stood up and stretch his muscles for a second. "That was a really good game, let's play against each other again", he said, while grabbing his suitcase to leave, "I wish you a Merry Christmas."

Without another word he left the three of them behind and went on with Blaise to the train. "Shit, now we don't know if he really was just a big mouth or not. Miserable lucky bastard," Theo cursed quietly, but when he saw Daphne's dejected face, he felt uneasy.

"What's up?"

"..."

"Earth on Greengrass!"

"He would have won."

"..."

"Four more moves and he would have won. There was nothing I could have done," she muttered in frustration. He played much better than she expected. There was no way this could have been just pure talent or luck. The boy played every move carefully, had plans created far in advance. He must have had a great teacher. When was the last time she was beaten? Three years ago? Four? Her grandfather had given up playing against her because it hurt his pride to lose to a girl.

Sylas also looked at the chessboard. It took him a while to realise which four moves she meant, but this forward thinking was really impressive. Draco was arrogant, but a much more intelligent boy than he first assumed. He noticed a slight smile on Daphne's lips.

"Finally, I have an equal opponent," she giggled, packing up the wizard chess.

They sat on the sofas in silence and watched as the last of the Slytherins left the dungeon. They sat in silence for at least another half hour to make sure that no one came back. As well in fear, if someone eavesdropped. None of them wanted to experience the consequences of knowing what was hiding in the forbidden corridor. 

"You owe us an explanation. What is on the 3rd floor and how do you know about it?" Theo asked sharply. He sat down next to Daphne. Both their eyes fixated on the boy infront of them. Sylas felt as if they were interrogating him. He exhaled through his nose. 

"Do you remember when Draco was challenged to a duel?" They both nodded eagerly. "I stayed in the library that evening to learn about duels and wanted to watch. I hid behind a suit of armor when Mr. Filch spotted Weasley and Thomas. When I realized that it was a feint by Draco, I wanted to go back, but Mrs. Norris spotted me. Then I just ran away to not get in trouble and somehow I got to the forbidden 3rd floor. I hid behind a locked door and inside was a huge black Kerberos," he said with not much of an expression. 

Greengrass and Nott hung on his every word and were speechless. A mix of emotions went through them. Confusion, Concern, even fear. 

"But why would Dumbledore hide a Kerberos?" Daphne wondered, sitting cross legged on the couch. 

"It's definitely not only about the three-headed dog, isn't it?" Theo asked, more of a rethorical question. 

Sylas noticed, that he intrigued them alot. Otherwise they wouldn't seem so realxed, about him sneaking to the thrid floor. "When I was in that room, I saw a trapdoor under one of his paws. The Kerberos is there to guard something," he explained further.

"What is so important that it has to be hidden in Hogwarts? Gringotts would be a much better place," muttered Theo.

"Not quite, have you read the article in which Gringotts got broken into?" Sylas asked, both of them now realizing frowning. 

"Whatever was in the safe has now been brought to Hogwarts. Luckily for Dumbledore, he emptied it shortly before the break-in," Daphne murmured. After all these weeks of magical theory, there was finally some excitement in the castle.

"It wasn't Dumbledore who emptied the safe," Theo raised an eyebrow, "Hagrid was there on Dumbledore's orders. When I visited him, he let it slip that he had brought some kind of stone to Hogwarts. What the Kerberos protects, is this stone and now I'm trying to figure out exactly what kind of stone it is. Apparently it has alot of worth onto it."

The two of them had to let that sink in. Theo ran his hands through his hair several times and couldn't help but grin. "No wonder you didn't care that everyone excluded you. You were on the trail of something much more exciting."

Sylas silently agreed with him, but mostly it left him in the cold, because he was actually used to nothing else.

Daphne suddenly took a sharp breath. "Whoever is after that stone knows full well that it is at Hogwarts," her voice a tone higher than usual. 

"How do you know that?" Sylas asked. 

"Obviously because of the troll! Just think about it, as if a troll suddenly freed himself at Hogwarts! Nowhere is it as safe as here. The perpetrator must have used him to create a distraction so he could get that stone," she explained, as if its the most logical thing in the world.  

The night where the troll got freed. A distant memory came into his mind. It was vague, but he was sure of what he saw. Sylas scratched his neck nervously, whereupon he received a questionable look.

"The first night when I was with Madame Pomfrey, I regained consciousness for a brief moment", he explained, "I saw Snape being treated by her. His wound kinda looked like he was been bitten by a huge dog. You must have noticed, how much he's been limping in the past few weeks."

Theo immediately shook his head in disbelief. "No way, Snape can't be behind this. He wouldn't betray Dumbledore. Not after he literally saved him from Azkaban back then."

"What are you talking about?" Sylas had read about Azkaban, the worst place a wizard could end up in - or in the small city Ashford in one specific Orphanage. 

"When Voldemort was still active, he had an incredible number of followers", murmured Daphne. "After his supposed death, many of them fled, but alot of them were caught. Anyone who was associated with him was sent to Azkaban without return. Some of the Death Eaters were pardoned because they claimed to have been under the Imperius Curse," she continued on, "Severus Snape was also accused of being a Death Eater, but Dumbledore put him out of his misery. Since then, Snape has been a loyal follower of his. At least that's what my mother told me."

Sylas was lost in thought. What if Voldemort was back and Snape had returned to him? Perhaps this stone was something the Dark Lord needed. But he simply did not trust the Potions Master to betray Dumbledore. Pure intuition.

Theo tapped his finger on his thigh, thinking about a logical explanation. "What if Snape realized right away that the troll was a distraction? That's why he went to Kerberos and wanted to see if anyone had broken in. Therefore he got bitten."

Sylas and Daphne could only agree with his theory. The teachers certainly knew what was hidden in the school. It would be foolish to have everyone look for the troll and not send someone to the stone for a safety check up. 

For a brief moment there was silence between the three kids. Sylas was lost in his thoughts, trying to make it make sense. Without him noticing, Theo observed the pensive boy. 

"You won't give up until you know what this stone is all about, right?" Theo asked cautiously. He didn't really like being drawn into such a huge thing, but Sylas' look said it all. This boy was determined to know figure it out. 

Sylas looked up to them with wide eyes. The question seemed odd to him. 

"Aren't you curious at all?"

"Not in the least"

"It's basically none of my business."

Sylas hung his head, dejected by the answers. "Come on, Hogwarts could be in danger. If I can find out, then the perpetrator will definitely find out where the stone is," he felt like simply getting his invisibility cloak and jumping through the trapdoor, but it was a risky plan if he didn't know what and who to expect.

But he couldn't convince his fellow classmates at all. They both seemed to be left out of this riddle. Of course it was interesting to know, what kind of secret Dumbledore had, but when a fucking giant monster protected it? Maybe it was for the better to just leave it alone.

Sylas, however, was having none of that. 

He made one last attempt and stared into the eyes of both of them. No one could dissuade him from his plan and the two of them just had to help him. Six eyes found more than two! The staring contest started ...

Daphne gave up after just a few minutes.

After 10 minutes, Theo sighed loudly, stood up and flicked the boy on the forehead. "Fine, fine. As long as we don't go through the trapdoor. We only figure out, what kind off stone it is. Nothing more."

Sylas couldn't help but grin.

Daphne sighed loudly and lay down dramatically on the couch. "So we'll read books over the holidays too."

"Not quite - I have one condition," Sylas looked at Theo with wide eyes, "We'll enjoy the first week of vacation and then we'll read books." Sylas immediately agreed and his grin only got wider.

Theo felt pleased seeing the boy so happy. 

~~~

 

So the three of them spent the holidays in the cold dungeons of the castle. They only came upstairs when their stomachs were rumbling and to their shook discovered that the entire Weasley family had not gone home either. The youngest of the family kept throwing them angry looks or tried to provoke them. But all three ignored him completely. Three students from Ravenclaw also remained. Only the entire Hufflepuff house had gone home.

The three Slytherins took advantage of having the entire dungeon to themselves. They held sleepovers in the common room, roasted marshmallows by the fireplace and made imaginary plans to get Ron Weasley expelled. Hiding the wand would be the easiest thing to do. His family certainly couldn't afford a second one, and what was a wizard without a wand? 

On Christmas Day, Daphne was the only one to receive an owl with presents and was a little embarrassed that she was the only one unwrapping something.

"Don't worry, my grandparents are probably just too busy," Sylas muttered under his breath. 

"And my family doesn't give each other presents, that's not their tradition. Now open it already!" Theo demanded.

With slightly pink cheeks and hesitant movements, she opened the first package. It was full of sweets that she would share with the two boys. The second one contained a cozy purple Christmas sweater, which she immediatly put on. 

Even though the boys tried to be happy for her, the jealousy was still visible to those who observed closely. A certain ghost had the three of them under his watch. But he too was surprised when a snowy owl suddenly flew to the Slytherin table with a small package.

"Hedwig!" said Sylas happily and took the package. In scrawled writing it said For Sylas from Hagrid. Meanwhile, Daphne gave the owl something to nibble on. You could see the relief on her face that she wasn't the only one with presents. He slowly opened the small present and out came a hand-carved piece of wood that looked like an owl. You could blow into it and it sounded just like the animal.

There was a noticeable amount of noise at the Weasleys'. All of them had received a hand-knitted sweater and the twins seemed to be the happiest. They immediately put them on and forced Ron and Percy to do the same. They did so with disapproving looks. Giggling, the Slytherins left the Great Hall and scurried back to the dungeon. They couldn't have stood it another minute without bursting into laughter at the sight.

On Christmas Eve there was a feast that surpassed anything Sylas had ever seen.

Fat roasted turkeys, mountains of roast and jacket potatoes, plates full of cocktail sausages, bowls full of buttered peas, silver tureens full of thick, creamy gravy and cranberry sauce and magic crackers scattered all over the table. If Sylas didn't know better, he would think he was dreaming. He took a drag on one of the crackers with Theo and out came a blue smoke that rose upwards and suddenly several white mice jumped out of the air.

Dumbledore, who was watching the children, had a satisfied smile on his face. His wizard hat had been replaced with a flowered bobble hat and Professor Flitwick was reading him all sorts of jokes. For some of the jokes, he received a disapproving look from Professor McGonagal.

After the main course, a colorful plum pudding was served and Hagrid couldn't resist drinking a good wine with it. His round cheeks got redder and redder. When he kissed Professor McGonagall on the cheek, she just giggled under her pointed hat . The Slytherins looked at each other with wide, shocked eyes. They had never seen their professor like this before.

When Percy suddenly chased after the twins, screaming, the entire Great Hall - even though not many were present - burst into laughter. They had stolen his prefect badge and Percy wanted it back. The twins ran between all the tables and passed it to each other.

With full bellies, the Slytherins went back to the dungeon. They had set up a third sofa in front of the fireplace so that everyone had their own. They got ready for bed and said goodnight to each other. It was the best Christmas Sylas ever had. They didn't celebrate it in the orphanage because Mr. Ashford thought it was a waste of money. He also forced them to attend the church service so that the church would have a good impression of them.

Sylas tossed and turned, but he couldn't sleep. The other two had long since fallen into the land of dreams. Oliver flew in from the ceiling of the dungeon, noticing the boy's trouble to fall asleep.

Was the food good? I always liked the plum pudding they served.

"Where have you been the last few days?" he murmured, barely audibly. Oliver raised a questinable eyebrow.

I've always been near you, but you were too busy talking to your followers.

Sylas wrinkled his nose and looked at him, irritated. "They aren't my followers."

Oliver was flying around on his back with his hands behind his head, pretending he couldn't hear him. Sylas rolled his eyes. The ghost was insulted because he had been neglected for the last few days.

"What do you want?" he whispered to him and immediately the dark-haired boy turned to him with a broad grin.

Let's explore the castle. Now that everyone is gone, we have it to ourselves. We could go to the forbidden section ~

He sang the last sentence a little. They indeed had had this conversation several times before, when Sylas was ignored by the Slytherins. The restricted section could really contain information about the stone, but Mrs. Pince kept an eye on the library like a hawk. No one would get away with a prank without Mrs. Pince noticing, and if someone dared to do so, they would face hefty punishments. This woman was not joking about her books. 

He had heard from an older student that the Weasleys had almost been expelled because they tried to place a stink bomb in the library.

Come on, now would also be the best time to test out your cloak. Imagine all the possibilities that are open to you.

He had a really damn good point. Up until now, Sylas hadn't used the invisibility cloak, partly because he simply had no reason to and it was too risky for him to test it out when the whole school was there. After all there were still prefects, professors and ghost running around the corridors to make sure, no one strolled around at night. 

He glanced at his two friends. They were deep asleep and only made steady breathing noises. On tippy toes he crept into his room and took out his infinity suitcase. He rummaged around in it for a moment until he finally had it between his fingers. He pushed the suitcase back under the bed and threw the coat over himself. At first only his body and - in fact - only his head was visible.

He threw the hood over his head, grabbed another lantern from a shelf and sneaked out of the common room. Oliver only knew where he was because of the lantern floating in front of him. Before Sylas turned in any corner, Oliver checked it first, to make sure it was empty. His heart was pounding against his chest. It wasn't the first time he had sneaked around at night, but he didn't have this disguise then. Now he walked through the corridors without a care in the world - lie.

Before Sylas reached the library he had to climb two floors. In the castle itself was dead silence. The wind could be heared banging on the windows, but nothing more. Torches hung on the walls every few meters to help him in the darkness, but the library itself was a completely different place. It was pitch black and if he hadn't spend nearly a lifetime in these rooms, he would have bumped into all the tables and shelves, stomping his toes. 

The forbidden section hid at the very back of the library. To seperate the forbidden area to the official one, Sylas had to step over a rope. Finally, after weeks of eyeing this area of the library he was innit himself. With silent footsteps he hushed to the bookshelfs. While holding the lantern high, he started reading the titles of the books. Oliver flew around as well, looking closely at all the shelves.

There are so many new books, if only I could read them. The ghost seemed envious of the boy. 

Whenever Oliver used to be a student here, it must have been a long time ago. Because all of these books were so dusty, they could give one immediatly asthma. The book titles were all slowly peeling off and the gold letters were fading. In many of them, he couldn't even understand what the title was trying to tell him. Because they were written in a language, he for sure knew, did not exist anymore. 

Sylas kept looking around nervously, searching for a book that could help him with his research. All of a sudden there was this whispering very close to his ears. Immediatly he turned around ... but no one stood there. Maybe it was from the books that tried to drive him crazy.

He hesitantly took out one to inspect it further and before Oliver could stop him, a bloodcurdling scream rang out through the entire library. His lantern fell to the ground in shock, he immediately put the book back, but it didn't stop screaming.

You idiot! Under no circumstances and I mean actually NEVER open a book of the dark arts without precautions! For this very reason!

Sylas could not give Olivers advice any thoguht. And when he heard footsteps rushing through the corridors, his heart was going to burst. With sweaty hands he immediately ran away and at that very moment Mr. Filch came. He was standing right infront of the entrance of the library, just a few meters in front of him and could see right through the boy. Sylas could barely dodge him as he ran straight ahead and continued running down the corridor.

The screams still following him.

When Sylas had run far enough, he stopped to catch his breath and inspect his surroundings. To his misfortune he hadn't paid any attention to where he was running, and he had lost Oliver on the way as well. The corridors were so dark, even with the occasional torch, he couldn't see shit. 

"You asked me to come to you immediately, Professor, if anyone was seen wandering around at night", Mr Filch voice echoed through the corridors, "Someone was in the library – in the restricted section,"

Sylas panicked again. Filch's voice was much too close. No way on earth could that old caretaker keep up with him running away. There must have been a shortcut somewhere in the castle. Loud footsteps krept by closer and closer. 

"The restricted section? Then they can't be far away, we'll get them," Snape's icy voice hissed through the corridors. They had just turned the corner where Sylas hid. They didn't see him, but they would definitely run into him, due to the corridor being so narrow. He backed away until he saw a door to his left slightly open. Immediatley the boy scurried inside and hoped that the two men would not check out this room. 

Their footsteps became louder and louder until they passed the empty room, Sylas was in. Afterwards it just got quieter in the corridor. Sylas breathed a sigh of relief and slid down the wall. That could have backfired badly.

Only now did he look up at the room. It seemed to be an old, abandoned classroom. Tables and chairs were stacked all along the sides, but right at the back against the wall was something that looked out of place. As if it had only been stored here for a short periodt of time.

A huge mirror filled the room, reaching to the ceiling and framed in ornate gold. The frame was inscribed with the words NERHEGEB Z REH NIE DREBAZ TILT NANIEDTH CIN. He stepped closer to the mirror and noticed that it had no reflection. With an eyebrows raised he inspected the mirror by touching every ounce of it. Until the reflection showed him something. 

It showed an image, which shook Sylas to his core.

His piercing green eyes lost all their shine and his shoulders slackened. Why was this mirror showing him this? He just stared and stared and stared at it. Loosing his whole sense of time. He didn't know how long he stared at this image.

At some point he realized that, he had to go back. Never ever wanting he to enter this room again, this mirror could only bring disaster.

Sylas would never get this disturbing image out of his head.

 

~~~

 

In the days that followed, Sylas was barely responsive. He couldn't get this image out of his head and at the same time he had nightmares every night. They were always very different, but they had this green light that he couldn't identify. Since that night, the cloak had been lying at the very back of the corner of his infinity trunk.

The sleepover with the other two stopped completley as well. Sylas prefered to hid away in his room and stayed in his bed till midday. Not even Oliver could cheer him up. At some point the ghost retreated into the nearest wall because he couldn't stand the depressive mood any longer.

Theo always tried dragging him out and Daphne pushed him from behind so they could get into the Great Hall. Both of them worried deeply about the boy. Something happened and Sylas straight up refused to talk about it. At one point they decided to inform their Head of House.

In the great hall he barley touched his food. Just looking and smelling it made him sick. 

"At least eat the potatoes, Sylas," Daphne almost begged him, poingting at them with her fork. 

With dull eyes he stared at his food. "I... am not hungry", he muttered.. 

"What's going on? Did something happen?" Theo asked again. How many times have they already asked him that? Sylas couldn't remember. 

They both knew that he disappeared that night because the sudden scream could be heard all the way to the dungeons. When they couldn't find Sylas, they already assumed, he was the cause. The next day they actually wanted to ask him what he had done, but Sylas had that look on his face. A gaze that just screamed he wanted to die. 

"I didn't sleep well. I think I'll lie down again," the boy muttered and left the great hall. Daphne and Theo cast a worried look after him. Not only the two of them were watching the boy closely, but also Severus Snape. Since that day in the hospital, he had kept a special eye on him.

That evening, Sylas had to drink his recovery potion again. And If Theo hadn't thrown him out of the common room, he would have almost forgotten. Sylas walked quickly down the icy corridors until he reached his office. The faster he had the potion down, the faster he could lay back in bed. 

He knocked a few times until he heard someone say come in.

The dim glow of the fire cast flickering shadows across the stone walls of Snape’s office. Shelves lined every inch of space, filled with meticulously labeled jars of ingredients, ancient tomes, and other arcane oddities. The scent of parchment and faint traces of various potions lingered in the cool, dry air.

Behind his desk, Snape sat, sifting through documents with the same precision he applied to his potion-making. At the sound of the door opening, he didn’t look up.

“You’re late, Ashford.” His voice was smooth but cold

Sylas stiffened, instinctively straightening his posture. He clasped his hands behind his back, eyes darting to the floor. “Sorry, sir. I ... I didn’t realize it was Sunday.”

Snape finally glanced up, his dark eyes scrutinizing him in that way that always made Sylas feel as though his very thoughts were being dissected.

A slow, deliberate nod. Then, without further comment, Snape opened a drawer and began searching through its contents. The soft clinking of glass and rustling of parchment filled the silence.

As he searched, he spoke. “Mr. Nott and Miss Greengrass have informed me that you have not been feeling well.”

Sylas’ fingers twitched at his sides. Of course they had told him. He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nothing. I just… haven’t been sleeping well.”

Snape’s hands did not pause in their search, but his gaze flicked up to Sylas.

“Explain.”

Sylas swallowed. “They’re just nightmares. I—I don’t sleep much because of them. That’s all.”

A lie.

Snape’s stare remained unreadable, though one eyebrow lifted slightly. He said nothing at first, merely observing, measuring. Then, wordlessly, he set a small vial on the desk and slid it toward Sylas. The boy took it without hesitation, uncorking it and downing the contents in one practiced motion.

Snape turned, walking toward a nearby cupboard. With quiet precision, he retrieved four more vials and held them out. Sylas hesitated before accepting them, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“These are Dreamless Sleeping Potions,” Snape stated matter-of-factly. “Take one before bed, and you will sleep without disturbance. You are of no use to anyone if exhaustion continues to affect your health.”

There was no warmth in his tone - Snape was not a man who spoke in reassurances. And yet, there was something in his words, in his actions, that spoke of a concern he would never voice outright.

Sylas gripped the vials tightly. " ... Thank you, sir.” His voice was barely above a murmur.

Snape inclined his head slightly, already returning to his desk. “Do not make a habit of neglecting your well-being, Mr. Ashford. I have little patience for self-destruction.”

Sylas hesitated at the door. “Good night, Professor.”

Snape did not look up frim his parchment, when the door closed softly behind the boy. 

Snape knew that desolate, dead look. When Mrs. Greengrass and Mr. Nott came to him with their worries, he had immediately told them that they must not leave him alone under any circumstances. Always keeping an eye out for him.

As long as Sylas did not ask for help himself, no one could help him.

One day before the holidays ended, Draco Malfoy returned. He was the first Slytherin who came back to Hogwarts. Instead of seeing the three of them playing chess together, as he first expected, he found only two of them in a dark and gloomy mood.

Daphne and Theo sat opposite each other by the fireplace, staring at the chessboard. Neither of them had moved a single piece. 

For a few minutes Draco looked them up and down, waiting for either of them to say something or move a piece. None of them did anything at all. 

"What got you tangled up in the broomstick?" he asked irritated. "And where's Sylas? I brought him the dark chocolate he likes so much." When he mentioned the boy, the mood dropped even more.

Draco suspicously raised an eyebrow.

Something wasn't right. 

"What the hell happened in the last two weeks?", he asked with a slight angry tone. 

Theo sighed loudly, rubbing over his face, before explaining the situation, but he left out the subject of Kerberos and the stone. It was up to Sylas, if he wanted to include Draco.

Draco glanced at them confused and seemed to think for a second. Without a word he turned on the heel and walked straight into their room with his luggage.

Sylas was lying in his bed with the curtains drawn. He was dozing on and off not really perceiving his surroundings. Every will to live had been sucked out of his body.

Unfortunately for him, the curtains weren't completely closed, so a certain blond boy ripped them open and shouted "GOOD MORNING!" Sylas got so frightened by the loud noise, that he fell out of bed and hit his head. Anger arose in him

"Are you fucking crazy, or what? Little ba - ", Sylas pulled himself together not to curse. He only saw a nasty grinning Draco who held out his hand.

Hesitantly he took it and stood up, but Draco didn't let go of him, instead pulled him into one of the private bathrooms.

Sylas watched him, confused, as he rummaged through his trunk on the floor and pulled out a small present. He took it hesitantly. A small voice in the back of his head said that this package was dangerous. Remembering what the boy did a few weeks ago. Draco just shook his head, as if he could guess, what Sylas was thinking about.

"A present from my mother. I told her that you love the dark chocolate that she always sends. So she wanted to give you a slightly belated Christmas present. Actually, only because the snowstorm was so bad that our owl didn't get here", he explained. 

"Your ... mother?" Sylas raised an eyebrow.

It rattled until Draco finally understood that Sylas might not know who exactly his mother was. "Narcissa Malfoy? She told me that she had been teaching you for the last two years because your grandparents were too old for it."

It took him a while to come to the conclusion. "Cissy!", he unwrapped his present with a slight smile and saw several chocolate bars. This small gesture had made him feel a little more alive.

Now he understood why Cissy hadn't just taken him in. If the Malfoys took in an orphan, it would raise a ton of questions.

Just before Draco left the bathroom, he stopped next to him and put a hand on Sylas shoulder. His mood darstically changed, not even the coldness of Azkaban could compare to it.

"If my mother saw you like this now, she would be disappointed," a stab pierced Sylas' heart, "No matter what is going on, you better solve the problem immediately. Theo and Daphne are worried sick. My mother told me to keep the connection between you and her a secret, which must have its reason, but a Slytherin doesn't hide away like a whiny Hufflepuff. Pull yourself together. If the other houses notice your depressed mood, I'll throw you into the Whomping Willow myself," with these words Draco left him alone.

Sylas had to breathe in and out deeply a few times. The word hit deeper than any knife could. 

A whiny Hufflepuff

It echoed over and over in his head.

Out of a wall appeared Oliver. The Malfoy boy is right. No matter what you saw that night, you really are acting like a disgrace for Slytherin.

He floated further into the next wall, just wanting to put his two cents in and stuck his tongue out.

Disgrace for Slytherin

Sylas put the chocolate on the counter. His hands trembled slightly as he turned the faucet, watching the clear stream of water rush out. The sound filled the silence. 

He cupped his hands underneath the ice cold water, before splashing the water onto his face. Droplets clung to his hair, trailed down his cheeks and dripped from his chin. 

Only one thing echoed through his mind. It pulsed through him, louder than the rushing water, louder than the beating of his own heart. 

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His breath cam in shallow, uneven bursts and his chest tightend. He forced himself to loop up, meeting his own gaze for the first time in weeks -

Sunken cheekbones. Hollow, desolate eyes, a weary expression that had become all to familiar. 

Weak – He was weak.

The word hit him like a curse, searing through him. He had spent weeks - months - observing others, analyzing their every move, picking apart they way they held themselves. And yet, when it mattered, he had learned nothing. 

If the others at the orphanage would see him like this, he would have been long gone. Beaten down, discarded, forgotten.

Even Longbottom could could take him in a duel right now. Freaking, usless Neville Longbottom. 

Anger and disgust rose within him, twisting more and more into hhis stomach. Before he could stop himself, his fist slammed into the mirror. 

The glass shattered instantly, clinking against the sink and scattering across the tile floor. A sharp sting shot down his knuckles, but he barley felt it. The warm trickle of blood sliding down his fingers was nothing compared to the thought of Neville Longbottom winning. 

Pathetic. 

Chapter 8

February, 1992

Everyone quickly got back to their normal routine and Sylas changed to the same person as he was, before the mirror incident. He was still quite reserved, but his worrying state had vanished.

Theo and Daphne had cross-examined Draco several times to find out what he hell did, but he kept his mouth shut. When they asked Sylas, he simply said that Draco reminded him in which house he lived in. 

Theo and Daphne simply gave up. There was no way on getting anything usable out of those boys. 

As winter wore on, Snape ordered Madame Pomfrey to examine Sylas again. The professor wanted to know, if there has been any progress regarding his health. His general physical condition had improved greatly, so he no longer needed potions.

The nightmares stayed the same, but sometimes when Sylas was exhausted from reading that many books, he just needed to feel the pillow underneath his head and he was safe and sound in the land of dreams.

Daphne and Theo had kept their promise and helped him with his mystery about the stone, but so far they had been unsuccessful. Every free minute was spent reading a book, even during the 10-minute breaks, but they just couldn't find anything.

Even them purebloods, who grew up in the wizarding world, didn't know of a famous stone that needed to be hidden.

They had already tried to get Hagrid to answer several questions, but he kept quiet. For once he didn't even let anything slip. The only thing they got out of him was the name of the Cerberus - Fluffy. A ridiculous name, but it just screamed Hagrid. Since Sylas didn't want to lose him as a friend, he let it go.

At some point, everyone reached their limit and he was absolutely not into gambling. Especially when a friendship was on the line. The other Slytherins hardly noticed their search for clues. Since the exams were coming up soon, everyone just thought they were studying. Besides, the other first years were busy arguing and mocking with the Gryffindors.

Draco had already used the Leg-Locking Curse on Longbottom way too often, so that the boy had to hop up the entire tower to get to his common room.

Weasley and Granger took revenge on his behalf. Suddenly in the middle of class Crabbe and Goyle started talking completely woozily things in Transfiguartion. Granger had caught them with the Babbling Curse shortly before.

Weasley had dared to try a Tickle Curse, but instead of cursing Draco, he cursed himself, causing him to start laughing uncontrollably during Potions class.

Snape found this anything but funny and deducted 20 points from the Gryffindors for their inability to use spells correctly.

"Did you see Granger's stupid face when I caught Weasley with Tarantallegra? He almost cried when he couldn't stop dancing," laughed Draco and his little gang laughed with him.

They were sitting on one of the sofas in the common room. Unfortunately, they weren't the ones directly in front of the fireplace, because the older Slytherins had claimed them for themselves.

Even though Draco was a Malfoy, none of the older ones would listen to him if he was still a greenhorn, and he knew that only too well. Because of it, he only focused on the students within his year.

Even though Draco seemed to enjoy to get the attention of his little followers, Sylas noticed, how the boy was more at ease, when he wasn't hanging out with his gang. 

Pansy laughed the loudest. "That mudblood will be next," she hissed, amused.

Theo, Daphne and Sylas also sat in the common room, but in a completely different corner. They could hardly hear the letters and read the words and punctuation marks. Everything started to spin in their heads, the longer the stared into the pages.

For a split moment, Daphne thought her book tried telling her to go tame a unicorn and fly away with it, into neverending peace.

Her brain was fried. 

"Wood will definitely be furious when he finds out that Snape will be refereeing today's game. He would never let the Gryffindors win," Draco grinned evilly. He knew his godfather only too well to know how much he hated the Lions. Hufflepuff would be showered with free points.

Sylas had overheard his conversation and muttered, "That Wood guy is pretty obsessed with Quidditch."

Theo had to laugh briefly and Daphne started to smile. 

"Woods' entire life is just about Quidditch. Never come between Wood and his Quidditch pitch if you want to live. This guy will tear you apart. He would take on Voldemort himself if it meant he could only take part in the game if he defeated him," Daphne explained, amused. 

Theo stretched his back. "We have to watch the game. A break will do us good, especially if the Gryffindors are mercilessly defeated," he chuckled.

Sylas silently agreed. He was interested in how a Quidditch game went anyway. He couldn't watch it the last time because he was sentenced to bed rest.

In the afternoon they all dressed according to their houses. Green scarf, green hat and green gloves. Together they scurried to the Quidditch field. The weather was nice, a little bit cloudy and a slight breeze. It was perfect for a game. The Quidditch pitch was a huge oval field with several towers around it and three goals on each side.

They stepped up one of the towers and sat down. It was already quite full and the couldn't find a spot to sit all together, which is why Theo and Daphne sat two rows in front of Sylas.

The whole school was there, even the headmaster himself came to watch. The fascination with this sport was a mystery to Sylas. Michael and Sebastian were huge soccer fans, which he never understood either. They were just chasing a ridiculous ball. His thoughts got lost on flying a broom again.

Oh, how he missed the breeze while flying around, feeling like he was on top of the world.

His daydreaming got interrupted by huge cheering.

The game was just about to beginn. 

The players entered the field and immediatly mounted their brooms. Each player took in their position and when everyone was set, Snape blew the whistle to start the game. Sylas tried observing them, but he couldn't keep his eyes away of the Gryffindors, who were sitting in the same tower.

Unfortunately for Granger and Weasley, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle sat right behind them. Draco accidentally bumped the back of the Weasley's head. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you," he grinned at him. Granger just rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Do you want to know how Gryffindor chooses its people?" Malfoy asked a few minutes later, when Snape again awarded the Hufflepuffs a penalty throw, for no reason at all, "They choose people they feel sorry for. Look at the Weasleys, they have no money! You should join in too, Longbottom, you don't even have a brain."

Crabbe and Goyle started laughing as Neville turned bright red.

Suddenly he turned around and looked Draco in the face. "I'm worth a dozen of your kind, Malfoy."

He stammered so loudly that the Slytherins burst into laughter. Sylas's mouth twitched upwards a little.

The Gryffindors really could hardly defend themselves. Just listening to them seemed ridiculous. Where were the courage the lions always liked to brag about?

"Give it to him, Neville!" Ron said, but his eyes could not leave the field. The Weasley wanted the Gryffindors to win so he could shove it down the Slytherins' throats. The redhead was convinced, the Gryffindors could win even with an unfair referee!

Sylas had to admit, Quidditch was a lot more interesting in real life than in the books he read. While watching the game he wondered what it would feel like being the Seeker, catching the Snitch and leading his team to victory.

A feeling arose within him.

His body longed for something he never experienced. He sensed as if he had felt this emotions many times before, but that couldn't be true.

"Longbottom, if brains were gold, you'd be even poorer than the Weasleys, and that's saying something," Ron finally turned around and was about to punch Malfoy, but Granger pulled him back.

"Ron! Our Seeker!"

Gryffindor's Seeker had dared to dive because he had seen the Snitch, but he didn't manage to pull his broom up in time. With full force he hit the ground. A murmur went through the stands. It was not a pleasnant view, especially not for Wood. 

That was it for the Gryffindors. Without a Seeker, they couldn't win the game. Hufflepuff could drag it out as long as they wanted and collect a lot of points. Granger and Weasley sat devastated in their seats. The Slytherins behind them just couldn't stop their chanting.

Nicolas Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone

Sylas' heart pounded like crazy and his eyes grew wide. Everything around him went radiosilent.

He knew that name, he had read it in a book months ago.

Immediately he sneaked away from the tower and ran like a madman to the library. When he ran in, he was scolded for the first time by Madame Pince. Owe you, if you ever run in the library again. He immediately apologized before being thrown out.

He walked quietly along the shelves, looking for a particular book. It took a while until he finally held it in his hands; for a moment he was afraid that Granger had borrowed it.

He leafed through it. It was an old book on the science of alchemy. A subject that was basically of little importance when studying at Hogwarts.

The ancient science of alchemy is concerned with the creation of the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. It turns any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which makes the drinker immortal. There have been many accounts of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only stone in existence today belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel , the eminent alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel , who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year , enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife Perenelle ( six hundred and fifty-eight ).

Fluffy was guarding the Philosopher's Stone, but who would want that stone?

A stone that made you immortal ...

A crazy thought occurred to him.

What if Voldemort was still alive and he was after that thing? Then Snape had more to do with it and would betray Dumbledore when the time was right.

Sylas stood there for a while, weighing up the possibilities. Everything pointed to Snape being the bad guy, but his damn gut feeling told him otherwise.

"Shit," he muttered. He put the book down and wanted to go back to the others. After months of searching, they had finally found their answer.

He ran all the way back to the pitch, but it everyone was gone.

Apparently the Hufflepuffs took pity on the Gryffindors and ended it quickly. Just as he was heading back to the castle, he saw a dark figure moving towards the Forbidden Forest. 

It was Snape.

Sylas raised his eyebrows, what was he doing in the Forbidden Forest? It was soon time for dinner, why didn't he go to the Great Hall?

The tool shed for the Quidditch games was only a few meters away, catching Sylas eye. And idea formed in his head. 

Quietly he sneaked in and took a broom. For sure no one would need one right now, so borrowing it should be okay. He sat on it and with full force pushed himself high up into the air.

The wind his hair, being high up in the sky - an undescribable feeling. 

High up between the clouds he felt at ease. 

He glided over the fields, flying a little lower so he could disappear between the trees. For a moment he had lost the Potions Master, but then he heard his voice. Sylas slid down quietly on a thick branch and climbed closer.

In a shadowy clearing he spotted Snape and Quirrell. What the hell did the clumsy, good-for-nothing Quirrell have to do with all this? The professor stuttered even worse than he usually did. Sylas strained his ears to catch what they were saying.

"... I- don't know why you want to meet me here, Severus..."

"Just to keep it between us," Snape said in a cold voice, "The students shouldn't find out about the Philosopher's Stone." Sylas could only hear a murmur from Quirrell.

"Have you figured out how to get to Hagrid's monster yet?"

"But, Severus, I-"

"You don't want me as an enemy, Quirrell," Snape said, taking a dangerous step closer, causing Quirrell to step back and hit a tree.

"I-I don't know w-what you -"

"You know exactly what I mean."

Out of nowhere, an owl hooted so loudly that Sylas almost fell out of the tree. Several birds flew out of the woods. That was almost it for him. Those few seconds were fatal, however, all he could hear was Snape saying "... are clear to whom you are obligated."

The professor walked away quickly from the forest, leaving a trembling Quirrell behind. It had become quite dark, but he could still make out his figure all too well. Sylas quietly climbed back onto his broom and glided to the castle.

Was Snape not who Sylas thought he was after all? Professor Quirrell also seemed to be involved in the whole thing, what role did he play? Did Quirrell release the troll so that Snape could steal the stone? After all, it would be easier if one person provided the distraction while the other stole it.

Lost in thought, he put the broom back in the shed and went into the Great Hall. Almost everyone was already gathered and the Hufflepuffs were celebrating like they hadn't in a long time. The Gryffindors sat dejectedly and dead silent at their table.

Sylas sat down with his friends. Draco let loose one after another, insulting the Gryffindors.

Apparently Neville had tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle and was now lying at the hospital wing. Draco proudly told the whole table how he dodged Weasley's punch and how the Weasley fell down a few rows on his own. He now had a massive bump on his head.

"Where were you?" Theo whispered. Daphne sat opposite them and looked at him intrigued.

"You disappeared out of thin air, we couldn't find you anywhere!" Daphne snapped at him quietly. Sylas looked around, observing if someone watched them

"Not here, too many eyes and ears," he muttered and caught a glimpse of the teachers' table. Professor Snape sat there as if he hadn't just threatened Quirrell.

Something was wrong here.

Theo and Daphne exchanged knowing glances and left it alone. The three of them ate their meal in silence.

In the Slytherin common room, they sat on one of the sofas and waited until everyone had finally gone to bed.

They moved a little closer to each other so that no one could overhear them. Sylas began to explain what he had discovered about the stone, Snape and Quirrell.

"So Snape is after that stone as well and he's probably blackmailing Quirrell into helping him," Daphne summed it up, tilting her head. "Does make sense. After all Quirrell is the only professor one who doesn't have enough backbone to stand up to him."

Theo leaned back into the couch. "But protecting a stone with such importance with just Fluffy would be foolish. Snape will definitely need help because there are more creatures or spells down there protecting the stone," he muttered.

"Snape knows all kinds of dark magic, as if other spells would bother him. So there must be something else protecting the stone," said Daphne.

Sylas eyes hardened. "What if Snape wants the stone and wants to give it to Voldemort?" he asked, looking at them in full serious.

Both of them lost their composure for a moment. They would normally disagree, but after what he had told them ... it was a possibility.

"If Voldemort is even alive," Theo said frwoning. 

"It's just a rumor that he's dead," Sylas interjected.

Oliver, who had been floating above them until just a moment ago, joined in, singing slightly I know what other precautions Dumbledore has taken ~

Annoyed, Sylas looked up and growled, "Instead of just listening, you could help us."

Daphne and Theo exchanged confused glances. Who was he talking to, please?

You're not going through the trapdoor anyway, so it doesn't matter if I tell you

"Well then, go away," Sylas growled, shooting him an angry look. 

"Sylas?", Theo said worriedly, "Who the hell are you talking to?"

That was it, they thought, the boy had completely lost his mind. They had seen him talking to himself several times, but they thought it was just monologues.

"Are you really talking to Salazar Slytherin?" Daphne asked.

The rumors had spread like wildfire in the house, often completley exaggerated. A lot of it was made up of course, but seeing him talking to someone not visible ...

Sylas realized that he had answered Oliver in front of his friends. He usually ignored him so others wouldn't think of him as a complete freak.

The ghost grinned smugly, satisfied being finally acknowledged.

"No, it's not Salazar Slytherin, but an arrogant snob who thinks he's better than everyone else," he growled in his direction.

Oliver just stuck out his tongue and gave him the middle finger. His two friends just raised their eyebrows and seemed even more worried.

Sylas let out a big sigh. 

"Ever since I was little, I've had this ... imaginary friend - Oliver - or so my family thought. But Oliver never left. Oh, and he used to be a student here himself and was in Slytherin," he explained. But even with the explanation, the two of them stared at him in disbelief.

"So you are ... haunted... by Oliver, a Slytherin," Daphne summed up again.

Sylas nodded, fully prepared for them not to believe him, and they really didn't. Both were speechless and didn't know how to tell him that this Oliver was just a figment of his imagination.

"Luna Lovegood seems to be normal now," murmured Theo shockingly. 

Sylas looked down at the floor, dejected. "You have to believe me, I really am haunted. I don't know why, but he's sticking to me like a limpet."

Oliver didn't seem to like that at all and came very close to the boy. The air turned icy cold and a chill ran their spines down. 

I'm definitely not a limpet! Be glad you have me. Otherwise you would have been lost long ago!

Daphne rubbed her arms. "Why the hell is it so cold now?" she muttered, her eyes widened when she could see her breath. 

"Oliver is angry because I called him a limpet. For whatever reason, he can make the air colder, if he wants to," explained Sylas. But even that didn't satisfy the two Slytherins. 

Theo exhaled through the nose, searching for the right words. "Sylas, you have to understand", he started, "everyone should be able to see a ghost, not just you. That's why it sounds so unbelievable. If only you see or hear something, it's not normal, even for a wizard."

Sylas looked up at Oliver with a raised eyebrow. He had lain down in the air and just shrugged his shoulders.

As helpful as ever.

"What did ... Oliver say?" Daphne asked.

"He knows what's under the trapdoor, but he refuses to tell me because we won't down anyway," Sylas explained annoyed. 

"Well, I agree with him. We said, we would only find out what Fluffy is protecting. There is no reason for us to go under it. Especially because we are only first years, if we get past the traps, I would be seriously worried," Thei declared, his voice had a weight of auhtority in it.

Still, his finger twitched to go through the trapdoor. There was a secret chamber somewhere, hiding something magical. He not only wanted to know who was after stone, but as well what kind off traps Dumbledore set out, to protect the stone. 

Suddenly a good argument occured him. "What if Snape or Quirrell want to steal the stone?" Sylas interjected, "We would have to stop them!"

"No, Sylas. That is not our job," Daphne mumbeled. "Theo is right, we are only first years. Knowing what Dumbledore is hiding is enough." 

Dejefected he sagged down in his seat. Their arguments made sense of course, but his curiousity was just too thirsty. 

"They would take so many points off us that we would end up in the negative zone. We shouldn't even know what's down there," Theo said and just wouldn't stop rambling about, how bad the idea of going down there was.

Sylas had to promise them both that he wouldn't do anything stupid. For which Oliver laughed loudly.

 

~~~

 

April, 1992

Despite not going down the trapdoor, they kept an eye on Snape and Quirrell. They had agreed that if the worst came to the worst, they would go to Dumbledore and tell him what they had found out, but only if it was absolutely necessary.

Even though Daphne and Theo had forbidden him to go through the trapdoor, he still checked to see if Fluffy was still growling behind the door when he passed the third floor.

If Fluffy was still growling, the stone was still safe.

But he always got a disapproving look from them, because they had to keep watch when he scurried to the door.

Draco was the only one who noticed their odd behavior and secretly watched the trio.

But they didn't have much time to worry about Fluffy and the stone. Their teachers had given them so much homework and essays that they could hardly escape it. The spring break wasn't nearly as great as the Christmas break. Day in and day out they sat in the library with the other Slytherins to do their assignments.

Crabbe and Goyle had long since given up and were only copying from Blaise. Pansy and Millicent tried their best, but their essays left a lot to be desired. Blaise kept reading Draco's work to fill in his own, as he kept having gaps.

Draco was the only one who excelled in all subjects. Sylas had a sneaking suspicion that his family expected exactly that from him. Draco was almost at the same level of learning as the Grangers.

She had secured her regular place in the library weeks ago and was babbling to Ron that she had started studying too late.

Sylas had the most trouble with Potions and Transfiguration. All the ingredients, procedures and forms of transformation barely made it into his head. It was one thing to por over dozens of books which explained the Society of Magic. That was easy to remember because he was interested in it too - but to remember all that complicated stuff, how to cut up a dragon's liver properly, how to boil water, the color of it, memorizing spells and wards, learning dates of great discoveries in magic and goblin uprisings.

Sylas' head was just steaming at this point. 

He had already asked Oliver to help him during the exam, but the ghost insulted him as a Muggle who was even dumber than a troll who operated a toaster. Sylas strongly doubted that he even knew what a toaster was.

It was one of the first warm, sunny days in what felt like forever, yet they were trapped inside the library. Sunlight streamed in through the high windows, casting golden pools of light on the wooden tables, but none of them paid it any mind.

Theo and Draco were quietly discussing their reports, Daphne was flipping through a potions book with a focused frown, and Sylas - well, Sylas had long since given up

He rocked back and forth on his chair, head tilted back, staring at the ceiling as if it might hold the answers to all his problems. The exhaustion was bone-deep. The sleepless nights were starting to blur together, his dreams - if he had them at all - filled with flashes of green light, piercing screams, and the haunting image in the mirror that refused to leave his mind.

Just as his thoughts drifted dangerously close to that memory, his chair tilted too far back, and before he could catch himself, he crashed to the ground with a loud thud.

"Awake again?" Draco teased.

Daphne extended a hand, which Sylas took begrudgingly as he pulled himself up. "Are you okay?" she asked, still suppressing a chuckle.

Sylas grumbled, rubbing the back of his head. "I can't stand looking at all these books anymore", he murmured, shoving all his stuff into is bag. "I'm going to visit Hagrid."

That caught their attention. It had been a while since they’d last seen the half-giant. Sylas wondered what he was up to these days.

Only when he reached the door did he realize he wasn’t going alone.

"We haven't seen Hagrid in a long time either, so we're coming with you," Daphne said with a slight smile as she and Theo fell into step beside him

Sylas shot Draco a questioning look. Usually he wasn't really interested in the half-giant. 

Draco sighed, rubbing his temples. "I need a break too," he grumbled. 

The four of them made their way across the grounds, the fresh air a welcome change from the musty scent of parchment and ink. But when they arrived at Hagrid’s hut, something was off.

The windows were all covered and when Sylas knocked, Hagrid didn't open the door straight away. Then, a voice - tense und unusally cautions - called out from inside, "Who's there?"

The four Slytherins exchanged confused glances. Hagrid had never done that before. "It's us, Hagrid. Sylas, Theo, Draco and me", Daphne said. 

There was a long pause before the door finally creaked open. 

"Come in. Quick," Hagrid said, his eyes darting around as if expecting someone to be watching.  

Inside, the air was thick and suffocatingly warm. The moment they stepped in, sweat prickled at their skin. Who would’ve thought a wooden hut could feel like a furnace?

"Are you doin' alright?" Hagrid asked, handing them each a steaming cup of tea.

"Lots to do", Sylas muttered, rubbing his eyes. "My head is already steaming from all the studying."

Hagrid gave a gruff chuckle, but his eyes flickered with something unreadable. "So you've given up ya research on Fluffy ? It's better if you don't bother with it anymore."

The words were casual, but there was a warning buried beneath them. Daphne however only grinned. "We know what he's guarding. Sylas found out", she said proudly. 

The color drained from Hagrid's face. He nearly toppled backward in his chair. 

"Where - ", Hagrid began, but before he could finish, another voice cut in.

"Who is Fluffy?"

The entire room fell silent. All eyes fixated on the blond boy. 

Draco glanced around expectantly, "Hello? Have you all gone deaf?"

All of them forgot, that Draco hadn't been told yet. Between all this mess in the last few weeks, none of them thought about it.

Theo exhaled through his noise, "Sylas."

It wasn't a question. Just an expectation. As if he wanted to tell him; You explain it

Draco crossed his arms, clearly growing impatient. "Come on, spill it. You three have been acting weird for weeks."

Sylas hesitated but then, with a resigned sigh, he started from the beginning. He told Draco everything - about Fluffy, the trapdoor, the Philosopher’s Stone.

The more he said, the more horrified Draco looked. His face had shifted from confusion to desblief to outright horror. 

"Are you insane?! No, no... are ALL THREE OF YOU insane?!" he said, like a shot, "Why are you investigating this?!"

Hagrid, for once, was in complete agreement with the Malfoy boy. 

"I had to keep myself busy somehow," Sylas said, voice quieter now. "Not like I had much else to do when you made sure everyone hated me."

A flicker of guilt passed over Draco’s face, but he shoved it aside. "Okay, fine," he grumbled. "But you’re not planning to go down there, right?"

Daphne only shrugged. "Not Theo or me."

Dracos head snapped towards Sylas."You absolute idiot", he hissed, "Are you trying to claim the Philosopher's Stone for yourself or something?" Even though Draco was angry at him - at the same time he was worried. 

"Of course not", Sylas' fingers tightened around his cup. "I'm just... curious. Something tells me I should go under there."

"That's the stupidest thing I've heard for quite a while", Draco snapped. "And I'm talking to Crabbe and Goyle on a regular basis." 

"Traps from the teachers, Sylas", Hagrid interjected gruffly. "You’d never make it through ‘em. You’d die before you got anywhere near it."

Sylas’ mind reeled. "Wait. Traps from all the teachers? Even Snape?"

"’Course Snape too!" Hagrid barked. "He’s one of the ones protectin’ the Stone! He’s not tryin’ to steal it!"

"I could have told you that as well. Uncle Sev certainly wouldn't do something like that and can we please open the windows, it's freaking hot in here!" grumbled Draco, tugging on his tie.

"Not possible" Hagrid looked at the fire cautiously. Sylas followed his gaze and spotted a huge black egg in the middle of the fire.

"Hagrid, what is that?!"

All the Slytherins now looked at the fireplace and their jaws dropped. The current conversation died at the sight of it and all Slytherins were speechless. 

"Hagrid! A dragon egg?!", Daphne shot up from her chair, "Where did you get that from? It's illegal to have a dragon, every child knows that!"

"I won it," he simply said as if it were an everyday occurrence, "a few days ago down in the village. I had a glass or two and played cards with a stranger. Seemed real happy to part with it."

Draco looked like he was going to faint. "You - You can't keep a dragon! Do you have any idea what's going to happen when it hatches?"

Hagrid puffed up his chest. "I borrowed a book from the library. I'll raise him properly -"

"How? And where?", Daphne demanden. "What about food? Dragons eat an insane amount of food. You can't keep it here forever."

"I'll think of something. First little Norbert has to hatch", everyone looked at the half-giant in disbelief. As if it solved anything, if the dragon hatched first. 

Draco finally had enough, he shot up from his chair. "I've really pulled myself together, but this is going too far. I have to report this to someone! A dragon at Hogwarts is incredibly dangerous," he said trying to keep calm and was about to leave.

Sylas grabbed his sleeve. "Draco, wait -"

"No. This is beyond reckless. It's a dragon!"

Theo, surprisingly, agreed, "No, Sylas. I agree with Draco, we can't just let him do it this time. A dragon is almost impossible to tame. If it comes into the Muggle world, there will be massive problems. The Ministry already has a lot to do when it comes to keeping the wizarding world a secret."

Sylas looked at him in surprise. That was to be expected from Draco, but that even Theo agreed with him?

Hagrid's expression darkened. "I won't let you take Norbert away from me! I knew you Slytherins were all the same! Everyone out of my hut!"

"But Hagrid -"

"OUT"

The half-giant would not listen to reason and just like that, they were shoved out into the sun again. 

Sylas was furious. He turned on Draco and Theo, voice low and threatening. "You'd really report him? You'd cost him his job?", he growled at the two boys.

Draco could no longer control himself. "Sylas! There's a dragon egg. It will put us all in danger when it's fully grown! You must understand -" but Sylas didn't want to hear any of it.

"Shut up, Malfoy. Woe you, if you tell anyone," he had nothing in his grip, but he tried to make him feel guilty. He was reacting on pure impulse. Angrily, he stomped up the hill alone, leaving the three of them behind.

For days, he avoided avoided them.

He was angry, because Hagrid was angry with him because the others might tell on him. Of course, raising a dragon was crazy, but there were ways and means. Daphne seemed to agree with him, because she stayed by his side.

For now they now studied separately from the others in the library and made sure that someone always sat between them when they ate in the Great Hall.

Sylas had actually expected the full ordeal to befall him again, but the other Slytherins seemed to have been unaware of their argument. So Draco kept quiet about what he had seen.

Luckily for him, Daphne had managed to convince Hagrid that she and Sylas did not want to take Norbert away from him. They wanted to help him when he finally hatched. At first he was grumpy, but promised to tell them when the dragon hatched.

And he did. One morning, Daphne handed Sylas a letter. Norbert had hatched. They raced down the hill to be the first one there - but someone else seemed to be faster.

Dumbledore stood outside Hagrid’s hut, Theo and Draco at his side, the dragon in his arms. Hagrid wept as he reluctantly handed Norbert over.

Sylas' hands curled into fists. "They betrayed us."

He didn’t wait for Daphne’s response. He just ran.

Daphne sighed. "More stubborn than a Gryffindor."

He ran angrily through half of the castle and let everyone know that he was not to be messed with. Granger and Weasley immediately moved aside when they saw him and started muttering about what had got his broomstick tangled up.

Sylas walked out of the castle and was drawn to the Quidditch pitch. He felt the need to just get on a broom and leave. That's exactly what he did, opened the tool shed, got a broom and glided off.

Sylas flew as high as he could and as fast as he could. Always on guard so that no one could catch him, he flew quite far away from the castle. He didn't feel like explaining what he was doing until he had let off all his steam.

Eventually he glided over the huge forbidden forest and watched the sunset. He hadn't been this angry for a long time, and he was slowly starting to feel guilty.

Once again, he did not act like a Slytherin should. More like a foolish Gryffindor. Sometimes he wondered if the hat had put him in the wrong house.

He enjoyed the beautiful sun setting, when uddenly he heard a pain-consuming scream. His head shot down to the forbidden forest, but since the trees were too close together, he couldn't see anything from above.

Slowly he glided down until he was in the treetops. He stayed on the broom and looked for the source of the sound.

After a few meters Sylashad spotted it. A beautiful white unicorn lay badly injured on the ground and in front of it crouched a hooded black figure that was just about to drink its blood. Sylas watched the spectacle in dismay and out of nowhere a stabbing pain hit him on his left side of the forehead.

There were many dangerous animals in this forest and he would recognize them all, but this thing definitely did not belong here! The longer he stayed in the forbidden forest the more he felt uncomfortable.

As if he was a prey just waiting to be hunted.

That thing down there gave him the creeps and a unicorn this badly injured, shouldn't be happening. 

His mind rattled. He had read something about unicorns, but couldn't remember it. Quietly he glided over the forest again and raced back to the castle. He refueled the broom and immediately made his way to the library.

It was actually already time for dinner, but for today, it had to happened without him.It was more important to find out what kind of thing that was.

He picked out a book about magical creatures and began to search.

The radiantly beautiful unicorn, with its white horse body and a long, spiral-shaped horn in the middle of its forehead, is known from many mythologies around the world. Everywhere it is considered a symbol of purity and an (inner) power that surpasses all others. The fur of young unicorns is golden, later it becomes silvery. As soon as they are fully grown, it shines white like the moonlight.

Bla bla bla bla

Newt Scamander describes that unicorns are among the most protected and respected creatures in the magical world. The magizoologist notes that these particularly noble and proud creatures are assigned to the CM class XXXX, which is of course not rated as such because of their dangerousness, but because the correct handling of them places high demands on magical people.

Bla bla bla bla

The silvery, shining unicorn blood has enormous healing powers. With its inherent power, it can even keep someone alive who no longer has any life force of their own. But killing a unicorn is a horrific crime and weighs like a terrible curse on the life that was saved in such a despicable way.

Sylas stood petrified in front of the shelf with the book in his hand. Finally it made sense. All of it made so much sense now. 

He needed the blood to stay alive.

Voldemort was alive, he was 100% sure that he was alive. That black figure in the forest, must have been him. He needed the philosopher's stone, the elixir of life, to regain his old power. Even if it was a crime to kill a unicorn, Voldemort had absolutely nothing left to lose.

Why are you interested in unicorns?  Oliver flew over his shoulder and read the article.

He stared at the ghost with wide, horrified eyes and whispered, "Voldemort is back, and he wants the Philosopher's Stone."

Oliver’s translucent form flickered slightly, caught off guard by the statement. His mouth opened as if to respond, but before he could, Sylas was startled by an unexpected voice.

"Good evening, Mr. Ashford. You do seem to be quite the bookworm."

Sylas whipped around to see Professor Dumbledore emerging from behind a row of bookshelves, his eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles. The old wizard smiled, calm as ever.

"G-Good evening, Professor Dumbledore… I… I like learning new things," Sylas stammered, his mind racing. Had the headmaster heard what he had just said to Oliver?

Dumbledore glanced at the book in Sylas’s hands, then hummed thoughtfully. "Ah, unicorns. Magnificent creatures, don’t you think? So pure that they shy away from most men… though they seem to trust young witches without hesitation."

Sylas blinked at the sudden change in topic. "That’s true… a pity."

Something about the headmaster’s presence made it difficult to voice his suspicions - to tell him what he had seen. The words were on the tip of his tongue, yet they refused to come out.

Dumbledore traced a finger idly along the spine of a book before speaking again. "You aren’t at dinner. Did you and your friends have a disagreement?" His tone was casual, but something about the way he said it made Sylas feel exposed.

"We just had… a difference of opinion," Sylas muttered, staring at the pages in front of him, though the words blurred together.

Dumbledore nodded as if this answer was expected. "Differences of opinion can be quite valuable. After all, we are only truly tested when we face those who think differently than ourselves." He snapped his book shut lightly. "But even the strongest minds need companionship, Mr. Ashford. You will need your friends soon enough. Best not to push them away."

Sylas’s head snapped up at that. "What do you mean?"

But the old man was already gone, disappearing as quietly as he had arrived.

Sylas turned to Oliver, unnerved. The ghost merely shrugged, his transparent form flickering under the dim library lanterns.

What the hell was that just now?

Chapter 9

June, 1992

The exams were coming up and Sylas had done nothing but studying for the last few weeks. Day in, day out he spent it with Daphne in the library. He kept the information about Voldemort to himself. Even though he was still in a fight with Draco and Theo, he watched them. Sylas couldn't bring himself to tell them, when they had other things to worry about. 

Daphne had already reprimanded him several times for not behaving properly that day at Hagrid's hut. Everytime she tried to bring him to see he's wrong doings, he blocked it. Eventually she gave up, but stayed with him so he wouldn't have to be alone. Their conversations only focused on class topics.

Nevertheless Sylas still had been checking the third floor to see if Fliffy was sitting behind the door. For his own well being he needed to know. 

The classrooms were sweltering and hot, which was terrible for exam time. They even got new pens, which were very special because they were cursed to prevent cheating. But they didn't just had theoretical papers; they also had to take practical exams.

Professor Flitwick called them into his classroom one by one and had them show him whether they could do a pineapple tap dance on his desk. At Professor McGonagall's, they had to turn a mouse into a snuffbox - points were awarded if it was a nice box, points were deducted if it had a moustache. Snape made them all nervous. They could feel his breath on their necks as they desperately tried to remember the ingredients for the Forgetfulness Potion.

Sylas tried hard in all his exams, but the stinging on his forehead made him doubt himself. Ever since he was in the Forbidden Forest, this stinging had come back again and again. It just wouldn't go away. Daphne had already told him to go to Madame Pomfrey for a headache potion. Sylas couldn't escape Daphne's noticing eyes. Whatsoever the potions from Madame Pomfrey had no effect on him. Only when Oliver put his cooling hand on it, did he get some relief.

He also saw this black figure more often in his nightmares. Almost every second or third night he woke up drenched in sweat and had to stretch his legs in the common room. Now and then he took a cold shower to deal with it. That damned stone and Voldemort were always in his head. He constantly had the feeling that Voldemort was about to burst through the door and kill everyone. 

Daphne, Theo and Draco didn't seem to be paying any attention to the whole issue. Of course, they hadn't seen what he had seen and were full focusing on their exams. For them the whole mystery about the stone was solved. As soon as the exams were over, he would apologize to them and tell what he discovered. 

The very last exam was History of Magic. The most boring subject with the most exhausting questions. Why did they have to know which old, quirky wizard invented the self-stirring cauldrons? When this exam was over, they would have a whole, wonderful week off until the reports came out and he had to go back to the orphanage... great...

When Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up the parchment, everyone started cheering. Everyone joined in, much to Sylas's dismay, as it made his headache worse. He left the classroom with the others, his face contorted in pain. Granger had already started to discuss the exam with the others. She listed everything, what she actually didn't need to learn, much to the misery of her listeners.

Daphne walking beside him, noticed his face. "Headache again?"

"Yeah", Sylas mumbled exhausted, "I think I'll lie down for a while." The stuffy air in the classroom not did exactly help his condition.

Suddenly he felt Daphnes hand on his back, gently rubbing it. "Okay", she said with a worried Smile, "Theo, Draco and I are going to the lake if you want to come over later on." She had made up with them weeks ago, but hadn't been able to persuade him to do the same. 

Sylas watched her with envious eyes walking to his friends. When he felt better, he's going to apologize. He missed having them all three around. Of course, Daphne was great company, nothign against her. But he missed joking around with Draco and Theo always nagging at him because of homework.

A heavy sigh escaped Sylas as he walked down the stairs to the dungeons. His head was pounding, making his blurry vision even worse. The past few days he barley slept, and the lingering stress of the past weeks pressed down on him.

Halfway down the staircase, he nearly walked straight into Professor Snape. The man’s black robes billowed slightly as he stopped in his tracks, his sharp, assessing gaze locking onto Sylas like a hawk spotting a wounded animal.

"Shouldn't you be outside, Mr. Ashford?", Snape's voice was as dry as ever, but there was something else neath it - something almost resembling curiosity. "It is, regrettably, a pleasant day, and you have no further obligations keeping you cooped up inside." 

In the last few weeks, he rarely had an interaction with Snape outside of his potions class. Which Sylas was glad for. He didn't need the professor to butt in his private buisness. 

Sylas barely looking at him, muttered under his breath, "Headache, I need to lie down for a minute."

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly. "You seem to be suffering from this rather ... frequently." His tone remaned neutral, but with a flicker of concern for the boy. "Have you informed Madam Pomfrey? Or are you under the delsuion that ignoring it will make it vanish?"

The last thing Sylas needed, was Snapes snarky remarks. "Her potions aren't working. It's probably just stress," Sylas muttered. "I just want to sleep it off." 

He made to step past Snap, but before he could, the professor's voice stopped him.  "And you thought locking yourself away in the dungeons was the best solution?"

Sylas turned his head slightly, his tired eyes just looking down the stairs. If it wasn't for the potion masters, he could be already in bed. 

"You're running yourself into the ground, Ashford. Headaches do not simply appear out of nowhere, nor do they linger without reason," Snape continued, his voice quieter now, though no less firm. "If your are going to insist on being stubborn, at least have the sense to return to me if it worsens."

Sylas blinked in surprise. Snape rarely, if ever, showed open concern, but it was there - in the way he didn't immediatly dismiss him, in the slight crease of his brow. 

"Yes, sir," Sylas  murmured before heading to the common room. 

He barely noticed the empty dormitory, barely registered the fact that he had collapsed onto his bed the moment he reached it. The quiet, the dim lighting, and the cold air helped ease the pounding in his skull.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he felt it - a cool hand pressing against his forehead, the soothing sensation cutting through the pain almost instantly. His breath hitched in relief, and he exhaled slowly.

You do realize the professor is right about your headache. It's not normal

Sylas didn't bother to open his eyes and just mumbled, "Just like you're not a normal ghost?" He was in no mood to discuss his stupid headache to a ghost, who hadn't felt it for years. 

For a brief moment their was silence, Sylas enjoying the cooling hand of the ghost. But Oliver made a remark, he couldn't dismiss. 

Instead of wasting your thoughts on me, you should be worried about the Philosopher's Stone.

"What do you mean?"

The half-giant is the only one who knows how to get past the Kerberos. Then a stranger comes along and, purely by chance, gives him a dragon egg, which the half-giant has always wanted. He may have drunk a little too much and you know him, he is quite fond of letting slip things.

"..."

Annoyed and angry he stood up and made his way to Hagrid's hut. That damn ghost had made a damn good point. He could feel his smug grin on his back. 

"Why didn't you say that weeks ago?!" he growled angrily.

You were angry with your henchmen and stressed about the exams. I doubt you would have listened to me at all.

And there he made another damn good point.

He hurried outside to the gamekeeper's wooden hut. He had not visited him since the incident with Norbert because he had felt guilty. The sun was already past its zenith.

Without knocking, he stormed in and frightened the half-giant.

"Merlin, Sylas!" Hagrid called out loudly and nearly stumbled over a stool. "What are you so worked up with?"

Sylas had no time for any explanation nor apologies. "Hagrid, when you played cards with the stranger, what did he look like?", 

"Don't know, he had a hood on, but that's not unusual. Strange people in the Hog's Head", Hagrid shrugged, not realisin the importance of the information. 

"Did you mention Hogwarts or even Fluffy?" Sylas tried to sound as calm as possible. 

"Ahh, I'm not too sure no more… might’ve slipped out," Hagrid muttered, frowning as he tried to think. "Yeah… yeah, he asked me what I do, and I told him I was gamekeeper here… wanted to know what kind of creatures I look after… so I told him… and I might’ve mentioned I always wanted a dragon… and then… well, I don’t remember too well ‘cause he kept buying me drinks… but - hang on - yeah! Then he said he had a dragon egg, and we could play for it, cards, if I wanted… but he had to be sure I could handle it, said he only wanted to give it to someone who knew what they were doing… so I told him, compared to Fluffy, a dragon’d be a walk in the park…”

Sylas heart pounded against his chest

Shit

"Did he seem interested? ... in Fluffy?" he asked slightly trembling.

"Well - yes - how many three-headed dogs do you meet, even around Hogwarts? So told him Fluffy's a lapdog - if you know how to calm him down, just play him some music and he'll fall asleep right away -" his expression slipped, realising his mistake. "You mustn't know that! Forget it right away! Hey -" but Sylas was already up and away.

Sylas must inform Dumbledore - right now. Voldemort is aware how to get past Fluffy and that was half the battle. The teachers' other security measures couldn't be as good as a rampaging beast. 

Without saying anything, he left the gamekeeper even more confused. Sylas scurried his way back to the castle and had just entered the entrance hall when he realized he had no idea where Dumbledore's office was.

You have to go up a few floors, I know where it is Oliver flew after him. How grateful Sylas was to have him by his side in times like this. 

But just as he was about to stomp up the stairs, he heard a controlled voice "Mr. Ashford? What are you doing here?" Professor McGonagall was carrying a pile of books in her hand and looked at him critically.

Sylas turned around to lookt at her. "I really need to speak to Professor Dumbledore," he said as calmly as possible.

"Professor Dumbledore? Why?" her lips tightened.

"It's... something personal," he muttered, scratching his neck nervously.

"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she said coolly. "He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew to London immediately."

Shit, what now? Should he tell McGonagall about what he has discovered? She was the next in line, when Dumbledore wasn't present in the school. 

Don't mention the philosopher's stone, she won't believe you anyway. Just say thank you and go

Sylas immeaditly took his advice. Nevertheless the ghost knew his way around people and how to deal with them better, than he does. "Well then, I think my request can wait until tomorrow. If he's back then," he murmured.

"He'll definitely be back tomorrow. Otherwise I'll let you know. Enjoy your free time, Mr. Ashford," she said and walked on.

Sylas stood still on the staircase, debating what he should do next. Tonight, when everyone was asleep, it would happen. Tonight, Voldemort would go through the trapdoor and get the stone. Everything was perfectly planned. Dumbledore was no longer here and no one would be able to stop him.

Damn, damn, damn, damn!

He was completely out of his mind. All sorts of thoughts were spinning around in his head as he climbed back down the dungeon. Should he go through the trap door and wait for him? But what could an 11-year-old do against the most powerful dark wizard in history? He may be weakened, but still. 

"Oliver, tell me immediately what else is under the trap door," he hissed at him. 

Oliver whistled briefly and said smirking, Uh, I like you a lot more like that.

"Oliver!"

All right, all right. First there is a devil's snare, then a room with flying keys, a magic chess game, a troll, a magic potion test and finally a strange mirror.

Sylas hurried down the stone corridors, the cool dungeon air doing little to soothe the heat rising in his chest. He couldn't do this alone - that much was clear. Strategy had never been his strong suit, and his skill at wizard’s chess was abysmal. Potions? A disaster. And facing a troll for a second time? He wasn’t eager to find out if that luck would hold.

Just as he turned a corner at full speed, hie slammed hard into something - or rather, someone.

"Bloody hell! Watch where you're -," someone cursed. Sylas staggered back, rubbing his forhead and found himself face to face with Draco. The blond sneered at him in annoyance, but before he could say anything else, Sylas grabbed his tie and yanked him away, pulling him from the group of Slytherins he was surrounded by. Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise watched them in confusion, as Sylas dragged their leader down the hall. 

Draco reluctantly let himself get pulled away. "What the hell is going on?" he asked baffled, while trying not to get choked. "You're strangling me!" 

"Shut up an keep walking," Sylas muttered, barley sparing him a glance. He only let go once they were deep inside the library, tucked into the furthest corner away from prying eyes. 

Draco yanked his tie back into place, scowliing. "What's so important that you had to manhandle me?"

Sylas took a breath, stepping close enough that he could whisper directly into Draco’s ear. His voice barely rose above a whisper, but the weight of his words was heavier than stone.

"The Philosopher's Stone is goint to be be stolen tonight. By Voldemort." 

Draco froze, his entire posture stiffening. His expression, usually smug or indifferent, was now unreadable. "...What?"

Sylas’s green eyes burned with urgency. "Dumbledore was summoned to London. It’s a setup. Voldemort planned this."

Draco’s frown deepened. "How do you know this?"

"Because Hagrid told a stranger how to get past Fluffy. And I saw someone in the Forbidden Forest drinking unicorn blood. That wasn’t just some dark wizard - it was Voldemort. He’s too weak to survive on his own, but he’s desperate. He needs the Philosopher’s Stone, and if we don’t stop him, he’ll get it.”

Draco was staring at him like he had just sprouted two heads. "Hold on - stop. You were in the Forbidden Forest?"

Sylas rolled his eyes. "Not the point right now, Draco."

Draco exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. For the first time since Sylas had known him, Draco looked genuinely shaken. “And you're completely sure?”

Sylas nodded firmly.

Draco was silent for a moment before muttering, “We need to tell Theo and Daphne. And we should tell Uncle Sev."

"No," Sylas said quickly, his voice firm. “We don’t know whose side Snape is on. I don’t think he’s trying to steal the Stone, but if he’s involved in any way, he’ll stop us. We can’t tell the teachers either - none of them will believe us. They’ll just say the Stone is well protected."

Draco hesitated, but Sylas could see that his reasoning was sinking in. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t argue with it either. Finally, the blond let out a slow, resigned sigh.

"Alright," he muttered. "Let's go get the others."

They rushed back down to the Slytherin common room, where Theo and Daphne were sitting on a sofa, locked in a tense game of wizard’s chess. Draco nodded toward the brick wall, signaling for them to follow. Theo looked up, ready to question him, but the moment he saw Sylas’s face, he didn’t need to ask. The chessboard was abandoned without another word, and the four of them hurried back to the library, disappearing once more into the farthest corner.

Sylas retold everything - about Hagrid, the Forbidden Forest, and the Philosopher’s Stone.

Theo and Daphne’s expressions shifted rapidly - from mild confusion to growing unease to outright horror.

"You’re saying you actually wanna go down there? Down the trapdoor?” Theo whispered, his voice barely audible. “Are you insane?”

Sylas’s jaw tightened. "We don’t have a choice. Dumbledore is gone, we can’t rely on Snape, and the other teachers won’t believe us. If we don’t act, Voldemort will get his hands on the Stone.”

A heavy silence settled over them.

"If we go down there, we could die," Daphne murmured, fidgeting with her fingers.

Sylas leaned forward. “We won’t. I know what’s under the trapdoor."

The three of them stared at him.

"You do?" Draco narrowed his eyes.

"Oliver told me."

Draco's brow furrowed. "Who the hell is Oliver?"

Theo exhaled through his nose and kept it the explanation short, "His personal house ghost. Haunts him and only Sylas can see him."

Draco nodded very slowly, his gaze flickering between Theo and Sylas, then over to Daphne, as if hoping someone would say they were joking. But Daphne only shrugged, as if it's nothing.

"... Right, of course," Draco muttered, clearly questioning his life choices. 

"After Fluffy comes the Devil's Snare," Sylas pressed on, sterring the conversation back on track, "then a room with flying keys, wizard chess, troll, potions and then a mirror. Best case scenario? We get to the Stone first. Worst case?" his voice lowered. "We have to fight him."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. None of them wanted to say it, but the fear was there, lurking beneath their silence. 

Theo was the first to move. He let out a long sigh and leaned back against the bookcase, rubbing his temples. "Alright," he muttered. "I’ll stay up top with Fluffy and keep him calm with music. If Snape or Quirrell show up to help Voldemort, I’ll try to hold them off." He gave them all a look. "Though if it’s Snape ... I’m dead."

"Then that leaves the three of us to go down," Draco muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is the single stupidest thing we’ll ever do. We’re acting like bloody Gryffindors.”

Sylas smikerd. "Well, I feel like every house is inside me - except Slytherin."

Draco scoffed. "I swear, if this goes well, I'll tell the hat to re-sort you."

The tension cracked just a little, and the group let out quiet chuckles.

"Alright, tonight then," Sylas said. "Once everyone's asleep, we head to the third floor."   

Daphne suddenly frowned. "Wait. How exactly are we supposed to get there without getting caught?"

"Don't worry, I have an idea," Sylas grinned, exactly knowing what tool came to great help for them

Theo raised an eyebrow. "Maybe there's a little Slytherin left in you after all."

For the first time that night, Sylas let out a genuine laugh. 

 

~~~

 

Darkness crawled upon the castle. Deep down in the dungeons waited four Slytherins for their mission to safe Hogwarts. All of them were trembling with fear, worried about the potential facing with the darkest wizard of all time. 

Shortly before midnight struck they met in the common room. Sylas had his invisibility cloak with him as well as Hagrid's hand-carved owl flute. 

Draco pointed at the cloak. "What do you want with that?" he whispered quietly as they scurried into the common room.

Sylas smirked. "You'll see in a minute."

Daphne was already waiting for them by the sofas and hushed over to them to the brickwall. 

"Okay, now what?" Theo whispered. Sylas pointed to the cloak and spread it out.

"It's an invisibility cloak", he explained. "We'll have to squeeze together, but we should have enough room." The Slytherins looked at him with their mouths wide open.

"Do you know how rare they are? Where did you get it and since when?!" Daphne asked, shocked.

Sylas glanced at them confused. He wasn't aware, that such a cloak was so rare. "... family heirloom and since last summer," he murmured quietly.

"Perhaps you are not entirely out of place in this house after all," Draco whispered as they threw the cloak over them. "So let's go."

They stood close together and tried their best not to trip, but walking from the dungeon to the 3rd floor was a challenge. Especially when they are so squeezed up to each other. They were constantly stepping on each other's feet or accidentally hitting each other in the ribs with their elbows.

"The most foolish thing we'll ever do, I tell you!" Draco whispered over and over again.

At a staircase they met Mrs. Norris. Their nerves were on edge, cause the cat was staring at them, as if she could sense they were there. Luckily they managed to get around without incident. Shortly after they almost ran into Mr. Filch, but luckily Theo and Draco pushed the whole group to a wall. 

They were still holding their breath for several minutes afterwards. A sigh of relief came over them, when the group finally managed to get on the thrid floord. But the relief vanished again - the door was slightly ajar.  

"Shit, he beat us to it," Draco cursed.

A shiver ran down the spines of all four of them. They might be about to meet the most feared wizard who had been responsible for chaos for the last century. They quietly opened the door, which began to creak. Fluffy immediately started to growl and all three heads began to sniff around the air like crazy, but he couldn't find them because they were still invisible.

"What's between his legs?" whispered Daphne.

"A harp, probably to calm him down," Theo murmured, "Trust me. This dog will have the best sleep of his life."

Sylas handed him the flute and he blew into it. It wasn't exactly a melody that came out, but the sound caused Fluffy to grow more and more tired. He began to stagger and fell to his knees - all three heads laid down and a deep snore could be heard.

"Keep the cloak in case Mr. Filch comes by," Sylas whispered to him. Theo nodded and the three of them came out. Slowly they approached the Kerberos and walked towards the trapdoor. The stinking breath was unbearable.

Sylas opened the trapdoor and looked down. It was pitch black, you could hardly see anything. There was nothing to hold on to on the sides. Sylas exchanged nervous glances with his friends. Somwhere down there was supposed to be the Devil's Snare. 

"A jump into the void," Sylas whispered, looking at the other two, "who wants to go first?"

Neither Draco nor Daphne appeared eager to be the first - in fact both of them looked rather paniced.

They had more at risk than Sylas.

Sylas breathed in and out deeply and started to climb down the trap, till only his fingers were on the trapdoor. The devil's snare will be down there somewhere. Fingers crossed he won't fall to his death.

He took another deep breath and let himself fall. Cold, damp air rushed past him. He kept falling and for a moment he regretted it until he landed in something strange and soft. He felt around and it felt like the devil's snare.

"It's alright!", he shouted up to the only spot of light. "I've landed on the Devil's Snare, 

It took a few minutes till Daphne and Draco finally landed with a dull thud as well.

"By Merlin, that felt like we fell for an eternity!" Daphne muttered, rubbing her back. They had fallen softly, but it still hurt. The trapdoor was closed again and they were trapped in the darkness.

"Okay, the first hurdle; Devil's Snare," Daphne murmured, ready to get past this as fast as possible. "Professor Sprout taught us not to panic when it attacks us, it will only wrap itself around us even tighter. It hates light and heat, so we need to start a fire."

The boys nodded and at that very moment the plant began to attach its roots to them to pull them down. Draco took out his wand.

"Incendio!"

Immediately it spat several flames and the room became incredibly bright. The devil's snare immediately retreated and let the three of them go.

"It's a good thing Oliver warned us about the plant. Otherwise it would have taken a while to get out of here," she murmured and breathed a sigh of relief. Through the fire they saw a small path that they could take. It was a stone passage.

They walked through in silence, hyper-aware of their surroundings. The only sound they could hear was the water running down the walls. The corridor went on for quite a while and the children's nerves were frayed. Next up was the room with the flying keys, whatever that meant.

At the end of the corridor they finally reached a crypt that was better lit. The ceilings were incredibly high and it arched. There were small, diamond-bright birds flying everywhere, fluttering and hopping around the entire room. On the other side of the crypt was a heavy wooden door.

"Interesting, I assume what they mean by flying key is that one of these beasts has the right one so we can move on," Draco muttered, "But how do we find the right one? They all look the same and how do we catch them?"

Sylas looked around the crypt and spotted a broom. "With the broom, of course. I'd do it, but I have pretty bad eyesight."

Draco searched in his cloak and pulled out a small box. Inside appeared a pair of oval glasses, which he offered to him. "Here, you're quicker than both of us, you'll probably catch one more quickly than we will," he muttered and put the glasses on Sylas nose. Draco muttered something with his wand and the lenses adjusted to his vision.

It had been years since Sylas had seen clearly again. But there was no time to be fascinated, what good looking friends he had. His steps towards the broom were firm, the hadn't much time left. With the broom between his legs he pushed himself with full force up and started to search.

He looked around carefully and indeed he spotted a flying key with a bent wing. That had to be it, it looked as if it had already been caught and brutally put into the hole.

He dived toward the key and just managed to catch it.

"You got it?"

"Should be the right one, yes"

The beast struggled in his hands, but he held it tightly. They went to the door together and he rammed it into the hole, turned quickly and it clicked. The door was barely open when the key fluttered away again. He looked even more battered than before. All three took another deep breath and nodded to each other.

Sylas opened the door.

The next tomb was again so dark that they could barely see the tip of their own noses. But as they took a few steps closer, the room was flooded with light and an incredible sight presented itself. They were standing on the edge of a chessboard behind the black chess pieces. They were several dimensions larger and carved from black stone. On the other side of the tomb were the black pieces.

"... Draco"

"... Daphne"

"Now it's our turn," grinned Daphne.

"And we will win," Draco muttered, grinning with his usual arrogance.

The two of them went to the chessboard. There were exactly two black pieces missing to replace them. Sylas sat out the game and was already waiting on the other side of the crypt next to the door. The two of them would win, he was sure of that.

They started playing together with the blacks. It was a lot more brutal than normal wizard chess. When a piece was taken, it was meant literally. Its remains were left scattered all over the board. There were some targeted casualties on their side but also on the white side.

The two looked out for each other and reacted before it was too late.

"We're almost there," Daphne murmured, "Let me think... Let me think." The white queen turned her empty face to her. A sudden realisation dawned on the girl. 

"There's only one way we can win, Draco," Daphne called to him with a stern voice. 

"Are you sure?" he asked, but her expression said it all.

"You know how chess is. Sometimes you have to sacrifice pieces. When I jump, you better hurry up. Woe betide you if you don't stop him," she murmured in a slightly shaky voice.

Draco and Sylas looked at each other and nodded. That was chess. Daphne jumped with her piece and the white queen pounced on him. With her stone arm she hit Daphne hard on the head and he collapsed on the floor.

The white lady was sleeping on her side, she had lost consciousness.

Draco made the final move and the white king threw down his crown.

They had won. The chess pieces bowed goodbye and opened the door. Draco and Sylas immediately ran off and found themselves in a corridor again. Their thoughts were on their friend and prayed she wasn't in too critical a state. The next door would lead them to the troll.

"Ready to defeat another one?" Draco teased, playfully hitting him on the shoulder.

"I could have gone without it," Sylas grinned.

Both had their wands out and were ready to fight.

They opened the next door and an incredibly disgusting smell hit them. They immediately held their cloaks over their noses as their eyes began to tear up. Frowning, they looked at the troll lying unconscious on the floor with a bad laceration. The monster was even bigger than the one Sylas had defeated.

"Let's hurry, I'm going to puke all over the place," hissed Draco and continued to the next door.

Now it was Snape's turn for potions. In this room there was only a table with seven vials lined up next to each other, all of which looked different. As they entered, a high fire suddenly blazed in the doorway - and not a normal one. It was purple. At the same moment, black flames shot up in the archway opposite and they were trapped.

On the table near the bottles lay a rolled up piece of paper. Draco took it and read             

The danger lies before you, the salvation behind you,
Two of us are helping, you are lucky with them,
One of us seven will take you away,
Another leads the drinker back through the flames,
Two of us contain only good nettle wine,
Three of us are murderers, waiting for your punishment.
Choose one if you want to continue and not waste your time here.
Here are some tips to help you - and four of them:
Firstly, however cleverly the poison may be hidden,
There is always some to the left of the good nettle wine;
Secondly, the two at the ends are completely different people ,
but if you go one step further, none of them is your friend;
Third, as you can clearly see, they are all different sizes.
But neither the dwarf nor the giant contains your death.
Fourth: the second from the left and the second from the right will be twins,
no matter how different they look at first glance.  

Draco had to smile. "Uncle Sev has always had a penchant for riddles. He used to give me them all the time as a child."

Sylas read the riddle several times, but he didn't understand much. To his advantage Draco's mind rattled on full force, trying to dismantel the word. 

"Wait, let me think. Seven bottles; three contain poison; two contain wine; one takes us through the black fire and one takes us through the purple fire," the blonde muttered to himself.

Draco kept muttering to himself until he shouted, "I've got it! It's the smallest bottle! That will take us through the black fire and the biggest will take us back through the purple flames."

Sylas took the tiny glass vial, tilting it slightly as he examined the remaining liquid. Barely enough for one person. His stomach twisted at the realization.

“That won’t be enough for both of us,” he muttered, glancing at Draco. “We have to decide who goes for help … and who faces Voldemort.”

The silence between them was thick, pressing down on them like an invisible weight. No arguments, no frantic debates - just understanding.

Draco had something to lose -  Sylas did not.

“I’ll go,” Sylas said quietly, gripping the bottle a little tighter. “You get help for Daphne.”

Before he could lift the vial to his lips, Draco’s hand shot out, catching his wrist in a firm, unrelenting grip.

His silver eyes were filled with hesitation. “Are you sure?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re about to walk straight into one of the most dangerous dark wizard of all time.”

Sylas didn’t flinch. “You have more to lose than I do.” His voice was steady, his gaze unwavering.

Draco’s grip slackened slightly, his shoulders sagging with resignation. He knew there was no arguing. Still, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head in frustration.

“Just come back alive,” he muttered, running a hand through his blond hair. “Otherwise, I’ll have to deal with a crying Daphne and a depressed Theo, and frankly - I don’t have the patience for that.”

A small smirk tugged at Sylas’s lips. He nodded, but before Draco could move, something occurred to him.

“Before you go, about the whole thing with Hagrid - ”

Draco cut him off with a wave of his hand. “We can talk about that later. This isn’t exactly the best time for a heart-to-heart discussion.”

A quiet chuckle escaped between them, breaking the tension just a little.

Draco folded his arms, tilting his head as he regarded Sylas with something between exasperation and reluctant admiration. “You really are the strangest Slytherin I’ve ever met. Talking to ghosts, sneaking out at night, wandering into the Forbidden Forest, owning an invisibility cloak -” He huffed. “And let’s not even start on your whole ‘reckless self-sacrifice’ habit. Honestly, you’re like a -”

“…Gryffindor?” Sylas finished for him, raising a brow. Draco rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I’ve been told that a lot this year,” Sylas added with a grin.

For a moment, they just looked at each other - two Slytherins standing on the precipice of something that neither of them could truly prepare for. Then, suddenly, Draco stepped forward and pulled Sylas into a quick but firm hug.

“Take care,” he murmured.

Sylas hesitated only a second before returning it. “Don’t worry.” He pulled back, his expression turning serious. “Take Daphne and fly out of the trapdoor on the broom. Then send an owl to Dumbledore. Tell him to come back immediately.” His jaw tightened. “He should take better care of his bloody school, because one of the worst wizards in history just strolled right in.”

Draco let out a quiet scoff. “Fair point.”

They exchanged one last glance. No more words were needed.

“Good luck,” Draco said. “See you later.”

“See ya.”

Draco lifted the vial to his lips, drinking the potion that would allow him to pass safely back through the black flames. Sylas did the same, bracing himself as the liquid slid down his throat.

Then, without another word, they turned and walked in opposite directions.

Sylas’s heart pounded wildly as he stepped into the wall of fire, but strangely, he felt nothing - not even the heat. For a few moments, all he could see were flickering shadows dancing around him. Then, the flames faded, and he found himself standing in the final chamber.

But there was no black figure like he expected to see…

Standing there was ... Professor Quirrell.

All sorts of thoughts raced through his head. The scaredy-cat Quirrell? The good for nothing Quirrell? The man stood in front of the mirror he discovered during the Christmas holidays and stared angrily at his reflection. Sylas had suspected that he was somehow involved, but him to get the stone? Snape standing there would make so much more sense.

"What are you doing here?" Sylas scoffed, keeping his distance from him and looking the professor up an down. His whole demeanour had changed, standing up straight, firm and stern look in his eyes. Nothing like the Quirrell he knew from class. 

The man turned to him with a slight smile. "I could ask you the same thing, Mr. Ashford", he grumbled, "You were the last person I expected. Why would an outsider like you, who doesn't fit in with Slytherin, come here?"

Sylas ignored the question. "What do you have to do with Voldemort? I know it's him who wants the Philosopher's Stone."

Quirrell seemed impressed "Oh, you seem to be just as inconspicuous as I am. You found out more than I expected. The fact that you defeated the troll was surprise enough, but I didn't think you were a threat back then... A mistake."

"I knew it, you released the troll and Snape should have taken the stone!"

A shrill laughter pierced the crypt.

"Of course Snape would be suspected, wouldn't he? No one would suspect that poor stuttering Professor Quirrell had anything to do with it. But no, Snape got there first and cut me off from the third floor. Then that damned mutt couldn't even manage to bite his leg off!" growled Quirrell, then suddenly snapped his fingers.

Ropes whipped out of the air and wrapped themselves tightly around Sylas' body, almost squeezing the wind out of him.

"Now be a good boy and stay put. I need to take a closer look at that interesting mirror," he murmured, taking a closer look at the mirror. He had one hand on his chin and traced with his fingers along the frame. 

A shiver went down Sylas' spine when he thought about that night in winter, when he first discovered the mirror. But why was it down here? How could a mere mirror protect a stone?

"Typical Dumbledore, that must be the key to the stone... But he's in London and by the time he gets back I'll be long gone..." Sylas watched the man. He walked around the mirror, but he couldn't figure out how it worked.

"I see the stone... I give it to my master... but where is it?"

Sylas listened with interest. Apparently everyone saw something different in the mirror, but why? What was source the mirror used, to show their individual reflection? Quirrell was determined to give the stone to Voldemort and Sylas wanted to... And then it finally clicked. 

The mirror revealed what the hearts longs for most.

An in that moment, his stomach dropped. The night he first found the mirror ... the image he saw back then ... The truth hit him like a curse. 

Sylas forced his realisation aside, his mind snapping back to the present. "Why don't you get your master to help you," he sneered, anything to keep Quirrell distracted. 

Quirrell's eyes flickered with something unreadable before he nodded. "Hmm , that's a good idea. My master is great and I'm weak... Then I can ask him right now, luckily for me he's always with me," Quirrell muttered.

Sylas looked at him, irritated, and he began to tell about his first meeting with him. As if the boy wanted to know that ...

"I met him on my journey around the world. Back then I was still a simple young man, with my head full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those who are too weak to strive for it... Since then I have been his loyal servant, even though I have disappointed him many times. He had to be very strict with me," Quirrell suddenly trembled, "He does not forgive mistakes so easily. When I failed to steal the stone from Gringotts, he was extremely displeased. He punished me... and decided to keep a closer eye on me."

This man was completely crazy, that much was clear to Sylas.

"Well then, my master, how does it work? Help me!"

And then - A voice. Soft, raspy, definitely not Quirrell's. "Use the boy... Use the boy...!"

Sylas' blood ran cold. His breath hitched as he scanned the room - no one else was here. 

Quirrel turned sharply to the boy, "Ashford! Come here." With a clap, the ropes binding Sylas vanished and he slowly walked towards his teacher.

"Come on," Quirrell repeated, "look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Sylas took a step closer, his hands sweating, not wanting to see the same image as back then. 

Quirrel loomed behind him and Sylas could smell the awful scent coming from his turban all too well. It was just as disgusting as a troll.

At first he only saw his own reflection, frightened, his hair completely disheveled. But then the image changed and he smiled at himself. He saw a Sylas he had never seen before. Short hair, round glasses and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. He was wearing the Gryffindor uniform. It was completley different than what he saw that night. 

The boy in the mirror put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. Finally, he winked at him and let the stone slide back into it. At that very moment, Sylas felt the weight of the stone in his pants.

He had the stone, he had the stone. 

His heart hammered against his chest. Why now? Why is that mirror putting him in such a difficult situation? It should have kept the stone hidden and not give it to him!

"And?" said Quirrel impatiently, "What do you see?"

He had to lie. He must lie. 

"I see... Dumbledore and Snape shaking my hand. I won the House Cup for Slytherin!"

Quirrell started to curse and pushed him aside to get a better look at the mirror. Sylas had the Stone, should he flee now? Could he survive this? Damn it, if only he had never come here, then Quirrell and Voldemort would never get the Stone! Why on earth did he had this desire to get down here?!

A high voice suddenly rang out "He's lying... He's lying..."

Quirrell immediately turned to Sylas with an angry face "Tell me the truth! What did you see?"

But before he could say anything, that voice spoke again "Let me speak to him... face to face..."

Quirrell paled. "Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have enough strength ... for that ..."

Sylas' heart stuttered. Something was seriously wrong here. He stood there as if petrified and watched silently as Quirrell unrolled his stinking turban with trembling hands.

The cloth fell to the floor and his head looked strangely deformed. He slowly turned around and Sylas wanted to scream, but he couldn't make a sound. At that moment the stinging pain in his forehead began again to be much more unpleasant.

Where the back of Quirrell's head should have been, there was an incredibly horrible face. It was chalk white with staring red eyes and, like a snake, slits for nostrils.

Sylas felt all the color drain from his face. Deep in his bones, he knew, who's face that was. Who it belonged to. 

"How... interesting," it whispered amused. "There were... rumors about you... Harry Potter ."

Sylas sharply shouted, "I'm not Harry Potter."

The air was suddenly being cut off and his breathing got irregular and hectic. The headache making him slightly more neauseous and dizzy. 

He was not Harry Potter… not anymore.

Harry Potter had died that night.

"Of course... we all have... secrets," laughed the dark lord, getting the attention to his own miserable state. "See what I've become? Just shadows and mist... I only have form when I share someone's body... but there are always those willing to let me into their hearts and minds... Unicorn blood has strengthened me these past weeks... you saw the faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest... and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create my own body... Now... why don't you give me that stone in your pocket?"

At that moment Sylas stumbled back a few steps. He had to get out of here - Right now. How the hell did the face even knew, the stone lay in his pockets?

"Don't be a fool!" the face snarled, its voice a sickening whisper that slithered beneath his skin. "Better save your own life and join me... or you will suffer the same fate as your parents... They begged me for mercy before they died..."

Sylas' body locked up. 

That green light. That piercing scream. That single moment had haunted him so many times at night, lurking in the corners of his mind, waiting to drag him back. It was because of this thing - this twisted, wretched excuse for a man - that he had spent his childhood in a cupboard, starving and alone. Because of him, he had no mother, no father, no home.

"Shut your damned mouth!" he spat, his hands clenching into fists so tightly his nails bit into his palms.

His head pounded. The scar burned. Hatred, deep and raw, clawed its way up from his chest like a beast desperate to be freed. It was suffocating, overwhelming - so much rage that it blurred his vision, turned his thoughts into static.

All of this suffering. All because of him.

Voldemort’s face twisted in satisfaction, feeding off his fury. "Give me the stone, or I will kill you!" he hissed, his slit-like nostrils flaring as Quirrell stepped aside to let his master loom over the boy.

But then, something shifted.

Sylas' head tilted, and the bruning rage inside him began to cool - to flip into something else entirely.

A smirk crept on his lips. 

A low chuckle escaped his throat. Then another. It built into a laugh, light at first, before twisting into something breathless and uncontrolled.

The Dark Lord’s red eyes narrowed.

Sylas couldn't stop laughing. How ridiculous - how absolutely ridiculous this was. How odd. The dark lord was threating him with death. The previous thoughts about his parents, the green light and his miserable life just disappeard from his mind. 

"Go on!", Sylas said spreading his arms, his grin widening into something manic. "Kill me! Finish the job you botched ten years ago!" 

For the first time, Voldemort hesitated.  

Something inside that boy had snapped. He was grinning ear to ear and all his fear seemed to have vanished.

How exciting it was, to be threatend with death! How exciting that someone wanted to kill him, exactly what he couldn't do himself! The thought just now occured to him. It would be way easier to be killed, then to kill himself. Now he just needed someone worthy to do the job. 

Quirrell let out a sharp brath. "Foolish boy, what are you talking about? Give my master the stone", he hissed from behind. 

"Me? Foolish?" Sylas let out another dry laugh, tilting his head as his fingers curled around the blood-red stone in his pocket. He slowely withdrew it, holding it between his fingers.

"You really think I'm afraid of death? That’s cute." He started tossing the stone between his hands, deliberately slow, deliberately taunting. "If anything, I think it’s my greatest desire." His grin turned wicked. "So go ahead. Kill me. I dare you. I can't wait to die!"

The way Voldemort’s face twisted at the sight of the stone told Sylas everything he needed to know.

He wanted it - needed it - and Sylas was dangling it just out of reach.

Oh, this was fun.

If the dark lord could play with his feelings - could talk about killing off his parents, so can he, by playing with the thing the dark lord desperatly desired the most. 

"You want this? Then come and get it yourself, you ugly bastard!"

"Enough of this nonsense!" Quirrell snapped, surging forward with a snarl. Angrily he approached the boy, but Sylas was faster. He reactet on pure instinct. The smile vanished. His muscles coiled. He had no intention of dying at the hands of a weakling. 

His fingers gripped his wand lika vice, and before he even fully processed the thought, his lips moved. "Incendio!" 

A blast of heat exploded from the tip of his wand. 

Professor Quirrell burst into blazing flames and screamed from his soul. He staggered backwards, hands clawing at his own face, his skin bubbling and burnin.

Sylas barely had time to process what happened, before the pain in his scar became unbearable. A blinding, white-hot agony ripped through his skull, sending him to his knees. He clutched his forehead, gasping for breath, his vision spinning. His pulse was erratic, his body trembling, but through the haze of pain, he saw it -

A mass of writhing, black smoke tearing itself free from Quirrell’s burning body.

It shrieked - a sound so inhuman, so ear-splittingly unnatural that it made Sylas’ bones vibrate. The high-pitched wail ripped through the chamber, growing louder and louder, until -

The smoke lunged straight at him.

It slammed into his chest.

Sylas choked, his entire body seizing as an unbearable cold seeped into him, ice spreading through his veins. It clawed at his very essence, trying to dig deeper, trying to latch on -

Then, as quickly as it came, the darkness receded.

His limbs gave out and hit the ground hard.

The last thing he saw before unconsciousness claimed him was the flickering light of the flames.

 

~~~

 

The next thing Sylas registered, was the sharp smell of desinfactant. His mind fought to stay conscious, and it took several attempts to pry open his eyes. The bright light above made him blink repeatetly.

In no way, he was happy about being back in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey would undoubtedly make his life miserable once again. His head throbbed as if someone had hit him over the head with a crowbar. He longed for the cooling touch of Oliver.

"Good day, Sylas," he heard the headmaster's voice.

Slowly, he turned his head. Dumbledore sat beside him, his blue eyes twinkling. For a moment, Sylas just stared at him, his mind sluggish. Then, the memories hit him.

"The stone... where is the stone?"

"Do not worry, my boy," Dumbledore assured him, his voice warm with pride. "You managed to prevent Quirrell from taking it."

Relief washed over Sylas. At least one good thing had come out of this. His gaze drifted to a small table covered in colorful sweets. 

"All gifts from your friends and admirers," beamed Dumbledore.

Admirers? Sylas frowend. He had killed a man and people ... admired him ...? Bloody hell, why do strangers even know what happened down there?! It just showed Dumbledore incredibly foolishness about how he handles things!

"What happened down in the dungeons is a complete secret, but the whole school knows", Dumbledore explained. Leaving Sylas irritated becaus of the contradicition.  "Mr. Nott, Mrs. Greengrass and Mr. Malfoy will be relieved to hear that you have finally woken up."

Sylas highly doubted it would remain a secret for long if the entire school already knows. For once he hoped, that Dumbledore casted some sort of spell, that prevented others from telling what actually happened. The last thing he wanted, was to be famous all around the wizarding world. 

Sylas mind rattled with questions. "How long have I been here? And what happened to the stone?"

"You have been here for three days and the stone - has been destroyed"

"Destroyed?! But what about Nicolas Flamel?"

"Oh, so you even know about Nicolas?" Dumbledore stroked his beard, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "You have done a thorough Research. Well, Nicolas and I have had a discussion and came to the conclusion that this is the best thing to do. They have enough elixir on hand to be able to settle their affairs , and then, yes - then they will die."

Sylas stared at the smiling headmaster in astonishment. There was silence for a momen before something dark and uneasy ssettled in his gut.

"The Dark Lord -"

Dumbledore interrupted him, "You shouldn't call him that. Only his followers do."

" ... Right, he'll keep trying to come back another way. He's not gone forever, is he?" he asked.

There was this cold certain feeling he had deep inside his heart, which told him, that it wasn't over yet. That black wraith that had fled from Quirrell - it was still out there, somwhere, plotting its next move.

"No, Sylas, he is not gone," Dumbledore admitted. "He is still out there somewhere, perhaps searching for another body to take him in... because he is not truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell for the dead; he shows no mercy to his followers, nor to his enemies. However, Sylas, perhaps you have only delayed his return to power; he just needs someone else who is willing to fight another battle, one in which he will probably lose - and even if he is repelled again and again, again and again, he may never return to power."

There was something unsettling about the way Dumbledore spoke. His eyes gleamed too brightly, his smile a little too knowing. A chill ran down Sylas' spine. Was the headmaster planning something?

"But tell me, Sylas," Dumbledore continued, "what exactly happened down there? How did you defeat Quirrell?"

Sylas hesitated, recollecting what happened down there. The memorys too concerning as to tell another soul. "I... I can't really remember. I walked through the flames and saw Quirrell, and then everything went black."

Dumbledore nodded as if he had expectet this. "Perhaps it is for the best. Let us not dwell on such terrible things. Instead, let’s turn to something more pleasant - sweets! Ah, Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans! In my youth, I was unfortunate enough to come across a vomit-flavored one. Since then, I’ve been wary - but I believe a toffee bean should be safe, don’t you?"

Smiling, he pushed the golden brown bean into his mouth. Shortly afterwards, he regurgitated it, "My goodness! Earwax!"

With that, Dumbledore soon took his leave, and as soon as he left, a familiar translucent figure emerged from the wall.

Can't believe it, the hero of Hogwarts has finally woken up again!

Sylas shot Oliver a nasty glare.

Okay, okay, stop being such a spoilsport. But seriously, you gave me a fright when there was suddenly radio silence.

Sylas stiffened. "Radio silence?" he whispered softly.

Yes, radio silence. One second, I was gliding around Hogwarts, and the next, I felt this horrible pain and everything went dark. I thought you died.

Sylas began to think feverishly. What had Theo said again? Oliver was not a normal ghost. Somehow, he could sense his emotions, maybe even his physical state. He recalled all the times Oliver had placed his cool hand on his forehead when he had a headache - without being told.

So they were connected in some way ...

Which meant Oliver had felt what happened down there. Had he sensed how Sylas had burned Quirrell alive? Had he felt the satisfaction Sylas had tried to ignore?

Before he could get answers, an whirlwind of blond hair and green robes stormed into the room.

"By Merlin, I was so worried!", Daphne cried, flinging her arms around him

Theo and Draco followed, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. "The whole school is talking about you," Theo said, "What happened for real? The wildest rumors are being spread again."

So Sylas began to tell what happened. He told them about the mirror, the stone, Quirrel - and Voldemort. But he left out how he had defeated him. He couldn't remember it anymore. The three of them listened attentively and tossed him often a concerned look. 

"So the stone is really destroyed now? Flamel will just die?" Draco asked quietly.

Sylas nodded. "They still have enough elixir to take care of their business, but once it runs out ... yes", Sylas muttered, shifting the conversation to a different topic, "But what happened to y'all?"

Dracos gaze darkened. "I rushed off and took Daphne with me. I took her to Madame Pomfrey with Theo and then we rushed to the Owlery," he made a slight pause, debating to continue. The other two nudged him in the ribs, so Draco continued, "but we ran into Dumbledore in the entrance hall - he already knew and just said Sylas ist after him, right? Then he rushed off to the third floor."

Sylas gaze went from concern to outright distress. Dumbledore knew that he would solve the mystery of the third floor. His mind raced with thoughts and suddenly the incident in the library made so much sense - he needed his friends.

Merlin, that made him angry. 

"Dumbledore apparently knew what we've been up to for the last few months and that we discovered what's on the third floor", Daphne said. "My mother said that Dumbledore knows everything that happens at Hogwarts." 

But it left just an even more sour taste in their mouths. If he knew what's going on in his own school, how could he not sense, that Voldemort lived on Quirrell' back?

Sylas bit his lips and clenched his fingers in the blanket. "He knew it and still flew to London. He knew it and let children face Voldemort," he growled quietly to himself.

"My father always wanted to replace Dumbledore. That old geezer does things that are inexplicable," Draco grumbled angrily crossing his arms. 

They had all put themselves in danger because of Dumbledore. What adult lets children fight their battles? If that old geezer knew - that they knew about the third floor, why didn't he just say, that there was no need to go down there? It would have been much safer, if he just said that. Quirrell would have never figuered out, how the mirror worked in tine. Even if he did, he wouldn't have gotten the stone!

His friends glanced at each other with worried looks. As if they were mentally fighting who spoke up about something.

"What is it?", Sylas asked a little tad to angry. 

"While you were unconscious", Theo began, "we came up with a theory as to why he hadn't intervened. It seemed strange to us that we could master all the hurdles with ease. So we started thinking." He made a slight pause, before he continued.

"We only recently went through the Devil's Snares with Professor Sprout - the flying keys, when you and Draco are excellent flyers - wizard's chess, where Draco and Daphne excel - the troll, where you've already beaten one before - the potions and the riddle, where Draco knows Snape best and it's a piece of cake for him to solve it- we only got stuck on the mirror, which we cannot explain. Anyway, we were too well prepared for the tasks. Even if Oliver hadn't warned us about it. It would have taken us just a lil longer," Theo said. 

The realisation dawned on Sylas. He put his hands on his temple and slowley shaked his head in disbelief. It was all a set up - right from the start. 

Sylas sighed heavily. "The mirror... I discovered it during the Christmas holidays when I was snooping around in the restricted section of the library," horrified faces looked at him, "The mirror shows you what you most desire. It was while I was with Quirrell when I realized it."

Under normal circumstances they would have scolded him for snooping around in the restricted section, but none of them felt like it. It only confirmed their theory even more. The Slytherins exchanged sullen glances. 

Theo wasn't done, with what they were trying to explain to Sylas. "What we're trying to say is ... we have a feeling Dumbledore wants to make you the next ... Harry Potter."

Sylas' blood ran cold, his eyes widend. "What?"

"Think about it," Daphne began, "Harry Potter was supposed to attend this year. He was the Chosen One - the Boy Who Lived - the one who is destined to defeat Voldemort. He should have stopped Quirrel this year so the narrative could continue. But he's gone and now Dumbledore needs  a new chosen one."

Sylas almost lost his composure. He kept breathing deeply as Daphne told him about the theory. Because it was too good and too real for him to just ignore. What had he done to get the headmaster's attention? How had he given himself away? How much did Dumbledore already know?

Oliver, who was still there, gently placed his hand on the boy's neck. It would help him not to lose his composure completely. His friends looked at him worriedly, he didn't say a word for several minutes. 

Would Dumbledore still consider as a hero, if he knew that he had killed Quirrell? That he had burned him knowingly and without hesitation? That this feeling of killing someone ... satisfied him? Daphne gently took his trembling hand in hers. 

"Why me...? Why not a Hermione Granger or someoneelse?" he murmured quietly and squeezed Daphnes hand a little more. 

"We don't know", Daphne said, "but we're on your side. We won't let him make you the next Chosen One, especially if it means you could die,"

All three Slytherins looked at him confidently. They were Slytherins, and they would stand up to the Headmaster if it meant protecting their friends.

For Sylas, it wasn't even about death. He would embrace death, if he wasn't such a coward himself. It was more about something worse - being forced into a destiny he had been trying so desperatly to escape.

A destiny he tried to kill off. 

The mood was oppressive until a crying half-giant came into the hospital room and apologized over and over again. Eventually the four of them had to console an adult who blamed himself for the mess. The mood immediatly lifted when Hagrid came into the room. 

They stayed there for a while and talked. It was desperately necessary for Theo, Draco and Sylas to talk things out, and Daphne and Hagrid served as mediators. The two Slytherins never wanted to do anything bad and so they went to Dumbledore and not to Snape. They knew that Dumbledore would take care of the dragon and let Hagrid get away with a warning. But they also understood Sylas' side.

They stayed until the evening and talked for a long time. When it was time for dinner, Madam Pomfrey reluctantly let him go. Before that, however, he had to argue quite a bit, before she gave in

Due to the delay, the group ran late to the end of year party. On this evening Dumbledore is announcing the winner of the House Cup. 

The Great Hall had several empty crests hung all over the room. When the group entered, everyone fell silent and stared. But soon after, they started talking over each other again. They slid to their seats, but the stares didn't stop. Luckily for them, Slytherin held together and the snakes glared at everyone who was staring at the heroes of Hogwarts.

Penny whispered to Sylas, "You're the star of Hogwarts now. Everyone is completely shocked that a Slytherin saved Hogwarts." Her voice full of pride. 

Sylas looked the table up and down. Everyone knew of his name. A sense of pride filled the table that it was a snake that stopped Quirrell. They all couldn't wait to rub it in the other houses' faces. Fortunately for the others, Dumbledore came in and the great hall fell dead silent.

"Another year over!" he exclaimed boisterously, as he stood up infront of all the students. "And before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast, I must trouble you with the sulphurous ramblings of an old man. What a year! Hopefully your heads are a little fuller than before... you have the whole summer ahead of you to clear them nicely before the next school year begins... Well, as I understand it, that House Cup must now be awarded, and the results looks like this; in fourth place, Hufflepuff with three hundred and fifty-two ; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six ; Gryffindor and Slytherin with four hundred and seventy- two each." 

Loads of whispers bursted inbewteen the tables of Gryffindor and Slytherin. Everyone wondered how the headmasters is gonna handel a tie. For sure, both houses would not tolerate to share the first place. 

Dumbledores voice echoed again through the hall. "Their is a tie, but we must take recent events into account!"

Just in that moment all of Gryffindor's hopes died in a flicker of one second. They weren't the ones who found out what was on the 3rd floor and it wasn't them who protected Hogwarts.

"To Theodore Nott, for protecting and guarding his friends, 50 points! To Daphne Greengrass and Draco Malfoy, for the best game of chess Hogwarts has ever seen, 50 points each! And Sylas Ashford, for his outstanding courage and fearlessness, 60 points!"

The snake table erupted in loud cheers. They had won the House Cup for the seventh year in a row! The four Slytherins got all the recognition from their fellow members. 

Dumbledore clapped his hands and the crests turned green and silver with a snake on them. They only received sparse applause from all the other tables, because no one really wanted the Slytherins to win the House Cup again.

Everyone from Slytherin patted the four heroes on the back. They enjoyed not only the fame, but also the misery of the other houses. The Gryffindors in particular sat dejectedly at their tables - in no mood to celebrate.

The feast was served and everyone eagerly participated.

Only Sylas hesitatded, because all these events left him with an uneasy feeling.

 

~~~

 

The reports came quicker than Sylas expected and to his surprise he even passed with very solid grades. Oliver just shook his head in disappointment, but he was satisfied. He could have done better in Potions, but the smells had made it difficult for him to concentrate because of the throbbing headache. He had also mixed up a few things in Herbology.

Even Crabbe and Goyle, who were really as stupid as a troll, had somehow managed to pass. Theo and Daphne were also very pleased with their performance, but as for Draco ... Draco had only come second in their year. Hermione Granger, of all people, had done better than him. Sylas didn’t even want to know what his father would say about it.

A mudblood performed better than a pureblood. 

For sure a Disgrace for the Malfoy family. 

And suddenly their cupboards were empty, their suitcases packed and all the pets collected again. All the students were also given a note warning them not to do magic during the holidays. Sylas crumpled up the note in disappointment. How he would have liked to have given the others in the home a dressing down.

Oliver just laughed at him. In his opinion it should have been obvious for Sylas, that minors were not allowed to do magic. Sylas' middlefinger was the only thing he said to that. 

Hagrid was ready to lead them down to the fleet of boats that took them across the lake; they boarded the Hogwarts Express; the land gradually turned greener as they chatted and talked about what they would do for the holidays; they ate Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and watched Muggle towns go by; they took off their wizarding robes and put on jackets and coats; and then they pulled into King's Cross Station on platform Nine and Three Quarters .

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard stood at the ticket barrier and let them through the gate two or three at a time, so that they didn't all come tumbling out of a solid wall at once and frighten the Muggles.

"You all have to send me an owl. Otherwise I'll start to feel like I've only been dreaming this year," Sylas grumbled. The thought of having to spend the next few weeks back in that filthy orphanage made him depressed. No magic, no one to talk to. Just pure hatred, violence and depression. 

"Don't worry, we won't forget you. Otherwise you'll just rot away out there in the country," laughed Daphne.

They approached the gate to the Muggle world with a lot of pushing and shoving. Some of the other students shouted:

"Bye, Sylas!"

"See you later, Ashford!"

"Wow, you're now the most known student at Hogwarts. You're famous," grinned Theo.

Sylas just gave him a dejected look. "I could actually do gladly without that."

They went through the gate together with Draco, who was still angry at Granger. As soon as they were in the Muggle world, they noticed all the adults looking for them.

Sylas even recognized the red-haired mother and daughter he had seen at the train station in September. The girl pointed wildly at him, but her mother disabused her of that. When he saw Ron, Fred, George and Percy Weasley with them, he knew who they were.

As the platform buzzed with the chaos of students reuniting with their families, Theo and Daphne bid their farewells, spotting their parents waiting for them in the crowd. Sylas watched them go, feeling a pang of something he refused to name. He glanced down at the letter crumpled in his hand - a short, impersonal note from Mr. Ashford, along with a small sum of money.

There would be no warm welcome for him. No one waiting at the station, no guiding hand to lead him home.

"Aren't your grandparents coming?" Draco asked, his tone carefully neutral, though there was an edge to it - frustration. 

Sylas shook his head, folding the letter neatly before tucking it into his pocket. "No," he muttered. "They told me to find my own way back. That’s all I expected."

Draco looked like he wanted to say something, but before he could, a voice interrupted. 

"Ah, you must be Sylas,"

They turned to find Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy standing behind them. Draco immediately stepped forward to greet his mother, embracing her in a way that seemed oddly out of place for the usually composed boy. Sylas, however, felt a flicker of something else - relief, perhaps. It was strange seeing Cissy here, in public, alongside her husband and son. Strange, but comforting in a way he wouldn’t admit. At least she acknowledged him. At least she didn’t pretend they had no connection.

"Indeed," Sylas responded, straightening his posture. "Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy." He extended a hand, keeping his expression polite but measured. Lucius grasped it briefly, his grip firm, his pale eyes studying him with vague amusement.

"I've heard quite a bit about you," Lucius said, his tone carrying an air of something unreadable.

Sylas frowned slightly but didn’t press for clarification. Before he could dwell on it, Narcissa turned to him, drawing his attention with a knowing gaze.

"If your grandparents won't come for you, I can apparate you back.", she offered smoothly 

Of course that woman could put two and two together. No need to ask, No need to pry. In no way, she would sent the boy home without supervision on his own. Her smile was warm but faint, as if she had already expected this outcome. 

"Did you know that his family didn't teach him anything?" Draco scoffed, his tone sharp with disdain. "He didn't know the most basic concepts. A pureblood raised among Muggles. A disgrace," His lips curled slitghly, nearly spitting the last word.

Sylas shifted uncomfortably, his hand moving to scratch his neck.

Mr Malfoy hummed, arching a single pale eyebrow. "I trust you helped him settle in at Hogwarts?"

There was a brief pause before Sylas and Draco exchanged a glance, both remembering the tense and miserable early months. Neither spoke of it. Instead, after a beat, they both nodded.

Cissy exhaled, clearly growing weary of the bustling station. "Let’s go. There are far too many ... Muggles here," she murmured, her voice carrying an almost imperceptible sneer. Then she extended her arm to Sylas.. Hesitantly, he grabbed her wrist and looked at Draco. He gave him a final nod as they disappeared with a sharp crack. 

Here he was again.

In desolate Ashford, in the desolate orphanage.

And no magic all summer ...

Notes:

Alright Partypeople
First year is finally over, I hope y'all are exciting for the second year! Let me know what you think of this ff so far in the comments! Also Thank you so much for all the Kudos, Hits and Comments!
Unfortunatley my Winterbreak is over and I cannot devote all of my time into this ff anymore. So there will be more irregular updates. But I will try to post at least once a week!
See you in the next chapter!

Chapter 10

Notes:

Hello Partypeople!
2nd year is now finally starting. I hope you're just as excited as me!
Updates will be posted most likely on fridays or saturday. Enjoy the chapter and let me know in the comments, what you think so far!
Thank you for all the hits, comments and kudos!

August, 1992

"We are gathered here today to praise God and to reflect on his word," said the pastor, welcoming the Ashford community. It was a quiet, sunny Sunday and everyone had dressed up for the service. The rows were filled with people of all ages and backgrounds. Everyone had folded their hands neatly together to pray to God and to honor him on this day.

In one of the back rows sat the entire orphanage - except Michael. Mr. Ashford stopped forcing him to attend because he reeked so horrid it would have raised questions.

Every Sunday morning the children were forced to go to church, even though no one in the home even remotely believed in religion. It was just a matter of getting Mr. Ashford on the churches good side. Because every Sunday they collected small donations and he was keen on that.

"In our daily lives, we often forget how important it is to pause and be thankful. For God's grace is ever-present. So trust in him, do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus," the priest was already there when Sylas came to the orphanage.

He was in his mid-40s and very devoted to God. When Mr. Ashford spoke to him, he seemed to have changed. But only those who really knew the head of the home noticed that it was all just an act. His fake smile never reached his eyes, but it was good enough to fool the priest.

Pastor Markus was always impressed by the way Mr. Ashford ran the orphanage. He was even more pleased that he did not forbid God's words to the lost children, but took them to heart. No matter what he was told, would defend this man with his life. When Sylas first met Pastor Markus, he wanted to ask him for help, to ask him to get him out of this shithole, but the pastor just shook his head in disbelief. He belived Sylas lied and lectured him about, how bad lying in god's eyes was.

From that day on, Sylas looked at that man with different darkened eyes.

If a priest who was spreading God's word of love, trust and forgiveness refused to believe him, then no one would help him. He learned early on, that he was on his own. That no one cared for his survival, except the few new friends he made in Hogwarts. 

"Let us pray; Father in heaven, we thank you for your grace and ask for your blessing," he called from his podium. The church was not big and not particularly impressive. It was simple and only had the bare essentials - like the orphanage.

Sylas had the misfortune of sitting directly between Sebastian and Mr. Ashford. He really had to pull himself together not to lose his temper. However Sebastian took pleasure in repeatedly ramming his elbow into Sylas' ribs.

"Stop it!" Sylas hissed quietly, but the boy just laughed and hit him even harder, "For fucks sake, stop it!" But he didn't and started to pinch his side. Sylas squeaked slightly in shock and was immediately punished for it.

Mr. Ashford had grabbed his upper arm and was squealing hard. "Sylas! Stop that shit and behave yourself!" His eyes had the usual dead look in them. Sometimes he had the same gaze as professor Snape had. 

Since he came back, the head of the home has been even more sensitive towards him than usual. Even the smallest misbehavior got punished immediately. Unfortunately, the other children had noticed it as well and made it their mission to make Sylas stand even more.

He could barley sleep at night because of the constant banging on the walls and door. At some point Sylas started sleeping in his infinity suitcase, because he couldn't endure it any loner. In the trunk he could hardly hear anything what was going on outside. It was cramped and quite uncomfortable, but desperate times require desperate meassures.

And Merlin, he desperatley longed for a good nights sleep. 

"The Lord bless you and watch over you. The Lord makes his face shine upon you and give you peace. Amen," the pastor concluded his service. A unanimous "Amen" was heard and everyone fell into conversation. Mr. Ashford, who had forgotten Sylas again, focused on a hat that someone handed to the pastor.

The children of the orphanage remained seated while the church emptied more and more. Everyone knew the procedure. It took a good 20 minutes until everyone was outside and the priest came to the family.

Pastor Markus greeted the headmaster, his gaze wanderin to Sylas. "Sylas", he said in delight. "It's wonderful to see you here so regularly again. I missed you at the annual play at Christmas."

Theodore Ashford gave the boy a warning look. One word about Hogwarts and he was dead.

Sylas immediatly put a smile on his lips, looking as neat as possible. "It's really nice to be back here, Father Markus. I stayed at the academy for Christmas and celebrated with my friends there. I hope the play was a success anyway."

Every year at Christmas the church performed the birth of Jesus. The last three times Sylas played - forcefully - one of the three holy kings. He hated it like the plague.

Father Markus stroked Sylas' head and said, "It wasn't the same without you, but I'm glad you had a pleasant Christmas. Even though it was far away from your family. You can celebrate the birth of Jesus just as well with friends."

It took everything in Sylas, not to slap that god given hand away. His touch felt disgusting. 

Suddenly he could feel the disapproving glances from the other boys. They were jealous, he could get out of the play and they couldn't.

Father Markus took the hand, grabbed some money out of it and handed the headmaster around 100 pounds.

"It's not much, but you will need it more than the church. As God said, bear one another's burdens," he preached again, putting his hands together. 

Sylas always wondered if father Markus was really so blinded or if he deliberately didn't want to believe how Mr. Ashford treated the children.

With a sly grin, Theodore Ashforde gave the pastor his hand for a thanks. "Thank you very much, Father Markus. The boys and I need it all to well."

Afterwards they walked back to the home in silence. Sylas' ribs hurt like hell and he wouldn't be surprised if he discovered a huge bruise on it.

Even as they were walking back, the others kept stepping on his shoe from behind, almost causing him to lose his shoes several times. Mr. Ashford paid them no attention and just counted the bills.

He would be drunk again tonight.

As soon as they entered the home, Sylas ran into his room and immediately put a chair under the door handle. Breathing heavily, he sat down on his bed, but groaned in pain. He took off his shirt and spotted a huge bruise on his rib.

Well, that looks bad. You should punish the others for that. Oliver, who was waiting for him in a corner of the room, looked closely at the stain.

"And how?", Sylas growled quietly. "Sebastian is much stronger as me and I'm not allowed to use magic."

How much he missed Hogwarts and his friends. He had been stuck in this shithole for weeks and couldn't go anywhere. Mr. Ashford kept an eye on him like a hawk. As if he was afraid that Sylas would do something with his new knowledge.

Who said anything about magic and spells? There is a much easier, more terrible way to make them pay for it 

Sylas' head shot up, studying the ghost with a curious look. Oliver's lips curled into a sly grin. 

Nobody said that you are not allowed to make potions.

Sylas's mouth corners began to twitch upwards. Of course, making potions did not require any magic at all. No one would know, what he did. "Sometimes I'm really glad to have you in my life", he whisperes, surpressing a chuckle. 

They both grinned devilishly at each other, because both of them thought about the same potion. Until the evening Sylas stayed silently in his room, not even going to dinner.

He opened his potions book, went through the recipe again and checked whether he had enough of everything. Oliver told him the recipe was different to what he had learned, but the ingredients stayed the same. What a life to have a personal houseghost who used to be a top student.

While checking the ingredients, he remembered the first potion class all to well, when Longbottom dodged his potions. His heart pounded even harder, just thinking about, what would happen to Sebastian and Michael. 

Late at night, Sylas took his suitcase, cloak, sneaked out of the orphanage and into the nearest forest. Somewhere around there should be a fireplace, which was far away enough that no one could see him. He scurried through the small town and the forest for a while until he found it.

There was plenty of pre-cut wood next to the fireplace. How convenient. He immediately started lighting it with newspaper, blowing hard on it every now and then. With heavy breathes he pulled out the kettle filled with water from his suitcase and placed it in the middle of the fire. The grin on his face just couldnt be wiped off, no matter how hard he tried. Finally, he took out the dried nettle, the ground snake teeth, braised whelks, porcupine quills and a duck feather.

Oliver hurtled just above the kettle keeping the water in check. The water must not boil, it must simply simmer.

He had everything under control. Never would he allow Sylas to make a single mistake. Because it was in his favour as well to see the stupid appendage in pain.

Add the nettles and let it simmer for a few minutes so that the essence can develop better.

Then slowly add the powder from the snake fangs and turn it clockwise three times

He deviated slightly from the recipe, but Sylas trusted him.

Add the snails with their shells to the mixture and bring to the boil briefly.

It is important to now remove the kettle from the heat, let it cool down briefly and then add the spikes, then stir three more times anti-clockwise.

Sylas carried out all the steps with great precision. He knew the actual recipe for the healing potion by heart. Their goal, howeever, was to create the exact opposite. When the liquid had cooled down enough, the Slytherin took a two vials out of his trunk and began to fill everything with a ladle.

Finally some satisfaction run through Sylas' Bones again. It felt good to be a little closer to the wizarding world. He hadn't heard from Daphne, Theo or Draco for weeks. He had sent Hedwig a letter every now and then, but there was never a reply.

He wondered, if he had done something to upset them. Day in, day out his mind always hung upon his friends, on what he possible could have done, to scare them away, but nothing came to his mind. After all, they had promised him that they wouldn't let him down.

His desperation and longing for Hogwarts and magic got to a point, that he even would be happy to walk past Hermione Granger in the muggleworld. Just so he had prouve, he really had experienced the last year. 

Sylas, slightly dejected, packed everything back up and wiped away all traces he had left behind. But then he suddenly heard a rustling in the forest. His head shot up in that direction, eyes squeezed to make any shape more visible. But he could hardly see anything at all in the darkness. His ears pricked up, maybe he could hear it again, but nothing - dead silence. 

Maybe just a wild animal

If it wasn't for Oliver, Sylas was sure, he would have already gone berserk and cursed the whole orphanage. The ghost - Sylas would never say that to him - gave him great company and calmed him down at night. His nightmares came back at full force after the incident with Voldemort. After waking up, drenched in swept, his head always throbbed, making it impossible to fall back asleep. Oliver made it a little easier for him with his cooling hands.

Voldemort's pale face and his wide, mad eyes haunted him in almost all of his dreams. His shrieking voice still echoed through his ears to this days. Sometimes he wondered where the dark lord was hiding and what his next plans were.

Oliver stayed en guard and looked around, while Sylas continued packing.

Sylas sat on a stem,  waiting for the cauldron to cool down. It was the last thing he needed to pack and he grew more and more impatient.

Suddenly something popped up in front of the boy. A house elf, looking at him uncertainly. He had to pull himself together incredibly hard not to scream out loud, because of the shock.

The house-elf looked at him with huge eyes, blinked and the next moment it suddenly vanished. Sylas blinked several times, not sure if he imagined the last few seconds.

"What the hell?", his voice just above a whisper. He looked over to Oliver to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. The ghost shot him a glance just as confused.

Looks like you have house elves as admirers now.

Without saying a word and confused as fuck, he packed up the cauldron and they scurried back to the orphanage. He quietly opened the door under his invisibility cloak and hushed up the stairs. The vials were ready in his hands to be finally used. In his room, he had to brace up again to stop himself from laughing out loud. Oh, the satisfaction he was about to feel through his vains. 

Merlin, when was the last time he had felt so good?

Still wearing his cloak, he crept into the room with the two eldest. The adrenaline was clearly palpable and his heart was pounding with anticipation. Oliver had explained to him that the boils form over time and do not appear immediately. In a day or two at the latest, they would be able to enjoy the theater of pain.

With a creak Sylas opened the door to their room. It had two bunk beds on each side, with one of the beds left empty. Sebastian and Michael slept on the bottom ones and neither had blankets. They were carelessly thrown on the floor, as it was quite hot. Sylas's mouth began to twitch wildly upwards as he opened the vials and slowly sprinkled them over their bodies.

He made sure to pure the whole content of the vial over them, before hurrying back into his own room. Silently he opened his suitcase, stepped inside and just couldn't hold back any longer. 

It started quietly with a giggle, which gradually grew into a loud, devilish laugh.

"I may be small, weak and not off age! But you mudbloods are no match for magical potions!" he said to himself grinning ear to ear. 

His whole body began to tremble with satisfaction. What would he be able to do once he was of legal age? The possibilties were endless and the world was at the palm of his hand!

 

~~~

 

Sylas was weeding the garden when he heard the howling and screaming from the elders. The potion showed its full potential. He had to concentrate hard not to look too gloating. Otherwise Mr. Ashford might suspect that he had something to do with it. Although he wasn't sure how much the Squib knew about the magical world.

The angry voice of the head of home could be heard and the next moment the front door was slammed open. Sylas looked over at them without emotion and he couldn't have imagined a more beautiful sight.

Sebastian and Michael had boils everywhere. Their faces were covered, their arms, their legs. The treatment for it, would be pretty painful. Above all, it would be expensive, which the head of home definitely won't like.

The two eldest were close to tears. Sylas had to turn away again, he almost started laughing. With a hand covering his mouth, he concentrated on the garden again and for the first time, he took care of it with great joy.

It was only shortly before dinner that he finally finished and went to take a quick shower. Mr. Ashford only allowed one 10-minute shower every two days. Otherwise the water bill would be too high.

Freshly showered, he sat down at the table that was being set by the two youngest. Neither of them said a word, which suggested that each wanted to protect themselves from Mr. Ashford. When the man was angry, it didn't matter what was going on. He would find something to make you look like a snail. On this day in particular, everyone walked on eggshells around him.

Sebastian and Michael did not show up for dinner. Mr. Ashford had quarantined them until all their boils had disappeared. While they were eating their bread and cheese, he threatened them all to wash thoroughly and regularly. Otherwise, he would make sure they paid attention to their hygiene.

Being washed by Mr. Ashford was the last thing anyone present wanted.

Just before they were all sent to their rooms, Mr. Ashford ordered Sylas to come to his office at around 10 p.m. For a moment, his heart sank. He must have figured it out somehow. But in his room, it occurred to him that it was most likely the shopping list for Hogwarts. Satisfied, he lay down in bed and waited until it was time.

He knocked on his office door and went in. Mr. Ashford was sitting at his desk with another glass of whiskey in front of him. The room smelled disgustingly of cigarettes. A horrible foreboding occured to him. 

"Sit down," Mr Ashford grumbled, pointing to the chair in front of the table. Hesitantly, Sylas took a seat. In the last few weeks he had to keep the head of home a tade to much company.   

The headmaster took another glass out of his drawer and filled it with whiskey. Slowly, he pushed it towards the boy.

Since Sylas returned, he had to come to his office irregularly. He always pushed a glass of whiskey towards him, forcing him to drink it. While Mr. Ashford downed a bottle Whiskey by himself, Sylas had to answer all of his questions regarding Hogwarts. 

He asked about his friends, where they came from and what he experienced with them. What kind off subject they were taught and who the professors were.

At first Sylas wasn't sure what all this was about. But at some point he realized that Mr. Ashford wanted to 'experience' it in some sort of way. And he did that through Sylas, who told him everything about his school years.

When Mr Ashford was drunk, he often babbled about his family. Apparently he came from one of the 28 sacred families. He never mentioned his family name, but everyone in it used to be in Slytherin. Which explained why Sylas had to describe in exact detail, what the common rooms and the dormitories looked like.

Mr. Ashford talked about his older brother, but he had no contact with him because of his lack of magical abilities. His brother was a loyal follower of Voldemort. Mr Ashford repeatedly mentioned that his brother saw him as a complete disappointment and that he did not acknowledge him. Apparently his older brother even tried to kill him off - obviously unsuccessful. 

At such moments Sylas felt sorry for him. He was just a lonely man who needed someone to talk to, about a world, no one is supposed to know about. Nevertheless it still did not gave that man the right, to take his frustration and anger out on children. 

Mr Ashford searched his through his drawer. "How did you do that?" he suddelny asked, pulling out a lighter for his cigarette. Sylas raised an eyebrow, not sure what he meant.

The head of home inhaled the smoke of his cigarette deeply. "The boils on Sebastian and Michael. Minors are not allowed to do magic. You didn't use the boil curse."

Sylas' heart was beating so loudly anyone could have heard it. He looked at his head of home in shock. 

The old man raised an eyebrow. "You don't seriously think I wouldn't notice, do you? My own brother cursed me with boils so often. I know what it looks like," he grumbled and took a drag on his cigarette.

His empty blue eyes pierced through him. Sylas held his breath in shock and couldn't say a word. That was it, he thought. Suddenly the head of the home grabbed him by the hair and pulled him closer to his face.

"I asked you something, little bastard!" he hissed dangerously. Sylas' gaze only fixated on the cigarette; scared his forhead would be once again scarred.

He tried to drag his head away from the pull, but Mr Ashford was muc stronger, keeping him in place. "Sorry, I'm already talking!" he croaked and was immediately released. Mr. Ashford looked at him with a satisfied smile.

"Well then, tell me more," the old man said.

Sylas cleared his throat, taking a deep breath. His gaze remained on the cigarrette on Mr Ashfords hand.  "There ... There is a potion that can be brewed which causes boils. That's how I outsmarted the ban," he muttered.

Mr Ashford looked at him stunned, until he suddenly fell into laughter. Sylas glanced at him in irritation. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Oliver hovering over them. He seemed just as irritated as he was. When Mr. Ashford calmed down again, he nodded towards the glass.

"Come on, take a sip. You deserve it," was all he said.

Slightly hesitant, the boy took the glass and drank a few sips from it. He still didn't like the taste, but he tolerated it better if he drank in smaller portions. 

"Sir", Sylas murmured uncertaintly, "am I not ... in trouble?"

Sylas was certain, he would get a beating right away, but it didn't happen. This did not suit the behaviour of the old man at all. 

Mr Ashford snarled. "Tsk, those two parasites deserve it. Besides, Michael now at least has a good reason to shower again. His stench is unbearable. If it were up to me, I would have thrown him out long ago," he growled. His greasy black hair kept falling into his face.

For the next hour, the head of the home complained to the boy about everything that came to mind. The church was crap, the children ungrateful, the women in the brothel too ugly.

Sylas listened to this complaining in silence and drank his whiskey. This Squib was the most sorrowful thing he had ever seen. Instead of making something of his life, the old man had been mourning for decades, for a life that would never become a reality. At some point, the head of the home fell asleep at his desk.

This Squib should rather kill himself than cry to a 12-year-old Oliver looked at that man with pure disgust in his eyes. 

Sylas left without a comment and scurried back to his room. He felt a little dizzy and a headache was coming in. The smell of tobacco bothered him, making his head throb even worse. First he stopped for a quick bathroom round. After a few minutes of standing infront of the toilet bowl, the alcohol and everything he had eaten that day came back up.

Exhausted, he lay down in bed. Everything was spinning as if he were on a rollercoaster. Then he felt Oliver's cold hands on his forehead and neck.

"What would I do without you?" he mumbled and dozed off.

Oliver didn't say anything, but just looked at him with slight concern.

In the middle of the night Sylas woke up by a squeaking sound. He quickly got up and looked around the room. No one could have come in. At least the chair stood still firmly under the door handle.

Suddelny in front of his bed appeared the strange house elf that he had seen in the forest. The house elf bowed so low that the tip of his long, narrow nose touched the ground. He wore nothing but an old pillowcase with holes in it.

Sylas looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Sylas... Ashford," said the house-elf in a piercing, squeaky voice, "Dobby has waited so long to meet you, sir... What an honor." Sylas looked at him open-mouthed and exchanged irritated glances with Oliver.

"Who are you?"

"Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby, the house-elf," he said with a slight smile

"I'm sorry, but I wasn't expecting a house elf in the middle of the night. What are you doing here?" Sylas asked. His head still pounding and his stomach twisting around, ready to throw up again.

Dobby hung his head slightly down. "Sir, Dobby is here to tell you... It's difficult, sir... Dobby doesn't know where to start..."

"Then sit down first," Sylas offered unsuspectingly and made room on his bed. Suddenly the house elf burst into tears - very loud tears.

"Sit down?! Never... ever..." he moaned loudly.

Sylas panicked about waking the others in the house. How was he supposed to cover up a house elf?!

"No wizard has ever asked Dobby to sit down," sobbed the elf. Immediately Sylas hissed "shhh " and tried to look at Dobby comfortingly and point invitingly to the bed.

Finally he sat down, like a big ugly doll with a hiccup. Dobby collected himself and just stared at the boy with an expression of admiration in his big watery eyes.

"You have to be a little quieter, the whole house is asleep," he whispered to him. But suddenly Dobby jumped up again and started banging his head furiously against the wall.

"What the hell are you doing?!" he hissed and grabbed him by his clothes to drag him away.

"Dobby had to punish himself, sir," said the elf, squinting slightly. "Dobby almost spoke badly of his family, sir..."

"Your family?", Sylas frowned. 

"The wizarding family that Dobby serves, sir... Dobby is a house-elf, he must always and forever stay in one house and serve one family..."

"Does your family know you're here?" Sylas asked curiously. He remembered Popsy, who always brought him letters.

"No, sir, no... Dobby will have to punish himself terribly for coming to you, sir. Dobby will have to stick his ears in the stove flap for it. If the family ever finds out, sir -"

"Please don't do that", Sylas instantly said. "No one will know you were here." He felt sorry for this house elf. It was in his nature to serve someone forever, but such punishments were too much. The next moment he regretted this sentence again, because Dobby began to wail loudly.

"Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but he has never heard of your goodness...! Sylas Ashford is humble and modest!" Dobby said reverently, his round eyes glowing.

Sylas did not have the heart to tell him that he certainly was not - considering recent events. Better to leave the house elf to his superstition.

"Sylas Ashford does not speak of his triumph over He Who Must Not Be Named – "

"The dark lord Voldemort?" Sylas interrupted.

Dobby immediately clapped his hands against his bat ears and groaned, "AHH, don't say the name, sir, don't say the name!"

Sometimes Sylas forgot how afraid people outside of Slytherin were merely by the name of the dark lord. 

"Sylas Ashford is bold and brave! He has faced so many dangers! But Dobby has come to protect Sylas Ashford, to warn him, even if it means putting his ears in the oven door ... Sylas Ashford must not return to Hogwarts," silence fell immediately. All that could be heard was Michael's snoring.

Oliver watched the spectacle with excitement from his corner. All this weeks he observed the boy weeding the garden, going to church and beefing with the others. Finally something more interesting happened. 

"W-What?" Sylas stammered, "but I have to go back - the school year starts on September 1st. That's the only thing I have to look forward to. You don't know what it's like here. This isn't my home. I belong to Hogwarts!"

"No, no, no," squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard that his ears flopped in his face, "Sylas Ashford must stay where he is safe. He is too kind, too good to be lost. If Sylas Ashford returns to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger!"

"What are you talking about?" he asked, puzzled.

"There's a conspiracy, sir. A conspiracy to make the most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispered Dobby, suddenly shaking all over. "Dobby has known about it for months, sir. Sylas Ashford must not put himself in danger. He's too important, sir!"

"Does You Know Who have anything to do with this?" was the only thing that came to his mind, but Dobby just shook his head.

"No, not He Who Must Not Be Named, sir," Dobby opened his eyes wide as if to give him a hint, but Sylas had no idea.

"No matter what it is, Dumbledore is the most powerful wizard. Nothing can happen to the school", except if Dumbledore himself lets it happen and lets children to deal with it. 

"Dobby has heard that Dumbledore's magical powers were equal to that of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, even at the height of his power. But, sir, there are magical powers that Dumbledore does not have... powers that no decent wizard has..." suddenly the house elf lunged at his desk lamp and smashed it around his head with a deafening howl.

Loud hammering against the wall from the room next to them, could be heard. "Shit, be quiet! People want to sleep here!" they heard Michael's voice.

Sylas immediately shot up, to take the lamp away from him.

"Stop that!" he growled at him. At which he got a glance of Dobbys big, round, sorrowful eyes. Sylas exhaled annoyed through his nose. 

"This is not my home. This is not my family. I have to go back to Hogwarts, that's where my friends are", he tried to explain it again. 

"Friends who don't even write to Sylas Ashford? " said Dobby slyly.

Sylas looked at him with a raised eyebrow, "How do you know my friends haven't written to me?"

Dobby shuffled his feet on the floor and muttered, "Sylas Ashford mustn't be angry with Dobby – Dobby only meant well –"

"Have you intercepted my letters?"

"Dobby's got them here, sir," said the elf. He immediately moved out of Sylas' reach and pulled a thick bundle of envelopes from his pillowcase. Sylas could see the neat handwriting of Daphne, Theo, and Draco, and the scrawled handwriting of the gamekeeper Hagrid. Even his own was among them!

Dobby blinked anxiously at Sylas, "Sylas Ashford must not be angry... Dobby was hoping... if Sylas Ashford thought his friends had forgotten him... then Sylas Ashford might not want to go back to school, sir..."

The boy had to breathe in and out deeply several times, not just because he was angry, but because the alcohol was making him sick. For several minutes, all that could be heard was Sylas breathing, and the more time passed, the more anxious the house elf became. Looking nervously at him. 

"Sir, Sylas Ashford, ... Sir?" he asked cautiously

Sylas eyes met the big round eyes of Dobbys. "If I promise not to go to Hogwarts, Will I get the letters back?" he asked as emotionless as possible.

Dobby looked at him with sparkling eyes, "Of course, sir! Dobby will give all the letters back to Sylas Ashford!" He felt a little sorry for lying to the house elf, but he would only cause further inconvenience.

"Very well, then I won't go back," - lie.

Dobby smiled broadly at him, handing out the letters.

"Dobby knew that Sylas Ashford would understand him. Sylas Ashford is truly an intelligent wizard! Dobby must return now before his family finds out about his absence," Dobby bowed once more with the tip of his nose to the ground and vanished in the next moment.

Tricking a poor naive house-elf like that, how mean!

Sylas glared at the ghost. He felt sorry for Dobby, but he had been waiting for these letters for weeks. If he had said anything else, the house-elf would have taken the letters and intercepted more.

As soon as he felt better, he would answer all of his friends.

 

~~~

 

Early the next morning, Narcissa Malfoy hurried through the orphanage with firm steps. Without knocking on Theodore Ashford's office, she entered it and instantly wrinkled her nose. This room reeked of alcohol and tobaco. 

Theodore still sleeping safe and soundly on his desk, got fiercly woken up by her. Narcissa slammed her hands on the table so loudly, the Squib nearly fell off his stool. With her wrath should not be messed with. 

"Theodore Ashford, woe betide you if you don't tell me where the boy is right now," she hissed at him. The smell of alcohol emanating from the man was unmistakable. She noticed the two glasses on his table.

Theodore rubbed his hands, fighting the harsh light from his office. "What the hell are you doing here so early in the morning?" he growled at her. His head pounded like crazy.

"Where is the boy? Where is Sylas Ashford?" she growled at him once more. Her angry look brooked no further arguments.

The old man glancing at her angrily. "In his room, like always. Why are you bitching at me like that?" he growled, straightening his clothes.

"Because my son is worried, none of his letters have been answered and mine haven't come through either. Woe betide you if you have anything to do with it!" she hissed at him. "And for the love of god, take a shower. You reek disgustingly of alcohol and cigarettes!"

She turned on her heel and scurried with loud steps to Sylas room. When she knocked, no answer came back. No noise to be heard and no one opened the door, so she knocked harder and more firmly. 

Then finally she heard a grumbling and quiet noises. The chair was moved away and a crack was opened. She looked into the boy's pale and starveling face. 

The bags under his eyes were much to noticeable and his cheekbones have sunken in. That boy desperatly needed three meals a day and some proper clothing. He stood there with unfitted clothes and holes everywhere. 

"Cissy?" he asked wearily and let her in. Narcissa looked the boy up and down. She immediately noticed the smell of alcohol and cigarettes. She could already guess where it came from.

Sylas sat back down on his bed, his eyes closed already half asleep again. Narcissa Malfoy hovered right in front of him and put her hands on his too skinny knees. Gently she stroked her thumbs over them

"Sylas, my boy. You haven't answered any of our letters. We've started to worry," she said gently searching for the eye contact with him 

"I'm sorry", he mumbled, "I don't know what was going on either. I sent letters as well, but apparently mine didn't arrive either."

Cissy sighed, "Okay, come on. I won't leave you here, when I can't contact you. Pack your things, I'll let Theodore know." Sylas nodded and sleepily began to get his things out.

Narcissa, meanwhile, went back to Theodore's office. She caught him in the middle of enjoying another glass. Her sharp gaze piercing through him. 

"Woe to you if you force Sylas to drink and smoke," she threatened him. 

Theodore Ashford couldn't keep the corner of his mouth from twitching. "The boy will take up smoking and drinking himself at some point. It's better if he can handle it early on."

Narcissa came dangerously close to him. "I'm telling you, you better treat the boy well",  she paused for second, to make her point get across. "I'm taking him to my estate for the rest of this summer. Just as a precautionary measure."

Mr. Ashford snarled at her. "I don't give a damn if he's here or not," he growled, emphasizing every word.

They stared at each other, exchanging mad looks for a few minutes until she turmed on her heel and left his office annoyed. Sylas was already standing at the door with his suitcase ready. He was still wearing his pajamas and almost seemed to fall asleep while standing. Gently, she stroked his head and motioned for him to go outside.

A few meters away from the orphanage, they apparated into Malfoy Manor.

Chapter 11

Notes:

Hello!
Thank you once again for all the Kudos, hits, comments and subsrciptions! I really like reading your comments and I am just as excited as you are, when I upload the new chapter! c:
Have fun reading this chapter and stay tuned for the next one!

The morning sun shone through the large windows of Malfoy Manor. The delicate scent of fresh lineens and polished wood lingered in the air. Beyond the heavy wooden door, the hushed movements of servants echoed faintly down the corridor as they went about their morning tasks. The distant clicking of silverware and muted voices barley disturbed the tranquility of the room.   

Sylas turned over once more in the large four-poster bed, stretched his whole body and buried himself deeper into the covers. He had never felt anything like this before - every inch of the bed was pure comfort. Not even the dormitory beds at Hogwarts could compare, and those had already been the best he'd ever known. Compared to the stiff, creaky cots at the orphanage, this was pure heaven.

His gaze wandered sleepily across the vast expanse of the bedroom. It was easily twice the size of a Hogwarts dormitory and held more furniture than the entirety of his old orphanage bedroom. An elegant seating area by the fireplace featured plush, green-upholstered sofas, positioned neatly around a polished oak coffee table. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, filled with neatly arranged volumes, though a quick glance had revealed nothing particularly interesting - just the kind of dry, upper-class literature the Malfoys likely kept for show. A slight disappointment.

Since experiencing this luxury, Sylas couldn't believe, that Draco had never complained about the dormitories, when he had this at home. 

But the bathroom - Merlin, his own bathroom - was another story. A week had already passed since Narcissa Malfoy had brought him here, and the very first thing she had ordered was for him to shower and change.

The first shower had lastet a solid thirty minutes, the steam billowing around him as he let the water pound against his skin, washing away layers of grime and exhaustions. It was nothing like the lukewarm, often freezing water at the orphanage. For the first time in weeks he felt truly clean. As if even the silth of the past had been scrubbed away along the dirt under his nails. 

When he had finally stepped out of the bathroom, his skin slightly pink from the heat, fresh clothes had been laid neatly on his bed. He had approached them cautiously, fingertips running over the fabric. A pair of finely tailored black trousers, a crisp white undershirt, and a soft green tank top - Slytherin-coded, undoubtedly. He hadn't worn anything this nice before. He hadn’t known how good proper clothes could feel.

When he finished dressing, a knocked echoed through his room. 

"Come in"

Cissy hushed inside, a brush in one of her hands. Without a word, she had gestured for him to sit, and before he even had time to process it, she was combing his hair with gentle, practiced strokes.

At first, he had been too stunned to say anything. No one had ever brushed his hair before.

She had tried, of course, to convince him to cut it, but he had refused. He had grown attached to his long hair - it was something he had control over. Eventually, a compromise was reached: she would pull the top hair back, but he would keep enough of the front strands loose to cover his left forehead. It was an unspoken agreement. She didn’t push.

And every morning since, she had done this. Sat behind him, fingers threading through his dark strands with careful precision, combing, gathering, securing. At first, he had wondered why she didn’t simply use magic. It would be faster. More efficient. But as the days passed, he began to understand. Magic was distant. This was intimate.

This was safe.

He was safe.

Oliver had started teasing him about it, calling him a Mommy’s boy, but Sylas couldn’t find it in himself to care. He liked it when she brushed his hair. It was grounding, comforting in a way he hadn’t known he needed.

That morning was no different. He sat in front of her, relaxed, nearly drowsy from the rhythmic tug of the brush through his hair.

"Lucius wants to go buy the books with you and Draco today. You leave right after breakfast," she informed him, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sylas hummed in acknowledgment, eyes still closed.

She continued working in silence, twisting a small section of his hair, securing it with a subtle silver clip. Then, just as she was about to pull away, he spoke almost hesitant. "Thank you for bringing me here, Cissy," he murmured quietly.

The stroke of the brush slowed. For a moment, she didn't answer. Then, gently, she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Of course," she said, her voice warm, steady.  "And I'll talk to Theodore. The way he treats you is beneath you."

Sylas let out a breath of amusement, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Thank you."

She squeezed his shoulder once, then rose gracefully to her feet. "Come on," she said, smoothing her robes. "Breakfast is waiting."

Sylas opened his eyes, staring briefly at his reflection in the tall mirror across the room. His hair, now neatly styled, still allowed for those few strands to fall over his forehead - just the way he liked it. He looked ... different. Not unrecognizable. Just different.

Like someone who belonged here. 

With one last glance at the sunlight streaming through the windows, he stood up, stretching his arms over his head before following her out.

They both went downstairs together and were met by Draco and Mr. Malfoy, who were talking eagerly about Quidditch.

"The Slytherin team would definitely like new brooms. Then they can get even more of a slap on Gryffindor," Draco said, grinning. He took a bite of his toast.

Sylas sat down next to his friend, his eyes wandering over the breakfast table. It wasn't as huge as in Hogwarts, but it still provided a variety of food. From toast, to beans, to cereal. Everything was avaiable.

Cissy took her seat opposite from Draco, while Mr. Malfoy sat at the head of the table. Just like the head of Malfoy was supposed to. 

While talking to Draco, he had the Daily Prophet in his hands. "Hm, that would certainly help us getting you on the team. I can arrange that. But you have to make sure your grades get better," Mr. Malfoy muttered and shot him a warning look.

Sylas could imagine that Mr. Malfoy felt furious, that particularly a Muggleborn had better grades than his pureblooded son - the heir of one of the wealthiest wizarding families.

Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I'm telling you, the teachers have their favorites and that Hermione Granger - !"

His father voice echoed through the room with a sharp tone, "Enough, Draco."

Sylas remained quiet and continued eating his cereal. He was amazed, how their family worked, what their views and opinions were. Even though he felt bad for his friends. His parents put all their expectations on him. Weighing down on him heavily. He could see the pressure on Draco too clearly.  

The Malfoys were proud of their heritage, which reflected clearly in their property. Their mansion was huge, with an incredible number of rooms, high ceilings, and several bathrooms. Something Sylas could only have thought of in his wildest dreams. Everything not only looked incredibly expensive, but even the scent of the mansion spoke volumes. 

When he arrived, Draco immediately gave him a tour of the entire house. He showed him many different rooms and explained every picture they passed. Everyone who had Malfoy blood in them looked alike. They all had ash-blonde hair and cool gray eyes.

When Draco showed him the garden, he noticed that there were no houses anywhere in sight. Several hectares of land full of woods and other animal life. Apparently they had chased all Muggles away from the area hundrets of years ago, so that they could have peace and quiet.

Draco also explained that any visitors could only come in with permission. The iron gate in front of the long driveway ensured this. They couldn't apparate in or out of the property - not even the Malfoys themselves. 

However, the heir was not allowed to show the cellar because it contained secret dark artifacts that could bring Lucius Malfoy into disrepute. Sylas became curious about what could be done with these forbidden artifacts ... Pity that he wasn't allowed to take a glance of it. 

Mr Malfoy emptied his coffe and put down the newspaper. "Well, well, well, my boys, put on your robes. The books won't buy themselves,"  he said, when they had finished breakfast.

The staff quickly began clearing the table and two of them brought the boys their robes, which they threw over. They gathered in the same room in front of a fireplace. Mr. Malfoy took an expensive looking vase from the mantelpiece and said, "Guests first, after you, Sylas." He gave him a mischievous smile.

Sylas just looked into the vase, which contained weird looking powder. He frowned and glanced back and forth between the two Malfoys. He had no idea what the fuck  he was supposed to be doing right now. 

A minute passed, until it clicked for Draco. "Ah, that's right, you have no idea how Floo powder works," the heir said.

Mr. Malfoy was instantly taken aback and raised an eyebrow. "Never? How did you get to Diagon Alley the last time?"

Sylas scratched his neck nervously and mumbled, "By subway."

Mr. Malfoy pulled a disgusted face at the Muggle invention. "Ah... Muggles have an... interesting way of getting around," he said, not trying to sound offensive. "Floo powder is a lot faster, and you don't need a... public subway. Draco, show him how. We have to go to Knockturn Alley first."

Draco took a pinch of the powder and stepped in front of the fireplace. The fire flickered only weakly, but when he threw the powder in, it shot out loudly over everything and turned emerald green. Without hesitation, he stepped into the middle of the fire, shouted "Knockturn Alley" and disappeared.

Sylas' eyes widened. He had never seen anything like it!

Mr. Malfoy noticed his surprise and grinned mischievously. He offered him the powder a second time, "Well then, make sure you get out at the right grate. Don't worry, Draco will be waiting for you."

Hesitantly, Sylas took a pinch in his hand and threw it into the fire.

"Don't breathe in the soot," Mr. Malfoy warned him, but it was too late. As soon as Sylas stood in the fire, he breathed it in and a mumbled Knockturn Alley came out. Suddenly he was sucked in as if into a drainpipe. Everything spun around him and a deafening roar echoed in his head. Something hard hit his elbow, which he now held tightly to himself. He almost threw up his entire breakfast.

Just when he thought he was going to throw it all up, he landed on a hard, cold stone floor. Dizzy and scratched, covered in soot, he picked himself up and looked around. Cissy would certainly not be happy if he came back with such dirty clothes.

He was all alone and had no idea where he was. After all, he was in some dingy, dark magic shop that didn't seem quite kosher to him. Everything in here would definitely not be on a Hogwarts shopping list.

A glass display case contained a weathered hand on a pillow, a blood-splattered pack of playing cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil masks stared down at him from the walls and the remains of human bones lay on the counter. Outside he spotted a sign that said Knockturn Alley. At least he had landed in the right area. Now all he had to do was find the Malfoys.

His whole body still hurt from the impact. He had never heard of Knockturn Alley before, and based on the items sold in this shop, it seemed to be a rather seedy alley that he shouldn't be seen in. Sylas scurried quietly to the door so the shop owner wouldn't hear him, but as soon as he took a step outside, he ran into Draco.

"You must have chosen the wrong fireplace," laughed Draco. For which he received a nasty look.

"Come on, I have something to do in this shop. Don't wander around here alone, Sylas," Mr. Malfoy warned him and was the first to enter the shop. His gaze wandered over all the goods and rang the bell on the counter before he turned to the two boys.

"Don't touch anything, boys"

Draco pulled back his hand, which he had just reached for a glass eye, and replied, "I thought you wanted to gift me something."

"I said, I would buy you a racing broom," replied Mr. Malfoy, drumming his fingers impatiently on the counter.

Draco nudged Sylas with his elbow and said, "You must want a racing broom too, right? You would definitely make an incredible Quidditch player."

Sylas looked surprised for a moment, then quickly shook his head. "I'll leave that up to you. I'm not really so fixated on Quidditch that I want to play on the team right away." He got a shocked look from his friend.

"You don't want to join the team? But you have the talent," Draco said, looking at some skulls on the shelves. Sylas didn't really know what to say. He did have an urge to join the team, but he knew it wouldn't do him any good.

"Not everyone enjoys the attention that comes with Quidditch, Draco," said Mr. Malfoy, growing increasingly impatient. But, then, finally, a hunched man emerged from behind the counter, brushing greasy strands of hair from his face.

"Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," said the man in a voice as oily as his hair, "An honor, and he has brought young Mr. Malfoy and the honorable Mr. Ashford with him too... how lovely. What can I do for you? I really must show you something, just in today and very reasonably priced -"

Sylas was surprised that this man knew his name. Somehow this didn't sit right with him.

"I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, I'm selling,"  Mr. Malfoy said.

"Sell...?" The smile on Mr. Borgin's face faded.

"You must certainly heard that the Ministry is carrying out more frequent house searches," said Mr. Malfoy, pulling a roll of parchment from his pocket and unrolling it for Mr. Borgin. "I have some... items at home that could put me in an embarrassing position if the Ministry people came..." Mr. Borgin clipped a monocle onto his nose and leaned over the list.

While Draco looked at everything on the shelves, Sylas listened to the conversation.

"The Ministry would not presume to disturb you, sir?"

Mr Malfoy pulled a face slightly. "No one has visited me yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, but the Ministry is becoming more and more impertinent. There are rumours of a new Muggle Protection Act - no doubt that that flea-bitten Muggle friend Arthur Weasley is behind it and as you can see, some of these poisons could give the impression -"

"I understand perfectly, sir, of course," said Mr Borgin. "Let's see..."

"I'm in a bit of a hurry, Borgin, I have important business to attend to today -" Mr. Malfoy said impatiently and they began to negotiate. Draco kept nudging Sylas to show him things he had discovered.

"Hey, Draco," Sylas muttered, nudging him back with his ellbow. "How does the shopkeeper know my name?"

He looked at him in surprise, "Haven't you read the Daily Prophet?"

"My family doesn't read the Daily Prophet, remember?"

"Oh, right, I'm sorry", Draco murmured pausing for a second. He was searching for the right words explaining it to Sylas, which grew his suspicous even more.

"The incident that happened at Hogwarts a few months ago was made ... public. And now you are the hero of the wizarding world. Even a picture of you was published, I still wonder where they got that from," Draco explained quietly. 

Sylas face drained all it's colour. He too clearly remembered the conversation he had in the hospital wing with Dumbledore. What the fuck happened to whatever happened in the dungeons would remain a secret?

Dumbledore had lied to him and now he was known everywhere. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. How can that old geezer fail at his job again?  

" ... What did the Daily Prophet exactly say?", his voice lingered with slight angerness. His hands clenched into fists. 

Draco didn't really want to say anything, "You won't like it..."

Sylas gave him a piercing look, not letting the topic go. 

Draco sighed, crossed his arms and leaned against one of the shelfs. "The title said in large letters 'THE NEW CHOSEN ONE PREVENTS THE RETURN OF HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED' The whole article is only about you. Daphne, Theo and I are only mentioned as friends. But they put your full name and picture on the front page." 

Sylas had to let that sink in for a moment and nudged his nose. This is even more horrible then he had imagined. 

Draco glanced at him worriedly. "Daphne, Theo and I have already discussed this. It's probably all a ploy by Dumbledore to make you the next chosen one."

"Great -"

They had this discussion a few weeks ago in the hospital wing. A discussion which Sylas, was too aware about. If this kept going and he kept getting portrayed as the hero, things could turn out for the worse. 

Before they could discuss anything further, the two men had finished their business. "That's it," said Mr. Malfoy at the counter. "Come on, Draco, Sylas."

Both kept eyecontact for another second, both having an uncomfortable feeling lingering in their body, before turning to the exit.

"Have a nice day, Mr Borgin, I'll be expecting you at my country house tomorrow, where you can pick up the things," the door slammed shut and they went into Diagon Alley.

All sorts of strange characters came towards them. An old, shriveled witch held out a bowl of human fingernails. She squinted at them and grinned with her moss-green teeth.

Mr. Malfoy pulled the boy towards him. "Watch out, Sylas. There are some dubious people in Knockturn Alley that you'd better avoid."

He knocked the bowl away and the old eccentric began to scream. Her screams could be heard all the way until they reached the sunlight. It was only in the sun that Lucius Malfoy noticed how dirty the next chosen one looked. With a simple spell, the boys clothes looked as if they were fresh. Sylas quietly thanked him.

All they had on their list was a bunch of new books, most of them by a certain Gilderoy Lockhart. They made their way to Flourish & Blotts. By no means were they the only ones who wanted to go into the bookshop. When they turned the corner, they got surprised by a crowd of people standing outside the door, all trying to get in. A large banner on the first floor window told them that there was apparently a book signing for Gilderoy Lockhart's autobiography.

The crowd waiting seemed to consist almost entirely of older witches. An exhausted looking wizard stood at the door and said, "Just be quiet, please, ladies... don't push... pay attention to the books."

"Great," Draco grumbled and rolled with his eyes. "This is going to be a long day."

Just before they were about to push through the crowd, a familiar voice called out to them. 

"Draco! Sylas!", the soft voice of the Greengrass was heard.

Both boys turned to see Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott hurrying toward them. Daphne, as graceful as she usually was, nearly collided into Sylas, grabbing onto his arms as her delighted expression morphed into one of concern.

"My God, Sylas! You don't know how worried I was when you didn't answer my letters!" she scolded, her hands tightening around his arms. 

She had written a ton of concernd letters, which Sylas had read when he arrived in the Malfoy Manor. He immediatly wrote her a response, too sooth her concerned feelings. 

"I'm sorry, I don't know what went wrong," he mumbled apologetically.

Daphne huffed but seemed somewhat placated by his response. Theo, however, brought their attention back to the mob blocking their way into the store.

“We can talk about that later,” he muttered, rubbing his temple. “First, we need to deal with that.” He gestured at the horde of witches. “Because if we don’t, we’ll be here all day.”

Daphne, however, was staring at the banner with wide, sparkling eyes. “Then we can get an autograph right away!” she squealed, practically bouncing on her feet.

They boys looked at each other horrified.

“She has to be joking,” Draco muttered under his breath. But she wasn’t. She marched ahead, determined, forcing the boys to follow.

A long line wound its way to the other end of the store. There, Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. They grabbed one of the books and stole themselves  further up the line. All the witches around them kept tugging at their clothes and hair, so they would look gorgeous.

When Gilderoy Lockhart finally came into view, the Greengrass became nervous. She kept hitting one of the boys on the shoulder because she was so happy.

"We'll be able to see him soon..." she murmured over and over, giggeling to herself. None of the boys have ever seen her in such a ... state. Up until now, they didn't think she could be head over heels over such an ... arrogant prick. After all she was alyway after Dracos ass, to put him down off his high horse. 

The author sat at a table surrounded by huge portraits of himself, all winking, his dazzling white teeth flashing at the crowd. The real Lockhart wore a forget-me-not blue cloak to match his eyes; a wizard's pointed hat sat daringly at an angle on his wavy hair.

Sylas gaze went around the bookshop. Eying up the customers. "You can’t tell me they all like this guy,” he muttered in disbelief.

“Believe it or not,” Theo groaned, “they do.” His expression was pained, as if he’d been forced to endure this for far too long. “Daphne hasn’t stopped talking about him since we met up in Diagon Alley.”

Sylas snorted at the thought, but before he could response, a sudden flash of light blinded him. A small, angry-looking man was hopping around, taking pictures with a large black camera that emitted a cloud of purple smoke with each blinding flash.

"Get out of the way," he snapped at everyone, stepping back for a better shot, "I'm from the Daily Prophet -" 

Sylas stiffened. Just hearing that name made something hot and unpleasant stir in his chest. If it weren’t for the Prophet, he would have never become a public spectacle in the first place. It was people like that photographer who had ruined his anonymity.

Gilderoy Lockhart heard the little man and looked up. First his gaze landed upon Draco and Theo, until his eyes settled on Sylas. He stared at him for a second too long, making the boy uncomfortable. Sylas tried to hide behind his friends, but unfortunatley, he was unsuccessful.

Gilderoy jumped up and shouted loudly, "Is that - Sylas Ashford?"

The crowd parted and everyone fell into excited whispers. Lockhart took a big step towards the next chosen one, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him forward. The audience erupted in applause. Sylas immediately covered his face with his hand, but the photographer took so many photos from every angle that Sylas doubted, hiding his face worked at all.

Lockhart suddenly grabbed his wrist and put it down to clear his face.

"Keep smiling, Sylas," Lockhart whispered through his sparkling white teeth, "you and I together will make the front page."

Not again ...

After like a thousand photos, Lockhart finally let go of his hand; Sylas could hardly feel his fingers anymore. When he wanted to sneak back to his friends, Lockhart threw his arm around his shoulder again and held him tightly to his side.

The boy looked imploringly to Draco and Theo for help, but they could hardly do anything. All the girls and women infront of them blocked the way to him and in no way in hell, would they wanna come inbetween the women and their beloved Gilderoy Lockhart.

He didn't even need to try with Daphne. She just looked at the man with heart-shaped eyes.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Lockhart announced loudly, raising his hand for silence. "What an extraordinary moment this is for me! Just the right moment for a little announcement that I have been meaning to make for some time. When the young Sylas walked into Flourish & Blotts today , he only wanted to buy my autobiography - which I am, of course, happy to give him -", there was more applause, "- and he had no idea," Lockhart continued, shaking Sylas a little so that his cloak fell from his shoulders, "that he would soon be buying much, much more than my book Magical I. He and his classmates will get my real magical self. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pleasure and pride that I can announce that I will be taking up the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this September!"

The crowd cheered and clapped, and Sylas suddenly found himself presented with the complete works of Gilderoy Lockhart inbetween his fingers. 

A heavy stack of books was suddenly shoved into his hands. He barely caught them before they tumbled to the floor.

Dazed, he stumbled out of the spotlight and back to his friends, where Daphne immediately seized him by the shoulders.

"Sylas!" she squealed and shaked the boy through, "You just touched THE Gilderoy Lockhart! And he's going to be OUR Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I. Can't. Take. It. Anymore!"

He looked at Draco and Theo with wide, horrified eyes. They both looked at him just as disturbed.

"Daphne, I think you really should - "

"Bet you liked that, Ashford,"

Sylas could only roll his eyes at the voice, his eyes darkened. He looked towards the entrance and spotted the entire Weasley family. While Mr and Mrs Wesley paid no attention to the Slytherins, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger stared at them grimly. Shyly behind them stood a girl with exactly the same fiery red hair as the family.

Sylas glanced at the girl a moment too long until she turned bright red and turned away.

"You've become a celebrity recently," Weasleys growled at him. "You can't even go into a bookshop without being on the front page of the Daily Prophet."

Weasley suddenly felt a pinch in the side from behind, causing him to yelp briefly. "Stop that, Ginny," he hissed back.

"Come on, let's just buy the books," Granger grumbled, trying to pull him along, but he stood firm.

Sylas' neck twitched at the mention of the Daily Prophet. If it weren't for them, he would still remain anonymous. If he found the person who wrote this article, they'd be in for a treat. 

Draco pushed himself infront of Sylas, his eyes gleaming dangerously. "Oh, is someone jealous because they didn't get any free books? Can your family even afford all that?" He smirked, his voice poisoned with honey. "Or will your parents have to starve for a month so you can pay for all of that."

Theo also took a step forward and glanced at the Weasley dangerously calm. "If I were you, I would think twice about who you are going to mess with. The hero of Hogwarts is a bad idea, or do you want to turn all his admirers against you?"

Granger, who wanted to avoid a fight, talked faster, then her mind could keep up. "Hero of Hogwarts? Please," she said, crossing her arms. I wouldn’t be surprised if this whole thing was set up. He’s a Slytherin. Who’s to say he didn’t plan the whole thing for attention?”

Whenever Daphne Greengrass heard Hermione Granger's voice, her pulse would increase immeasurably. Her head snapped towards the Muggleborn so fast it was a miracle she didn't break her neck.

"With what evidence?", she hissed, her blue eyes flashing. "At least Sylas did something astonishing, unlike some know-it-all who spends all her time buried in books. Dumbledore still praises him to the skies, even though he's from Slytherin."

Granger's face turned just as red as Weasley's

That's when the Weasley snapped - dropping his books into his sister's caludron and lunging at Draco. Granger and his sister barley managed to hold him back.  

"Ron?!" hissed Mr. Weasley, who was digging his way towards them along with the twins Fred and George, "What are you doing? This is nonsense in here, let's get out."

"Fine, fine, fine - Arthur Weasley"

A arrogant voice filled the entrance of the shop. Mr. Malfoy had now also ventured into the bookstore during the commotion and placed a hand on Draco's shoulder. He looked at them with the same scornful look as his son. The other kids stayed behind the cunning man. 

"Malfoy," said Mr. Weasley, nodding coolly.

"Lots of work at the Ministry, I hear?" said Mr. Malfoy, "All these house searches... I hope they pay you overtime?" He stuck his hand into Ginny's cauldron and pulled out an old, very battered copy of Transfiguration for Beginners. "Obviously not," he said, "Goodness, what's the use of being a disgrace to the entire wizarding community if you're not even paid well for it?"

Mr. Weasley blushed, darker than Ron or Ginny. "We have very different ideas about what constitutes a disgrace to the wizarding community, Malfoy," he said.

"Definitely," Mr. Malfoy scoffed, his pale eyes gleaming across at the Grangers, who were watching, spellbound. "This is the kind of person you associate with, Weasley, and I thought your family could not sink any lower -"

There was a metallic clang as Ginny's cauldron flew through the air; Mr. Weasley had lunged at Mr. Malfoy, slamming his back against a bookshelf; dozens of bulky spellbooks slapped down on their heads.

The head of the Weasley started to throw punches at the head of the Malfoys. He even landed some of them, but he was not prepared for Lucius Malfoy to defend himself with his bare fists as well. While Mr. Malfoy was bleeding from his nose he struck a strike for the man and hit him straight in the face. Leaving a swollen eye and a crooked nose behind. 

"Grab him, Dad!" shouted Fred or George way to exciting, making incredibly loud noises in a safe distance. 

Mrs Weasley shrieked, "No, Arthur, no." The crowd backed away, knocking over more shelves.

"Gentlemen, please - please!" cried the salesman, and then, louder than all the others - "Stop it, gentlemen, stop it - "

Hagrid waded through the sea of books towards them. In no time at all he had separated Mr Weasley and Mr Malfoy.

Mr Weasley's lip was bleeding and Mr Malfoy had gotten an encyclopedia of toadstools in his eye. He was still holding Ginny's old Transfiguration book in his hand. With a malicious gleam in his eyes he threw it at her.

"Here, girl - take your book - it's all your father can offer you."

Lucius Malfoy’s cold drawl cut through the tension, dripping with disdain as he thrust A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration into Ginny Weasley’s hands.

Sylas barely registered the way Hagrid’s grip tightened on Malfoy’s cloak or how Arthur Weasley looked ready to lunge at him again. His eyes were fixed on the little Weasley.

Her fingers clenched around the book, her knuckles turning white. She looked furious, embarrassed - humiliated. Her head was bowed slightly, strands of her bright red hair falling in front of her face like a curtain, as if to shield herself from the weight of Mr Malfoy’s cruel words. But Sylas still caught the way her lower lip trembled for just a moment before she bit down on it, forcing herself to stay quiet.

Mr Malfoy freed himself from Hagrid’s grasp, straightened his cloak, and pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket. With calculated ease, he dabbed at the blood trickling from his nose, his expression utterly unimpressed.

Then, with a slight nod, he gestured for the Slytherins to leave.

As they turned away, Sylas followed the others out, but his gaze remained locked on Ginny Weasley. Even as the crowd began to close between them, even as the noise of the bookshop grew distant, he found himself watching her.

She still hadn’t moved.

A thick silence stretched between the Slytherins as they exited Flourish & Blotts. It wasn’t until they stepped onto the cobbled street that Theo leaned in closer. "Why are you staring at little Weasley like that?"

Sylas flinched, tearing his eyes away from the shop window. He didn’t turn to face Theo immediately, but he felt the weight of his friend’s scrutiny - felt the way Theo’s sharp, observant gaze had already pieced together something Sylas himself wasn’t sure of.

"I wasn’t staring," he muttered, adjusting the books in his arms.

Theo hummed thoughtfully. "Right. And I suppose I was imagining the way your head snapped back to look at her the second Malfoy started talking."

Sylas scowled but didn’t respond.

Theo was far too perceptive for his own good. Out of everyone in their group, he was the one who noticed things - subtle changes in tone, quick glances exchanged when no one else was paying attention, the way someone hesitated before speaking.

He could feel Theo still watching him, waiting for an answer.

Sylas wanted to brush it off, to say something flippant and make it seem like nothing, but his own thoughts betrayed him. "I had..." He hesitated, searching for the words, but found nothing that made sense. "She’s... Never mind."

Theo raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. "Alright." 

Sylas said nothing. He took a few steps ahead, letting himself fall in stride with Draco and Daphne - who, unsurprisingly, was still rambling on about Gilderoy Lockhart.

Sylas barely processed her words.

Even as he forced himself to focus on anything but the encounter in the bookshop, his mind continued to drift back - to a flash of red hair, to a pair of downcast brown eyes, to the way his chest had tightened ever so slightly when she bit her lip.

 

~~~

 

September, 1992

The summer holidays went by far too quickly. He had become too used to this life of luxury to give it up now. Although he was looking forward to going to Hogwarts to continue learning about magic and spending time with his friends, he was also comfortable with this rich lifestyle.

Sometimes he thought about what Mr. Ashford would say when he came back to the orphanage next summer. Secretly he hoped that the Malfoys would take him back, but he doubted it.

On their last evening there was a real feast. He had never seen such noble and elegant food. It was served in several courses and at some point he stopped counting the plates he had eaten. The two boys were given a final hot cup of cocoa and then it was time for bed.

Sylas, however, could hardly close his eyes. The house elf's words kept coming back to him. Something terrible is going to happen at Hogwarts. Maybe it was just a stupid lie from Dobby.

You are the next chosen one, it will never be boring Oliver lay floating in the air.

Over the last few weeks the ghost had looked closely at the manor and every evening he complained, he couldn't read the books about dark magic. His whining partly amused Sylas, but annoyed him at the same time. 

"Dumbledore gave a really perfect description of me to the newspaper. If something really happens, you can guess three times who will be dragged into it," he growled and buried his face in the soft pillow.

Look, on the bright side, it can't be Voldemort. His body won't recover anytime soon.

"Then it'll just have to substitute until the Dark Lord returns, and the Dark Lord is returning," Sylas grumbled.

If you want to get one over on Dumbledore, you can simply join Voldemort

Sylas turned around and gave him a questioning look. "Sure, because anyone can just join the most powerful and darkest wizard. I wonder if he conducts interviews to decide who becomes a Death Eater."

Sylas started to yawn, rubbing his eyes. The moonlight gleamed comfortably through the large windows, right onto his face. The stars sparkled lightly in the nightsky. 

Oliver laughed, his voice echoing through the room. You can try. After all, you are the new chosen one. You need to live up to the standards they held for the old one. 

His eyes finally felt heavy and he could barley keep them open. "Well, actually I am the old chosen one," he mumbled and dozed off.

The conversation died down and the ghost watched the boy sleep all night.

The next morning at Malfoy Manor was pure chaos. 

Every clock in the house seemed to be malfunctioning, their hands twitching erratically, each displaying a different time. The grandfather clock in the hallway showed ten past eight, the elegant golden pocket watch on Mr Malfoy's nightstand insisted it was nearly noon, and the enchanted wall clock in the drawing room was spinning so wildly that it was practically useless.

It was no surprise that Narcissa Malfoy was livid.

She had a schedule - a strict schedule - and when things didn’t go according to plan, she made sure the entire household knew about it. The house-elves scurried around in a panic, muttering frantically as they attempted to get everything back in order, but the damage was done.

"Draco! Sylas! We’re late, hurry up!" Cissy's sharp voice rang through the halls, her tone carrying the undeniable edge of frustration.

Sylas and Draco were already dressed, their trunks packed and floating behind them as they hurried downstairs. The moment they reached the main foyer, Cissy was already at the door, her foot tapping impatiently against the polished marble floor.

"How can everything be going crazy here?!" she muttered under her breath, adjusting the cuff of her dark green robe as she glanced around with a scrutinizing glare. When her icy blue gaze landed on the boys, she wasted no time. "Outside, now. We’re leaving."

Neither Sylas nor Draco dared to argue.

The iron gates loomed ahead, tall and imposing, separating the manor grounds from the outside world. Cissy held out her arms, and without hesitation, the two boys stepped closer, each grasping one of her arms.

With a sharp crack, they vanished.

They landed between platforms 9 and 10, blending seamlessly into the bustling crowd of Muggle travelers. The air smelled of warm coffee, newspapers, and distant train smoke, a stark contrast to the crisp, cool scent of the manor.

Cissy wasted no time adjusting the boys' appearances. She fussed over Draco’s collar, smoothed an invisible wrinkle from Sylas’ sleeve, and ensured their robes were in pristine condition.

"Unfortunately, I can’t stay until the train departs," she said briskly. "You don’t have much time left, so behave yourselves and study hard."

She pressed a quick kiss to Draco’s forehead before stepping back. Within a heartbeat, she had disapparated, leaving them alone in the crowded station.

Sylas instinctively glanced at the large clock overhead - only a few minutes left until eleven. "Come on, it’s almost time," he urged, grabbing Draco’s arm and pulling him toward the barrier.

Just as they approached the brick wall leading to Platform 9¾, they spotted the Weasley family rushing through one after another. Of course they were late as well.

The last to remain on the Muggle side were Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas, lingering as if they had all the time in the world. The moment their gazes met Draco's and Sylas', their pace slowed - almost deliberatley.  

Weasley looked at them in disgust. The memory of the incident in bookstore still fresh in his mind. His posture stiffened, his fingers gripping the handle of his trunk a little tighter. "Malfoy and Ashford," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to see you this year."

Sylas rolled his eyes and let out a heavy breath. "Shut up and run through the wall already. We're going to miss the train." He had no patience for this. 

"So, are you going to save Hogwarts again this year?" Dean Thomas chimed in, crossing his arms. "You Slytherins must have planned this together."

Merlin's beard, they were still on about this? Granger must have put a bug in his ear as well. He was getting fed up with it, trying his best not to snap back. They had not the time for a fight. 

Draco's hands clenched into a fist, his eyes narrowing. "At least he's saving something," he hissed, grabbing Sylas' arm and trying to run through the wall. Unfortunatley they sprinted straight into the bricks, hitting their noses hard. 

Pain exploded across Sylas' nose as he staggered backward, clutching his face. "Shit, that's going to leave a bump," he grumbled, blinking away the stars dancing in his vision. 

The Gryffindors behind them began to laugh heartily. Their laughter filling the whole trainstation, gaining the attention of the remaining muggles.

Draco however didn't pay them attention. He scowled and ran a hand along the bricks. "Something's wrong," he murmurmed. "The portal should be open. It's always open."

He got pushed away by Weasley, who seemed to want to show him with a smug grin, how it was done, but he too ran into the hard wall and couldn't get through.

A stunned silence followed.

"What the hell?", Weasley muttered, rubbing his forhead.

At that very moment, the clock struck 11 and the train left. Dobby's words echoed in his head. Something terrible was going to happen and he shouldn't go back to Hogwarts.

What if other people wanted to stop him from going back as well? 

Panic set in. 

Weasley’s face paled as he started rambling incoherently. "Mum and Dad are trapped on the other side! We’re never gonna see them again!"

"Complete nonsense," Sylas muttered, rubbing his temple.

"Great, now what? Shall we drive to Hogwarts?" Dean asked, still pressing a hand against the barrier as if it would magically open. 

That's when Weasley had the worst idea imaginable. "Of course, the car!," he exclaimed suddenly, his face lightning up. "We'll fly to Hogwarts by car!"

The two Slytherins looked at each other in disbelief. Such ideas could only come from someone who doesnt use his braincells. 

Sylas just shock his head over and over again, a dry humorless laugh escaped his lungs. "Are you crazy, a flying car?", he scoffed. "Are you aware how much attention you'll get with that? You could endanger the secrecy of wizards. Not to mention, minors aren't allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts."

Weasley bristled. "Shut up, Ashford. We're in an emergency situation. Minors are allowed to use magic!" 

Before Sylas could counter, the Gryffindors had already taken off.

Draco just shrugged while watching them hurry away. "Well then, let them get kicked out of Hogwarts", he mused. "Better for us, you didn't have to waste your energy trying to stop them," 

"And what do we do? We have no way of getting to school," Sylas frowned, watching his friend browsing through his trunk.

Draco took out a parchment and quill. "I'll send an owl to Uncle Sev . He'll be able to help us," he explained, scribbled on the paper, took his owl and sent it off.

Sylas blinked. Of course. The solution was so simple. Never in a million years, would he have thought of doing so. Typical Draco - always acting like he had everything under control.

With nothing else to do, the two Slytherin found a quiet corner of the station and set up a magical chess set. They spent the afternoon playing game after game, laughing and imagining all the ways Weasley and Thomas would crash. 

Sylas suspected, they would land in the whopping willow and wreck the flying car. Draco guessed, they would fly straight into the Gryffindor common room, causing a huge scene. 

Either way, it was going to be a disaster. 

As the hours passed, the station grew quieter. The afternoon rush faded into evening, and the platform became eerily empty. The occasional Muggle passed by, casting them strange looks as they sat against the cold stone wall, playing endless rounds of chess.

Sylas was losing every game. 

"Checkmate," Draco announced for what felt like the tenth time. His smirk deepened when Sylas groaned, knocking over his king in defeat.

"Remind me to never play this against you again," Sylas muttered, rubbing his temple.

Draco only shrugged, setting up the pieces again. "You're the one who keeps asking for rematches."

Despite the banter, an underlying tension lingered between them. Hours had passed with no sign of help. The distant street lamps flickered on, casting long shadows across the platform. If no one came soon, they’d have to sleep here for the night. The thought of curling up in their trunks wasn’t exactly appealing. Even though Sylas did sleep in his trunk from time to time in the orphanage, there he at least took his bedding inside. Right now they had nothing to lay in or keep them warm. 

Just as they were ready to pack up and figure out their next move, a familiar flap of wings caught their attention.

Draco’s owl, Zephyr, swooped down, landing gracefully on his outstretched arm. The sleek eagle owl had a letter clenched in its beak. Draco quickly untied it, unfolding the parchment with sharp, eager movements.

His eyes scanned the page. A moment later, he looked up. "Professor Snape says to meet him at the White Dragon."

Sylas raised an eyebrow. "The White Dragon? Never heard of it."

Draco smirked. "Of course you haven’t. It’s in Knockturn Alley."

Sylas frowned. That explained it - definitely not the kind of place any twelve-year-old should be wandering alone. But they had little choice.

They grabbed their suitcases and hurried toward Diagon Alley. The streets of Diagon Alley were dimly lit, the golden glow from shop windows barely spilling onto the cobblestone paths. The usually vibrant area had quieted, the crowds thinning as businesses prepared to close for the night.

When they reached the entrance to Knockturn Alley, the shift in atmosphere was immediate. The air grew damp and thick with an almost suffocating stillness. The alley was narrow, with twisting paths that led into deeper darkness. Strange, hunched figures loitered around, cloaked in tattered robes. The flickering lanterns barely illuminated their faces, and when they did, the boys wished they hadn’t looked.

Draco pulled up his hood. Sylas did the same. It was even creepier being here at night than during the day.

"This way," Draco muttered, leading them down a winding path. "My father sometimes does business here."

Sylas shot him a look. "That’s not reassuring."

They kept their heads down, weaving through the crowds. Every now and then, a suspicious pair of eyes would linger on them a second too long, and Sylas felt the weight of the stares like a chill against his spine. The alley was full of whispering voices, low murmurs exchanging secrets and shady deals. A hag with yellowed teeth cackled at them as they passed, and a hunched wizard muttered something in a language Sylas didn’t recognize.

It was an unsettling place, but at the same time curiousity arose in Sylas as they passed all the closed shops. 

They rounded several corners, navigating the labyrinth-like streets, until they finally spotted it.

The White Dragon.

The pub was almost invisible, tucked between two crumbling buildings. The only indication of its presence was a small, weathered sign hanging above the entrance, depicting a faded image of a pale dragon curled around itself. No warm lights spilled from the windows. No laughter echoed from inside. It was quiet. Too quiet.

"Great. This looks welcoming," Sylas muttered dryly.

Draco, undeterred, stepped forward and pushed open the creaking wooden door. The moment they stepped inside, the air grew thick and heavy.

There were only a few customers scattered around the tables. Some sat hunched over drinks, their faces obscured by deep hoods. Others muttered in hushed tones, occasionally glancing around as if paranoid someone might overhear them. A faint, eerie melody played from an enchanted phonograph in the corner, slow and unsettling.

Behind the bar stood an old, hunchbacked man, his long fingers tapping against the counter. His eye patch made him look even more intimidating, but it was his stare that truly unsettled them. He did not blink. Not once.

Draco and Sylas froze.

The bartender’s one good eye narrowed as he observed them. His fingers twitched, as if contemplating something. Seconds stretched. The pub's murmur quieted.

A deep, gruff voice finally broke the silence. "Kids like you got no business here."

Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

The man’s patience thinned, his grip tightening around a dirty glass. Just as he opened his mouth to demand answers -

A black figure appeared out of thin air with a sharp, resounding crack.

Snape.

The instant he materialized, the tension in the pub shifted. The customers turned away, resuming their whispered conversations as if sensing the presence of someone not to be meddled with.

Sylas felt instant relief flood his chest. He had never been so glad to see their Head of House.

Snape’s dark eyes snapped to them, his expression unreadable. His brows furrowed, and even though he said nothing, his mere presence made them stand straighter.

Then, in a voice soft but sharp as a blade, he murmured, "I expect an explanation after dinner. We're Apparating."

No arguments. No scolding.

He held out both arms. Without hesitation, they stepped forward and gripped his sleeves.

The world spun and Sylas wondered, where they were apparating to, for one could not apparate into Hogwarts. He had read it in the book Hogwarts: a history that it wasn't possible due to some spells around the place.

They landed in another pub. Unlike the White Dragon, this one was louder - but no less unsettling.

This pub was dimly lit, its wooden walls aged and stained from years of questionable activity. The customers here were a different breed of shady - rowdy, talkative, and dangerous in a completely different way. Some were drunk, others hunched over tables with cloaks pulled low, speaking in voices too hushed to hear.

Sylas glanced at Draco, who was looking around with the same unease. A quick look outside the fogged-up window revealed a sign - Boar’s Head. They were in Hogsmeade.

Snape muttered under his breath, barely audible, "Pull your hoods lower. You don’t want to be recognized here."

The boys obeyed, following close behind him as he approached the bar. Snape exchanged a few quiet words with the bartender before swiftly turning back toward them.

No explanations. No wasted time.

With a sharp motion, he ushered them outside. The walk to the castle was brisk, the cold night air biting against their skin. Snape walked fast, his black robes billowing behind him. Neither of them dared to complain, despite the fact that the quick pace was making them sweat.

The Hogwarts castle loomed ahead, its warm golden lights glowing against the dark sky.

By the time they reached the Great Hall, the sorting ceremony had already begun. Without another word, Snape opened the doors and pushed them forward. They immediatly scurried to the Slytherin table and settled down infront of Theo and Daphne. 

Snape, however, did not join them in the Great Hall.

Theo looked at them, slightly confused. "Where have you been?" he asked quietly.

A first year was sent to Ravenclaw.

Daphne shot the Gryffindors an angry look. "We kept a compartment free just for you! We had a real bad argument with the older students from Gryffindor," she grumbled.

"We couldn't get through the wall; the portal at Platform 9 and 10 closed, so we missed the train," Sylas explained quietly.

The next one joined Hufflepuff.

"Astoria Greengrass!"

Sylas looked at Daphne and then back to Astoria, completely perplexed. She had a sister? The two were as different as day and night. Astoria had straight, dark brown hair and very dark eyes. Despite their differences in appearance, they both looked just as beautiful.

Not even 10 seconds passed when she was sorted into Slytherin.

"Have I never told you about my sister?" Daphne asked, to which she was met with a shake of the head.

She suddenly went back to the previous topic. "Ah, that's not important now. What do you mean, the portal has closed?!" Meanwhile, Astoria sat down with the other first years who had been sorted into Slytherin.

Ginny Weasley was called next.

Draco just shrugged. "We don't know. We ran straight into the wall. So did Weasley and Thomas," he said. He looked out for the two Gryffindors, but couldn't spot them.

"Then how did you get here and where are the other two?" Theo asked, his eyes on the Gryffindor table. 

"Draco sent an owl to Snape to pick us up, and those two idiots used a flying car to get here," Sylas said.

"Flying car?! Are they crazy?" Theo snapped a tad to loud, earning an angry look from McGonagall. He immediatly lowered his voice. "That's typical Gryffindor behaviour. They use the first solution that comes to mind and don't even think about the consequences."

He could only shake his head in disbelief. Sometimes he really wondered, what the hell those Gryffindors do with their brains at all. 

"If they were in Slytherin, they would be expelled immediately. Snape really doesn't take this kind of things lightly," Daphne remarked, her tone firm. 

A cold ran through Sylas spine, remembering that the had to go to Snape's office afterwards. "Stop it, we have to go to his office later and explain why we didn't come by train", he murmured concerned. 

"No worries", Draco claimed, his voice relaxed as ever. "Uncle Sev certainly won't punish us. It's really not our fault. There's nothing we could have done. And compared to those bloody Gryffindors, we used the proper way to get back."

Suddenly they noticed the growing murmuring among the students. The atmosphere turned tense. Every table stared at the girl with the hat on - at Ginny Weasley.

She had been called several minutes ago and was still sitting on the chair, which was surprising - after all she was a Weasley. The hat should have put her into Gryffindor immediatly, but by the looks of it she seemed to be stuck with the hat.

"Oh, oh, a chair-clamper," muttered Penny, her voice low.

"What is a chair clamper?" Sylas asked, glancing between her and the little Weasley.

"It's someone who has been sitting in the chair for an unusually long time without getting a sorting. Either the hat can't decide between two houses or she's arguing with it, into putting her into another house," she explained.

Sylas frowned and looked back at Ginny Weasley. Why would she argue with the Hat about being put in a different house?

She obviously belonged to Gryffindor.

... 

"Slytherin!"

The entire hall fell silent. No one dared to move a muscle. 

A Weasley... a Weasley was sorted into Slytherin .

Her brothers looked at her in shock and disappointment as she walked to the table of snakes. Of course, it must have been an incredible betrayal of her to have defected to the enemy house.

Usually the table would clap and cheer when someone got sortet, but no one applauded her. She got all the eyes upon her. 

Partly out of shock, partly out of defiance.

Even the teachers seemed completely shocked by this decision. Professor McGonagall suddenly remembered her task again, cleared her throat and hesitantly called the next student.

The sorting went on smoothly after that and the feast began.

Sylas kept glancing over at the little Weasley. She was a pureblood and would obviously fit into Slytherin, but her family's general status would certainly not make life easy for her.

After all, most of the students' parents here were Death Eaters and her family represented the exact opposite.

"You're staring at her again, Sylas," Theo whispered to him.

Sylas immediately looked away from the girl and muttered, "That's not true."

His friend just looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Sylas avoided glancing at her again for the entire meal. Daphne and Draco were oblivious about the glances he threw at the little Weasley. They were too focused on discussing, what the portal could be all about.

When the first years were led to their dormitories by the prefects, Draco and Sylas exchanged a knowing glance before making their way towards Snape’s office. They had agreed beforehand - Draco would do the talking. He knew Snape better and, more importantly, could make their case sound more convincing.

The dimly lit dungeons were cold and silent as ever, but just as they neared the office, the stillness was shattered, by Snape's voice, sharp and dripping with disdain. 

" ... Muggles are adamant that they saw an old carriage fly over the post office tower ... When Mrs Hetty Bayliss in Norfolk was hanging out her washing at lunchtime... Mr Angus Fleet of Peebles told the police... Six or seven Muggles in total. I believe your father works in the Misuse of Muggle Property Department ," there was a brief silence, "My goodness... his own son..."

By the time they stepped into the office, the two Gryffindors stood stiffly in front of Snape’s desk, looking as though they were facing a dementor without a wand. Their faces were pale, eyes darting anywhere but at Snape’s figure.

Sylas and Draco moved towards the back of the room, content to observe for the moment.

Snape’s black robes billowed slightly as he paced in front of them, his presence commanding, his voice cutting through the air like a sharpened blade. Even sharper as when he collected the Slytherin beforhand. 

If only they had any brains, they wouldn't have gotten into this situation.

"As I discovered during my inspection of the park, a very valuable Whomping Willow appears to have been badly damaged," Snape continued, his eyes gleaming with barley restrained sontempt.

Draco looked at his friend surprised, and even Sylas seemed bewildered to hear that. 

Weasley swallowed hard before attempting to defend themselvs. "The t-tree has done more harm to us than we h-have to it," Weasly blurted out, his voice cracking. "It completley destroyed the car and even my w-wand has ... -"

"Quiet!" Snape snapped, both of the Gryffindors flinched hard. He let the silence linger, drawing out their suffering even more. His expression twisted into one of sheer disgust before he spoke again.

"Why ... did you not simply send an owl to your head of house like Malfoy and Ashford did? Why did you not wait at the train station for further instruction?"

Sylas heart beat faster - full of excitement. Their reaction fed his ego, their fear like a drug rushing through his vains.

He wanted them to feel even more miserable. 

Thomas scrambled for an excuse, but his voice wavered. "W-We didn't know they were planning to do that - "

Snape turned sharply to the two Slytherin, raising an expectant brow - allowing them to speak up.  

Before Draco could open his mouth, Sylas stepped forward.

"We wanted to stop them, sir," his voice calm, almost angelic in its innocence. "We warned them that the flying car was reckless. That it could be seen by Muggles. But before we even could suggest sending an owl to them, they had already sped off." 

For a split second, Draco glanced at him, caught off guard. This wasn’t the plan. But Sylas was already committed.

He needed to enjoy the despair of the Gryffindors even more.

It was like the time in the orphanage, when the two youngest blamed him for the missing money. Afterwards they got the beating anyway.

Sylas's mouth twitched slightly upwards.

Snape's lips curled ever so slitghly in what could almost be satisfaction. He turned back to the Gryffindors, his expression darkening further. 

"You were warned by two of your classmates about the risks ... and you did it anyway?", His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper, but somehow more terrifying than when he had been shouting

The Gryffindors were too afraid to say anything in their defense. Their hands trembled, their body stiff from fear. 

Snape drew in a slow breath, savoring the moment before he delviered the final blow. "Unfortunately ... you are not of my house, and the decision to expel you is not mine. I will go and fetch your Head of House - who is authorized to make the judgment. You're all waiting in here."

With that he strode out of his office, his robes billowing behind him. 

The silence left behind was thick, suffocating - but only if you were a Gryffindor.  

Weasley and Thomas stared at each other, faces as white as chalk. Across the room The Slytherins shared a quiet chuckle, low and mocking.

"This is all your fault," Weasley snapped suddenly, but the fear was all too evident in his face.

Sylas just tilted his head slightly. "Our fault?" he asked, voice dripping with false innocence. "I warned you, but you wouldn't listen."

"Just wait, you will regret that," Thomas growled. 

Draco scoffed. "Oh, will we?" He leaned in slightly, voice low and taunting. "Let's see how you plan to take revenge, when you're no longer students here."

The two fell silent, just muttering maliciously.

10 minutes later, Snape returned, accompanied by Professor McGonagall. Sylas had seen her angry several times before, but either he had forgotten how thin her lips could be, or he had never seen her so furious.

She had barely entered when she raised her wand. Thomas and Weasley flinched, but she simply pointed it at the empty fireplace, which suddenly burst into flames.

"I want an explanation," she said, her glasses gleaming ominously.

Weasley plunged into describing her the incident, starting with the barrier that wouldn't let them through.

"...so we had no choice, Professor, we couldn't catch the train."

McGonagall looked them up and down - thinking. "Why didn't you send us a letter by owl? Or wait with Malfoy and Ashford until Professor Snape responded. So you wouldn't have to resort to such foolishness?" Professor McGonagall said in a cold voice to the Gryffindors.

Weasley looked at her in dismay. "We... we didn't think..."

"That," Professor McGonagall said disappointed, "is clear to me."

There was another knock and Snape, in a good mood like never before, opened the door. In came the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore.

Draco and Sylas looked at each other as if they had just hit the jackpot. If even the headmaster got involved, then it was more than serious. They couldn't wait to get rid of the two of them.

There was a long silence, till Dumbledore raised his voice, "Please explain to me why you did this."

The disappointment in his voice was all too clear, and for a Weasley who was strongly on Dumbledore's side, that must have been the breaking point.

Weasley explained the story again, but didn't mention where they got the flying car from. Luckily for them, Dumbledore didn't want to know anything more about the car. When Weasley was finished, he just kept looking at them through his glasses. It was noticeable that the two Gryffindors were uncomfortable.

"We're going to get our things," Weasley said in a dull voice, his gaze defeated.

And, then -

"What are you talking about, Weasley?" Professor McGonagall snapped.

"You're kicking us out, aren't you?" Thomas stammered.

"Not today, Mr. Thomas," said Dumbledore. "But I must impress upon you that your actions were a grave mistake. I will write to your families this evening. I must also warn you not to do anything like this again, for I shall have no choice but to expel you from the school."

Sylas stomach twisted. That's it? 

Snape looked as if Christmas had been cancelled. The two Slytherins also looked as if Gryffindor had just won the House Cup. The headmaster came down to the dungeons basically for nothing? For telling them, that he is just disappointed?

Anger arose in Sylas' body, making his fingers twitch. His eyes gleamed lividly over the two Gryffindors. All their fear had vanished in an instant, as Dumbledore said, they were excused. 

Snape cleared his throat and said, "Professor Dumbledore, these boys have broken the regulations restricting underage magic and have seriously damaged a valuable old tree... surely such acts must..."

"It is up to Professor McGonagall to decide on the boys' punishments, Severus," said Dumbledore calmly. "They belong to her house and are therefore in her care." He turned to Professor McGonagall. "Well, it is late. One gets tired more quickly as one gets older. This old man belongs in bed... Ah, and I have something to discuss with you, Severus."

Snape gave Thomas and Weasley a look of pure hatred, then allowed Dumbledore to escort him out of his office. They were now alone with Professor McGonagall, who was still eyeing them like a hawk on the prowl.

"You go to the hospital wing, Weasley, you're bleeding."

"It's okay," said the redhead, hastily running his sleeve over the cut on his eyebrow. "Professor, I actually wanted to watch my sister put on the Sorting Hat –"

"The Selection Ceremony is over," said Professor McGonagall, pausing shortly to prepare herself before breaking the news. "Your sister has been sorted into... Slytherin ..."

Weasley looked at her in disbelief. Not a word left his mouth. 

"Believe me, Weasley," said McGonagall, "you are not the only one who is... surprised... by this arrangement. In any case, you two can expect to be given detentions." She raised her wand and two plates with sandwiches and pumpkin juice appeared on Snape's table. "You two will eat dinner here and then go straight to your rooms, and you..." Professor McGonagal now turned to the two Slytherins, "go straight back to your common room. At least two students who use their brains." She muttered the last sentence more to herself, but still loud enough for the two Gryffindors to hear, because they turned bright red.

Draco and Sylas nodded. Without furtherado they left the office back to their common room. They stepped in front of the stone wall and mumbled the password that Penny had told them before they left the Great Hall. 

When all the bricks returned to their original place, it was Draco's laughter that finally broke through Sylas' frustration. In doing so, he drew all the attention to themselves.

"Did you see Weasley's face when Dumbledore came in?" Draco cackled. 

Sylas let out a slow exhale, allowing a smirk to return to his lips. In the end, watching them in fear may had been satisfying enough.

"Or when Snape told them they were being expelled?" Sylas chuckled. There was no better way to start school than to see the Gryffindors suffer.

Daphne and Theo, sitting in a corner of the common room, waved them over. 

"Tell us, what happened" Theo grinned maliciously.

So they began to tell what had happened in Snape's office. They laughed until they cried, but got serious again to discuss how unfair it was that they had not been expelled from school. After all, they had broken countless rules.

Nevertheless, it was a good first day.

The last time Sylas felt such satisfaction, he cursed Sebastian and Michael with boils.

Chapter 12

The next day only got better. The Slytherins ate breakfast together as usual and waited for Weasley and Thomas to finally arrive. By now, their parents must have been informed about the incident and it didn't take long, till the Gryffindors got a letter from them.

The four long house tables under the magical ceiling groaned under the weight of bowls of porridge, plates of smoked herring, plates of eggs and ham, and mountains of toast.

Sylas was drinking his pumpkin juice when there was a whooshing noise over their heads and a hundred or so owls poured in. All of them had a letter or package with them, which they dropped on the students.

A large, lumpy package bounced off Longbottom's head, and a moment later something large and grey fell into Granger's mug, splashing them all with milk and feathers.

Slytherin's eyes were now completely fixed on the Gryffindor. Weasly pulled his owl Errol out of the milk and she collapsed unconscious on the table, her claws in the air and a wet red envelope in her beak.

All the color drained from Weasley's face.

Draco, Theo and Daphne grinned at each other maliciously, while Sylas looked at them in confusion.

"What's wrong, why are you looking at each other like that?" he asked quietly.

"A howler. You'll see what it does," Theo grinned.

Weasley's attention was focused on the letter, which had begun to smoke at the corners. Longbottom urged him to open the letter, as it seemed about to explode. Trembling, Weasley took the Howler from Errol's beak and opened it.

A split second later, Sylas knew why it was called the Howler. For a moment, he thought the letter had actually exploded; a deafening roar shook the huge hall and dust fell from the ceiling.

"...STEALING THE CAR - I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D KICKED YOU OUT, JUST WAIT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, OF COURSE YOU DIDN'T THINK ABOUT WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I HAD TO GO THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE..."

Mrs. Weasley's screams, a hundred times louder than usual, shook the plates and spoons on the table and echoed shrilly off the stone walls. All the heads in the hall turned, curious to see who had gotten the Howler, and Ron sank so deep into his chair that only his bright red forehead was visible.

"...LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WAS GOING TO DIE OF SHAME AFTER ALL WE HAVE DONE FOR YOU, YOU AND DEAN COULD HAVE BROKEN YOUR NECKS ..."

Sylas covered his ears so that her voice wouldn't burst his eardrums. He heard the lecture all too well and had to hold back a chuckle. The entire Slytherin table had a grin on their lips that they did not try to hide.

Only one looked worriedly at her brother.

"...AN INCREDIBLE SHAME, YOUR FATHER HAS AN INVESTIGATION COMMISSION ON HIS BACK AND IF YOU MAKE THE SMALLEST MISTAKE ONE MORE TIME WE WILL TAKE YOU HOME IMMEDIATELY."

A deathly silence spread.

The red envelope that Ron had dropped on the table flared up and shriveled into ash. Thomas and Ron sat there speechless, as if a tidal wave had passed over them. A few students laughed and gradually cheerful chatter began again.

Granger shot the two boys a disapproving look.

"Oh man, this just keeps getting better," Draco laughed.  "My father will be pleased when he hears that the Weasleys have a commission of inquiry on their hands."

But they couldn't make fun of the Gryffindors for long, because Professor Snape walked past the tables and gave everyone their timetable. First of all, they had a double Herbology lesson with the Hufflepuffs.

After finishing eating, Draco, Daphne, Theo and Sylas left the castle together and walked through the vegetable gardens to the greenhouses where the magical plants were grown. They could already see the others in the class waiting for Professor Sprout. All the Hufflepuffs looked over at Sylas with interest. Even in the Great Hall, he was repeatedly given fascinated looks.

They had barely joined the small group when the professor came striding across the lawn - accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Sprout was carrying an armful of gauze bandages. In the distance, the Whoping Willow could be seen, which now had several branches in bandages.

Just at the sight of Lockhart, Sylas' stomach twisted. 

"Oh, hello, hello!" called Lockhart, beaming at the assembled students. "I was just explaining to Professor Sprout how to properly treat a Whomping Willow! But I don't want you to think I'm better at botany than she is! I only came across a few of these exotic plants by chance on my travels..."

"Greenhouse three today, my fellows," said Professor Sprout, who did not look as cheerful as usual, but unmistakably grumpy.

A curious murmur ran through those standing around. So far they had only worked in greenhouse one - greenhouse three housed much more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door.

The smell of damp earth and fertilizer filled Sylas' nose, mixed with the heavy perfume of some huge, umbrella-like flowers hanging from the ceiling.

Sylas ducked behind Draco and Theo, who were a little taller than him. He definitely didn't want to meet this wannabe any more than he had to. The two Slytherins immediately understood what was going on and positioned themselves so that the boy was perfectly protected. Daphne, however, only had sweet eyes for Lockhart.

In the greenhouse, Professor Sprout stood behind a wooden board that was propped up in the middle. On it were about twenty pairs of different colored ear protectors.

"Today we are going to repot mandrakes. Now, who can tell me the properties of mandrake?"

To their surprise, Draco raised his hand. Sylas could already imagine why he had prepared so well for the lesson.

"The Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful retransformer," Draco said, "It is used to return those who have been transformed or cursed to their original state."

"Brilliant. Ten points for Slytherin," said Professor Sprout. "The mandrake is an essential ingredient in most antidotes. Of course, it is also dangerous. Can anyone tell me why?"

For a moment, no one raised their hand until Draco did it again. He didn't seem to like knowing everything like Granger, but it was important for house points.

"The mandrake's cry is fatal to anyone who hears it," he answered. Theo whispered  little braggart to him, which made the other two smile. Only Draco blushed slightly.

"Exactly. Another ten points," Professor Sprout said. "Now the mandrakes we have here are still very young." She pointed to a row of deep boxes and everyone hurried forward, looking curious. There, lined up in rows, grew about a hundred small, tufted plants, green with a hint of purple.

Sylas, who had no idea what Draco meant by the mandrake's cry , found the plants quite inconspicuous.

"Now everyone take a pair of earmuffs,"  Professor Sprout said.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to get a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy. Unfortunately for Sylas, he had to wear just that and the boys made fun of him. Now it was him who was blushing slightly.

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered," Professor Sprout said. "I give you the thumbs up, when you can safely take them off. So put on your earmuffs."

Sylas clamped the earmuffs over his head, they didn't let any noise through. Professor Sprout put a pink, fluffy pair over her ears, rolled up the sleeves of her cloak, grabbed one of the bushy plants with a firm grip and pulled hard. Sylas looked at the thing that came out of the pot, dismayed.

Instead of a root, a small, mud-covered, and extremely ugly baby rolled out of the ground. Leaves were growing out of its head. It had pale green, mottled skin and was clearly screaming at the top of its lungs. Professor Sprout pulled a large flowerpot from under the table, put the mandrake in it, and buried it in dark, moist compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Then she rubbed dirt from her hands, gave a thumbs up, and took off her earmuffs.

"Since our mandrakes are still seedlings, their screams wouldn't kill you yet," she said calmly, as if she had just done nothing more exciting than watering a begonia. "However, they would put you out of action for several hours, and since I'm sure none of you want to miss the first day of school in the new year, make sure your earmuffs are properly fitted while you work. I'll give you a signal when it's time to pack up. Four of you to a box - there are enough pots here - compost is in the bags over there - and watch out for the Venemosa Tentacula, it bites."

With these words she gave a sharp slap to a thorny, dark red plant whose long feelers had quietly crept over her shoulder, and the feelers quickly retreated.

So Daphne, Theo, Draco and Sylas stood at a box and put on their earmuffs. Professor Sprout had made it look easy, but it wasn't. The mandrakes didn't like coming out of the ground at all, but they certainly didn't want to go back into the ground as well. They twisted and turned, clenched their pointy little fists, thrashed around and gritted their teeth. It took Sylas a whole ten minutes to finally force a particularly fat mandrake into a pot.

At the end of the lesson, Sylas was, like everyone else, drenched in sweat, covered in dirt, and his arms hurt. They trotted over to the castle, washed themselves quickly, and then the Slytherins continued with Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall's classes were always hard work, but because he repeated several lessons during the summer holidays - Oliver insisted that he went through at least the theory again and repeat it - it was a little easier for him than for his classmates.

He managed to turn the beetle into a button, but the little legs of the creepy crawly were still visible. Better than he had expected, though. Draco managed it perfectly, of course, and there were also little things that didn't quite fit with Daphne's and Theo's buttons.

Nevertheless, Sylas was glad when the bell rang for lunch. After all these weeks, he was no longer used to the school rhythm and needed a break.

At lunch, the boys made fun of Daphne for marking all of her Defense Against the Dark Arts classes with hearts. She turned bright red.

After lunch, they went out into the courtyard to get some fresh air. The sky was overcast and there was a fresh wind. They sat down on a stone step. While the three boys sat down normally, Daphne lay down and used Theo's lap as a pillow, which made him turn bright red, but he let her do it anyway. She took a little nap. The three of them talked about Quidditch, but after a few minutes Sylas got the feeling that someone was watching him.

He looked around and spotted a very small boy with mouse-gray hair. He recognized him from last night when the Sorting Hat was put on his head. He was sorted into Gryffindor and intensely staring at Sylas as if he were under a spell. In his hands he held what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and the moment Sylas looked at him, he turned bright red. The Slytherin had a bad feeling when the boy approached him. 

"Hello, Sylas, I'm... I'm Colin Creevey ," he said breathlessly, taking a timid step toward him. "I'm in Gryffindor. Do you think - would it be okay with you if - can I take a picture of you?" he asked, raising the camera hopefully. His hands were slightly shaking from nervousness. 

"A picture?" Sylas repeated incredulously. He knew that this boy had no good intentions.

"So I can prove I met you," said Colin Creevey eagerly, slowly approaching even further. "I know everything about you. Everyone talks about it. How you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you, and how he disappeared and everything..."

Sylas' heart stopped for a moment as he said this.

"...and a boy in my dorm said that if I developed the film in the right concoction, the pictures would move." Colin took a deep breath of excitement and said, "It's just great here, isn't it? I never knew magic was all I could do until the letter came from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking lots of photos and sending them to him. And it would be really good if I had one of you -" he looked at Sylas pleadingly "- maybe your friend could take it and I'll stand next to you? And then could you write your name on it?"

As he rambled, he received dark glances from Draco and Theo, which made him stutter a little. Sylas was about to refuse, but an annoying voice got there first.

"Autograph cards? You're handing out autograph cards, Ashford?" Ron Weasley's voice echoed loudly and stupidly throughout the courtyard. He had positioned himself directly behind Colin, and behind him stood Hermione Granger and Dean Thomas."

"Everyone line up!" Weasley roared into the crowd. "Sylas Ashford is handing out autograph cards."

"No, I'm not," said Sylas annoyed, "Shut up, Weasley."

"You're just jealous," squeaked Colin, whose whole body was about as thick as Crabbe's neck.

Sylas exhaled through his nose in annoyance. That was just what he needed - to be defended by a first year.

It only made things worse when Ginny Weasley got involved too.

"Don't do it, Ron. You'll only get into more trouble. You heard what Mom said in the Howler," she said quietly. She stood a little further away from the group. Alone sitting on a stone with a book in her lap.

"Shut up, Ginny. You're part of that pack too. You betrayed your own family. So it's no wonder you're standing up for those snakes if you're one yourself," he growled at her. The anger in his eyes were adamant. 

"She's still your sister," Granger murmured to him, but he would have none of it.

"Why are you defending her?! Apparently she already feels comfortable with the snakes when she protects the big Ashford," he growled.

Sylas rolled his eyes in annoyance. Two first years defending him was unpleasant. And even worse that one of them was the little Weasley in particular.

She didn't seem to feel at all comfortable with the Slytherins. Hardly any of the other girls from the first year spoke to her. Daphne had told them at breakfast, as Astoria was in her class.

Draco and Theo also didn't seem to like who was defending their friend.

"Be careful, Weasley," Theo sneered. "Your sister is right; you don't want to cause trouble, because then your Mummy will have to come and get you from school." In a piercingly shrill voice he shouted, "If you make the slightest mistake again - "

A bunch of fifth-year Slytherin students, sitting further away and observing the situation, laughed loudly. Making it a lot more embarassing for the Weasley. 

"Come on, just say so if you're the one who wants an autograph card. Then it would be worth more than your family's whole house," Draco exclaimed amusedly.

The Weasley blushed bright red and pulled out his patched wand. It apparently broke apart when he crash-landed with the Whomping Willow, but before he could cast his spell, they were interrupted.

Sylas realized that there was even something worse than being defended by two first years.

Namely, Gilderoy Lockhart's entire existence.

"What is it about, gentlemen?" Gilderoy Lockhart strode towards them, his turquoise cloak fluttering in the wind and his bright white teeth shining. "Who's handing out autograph cards here?"

Sylas was about to open his mouth, but Lockhart grabbed his hand and pulled him up to him. He slapped his arm on his shoulder and boomed patronizingly, "Stupid question! Of course it's our Sylas!"

The Gryffindors just snarled at them. When a professor was around, they wouldn't have the courage to do anything. 

Sylas, pressed against Lockhart as if in a vice, watched Weasley and Thomas disappear into the crowd. Granger had stayed, because she too had a soft spot for the indescribable professor.

"Well then, Mr Creevey," Lockhart said, beaming at Colin. "A double portrait, what an offer, and we'll both sign it for you."

Sylas immediately turned his face away. Personal paparazzi ... great. Things really couldn't get any worse. He looked to his friends for help, who were hardly able to save him from a professor. Colin fiddled with his camera and took the picture at the moment the bell rang behind them, calling them to afternoon classes.

"Now, gentlemen, go to your lessons," Lockhart called to those standing around and walked towards the castle gate with Sylas, who he still held close to him. Again and again he looked over his shoulder at his friends and silently said, "Help."

Daphne looked at him with a hint of envy, Theo just shook his head with a sigh and Draco watched the situation with amusement.

"Between you and me, Sylas," Lockhart said paternally as they entered the building through a side door. "I helped you a little with young Creevey there - because he took my picture too, your schoolmates won't think you're putting yourself in the spotlight too much..." Under the curious gaze of the other students, he dragged him down a corridor and up a staircase. Sylas could only roll with his eyes. Everything that man said, was complete utterly bullshit. 

"I just wanted to tell you that it's not wise to be handing out autograph cards at this stage in your career - it seems a bit ... excessive, to be honest. There may come a time when you should always have a stack on hand, like I do, but -" he gave a little cackle, "I don't think you're ready yet."

Great, what had he gotten himself into now? Lockhart was giving him tips on how to best deal with fame. But he wanted nothing more than to be forgotten!

They had reached Lockhart's classroom and finally he let go of Sylas. Sylas straightened his cloak and found a place at the back where he busied himself piling up all seven of Lockhart's books in front of him so that he didn't have to look at Lockhart himself. His mood was at rock bottom. Defence Against the Dark Arts was definitely not going to be his favourite subject this year. The rest of the class trickled in and his three friends sat down.

"Lockhart has only eyes for you," Daphne murmured sadly as she pulled out all her books. Well - that kinda sounds ... gay and inappropriate. 

"Then let's swap," Sylas grumbled annoyed.

"You should have seen your face, bright red like a tomato. Creevey will definitely start a fan club for you," Draco giggled to himself. For which he received a slap on the shoulder, which he just laughed off.

A fan club was really the last thing he needed right now.

"But seriously, are you okay, Sylas?" Theo whispered to him, glancing at him worried.

"Yeah... It's just... uncomfortable getting so much attention," he muttered and scratched his neck. 

When everyone was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of Troll Trips and held it up to reveal his own winking picture on the front cover.

"I," he said, pointing and winking too, "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin Third Class, Honorary Member of the League for Defence Against the Dark Forces, and five-time winner of Witch Week's Most Charming Smile Award - but that's beside the point. I didn't get rid of the Banshee of Bandon by smiling at her, after all."

He paused to give them a chance to laugh; a few smiled faintly. "I see you've all bought the complete set of my works - good. I thought we could start today with a little quiz. Easy enough, don't worry - just want to see how thoroughly you read them, how much you remember -"

He handed out the assignments and then went back to the front, "You have thirty minutes - let's get started!"

Sylas looked at his paper and read: 1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color? 2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret wish? 3. What do you think is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement so far?

It continued like this, for three pages, until the last question: 54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday and what would be the ideal gift for him?

He would never have dreamed that he would meet someone more self-absorbed than Oliver. His hands were twitching to just rip the papers apart. They were supposed to learn something about the dark arts and not about a snobby wannabe! 

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and leafed through them in front of the class.

"Well , hardly any of you know that my favorite color is purple. I wrote that in A Year with a Yeti. And some of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully - in chapter twelve I make it clear that my ideal birthday present would be harmony between all magical and non-magical people - although I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky !"

He winked at them again, mischievously.

Draco, Theo and Sylas were now staring at Lockhart with incredulous expressions; Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in the front row, were shaking with suppressed laughter. All the girls, however, were listening to Lockhart with rapt attention and flinching when he looked or winked at them.

"...but Miss Hermione Granger knows my secret desire to rid the world of all evil and to market my own line of hair care products. Good girl! In fact -" he scanned her work, "full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Granger raised a shaking hand. Daphne's hands started twitching on her desk as she threw  a death glare at the girl. She had also read everything. Unfortunately she did not possess an omniscient memory that would remember everything she read.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart, "absolutely excellent! Ten points for Gryffindor! And now for the serious stuff." He leaned behind his desk, picked up a large, cloth-covered cage and placed it on the tabletop.

"I must warn you! It is my job to arm you against the most insidious creatures the wizarding world knows! And you may well have to face your worst fears in this room. But know that nothing can happen to you as long as I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

Sylas almost threw up his lunch, which he did a theatrical display to get Theo and Draco to laugh. He reluctantly leaned to the side to get a better look at the cage past his stack of books. Lockhart put a hand on the cover. Thomas and Finnigan had stopped laughing now. Longbottom, in the front row, crouched down in his chair.

"I must ask you not to shout," Lockhart said in a low voice, "that might irritate them."

The whole class held its breath and Lockhart pulled the blanket off the cage.

"Yes," he said in a theatrical voice, "freshly caught Cornish elves."

Seamus Finnigan could no longer contain himself. He burst out laughing, and even Lockhart could not mistake this laughter for a scream of horror.

"Yes?" he said to Finnigan, smiling.

"Well, they're not - they're not very - dangerous, are they?" he said in a choked voice.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that!" said Lockhart, waving his finger annoyingly in front of Seamus' nose. "They can be devilishly tricky little beasts."

The gnomes were bright blue and about eight inches tall, with pointed faces and voices so shrill that you'd think you were looking at a bunch of squabbling budgies. As soon as the cover was removed, they started chattering and darting around , shaking the cage bars and making ugly faces at the students nearby.

"Very well," said Lockhart loudly. "Let's see how you get on with them!" And he opened the cage.

It was as if he had thrown open the gates of Hell. The pixies darted out like arrows and flew in all directions. Two of them grabbed Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Some burst straight through the window, raining a hail of broken glass down on the back rows. The rest set about wreaking havoc in the classroom more thoroughly than a rampaging hippopotamus. They grabbed inkwells and splattered them around the classroom, tore up books and papers, ripped pictures from the walls, turned the wastepaper basket upside down, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the shattered window; after a few minutes the students took cover under their desks and Longbottom was swinging from the chandelier in the ceiling.

"He's completely crazy!" Sylas declared, stunned, as he hid under one of the tables.

"Say it louder so Daphne hears you. What professor just releases pixies without telling us how to deal with them?" grumbled Theo, repeatedly looking up at the wild pixies.

"Come on! Round them up, show them! They're only pixies," shouted Lockhart. He rolled up his sleeves, waved his wand and roared, "Peskiwichteli Pesteromi!"

…

Nothing happened except that one of the elves grabbed Lockhart's wand and threw it out the window. Lockhart swallowed in shock and dove under his desk, only just being lucky not to be crushed by Longbottom, who crashed down a second later along with the chandelier.

The bell rang and everyone ran in a wild rush towards the exit.

Lockhart straightened up, saw Daphne, Theo, Draco and Sylas almost at the door, and said, "Now, I ask you four to just put the rest of them back in the cage." He scurried past them and quickly closed the door behind him.

"He's completely crazy!" Theo yelled as one of the remaining elves bit him on the ear.

Daphne immediatly shook her head in defense. "He just wants us to get some practical experience," she protested, but her words hardly sounded convincing. With a clever freezing spell, she paralyzed two pixies at once and stuffed them back into the cage.

"If my father hears about this, that Lockhart will be in for a treat!" growled Draco, grabbing a gnome and stuffing it back into a cage.

"Practical experience?" Sylas scoffed, trying to grab a pixie, but it danced away and stuck its tongue out at him. "Daphne, he had no idea what the hell he was supposed to be doing. He left second years alone with pixies without teaching us the spell to appease them!"

"Nonsense," Daphne insisted, "you've read his books - just think about the great things he's done - "

"Which he supposedly did," Theo muttered annoyed.

While the four of them were taking care of the pixies, the rest of the class left the room quietly. Weasley, Thomas and Finnigan stuck their tongues out at them, causing them to get death glares.

The Slytherins barley managed to put the creatures back in their cages.

All they heard from Draco for the rest of the day was spiteful mutterings, while Daphne gave them nothing but excuses as to why Lockhart had left them behind. The three boys agreed that she had completely lost her mind. She could never have been so blind before. 

 

~~~

 

For the next few days, Sylas was mostly busy hiding behind Theo and Draco when he saw Gilderoy Lockhart strutting around. Draco found new pleasure, in teasing the hiding boy. Sometimes he would step aside for a moment to make Sylas visible for a brief second. Which always earned him a hard punch on the shoulder. 

Colin Creevey was even harder to avoid, as he seemed to have learned his timetable by heart. This boy's joy in life seemed to consist of calling out "What's up, Sylas?" six or seven times a day. At first Sylas greeted him back, but eventually started to ignore him, but even that didn't help. It actually made things worse.

Sylas was glad when the weekend finally came around. He would definitely not meet Creevey. He wanted to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning with Daphne, Theo and Draco. Via owl, he had already explained to the half-giant, why he hadn't responded to his letters, but he also wanted to apologize in person in case the half-giant had been worried.

In the morning they were going to watch Draco at his first Quidditch training. Marcus Flint had welcomed him with open arms as a seeker when he provided them with the newest brooms. They could hardly wait to see the faces of the Gryffindors. The Gryffindors had actually reserved the field, but Flint had gotten special permission from Snape to train their new seeker.

Woods was going to blow up.

Daphne, Theo and Sylas were already sitting down on the sunny lawn waiting for them to finally come out. They were all wearing thick coats as it was fresh in the morning. The two Slytherins had got some toast with jam from the Great Hall, while Sylas sat there with a hot cup of tea.

The first to come out of the team's changing rooms were the Gryffindors, who immediately got on their brooms and flew up. While the whole team almost fell asleep on their brooms and paid no attention to the Slytherins, a narrow-minded Wood came tramping over. He was a rather broad-built fifth year and quite tall.

His gaze was pure hatred. 

"What are you doing here?" Wood asked sharply, "are you spies for Slytherin? Do you want to spy on our training program?"

All he got were confused looks. Sylas had heard that Woods was a total Quidditch fanatic, but this was beyond anything he could have imagined. As if they would be up so early in the morning to spy on them.

Hell, that could be done by someone who's actually on the Slytherin team, but for sure not some random ass second years. 

One of the Weasley twins flew over to him and shouted "They're not spies."

Wood's eyebrows twitched slitghly. "How do you know?" he asked irritably.

"Because the crew itself is here," said the Weasley, pointing to the ground.

Now the three Slytherins began to grin slightly. Several figures in green cloaks and with new brooms in their hands walked towards the field. The cunning smiles could be seen from a mile away. 

"I can't believe it!" hissed Wood indignantly, "I booked the field for today! We'll see about that." He stomped over to them in anger, and if you looked closely you could see that he was even shaking. Not from fear - from anger.

"Flint!" Wood barked at the Slytherin captain, "this is our training time! We got up extra early! You can leave right now!"

Marcus Flint was even a bit taller than Wood. With a troll-like, sly expression, he replied, "There's enough room for all of us, Wood."

The entire Gryffindor team flew down. The snakes grinning as they stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the Gryffindors. The three Slytherins noticed that the Lions had recently added Dean Thomas to their group.

Sylas slowly began to get the feeling that they were not the only ones who wanted to watch their friend at his first training session.

"But I booked the field," Wood said , now literally spitting with rage. "I booked it!"

"Aah," Flint said. "I do have however a statement signed by Professor Snape himself: I, Professor S. Snape, grant the Slytherin team permission to practice on the Quidditch field today due to the need to train their new Seeker. "

"You have a new seeker?" Wood said confused, looking at the team sharply. "Who?"

And behind the six stocky figures in front of them, a seventh, smaller boy appeared, grinning all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" Fred asked, looking at Malfoy disdainfully.

"Funny that you're mentioning Draco's father," said Flint, and the Slytherin team grinned even wider. "Look at what a generous gift he gave the Slytherin team."

All seven of them held up their brooms. Seven highly polished, brand new broomsticks and seven times the inscription in solid silver letters that shimmered under the noses of the Gryffindors in the early morning sun: Nimbus Two thousand and one .

"The very latest model. Just came out last month," Flint said casually, blowing a speck of dust off the tip of his broom handle. "I think it beats the old two thousand by a long shot. And as for the old Clean-Wipes," he smiled maliciously at Fred and George, who were holding their Clean-Wipes Five, "you can wipe the blackboard with them."

The Gryffindors were completely speechless for a moment. Malfoy grinned so widely that his eyes narrowed to slits.

All of a sudden Weasley and Granger scurried across the lawn to see what was happening.

"Oh, look," said Flint, "what a rush."

"What's going on?" asked the redhead Thomas, "why aren't you playing? And what is he doing here anyway?"

This was aimed at Malfoy, who was just putting on the Slytherin Quidditch robes. The Weasley still seemed to be angry about what happened in the courtyard a few days ago. Daphne, Theo and Sylas also came closer to the group. They wanted to give the two Gryffindors another beating.

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," said Malfoy with a blasé expression. "We're just admiring the brooms my father gave our team."

Ron stared open-mouthed at the seven super brooms in front of him.

"Good, isn't it?" said Malfoy in an even voice. "But maybe the Gryffindors can find some gold in a crack and buy themselves some new brooms. You could sell your Cleanswept Five, maybe a museum would be interested in them." The Slytherins burst into howls of laughter.

"At least none of the Gryffindors had to buy their way onto the team," said Hermione in a cutting voice. "Here, only skills matter."

"Well, your skills leave a lot to be desired," Sylas mumbled dryly, glancing at them unimpressed, "or when was the last time you even won a match - let alone the cup?"

The Slytherin team burst into loud laughter again. Wood's face turned a deep red; he was about to explode.

However, Draco took Granger's statement personally, though. His fingers held his broom firmly, twitching with anger. "Nobody asked your opinion, you dirty little mudblood," he snapped at her.

Dead silence, for a second.

It was one thing to say that word in the presence of only Slytherins, who all had magical blood in them and didn't think much of Muggles. But it was something else to say it directly in front of a Muggle; in front of a house that would definitely not tolerate it.

There was a great outcry and Flint leapt in front of Malfoy so that the Weasley twins could not throw themselves at him, and one of the girls from their team screamed "How dare you!" Sylas immediately pulled out his wand, when he saw the Weasley.

Ron pulled his wand from his cloak and shouted, "You'll pay for this, Malfoy!"

Furious, he pointed his wand at Malfoy's face, which was peeking out from under Flint's arms. Before he could utter any spells with his broken wand, Sylas pointed his wand at the Weasley and shouted.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The Weasley went completely rigid and fell like a board onto the grass. He could no longer move and the outcry from the Gryffindors was now even louder than before. The Slytherins were doubled over with laughter.

Theo and Daphne looked at Sylas stunned. In no way had they expected the quiet boy to curse another student. 

Meanwhile Flint had to lean on his new broom to avoid falling over. Draco was on all fours and pounding on the ground with his fists.

Before the twins, Wood, or anyone else could get their revenge on Sylas, an incredibly angry McGonagall came running in, with Lockhart in tow.

"In all my years!" she yelled, "How dare you bewitch another student, Mr Ashford!" Her lips were as thin as they had been in Snape's office when she had read the riot act to Weasley and Thomas.

"But Professor McGonagall!" Daphne immediately stepped in and looked at her with wide puppy eyes. "Ron Weasley was about to curse Draco and you know that his wand is demolished and not working porperly. You can't conjure up a decent spell from that! Sylas just protected Draco from worse!"

Granger shot Daphne a mad glance and immediatly butted in. "But Ron was only defending me because Malfoy insulted me as a mudblood!" she said hastily, throwing another angry glare at the Greengrass.

Lockhart and McGonagall let out a horrified sound.

"Still, that doesn't give him the right to attack Draco!" Daphne snapped.

"Ladies, please," grumbled McGonagall. "It is indeed no legitimate reason to curse another student, even if that word is unacceptable. However, it does not give you - Mr Ashford - the right to curse another student, even if you were able to avoid the greater evil. You will be given detention to make you aware of your behavior."

"But Professor McGonagall!", Sylas got interrupted by her, "You better not say anything now. Be glad you only got away with that! I will discuss a decent punishment with Professor Snape."

"Ah, my dear colleague, I have an idea…" Lockhart began, and Sylas knew that this couldn't mean anything good. "Sylas is welcome to help me with my fan mail. I could use a helping hand."

Sylas shook his head violently, hoping McGonagall would spare him for this torture,  but that seemed to be an own goal.

"Very well, I will pass this on to Professor Snape. If he has no objections, this will be your detention, Ashford", her gaze focused back onto the team capitany. "Now then, Flint, Wood, carry on with your training and I do not expect any further incidents."

As she and Lockhart left, Granger used the counter curse on Weasley and they grumpily went back up to one of the stands. Wood reluctantly agreed that they would share the field. He couldn't afford to miss training. Both teams flew up into the air.

Sylas threw himself theatrically onto the grass when only Daphne and Theo were left, "She can't be serious! I've avoided Lockhart all week just to answer his stupid fan mail with him? Bullshit!"

"At least you petrified Weasly. Granger's face was really amusing," giggled Daphne and sat down next to him.

"Daphne is right. The detention is worth it for what you did. Who knows what would have happened if Weasley had cast a spell," Theo said, sitting down as well.

"He would have started spitting snails," Sylas murmured quietly and closed his eyes. At least he was able to enjoy a little sun and soak up some vitamin D.

"How would you know?" Theo asked him, before he could say anything, Daphne immediatly responded, "He just said that as a joke. As if he could know what would have happened."

Theo stayed silent, looking up into the sky again to watch the flying brooms. Lost in thoughts.

When the training was finally over, Draco left the group to retreat into the dungeons. It was more tiring than he thought and wanted to lie down for a while. They had observed his training and they could understand his need of rest. It looked tiring as hell.

So just the three of them visited Hagrid, who was more than happy that they had finally arrived. Professor Lockhart was really getting on his nerves and wanted to send him a signed book.

They talked for a long time about the summer holidays, Sylas' new fame and about how nobody liked Lockhart. Daphne got a little annoyed, though. After all, Dumbledore must have seen something in him if he made him a professor. If it wasn't for the problem that Lockhart was the only man who applied for the job. Apparently there were rumors that the position brought bad luck because no one held it for long.

Hagrid also showed them his pumpkins for Halloween, which looked suspiciously large. Theo quickly figured out that it was a swelling charm. The half-giant only got questionable looks for this, because he wasn't actually allowed to practice magic.  

Hagrid also said that he had met Ginny Weasley. She wanted to explore the grounds a little and met him. When they talked about Sylas, she turned bright red and quickly went back to the castle. The three of them teased him about the fact that little Weasley apparently had a crush on the boy. As a result, he himself turned red in the ears.

When the bell struck twelve times, they said goodbye to the half-giant because it was time for lunch. They were intercepted in the entrance hall by Professor McGonagall, who told Sylas that for this evening he had to go to Professor Lockhart's office at eight.

He immediately lost his appetite for lunch and hardly enjoyed the minced meat and potato casserole. At least it cheered him up that Weasley and Thomas had to do their detention with Filch. The Squib would really torture them both.

Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away quickly , and before he knew it, it was nearly eight. Sylas dragged himself along the second-floor corridor to Lockhart's office, breathing deeply until he finally knocked on the door. 

"Ah, there's the little good-for-nothing!" he said, "come in, Sylas, come in -"

Along the walls, countless framed photos of Lockhart reflected the light of the many candles. He had even signed a few of the pictures. And there were even more photos piled up on the desk.

"You can address the envelopes!" Lockhart instructed Sylas, as if this were a special favor. "This first one goes to the good Gladys Gudgeon - big fan of mine"

The minutes crept by. Sylas let Lockhart's words trickle down to him, occasionally saying " Mmm " and "Right" and "Yes."

Now and then Lockhart brought a phrase like, "Fame is a treacherous companion, Sylas," or, "To be famous is to act with glory, remember that." He kind off had to agree with the professor on these things, but he certainly wasn't going to tell him that. There was no need to feed his god complex any further.

The candles were dying down and their flickering light was casting itself over the many faces of Lockhart looking at Sylas. He felt a little uncomfortable with all those eyes upon him.

With a sore hand, Sylas wrote the address of a Veronica Smethley on what must have been the thousandth envelope. He kept hoping that it would soon be time to leave. He was fed up.

And then he heard something - something completely different from the hiss of the candles going out and Lockhart babbling about his fans. It was a voice, a voice that chilled his bones, a voice filled with ice-cold hatred.

"Come... come to me... let me tear you apart... let me rip you apart... let me kill you..."

Sylas almost fell off his chair and a large purple stain spread across Veronica Smethley's street.

"What?" he said loudly and looked confused to his professor. Half expecting, it came from him - half hoping.

"I know," said Lockhart, "six months at the top of the bestseller list! Broke all records!"

"No," said Sylas feverishly, "that voice ..."

"Excuse me?" said Lockhart, puzzled. "What voice?"

"That - that voice that said - didn't you hear it?"

Lockhart looked at Sylas in astonishment. "What are you talking about, Sylas? Perhaps you are starting to feel a little sleepy? Big Scott - what does the clock say? We have been here for almost four hours now! It's unbelievable - how time has flown by."

Sylas said nothing. He listened intently to hear the voice again, but no one spoke except Lockhart, who told him that he shouldn't expect to get off as lightly as he did this time in every detention. Sylas walked out the door as if in a daze.

Was it perhaps just a figment of his imagination? Had he addressed so much fan mail that he was on the verge of madness? Seems like spending time with Lockhart drove him more mad than being in the orphanage and that was an accomplishment.

He walked down the dungeons, completely beside himself. It was so late that the Slytherin common room was almost empty. Only someone was sitting on the sofas by the fireplace. Her back was turned to him, but Sylas knew that it was little Weasley. She seemed to be writing in a diary.

He stepped closer and looked over her shoulder. At that moment she noticed his presence and closed the book at lightning speed.

"S-Sylas, what are you still doing here?" she stammered, looking away. But even in the flickering of the fire, he could see that she was blushing slightly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I had detention with Lockhart," he said the name with particular hatred. "Oh, and please tell Ron to replace his stupid wand. He might accidentally hurt someone when he just wants to use Lumos ."

"H-He's not listening to me anyway," she mumbled, her voice barley audible.

"What do you mean?" Sylas asked.

"Since I was sorted into Slytherin, he has hardly exchanged a word with me. Neither have my other brothers, although with Percy that's normal," she said quietly and holding onto her diary even more - as if it's a treasure. 

He looked at her pityingly. As a Weasley in Slytherin, everyone would make things difficult for her. Memorys of his first year rushed through his mind. His start was as well not that particularly amazing. 

"Even if your own family rejects you, always remember that you can find true friends in Slytherin. We are like our own little family here - as long as you play by the rules," said Sylas.

At the beginning he couldn't belive it himself, that he would find his true friends an family here. Some people he could actually trust. Back in the orphanage he didn't have anything like that, but in Hogwarts ... in Hogwarts was his family. The people who would protect him, who made fun of him in a friendly way, who he could relie on.

"Anyway, it's already late. You should go to sleep."

He was about to stroke her beautiful fiery red hair, but stopped himself at the last moment. Silently he went into his room, where all his companions were deep asleep. He changed his clothes and lay down too.

Oliver suddenly floated past, glancing at the boy up and down, as if he was searching for an answer. 

What was that just now with the redhead?

"Nothing"

Chapter 13

October, 1992

October came and a damp chill spread over the grounds and the castle. A sudden wave of colds among the teachers and students kept Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, on her toes. Her recovery potion worked immediately, but anyone who drank it would have their ears smoking for hours afterwards.

Theo urged the somewhat sickly-looking Daphne to drink a few sips and steam immediately hissed out from under her blonde hair and it looked as if her head was on fire.

Raindrops the size of bullets drummed against the castle windows for days; the lake swelled, the flowerbeds turned into streams of mud and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.

Flint was not deterred and enthusiastically encouraged them to train regularly. Draco came to meet them in the dungeon soaking wet one too many times. They could always hear him cursing quietly to himself. Nevertheless, Sylas watched their training from time to time and was pleasantly surprised. The Slytherin team was incredibly fast with their Nimbus Two Thousand and One; all the others will just eat their dust.

Surprisingly Draco did a decent job as a seeker.  

Meanwhile the Weasleys seemed to have sworn revenge on Sylas, because of the incident where he bewitched Ron, and it didn't go down well at all. Whenever he was out alone, the twins would suddenly appear around the corner. 

George would curse him with Levicorpus and Fred would use Silencio. One tad too often he hung upside down somewhere in the castle, unable to make a sound. Another tad too often he wondered how the hell the twins knew where he was and when he was alone. There was no regularity in his everyday behavior, he had checked that himself. 

That evening, too, Sylas was caught from behind. He had specifically asked Theo and Draco to assure him that the twins were in the Gryffindor common room, just so he could quickly return a book from the library. Sylas had made a special hurry, but as soon as he was on his way back, they suddenly appeared and hexed him once again.

"You never learn, Ashford," giggled Fred, pushing him further to hide him somwhere. 

They thought it was funny when it took hours for a prefect or someone else to find the boy. The trophy room seemed to be the perfect spot - at least for today. 

George moved around some shelfs so they could hide him in the furthest corners of the room - which is not perticularly seeable. 

Since Sylas was hanging upside down, he always placed one hand on the left side of his forehead. He didn't want to expose the sight of the scars, but the twins had noticed exactly his odd behavior.

"Now tell me, Ashford. What are you hiding under your hand?" George asked, trying to remove it. Sylas gaze darkened and he put more force into his hand pressing down.

"Pretty strong-willed. Does someone have a little secret ~?" he sang the last part lightly, grinning maliciously. Sylas just shook his head fast.

The two twins looked at each other, grinning, and violently ripped his hand from his forehead. Sylas would have liked to curse them both ... if he could speak.

To his surprise, the Weasleys looked ... disappointed. 

Disappointed?

He expected them to be disgusted or surprised, but disappointment?

"See, it's not him. There's something wrong with the map," Fred muttered, looking closer at his forhead, while George put a piece of paper into his pocket. "Well then, hopefully we'll never see each other again!"

With that, the two of them scurried away, leaving Sylas in the trophy room. Not even questioning him, where he got the scars from. How could they even enjoy the same curse over and over again? He really thought they would get tired of it after a few times, but they just wouldn't stop!

Hours went by like this, who even came into the trophy room? Nobody looked at this crap! Luckily for him, the Silencio curse only lasted for a certain amount of time. So he either had to wait until someone found him or the curse lifted. He preferred the latter, even though it meant a longer wait, but it slowly got ridiculously embarrassing how often the twins got him.

Darkness crept over the trophy room, making everything just shadows and sillouhettes. Sometimes he heard the footsteps and murmurs in the corridors, but none of them came his way. 

Finally after trying endlessy, Sylas could clear his throat again.

"Liberacorpus," he grumbled and fell head first to the floor. After the first few times, he taught himself the counter spell, precisely because of such hopeless situations. His long, slightly wavy hair was a complete mess. His hairstyle had come undone after hours of being upside down. He took the hair tie and went to the display case to see his reflection in the mirror. As he did, he tried to tame his hair.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally managed to do it and just then he noticed what was on display behind the glass cabinet. It was a small family photo of the Potters. It moved and showed how happy this little family was.

A wave of sadness hit the boy right through his body, deep into his bones. His hands clenched into fists and he fought back tears. It was the first time, that he saw a photo of them.

Lily & James Potter

They looked ... happy, content. 

If Sylas had shorter hair and wore glasses, he would be the exact spitting image of his father. The only thing he got from his mother were the piercing green eyes.

Oh, look, a family reunion.

"Shut up, I'm not in the mood," Sylas hissed, biting his lips to not start crying infront of the ghost.

Oliver always talked to him, when Sylas got bewitched by the twins. The ghost enjoyed the fact that Sylas couldn't defend himself against him. His annoyed gaze burned into his back.

Sylas took a few deep breaths, trying to not let the his feelings get the better of him. He shouldn't be seen here.

Lost in thought, he left the trophy room and headed towards the main hall. He hoped that he might still make it to dessert, his belly had been grumbling for hours without end. He regrettet not eating enough for lunch. 

And then Sylas heard it again. 

"tear... tear... kill..."

It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice he had heard in Lockhart's office. He stumbled to a halt, laid his hands on the stone wall, looked up and down the corridor, and listened with all his might.

What the hell are you doing?

"There's that voice again - be quiet -"

"... so hungry ... for so long ..."

"Listen," Sylas said urgently. Oliver just looked at him irritated.

"... kill ... time to kill ..."

The voice grew fainter. It was moving away from them, Sylas was sure of that - upwards. He stared at the dark ceiling, a mixture of fear and excitement filling him; how could it be moving upwards? Was it a phantom that was unaffected by stone ceilings?

"This way," he called and ran up the steps to the entrance hall. But there was certainly no sound here, because the babble of voices from the Halloween party was coming from the Great Hall. Oliver was floating close behind him and watched the spectacle monotonously.

Maybe you have …

"SHHH!" Sylas pricked up his ears. From the next floor, far away, he heard the fading voice: "...I smell blood...I SMELL BLOOD!"

Sylas’ stomach turned –

"It's going to kill someone!" he shouted and ran off.

He took the next flight of stairs three at a time and tried to listen over the clatter of his own footsteps - Sylas was racing through all the corridors on the second floor and Oliver was flying silently behind him. They only stopped when they had turned into the last, deserted corridor.

Sylas, spit it out now. What's going on? I can't hear anything except your panting!

"Look!" There was something glowing on the wall in front of them. They peered through the darkness and approached cautiously. Half-meter-high words were scrawled on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the flickering light of the torches.

 

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

 

Sylas hesitated and took a closer look at the graffiti. He almost slipped - there was a large puddle of water on the floor. He frowned. Filch will freak out when he sees this. With his eyes on the dark shadow under the writing, he approached the wall. Oliver let out a loud impressed whistle.

Sylas now recognized what this shadow was. Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, was hanging from the torch holder, tied by its tail. She was stiff as a board and her wide-open eyes were staring. He stood there frozen for a few breaths. No matter who it was, this was far beyond a normal prank.

Hmm , if I were you, I'd better disappear

"But Mrs. Norris!", he couldn't just leave the cat hanging like that!

Do you want to be punished for something you didn't do? Right now you are probably the only one not in the great hall and you are at the crime scene

Sylas ran his fingers through his hair, thinking hard - thoughts racing his mind. "Shit," he swore under his breath. Oliver made a god damn good point. 

Dinner would soon be over, Sylas needed to hurry the fuck up. But he had barely turned around, when he heard it.

The party was already over.

A boom, like distant thunder, echoed through the castle. From both ends of the corridor came the patter of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs and the loud, cheerful hum of well-fed students: and already they were coming in from the sides.

The chatter and giggle and noise died down abruptly when the first of them saw the hanging cat. Sylas stood alone in the middle of the passage, and gradually the whole crowd fell silent and pressed forward to see the horrible place.

Then a shout broke the silence.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You're next, mudbloods." It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed his way to the front. With a glint in his cold eyes, his otherwise bloodless face flushed, he grinned at the sight of the rigid cat.

Sylas couldn't make out Theo and Daphne in the crowd.

Everyone stared at Sylas in shock. Because the first thing everyone thought was, he committed such a misdeed. All the attention was on him. So many pairs of eyes were on him. His heart began to pound wildly.

"What's going on here? What's going on?" Argus Filch, attracted by Malfoy's shouting, elbowed his way through the crowd of students. When he saw Mrs Norris, he recoiled in shock and buried his face in his hands.

"My cat! My cat! What happened to Mrs Norris!" he moaned in pain.

And his bulging eyes turned to Sylas, who himself was overwhelmed by the situation.

"You!" he screamed, "You! You murdered my cat! You killed her! I'll kill you! I -"

"Argus!" Dumbledore had entered the scene, with several teachers in tow. In an instant he rushed past Sylas and fetched Mrs Norris from the torch holder.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch, his gaze landing on Sylas, "and you too, Mr Ashford."

Only now did Draco realize that Sylas was involved in this whole mess. He approached him, "What have you done?"

Sylas instantly shook his head several times, looking at him with wide eyes. "It wasn't me, I swear it wasn't me!" he whispered desperately.

He was just as shocked as everyone else, but whether the teachers believed it, was the real question. How the hell was he supposed to prove his innocence in this situation? No one had been with him in the last few hours!

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly. "My office is the closest, headmaster - just up the stairs - please be so kind as to do so."

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore. The silent crowd parted to let them through. Lockhart, excited and weighty, hurried after Dumbledore; and Professors McGonagall and Snape followed.

As they entered Lockhart's dark office, there was a scurrying along the walls. Sylas saw several Lockharts with curlers in their hair disappear from the pictures. The real Lockhart lit the candles on the desk and stepped back. Dumbledore laid Mrs Norris on the polished tabletop and began to examine her. Sylas sat down on a chair outside the candlelight, trembling slightly.

The tip of Dumbledore's long, hooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs Norris' fur. He examined her closely through his half-moon glasses, stroking and prodding her with his long fingers. Professor McGonagall, her eyes narrowed, had bent down almost as close to the cat. Behind them in the half-shadows stood Snape, alert and with a mix of emotions on his face. He looked angrily at Sylas, but at the same time in his gaze was lurking something hidden - slight concern.

And Lockhart ... Lockhart danced around them all, giving his assessments.

"Clearly a curse that killed her - probably the transmutation torture - I've seen it many times, unfortunately I wasn't there. I know the counter-curse that would have saved her ..."

Filch's dry, bloodcurdling sobs could be heard throughout Lockhart's rant. He was slumped in a chair beside the desk, his face buried in his hands, unable to look at Mrs. Norris. Much as he detested Filch, Sylas could not help feeling a little sorry for him, though not as much as he felt for himself. If Dumbledore believed Filch, he would expel him without question.

Expel him.

Expulsion from school

It echoed over and over in his head. His eyes widened when the realisation dawned on him.

If he had to leave ... he would be forced to live in the orphanage with no prospect of freedom for the next six years.

His heart beat so loud and fast, he was sure, anyone could hear it. 

He could not be expelled from school. Not him! They needed to belive him! This time he really didn't do anything!

His leg started to shudder up and down.

He remembered all the evenings in Mr Ashford's office when he was forced to drink alcohol. The afternoons when Sebastian and Michael beat him up together, simply because they didn't like him. The burning sensation on his forehead when Mr Ashford used him as an ashtray.

His mind raced through all the past memory, making his body to relive his worst moments again. Every part of him started shaking.

Dumbledore muttered strange words to himself and tapped Mrs Norris with his wand, but nothing happened: she continued to look as if she had just been stuffed.

" ...I remember a very similar incident in Ouagadogou ," said Lockhart, "a series of attacks, which I have written about in my autobiography; I was able to equip the villagers with various amulets and the matter was settled immediately..." The Lockharts on the walls all nodded in agreement. One of them had forgotten to take off his hairnet.

Finally Dumbledore sat up, "She is not dead, Argus," he said gently.

Lockhart, who was counting the number of murders he had prevented, suddenly fell silent.

"Not dead," Filch choked out, looking at Mrs Norris through the crack of his fingers. "But why is she all... all stiff and frozen?"

"She is petrified," said Dumbledore.

"Ah! I thought so!" shouted Lockhart, nodding up and down, as if it had occured to him ages ago. 

"But how, I cannot say ..."

"Ask him!" Filch screamed, turning his blotchy and tear-stained face to Sylas, but the latter barely noticed the accusations. He was too caught up in his own spiral of thoughts.

"No second year could have done that," Dumbledore said firmly. "It would take the most advanced black magic -"

"He did it, he did it," Filch snapped, his pasty face turning purple and pointing his old ugly fingers at Sylas.  "You saw what he wrote on the wall!" he blurted out.

Sylas barley heard him, his breathing was shallow. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out everything else. His body felt disconnected, as though he were waching the scene from a distance, a mere spectator to his own downfall.

"It wasn't me," he whispered, his voice fragile. His lips trembled as he forced the words out, but they barley reached the ears of those around him. "I didn't dot it ... No expulsion, please..."

The teachers exchanged uneasy glances. McGonagall's normally stern face softened slightly with concern. Dumbledore’s sharp blue eyes studied Sylas over his half-moon spectacles. Even Snape, ever the skeptic, observed him with an unreadable expression.

Never had they seen him like this.

A boy on the verge of breaking.

"If I may say something, Headmaster," Snape's voice broke the heavy silence. He stepped forward from the shadows. "Ashford may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Filch let out a disgruntled noise of protest, but Snape ignored him, his dark eyes fixed on Sylas

"But we have a number of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in this corridor in the first place? Why wasn't he at the Halloween party?" Professor McGonagall asked in a firm voice, looking at the boy waiting for an answer.

Sylas barely noticed her question. His head was underwater, drowning in his own thoughts of getting expelled. 

When he didn't give them an answer, Snape scurried over to the boy and slowley knelt down in front of him, trying to make eye contact, "Ashford, why did you go into this corridor and not straight to the feast?"

But Sylas just stared at his hands. He couldn't form a coherent thought.

And then - a slow, creeping chill brushed against the nape of his neck. His shoulders stiffened. 

Calm down, a voice whispered, softly echoing through the office, tell them you were wandering around the castle lost in thought.

Sylas shuddered as Oliver pressed his hands against his neck. His presence - comforting, in a twisted way.

Sylas swallowed hard and froced himself to breath.

"I..." His voice cracked, he licked his lips, his throat dry as sand. "I was... lost in thought ... Wandering around the castle." The words left his mouth automatically, his voice steadier than before. 

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "And why weren't you at the feast?" she pressed, her sharp gaze pinning him in place.

The chill against his spine intensified, sending another shiver through him. Oliver's touch moved in slow, deliberate strokes across his back, as if soothing him

You were in the library and fell asleep.  

"I was in the library," he murmured, almost as if in a trance. "I must've fallen asleep."  

Silence strechted in the dimly lit office. 

Dumbledore studied the boy closely, through his half-moon glasses as if he were x-raying him. Sylas felt utterly exposed under that piercing gaze.

And then, after a long pause, the Headmaster finally spoke. 

"Innocent until proven guilty, Minerva. Sylas would not do such a thing."

Filch didn't like this at all; he got really angry and screamed, "My cat has been petrified! I want to see punishment !"

"We will be able to cure her, Argus," Dumbledore said patiently, "Madam Sprout recently managed to grow some mandrakes. As soon as they reach their full size, I will have a potion brewed that will revive Mrs Norris."

"I'll do that," Lockhart interjected. "I must have done it a hundred times, I could concoct a mandrake revival potion in my sleep."

"Forgive me, Professor Lockhart" said Snape icily, "but I think I am the Potions expert at this school."

There was an awkward pause. Until the headmaster raised his voice, glancing at the trembling boy.

"You may go," Dumbledore said to Sylas. "Your friends seem to be waiting for you."

With a flick of his wand, the door to the office opened and revealing a mess of robes and libs as three Slytherins tumbled inside. 

A chorus of groans and muffled curses filled the room as they untangled themselves from one another. Daphne was the first to get back on her feet, smoothing down her wrinkled robe and tossing her golden hair over her shoulder in an attempt to recover some dignity. 

"Sorry, we didn't mean to eavesdrop", she said quickly, though her slight pink cheeks said otherwise. Her gaze locked onto Sylas, concern flickering in her eyes. "We were just ... worried." 

Dumbledore's lip curled into a knowing smile, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "Of course, Mrs Greengrass. Friends are exactly what Mr Ashford needs right now."

Snape, who had remained silent, stood up and his gaze shifting back to Sylas. His presence as always imposing, but there was unusual gentleness in the way he placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder. 

"You'd best return to the common room", Snape said smoothly, his voice hiding any emotions. "Do not let other houses delay you."

With a sublte pull, he urged Sylas to his feet. 

Before Sylas could fully steady himself, Theo was already by his side, gripping his hand tightly. Even in the dimly lit office, he could see how Sylas was trembling. His fingers were cold, his knuckles white. Theo gave his hand a firm squeeze, trying to ground him with his own warmth.

The moment they stepped out of the office and the door shut behind them, Daphne wasted no time.

"In here," she whispered, leading them into one of the abandoned classrooms nearby.

Draco pushed the door behind them with a soft click, ensuring they weren't followed. The room was small and long forgotten, filled with old desks stacked against the walls. Dust hung in the air and only the moonlight spent them some sort of light. 

The tension between however was thick. They couldn't - wouldn't - believe, that Sylas came up with such a foolish act. 

Draco wasted no time. He took Sylas' face in his hands, pressing him into the cold stone wall. He needed that boy's attention on him right now. Sylas befuddled state would not get them anywhere.

"Sylas, look at me," Draco whispered, his voice low but urgend. His silver eye brunt with intensity as they searched Sylas' face for any hint of deception. "Please be honest with us ... Did you do this?"

Sylas' breath hitched at the question. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. His throat felt tight, constricted.

He searched Draco’s face for any sign that this was some kind of joke, but there was none. Only seriousness. Only expectation.

They were actually considering the possibility that he had done it. That realization twisted something deep in his gut. He clenched his fists at his sides, fingernails digging into his palms. 

After what felt like an eternity, his voice finally cracked through the silence.

"Of course not!"

Draco didn't move for a moment, his piercing gaze still locked onto Sylas'. Only when he was satisfied, did he release his grip and took a slow step back 

Daphne exhaled, shoulders visibly relaxing. But the questions weren't over.

"Then where have you been all afternoon?" Daphne asked, arms crossing over her chest. "We thought the Weasley twins had cursed you again and went looking for you, but you were nowhere to be found."

Sylas let out a tired breath, rubbing his tempels.  "I-I was cursed by them", he admitted reluctantly, his pride taking a hit. "They hid me in the trophy room. At some point the Silencio curse was lifted and I wanted to go to the great hall, but then there was this... voice -"

"A Voice?" Theo repeated, brows furrowing. "What kind of voice?" 

"I-I don't know. Oliver couldn't hear it either, but ... it whispered something about eating and killing." Sylas explained, rubbing his arms as the chill of that voice came back to mind. 

Draco went rigid. Daphne's lips parted slythly in alarm and Theo's expression darkened, his fingers running through his hair. 

The heavy silence lingered. 

They knew something. Something he didn't

Sylas narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Why are you looking at each other like that?"

"Sylas..." Draco hesitated, searching for the right words. "Hearing a strange voice is not a good sign. Even among wizards."

Sylas stomach twisted, "Should I have told the teacher?"

All three immediately shook their heads and said "No," in union. 

"By Merlin, they'd cross-examine you immediately," Daphne said, slightly hysterical, pacing up and down. "The fact that you have a personal house ghost isn't normal. And now this? Dumbledore would tear you apart."

Sylas ran a hand down his face. "This whole situation is terrifying. What was written on the wall? ‘The Chamber of Secrets has been opened’? What does that even mean?"

Draco sighed out loudly. "My father once told me about it. It was opened 50 years ago. The school was almost closed back then."

Sylas' blood ran cold

Closure of Hogwarts

For a brief moment, he had been relieved that he wasn’t expelled. But now the thought clawed at his mind. If this continued, the entire school could shut down.

Then, a far more chilling realization struck him.

Dobby's warning...

His eyes widened slightly, his fingers tightening around the fabric of his sleeve.

Theo instantly noticed the shift in Sylas gaze. "What's wrong, Sylas?" he asked, his voice softer now. "You have that look."

Sylas nervously scratched his neck and murmured, "I was ... warned that something terrible would happen."

"What do you mean?" Draco ask irritated. 

So he started to explain what happened during the summer holidays. How he was visited by a house elf and that the house elf was responsible for the letters not getting through to him. That the house elf wanted to stop him from going back to Hogwarts.

"So it was planned, but by who?" Theo muttered, a hand on his chin.

"Perhaps Dumbledore?" Daphne said, though even she didn't sound convinced

Draco shook his head. "The old geezer is crazy, but he would never risk the closure of his school."

They sat in a circle on the floor, casting Lumos for light as they discussed theories. But there were too many questions. Not enough answers.

When the bell rang twelve times, they knew it was time to go.

As they slipped back into the common room, they found it nearly empty.

Except for her.

The little Weasley sat hunched over a worn leather diary, her quill scratching fast against the pages.

She didn’t even glance up.

 

~~~

 

For a few days, all they talked about at school was the attack on Mrs Norris. Filch kept reminding everyone of it, pacing up and down the scene as if he thought the attacker would return. Sylas had seen him read the writing on the wall with Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover scrubbed, but to no avail.

The words glowed as brightly on the stone wall as before. When Filch wasn't guarding the scene of the crime, he was shuffling through the corridors with red eyes, threateningly lunging at unsuspecting students and trying to give them detention for things like "breathing loudly" or "looking happy."

Meanwhile, all the other houses had silently decided to make life difficult for Sylas. They all felt sorry for the caretaker and blamed the Slytherin for the graffiti on the walls. He could no longer go anywhere alone. He always had to be in a group, otherwise he was constantly cursed.

However, all Muggle-borns on the other hand began to avoid him. He had noticed it when Hermione Granger and Justin Finch- Fletchley, a Hufflepuff boy, immediately ran away when they saw him.

While the other houses despised him and the Muggle-borns feared him, his own house praised him. They found his prank incredibly innovative. Many of the upper classes had a lot of fun making Sylas the heir of Slytherin. They threatened the younger Muggle-borns in particular that Sylas would curse them forever if they did not do what they wanted.

Potions class was even worse than usual. Snape was in a really bad mood. Apparently Lockhart had tried to help him brew the Mandrake Potion and almost caused the cauldron to explode. He was thrown out of the room by the potions expert.

The Gryffindors were yelled at for every step they took. The Slytherins got off a little better, but he always had something to complain about their potions as well. He only said nothing to Draco and Granger - neither positive or negative.

After eating their lunch, the four of them headed to the library. They had been given homework by Professor Binns, the professor of the history of magic: a meter-long essay on The Gathering of European Wizards in the Middle Ages.

Sylas and Daphne's essay was at least 20 centimeters too short. So they sat in the farthest corner and desperately finished their essays, which they had to hand in the next day.

"A one-meter-long attachment is really way too much," grumbled Daphne, hunching over her essay in defeat. 

Theo just shook his head in disbelief, while he looked through the bookshelfs. "Don't complain. You had 10 days to do it and you still haven't finished it," he said. 

Draco stood on the opposite shelf, searching as well for a book about legends and myths. 

During the last 10 days, Sylas and Daphne focused more on wizard chess. Neither of them felt like writing the essay.

Sylas let out an pitiful groan, looking at Theo with puppy eyes. "Can we at least have your essay and be inspired by it ?" he asked.

Theo sighed and flicked his wand twice. Two parchments flew towards the two of them and opened. "Don't you dare copy them directly! You know how strict Professor Binn is about it."

Sylas and Daphne made a heart with their hands, whereupon Theo just shook his head in disappointment.

"By the way, what are you looking for?" Sylas asks, while getting inspiration and scribbeling fast on the paper.

Theo flicked through a book. "The legend of the Chamber of Secrets, but all the books about Hogwarts have been borrowed," he muttered. 

Draco was slightly more tense, nearly ripping the books apart, while leafing throught them. "There's a two-week waiting list! If only my father would finally answer..." he grumbled, "...and not a single other book mentions it, what a crap!"

He had sent his father a letter asking him about the chamber of secrets, but he hadn't gotten any answers. Day by day he grew more impatient. 

"At least it made Granger stay out of our way," Daphne laughed maliciously.

She loved walking with Sylas to exactly where the Muggle girl was. Her face always turned chalk white when she saw him and since then they no longer had to hear her annoying voice because she always sat extra far away from Sylas during class.

The bell rang and they had to move on to Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall did not tolerate late arrivals. Sylas and Daphne hastily packed everything up and walked into the classroom.

It had become standard practice for all Slytherins to sit around Sylas so that no one could harm him. They had the class with the Gryffindors, who had them even more on their toes. He was getting dirty looks from all sides.

Professor McGonagall entered hastily and rushed forward.

"Well then, dear students," she greeted the class, "Today we will learn how to turn a drinking portal into an animal." 

Just as she was about to begin with the theory, Granger raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"What's the deal with the Chamber of Secrets?"

The professor looked at the girl in shock, causing her to pause a second before answering. "I don't think that..." she noticed how the whole class was hanging on her lips, wanting an explanation. She sighed loudly.

"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago by the four greatest witches and wizards of that age. The school's four houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, away from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when the common people feared magic and witches and wizards suffered cruel persecution."

She paused for a moment and looked around the classroom.

"For a few years the wizards worked together harmoniously. They sought out young people who they believed had magical powers and brought them to the castle to train them. But then a dispute arose. A growing rift opened up between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wanted to be more selective about the students who were admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that the study of magic should be reserved for thoroughly magical families. He did not want to accept students with Muggle parents because they were not trustworthy. After a while, a heated argument arose between Slytherin and Gryffindor about this, and Slytherin left the school."

Sylas remembered Oliver telling him this story in his first year.

"Reliable historical sources tell us so much," she said. "But these clear facts are overshadowed by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. According to this, Slytherin built a secret chamber into the castle that the other founders knew nothing about. And the legend goes on to say that Slytherin sealed this chamber so that no one could open it until his own true heir came to school. The heir alone is said to be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all those unworthy of studying magic."

The silence weighed heavy in the classrom. The atmosphere was uncomfortably tense as everyone looked at her, waiting for more.

Sylas, however, was much more invested than he thought. A chamber only the heir of Slytherin could find and a monster only that particular Slytherin could control. Fascination rushed through his vain, wanting to know more. 

"The whole story is, of course, utter nonsense," she said. "The most studied witches and wizards have searched the school for such a chamber, many times. It does not exist. A tale that is apt to frighten the gullible."

Granger's hand was already up again. "Professor - what exactly do you mean by the horror in the chamber?"

McGonagall hesitated again. "It's supposed to be some kind of ... monster that only the Heir of Slytherin can control," she said. The class exchanged worried glances.

"I assure you, that creature does not exist," Professor McGonagall said, leafing through her papers. "There is neither a chamber nor a monster."

Draco and Sylas exchanged uncertain glances. Both remembering what Malfoy's father had told him. It had to exist somewhere.

"But Professor," Seamus Finnigan blurted out, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, then no one else can find it, can they?"

"Nonsense, Finnigan," she said in a more serious tone. "If a long line of headmasters and headmistresses at Hogwarts haven't found the thing -"

"But, Professor," squeaked Parvati Patil, "you probably need black magic to open it -"

"Just because a wizard doesn't use dark magic doesn't mean he can't do it, Miss Patil ," Professor McGonagall replied harshly. "I repeat, when people like Dumbledore -"

"But maybe you have to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't -" Dean Thomas began, but Professor McGonagall had had enough.

"That's enough!," she yelled sharply, her angry gaze sweeping over the classrom. "It's a myth! The Chamber doesn't exist! There isn't a shred of evidence that Slytherin built even a secret broom cupboard! We will now, if you will allow us, go back to the theory of Transfiguration!"

The Slytherins were pleased to see the Gryffindors questioning their own Head of House. They didn't even have to lift a finger to find information. 

And five minutes later the class was back to its usual concentration. However, Sylas could not stop thinking about that chamber and the monster. 

When the bell rang for the end of school, the four of them headed towards the dungeons. They wanted to put their school bags away before going to the Great Hall for dinner. As they did so, they heard the Gryffindors talking excitedly about the Chamber of Secrets. They were sure that the Heir had returned and it had to be someone from Slytherin.

While the stream of students carried them in one direction, Colin Creevey swam past in the opposite direction.

"Hi, Sylas!"

Sylas rolled with his eyes. "Hello," he said dryly, paying him no further attention.

"Sylas - Sylas - a boy in my class said that you -" but Creevey was so small that he couldn't fight the wave of students that carried him to the Great Hall. All they heard was him squeaking, "See you later, Sylas!" and he was gone.

Daphne watched the boy get swapped over with other students. "I wonder what that boy in his class is saying about you," she murmured. 

"That I'm the heir of Slytherin, I suppose," Sylas said, noticing all the glances he's getting from the students around him.

He heard them whispering all the time, everywhere. Everyone thinks they're so mysterious and he wouldn't hear them, but when he stood two meters away, he heard everything!

"They all seem to be fixated on this idea that you are the heir," Theo murmured, his voice sounding quite mad at such accusation.

Suddenly Draco put his arm around Sylas' shoulder. "Who can blame them? Sylas is a pureblood, a Slytherin, has already cursed other classmates and chased Voldemort away. The only thing missing is that they think that your personal house ghost is Salazar Slytherin. The rumors have gone viral in our house," he chuckled

"Well, everyone in Slytherin - except you all - still thinks that. I never set the rumor straight," Sylas said shrugging. He never thought it necessary to stop them. After all, it earned him a little more respect from his own house if everyone thought he was in contact with the founder of Slytherin.

Theo ruffled his hair and said with a smirk, "Well then, Heir of Slytherin, make your house proud by finally starting your homework on time."

"Shut up," Sylas grinned, punching him on the shoulder. 

 

~~~

 

Since the ignominious incident with the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought living creatures into class. Instead, he read to them from his book and sometimes acted out some of the more dramatic events. And of course he aways asked Sylas for help with these performances.

Lockhart had already forced him to play a simple villager from Transylvania whom Lockhart had cured of a babbling curse, a yeti with a cold, and a vampire who, since Lockhart had taken him to task, could no longer eat anything but lettuce.

Sylas had to pull himself together to keep his composure. Sometimes his hand almost slipped, but he always pulled himself together at the last moment. Draco teased him the whole time with his terrible and embarassing acting skills.

Sylas got his sweet revenge on Saturday morning. It was raining cats and dogs and today was the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Draco had to get up early to go over all the tactics with his team. Draco was unusually quiet at the breakfast table. He didn't look nervous, but he was also good at hiding his feelings.

As the game was about to begin, they wished the new Slytherin Seeker good luck and went up to one of the stands.

"Draco will definitely win this. Gryffindor plays well, but has a terrible seeker," Theo said as they walked up the stairs. 

Daphne glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. "Have you been stalking them?" she asked, not sure if she actually wanted to know the answer. 

"Uhm yes, of course?", Theo said, frowing his brows. He sharply pointed his finger at her. "While you were raving about Lockhart, I was busy scouting out the Gryffindor team. I may have let a little information slip out to Flint," he grinned maliciously.

Daphne's cheek turned slightly pink and she slapped his finger away.  "Shut up, you all just don't see what a great professor he is!", she grumbled. 

Sylas had been wondering where Theo had been hiding for the past few weeks. Sometimes he would suddenly disappear until he reappeared.

The seats started to fill up and unfortunately for Sylas, Creveey and Lockhart were both sitting in the same bleachers. Lockhart hadn't spotted him yet and was chatting away to some of the other students. Creveey, on the other hand, sat right behind Sylas and didn't stop talking. Questions like "Don't you want to join in, Sylas?" "I think you'd be a great player" "Can I take your picture?" kept coming.

Sylas exhaled deeply several times. Why must his patience be tested in such ways. 

When the two teams came out onto the field, there was a hell of a racket. It was mostly cheering, as the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were keen to see the Slytherins lose, but the House of Snakes was also making an incredible racket.

Madam Hooch asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, and with threatening looks they grabbed harder than necessary.

Madam Hooch whistled and the players flew high into the air, with Draco gliding above them all, looking intently for the Snitch.

So did Dean Thomas, the Gryffindor Seeker.

They hurled insults at each other until Draco quickly flew away on his broom.

The Bludgers showed no mercy to the players and the Chasers did their best to prevent the balls from knocking their teammates off their brooms.

Sylas started to get a bad feeling about the whole thing. Somehow the Bludgers were flying differently than usual. They seemed to be guided ... unnaturally. Sometimes they changed direction in mid-flight, which made no sense, but nobody said anything about it.

Maybe he had simply seen too few Quidditch games and was imagining something.

But just as Fred swatted the Bludger away from Dean with a hard punch, it suddenly changed direction in mid-flight and raced towards the stands where Sylas sat.

Everyone immediately took cover and the Bludger flew through the wood behind them. Daphne and Theo had thrown themselves painfully on top of Sylas. The boy let out a loud groan, when he hit the ground with thrice his weight. 

"By Merlin, what was that?" Daphne shouted, shocked.

"It can happen that a Bludger makes a mistake in the direction," Theo said puzzled. 

Sylas under them began to squirm and growled, "Would you please stand up already? You're pretty heavy!"

Theo and Daphne now noticed Sylas lying flat on the floor. They started laughing and stood up. Theo offered him a hand, which he accepted.

"Don't worry," they heard Lockhart say, "If the Bludger comes at us again, I'll protect you! I cast an incredibly good protection spell in Croatia to protect a millionaire's daughter -"

Sylas and Theo just rolled their eyes in annoyance, with Daphne hanging on every single word. None of them were paying attention to the game.

Theo was just wiping the dust and dirt off Sylas' cloak when Sylas saw it behind the boy. The Bludger was racing towards the same stands at full speed for the second time.

This was not a coincidence.

Someone must have put a spell on the ball.

He just managed to push Theo away and wanted to take cover himself, but the Bludger was faster ... and harder. It hit him on the shoulder and upper arm, causing him to fall hard on the ground again.

This time he groaned even louder from the pain. It hurt a lot more than he would have expected. To make matters worse, he had hit his head when he fell. Everything was ringing in his ears. He tried to get up, but the stabbing pain made him sink back down again.

"Sylas!" Theo said worriedly, "Is everything okay with you?"

For some stupid reason, Creveey thought it was the perfect opportunity to take photos. The clicking just wouldn't stop and the sound was awfully ringing in his ears.

"Creveey..." Sylas said, his voice low but with a ton of threaths in it. His sparkling look he threw at the Gryffindor boy made him immediatly put his camera away. Creevey took a few steps aside to avoid eye contact.  

Lockhart scurried through the students and kneeled down to Sylas. Exactly the one person, he needed most. "Lie down again, Sylas!" he said soothingly, "it's a simple spell that I 've performed countless times."

Sylas shook his head violently. In no way he would let the professor cast a spell on him. "I'd better go straight to the hospital wing!" he said through gritted teeth, but the professor didn't let that stop him.

"Stand back," he said, rolling up his jade green sleeves.

He looked to Theo for help, who also tried to stop him, but Lockhart had already started waving his wand around and pointed it straight at Sylas' shoulder.

A strange and unpleasant feeling began to spread along Sylas' shoulder, extending to his fingertips: it was as if his arm was being drained. He didn't dare look, kept his eyes closed and his face turned away from his arm.

And his worst fears came true when they opened their mouths above him and Colin Creevey started snapping like mad again. His arm didn't hurt anymore, but it didn't feel like an arm anymore either.

"Well ..." Lockhart said, looking at Sylas' arm searching for an excuse. "Well. Well, that can happen. The important thing, however, is that the bones are no longer broken. That's what you have to remember. Now, Sylas, go up to the hospital wing - Mr Nott, Miss Greengrass, would you accompany him? Madam Pomfrey will ... patch him up a bit."

Sylas sat up, feeling strangely sideways. He took a deep breath and looked down at his right shoulder. And what he saw almost made him faint again.

From under his cloak, something looked like a thick, flesh-colored rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers.

Nothing happened.

Absofuckingluting nothing happened.

Lockhart hadn't repaired Sylas' bones ... he had made them disappear!

A fuse blew in Sylas. All these weeks ... All these god damn weeks he had been part of this shitty theater, listening to his shitty advice - enough was enough.

Lockhart had just turned away, talking to other students about how he healed a princess. Sylas couldn't stand his shit ass voice anymore, suddenly jumping forward.

"You miserable little Bas -"

Theo pulled him back just in time and covered his mouth.

"Are you crazy?!" he hissed at him. "You can't attack a professor! At least not in broad daylight!"

Sylas tried to fight him off, but Theo was too damn strong and fighting with only one functioning arm was hard as fuck. Daphne butted in as well and dragged him out of the tower up to the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey was anything but pleased, when she saw it.

"You should have come to me right away!" she raged, holding up the sad, lame remains of what had been a healthy arm half an hour ago. "I can heal bones in a second - but make them grow new -"

"You can do it, can't you?" Sylas asked desperately, his eyes searching for some positive answers in her gaze.

But she looked anything but positive. "I'll manage, of course, but it will be painful," Madam Pomfrey said grimly, throwing Sylas's pajamas onto the bed. "You'll have to stay here overnight..."

Theo and Daphne both waited in front of the curtain until Sylas had changed. Theo offered to help him, but he refused. He could do it on his own. Still, it was quite difficult to stuff a boneless arm into the sleeve, but somehow he managed it.

Meanwhile Theo interrogated Daphne on her beliefs.

"How can you still stick with Lockhart now, Daphne?" Theo asked behind the curtain. "If Sylas had wanted a deboning, he would have asked for it."

"Everyone makes mistakes," Daphne said, her voice low. "And it doesn't hurt anymore, does it, Sylas?"

"No," he said and climbing into bed. "But nothing else is happening as well." With his arm fluttering aimlessly, he swung himself onto the bed.

Daphne, Theo and Madam Pomfrey now came around the curtain. Madam Pomfrey held a large bottle in her hand with the label reading "Skele Wax".

"You've got a rough night ahead of you," she said, pouring a mug full of the steaming liquid and handing it to Sylas. "Regrowing bones is a horrible thing."

The Skele wax was horrible too. It burned Sylas' mouth and throat and made him cough and splutter. And while Madam Pomfrey was still ranting about dangerous sports and incompetent teachers, she withdrew and left Theo and Daphne to help Sylas choke down some water.

"It would be great if I didn't end up in the hospital wing every school year," he croaked, "Otherwise I might as well move here."

"At least it was just an accident this time," said Daphne, but Sylas immediately shook his head.

"It wasn't an accident. The Bludger was bewitched. What are the chances that he'll slap the same stand twice in a matter of minutes?" he asked.

Daphne just shrugged with her shoulders. "Well, that's pretty unlikely, but not zero," she said, "But the fact that it was focused on you is suspicious."

Theo tapped with his fingers on his leg. "Sylas is right. I noticed it too, the Bludger didn't fly like it was supposed to," he said.

"Hmm, it certainly couldn't have been the Weasley twins," muttered Daphne, "the Quidditch match is too important to them. After all, it could have been cancelled."

For a while they discuss who it could have been and suddenly the door to the sickroom creaked open and a completely wet and dirty Draco walked in. The half-giant stomped behind him with muesli, sweets and bottles of pumpkin juice.

Draco sprinted to his bed, looking at him up and down worriedly. "Sylas! Are you okay?" he asked, he was out of breath from racing up here. "I didn't notice until the game was over. Hagrid informed me."

"It's all good. Professor Lockhart thought he had to try out his amazing spells on me and now I have a jelly for an arm," Sylas grumbled.

He was still furious about what Lockhart had done to him. If it hadn't been for Theo, he would have thrown him off the stands.

"Telling you, that Lockhart is nothing but trouble! He almost burned down my hut last time!" said Hagrid grimmingly, putting the feast on Sylas's bedside table. Shifting the conversation to another point. "Let's forget about him and have a nice party. After all, Slytherin won!"

Daphne shot up in excitement and her eyes gleamed at Draco. "No way, you caught the snitch?!" she asked and Draco's face broke into an arrogant, proud grin.

"Of course, did you doubt my ability?! I snatched the Snitch right from under Thomas' face! You could have seen Wood's face, he looked like he wanted to drown himself in the rain!" he laughed, holding his chin up high. 

Hagrid handed out a piece of cake and pumpkin juice to everyone, and Draco began to tell them what happened during the rest of the game. But after they laughed a little too loudly, Madam Pomfrey stormed in.

"This boy needs rest! After all, thirty-three bones have to grow back! Out! OUT!"

Under eagle eye Pomfrey angry gaze, they left Sylas alone, with nothing to distract him from the stabbing pain in his lame arm. 

Time to get some rest. 

Many hours later, Sylas awoke suddenly in the pitch black night and let out a small cry of pain; his arm now felt as if it were full of large splinters. It hurt a lot more than when he had taken a beating from the other orphans.

For a second he thought that was what had woken him. Then, with a shudder of horror, he realized that someone was dabbing his forehead in the darkness.

"Get out of here," he said loudly, not realising who it was.

"Dobby!"

The house-elf's bulging tennis-ball eyes peered at Sylas through the darkness. A lone tear ran down his long, pointed nose.

"Sylas Ashford lied to Dobby and returned to school," he whispered dejectedly. "Dobby warned Sylas Ashford again and again. Oh sir, why didn't you believe Dobby? Why didn't Sylas Ashford go back home when he missed the train?"

Sylas struggled to sit up and pushed Dobby's handkerchief away.

"What are you doing here?" he said. "And how do you know I missed the train?"

Dobby's lips trembled and Sylas suddenly had a terrible suspicion.

"It was you!" he said slowly, "you prevented the barrier from letting us through!"

"Indeed, sir," Dobby said, nodding his head vigorously and flapping his ears, "Dobby was extremely shocked when he saw Sylas Ashford with his wizarding family. Dobby had to prevent him from getting to the train, even if he might get into trouble with his master. Dobby hid and looked for Sylas Ashford and sealed the passage, yes, and after that Dobby had to splint his hands -" he showed Sylas ten long bandaged fingers "- but Dobby didn't care, sir, for he believed Sylas Ashford was safe, and he never dreamed that Sylas Ashford would come to school by any other route." He shook his ugly head and rocked back and forth.

"Dobby was so horrified to hear that Sylas Ashford was back at Hogwarts that he burned his master's dinner! Dobby has never received such a beating, sir..."

Sylas fell back on the pillows. Then came the sudden realization. The family that Dobby served were the Malfoys! By Merlin, he didn't want to know what Mr. Malfoy would do to the house elf if all this got out.

"You better get out of here before my bones come back, Dobby, or I'll strangle you."

Dobby smiled weakly. "Dobby is used to death threats, sir. At home he gets them five times a day." He blew his nose into the corner of the dirty pillowcase he wore, looking so pitiful that Sylas felt his anger reluctantly wane.

Sylas let out a heavy sight, looking at that ugly pillowcase. "Why are you wearing that thing, Dobby?" he asked defeated, his anger gone.

"That, sir?" Dobby said, tugging at his pillowcase. "That is a sign of the house-elf's slave status, sir. Dobby can only be freed if his masters give him clothes, sir. The family is careful not to give Dobby even a sock, sir, because then he would be free to leave their house forever."

Dobby wiped his bulging eyes and said suddenly, "Sylas Ashford must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to -"

"Your Bludger?" Sylas asked, anger boiling up inside him again. "What do you mean, your Bludger? You're the one behind that damn thing trying to kill me?"

"Not killing Sylas, sir, never!" Dobby said, shocked. "Dobby wants to save Sylas Ashford's life! Better sent home, badly injured, than staying here, sir! Dobby just wanted Sylas Ashford to be hurt enough to be sent home!"

"Oh, is that all?" Sylas snorted, while frowning. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you want me sent home in pieces?"

"Ah, if Sylas Ashford only knew," groaned Dobby, more tears dripping onto his dingy pillowcase. "If he only knew what he means to us, the lowly, the enslaved, the dregs of the wizarding world! Dobby still remembers what it was like when He Who Must Not Be Named was at the height of his power, sir! We house-elves were treated like vermin! Of course Dobby is still treated like that, sir," he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase.

"But overall, sir, life has improved for our kind since the first Chosen - Harry Potter - triumphed over He Who Must Not Be Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord's power was broken, and a new dawn dawned, sir, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the dark days would never end, sir... but then young Harry Potter died, and all our hope ... extinguished," the house elf sobbed.

"But then we heard of the new Chosen One - of Sylas Ashford, who defeated the Dark Lord. He was now the new hope for us lesser beings, and now, at Hogwarts, terrible things will happen, and perhaps are already happening, and Dobby cannot leave Sylas Ashford here, now that history will repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open again -"

Dobby froze. In horror, he grabbed Sylas' water jug from the bedside table, hit it against his head and fell backwards. He crawled back onto the bed and muttered with a cross-eyed expression: "Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby..."

"The Chamber of Secrets?" Sylas whispered, his ears pricking up. "What do you know about it? Who opened it? Tell me, Dobby!"

Dobby's hand slowly wandered back to the water jug and Sylas grabbed his skinny wrist.

"Oh, sir, don't ask any more, don't ask poor Dobby any more," stammered the elf, his huge eyes shining in the darkness. "Evil deeds are planned in this place, but Sylas Ashford must not be here when they happen - go home, Sylas Ashford, Sylas Ashford must not interfere, sir, it is too dangerous -"

"Who is it, Dobby?"Sylas asked, still gripping Dobby's wrist to prevent him from hitting himself with the water jug again. "Who opened it? Who opened it last time?", his eyes gleamed at the hous-elf in interest. 

Dobby knew something. He knew more, than the teachers here. Sylas must have that information. 

"Dobby can't, sir, Dobby can't, Dobby mustn't say!" squeaked the elf. "Go home, Sylas Ashford, go home."

"I'm not going anywhere!" Sylas said determinedly. "Hogwarts is my home. My friends are here - my family. The school will be closed if the Chamber of Secrets is really opened."

"Sylas Ashford lays down his life for friends," moaned Dobby in a kind of wistful enthusiasm. "So noble! So brave! But he must save himself, he must, Sylas Ashford must not -" Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears trembling. Sylas heard it too. Footsteps approached in the corridor outside.

"Dobby has to go!" he breathed in horror. There was a loud crack and Sylas' fist suddenly became thin air.

He fell back onto the bed, his eyes fixed on the dark entrance to the hospital wing, and listened to the approaching footsteps.

A moment later, Dumbledore backed into the sickroom, wearing a long woolen dressing gown and nightcap, and carrying the head of what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall appeared a second later, carrying the feet. Together they hoisted the statue onto a bed.

"Fetch Madam Pomfrey," whispered Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall hurried past the foot of Sylas' bed and disappeared. Sylas lay as still as a mouse, pretending to sleep. He heard excited whispering, and then Professor McGonagall reappeared, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling a cardigan over her nightdress. He heard someone whistling for air.

"What happened?" Madam Pomfrey whispered to Dumbledore, leaning over the statue on the bed.

"A second attack," Dumbledore mumbled. "Minerva found him on the stairs."

"There was a bunch of grapes next to him," Professor McGonagall said, "we think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Ashford."

Sylas raised an eyebrow. Who would do something so foolish? 

Slowly and carefully he sat up a few inches so he could look at the statue on the bed. A beam of moonlight fell on the staring face. It was Colin Creevey. He lay there with his eyes wide open, his hands outstretched. And in his hands he held his camera.

"Petrified?" whispered Madam Pomfrey.

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "But I mustn't think about it... if Albus hadn't gone downstairs to get some hot chocolate - who knows what -"

All three stared down at Colin. Then Dumbledore leaned forward and snatched the camera from Colin's clutched hands.

"You think he managed to take a photo of his attacker?" Professor McGonagall said in an imploring voice. Dumbledore did not answer. He pulled the camera cover off.

"Oh my goodness!" said Madam Pomfrey. A jet of steam hissed out of the camera. Sylas, three beds away, was struck by the acrid smell of burning plastic.

"Melted," said Madam Pomfrey, shaking her head, "everything melted ..."

"What does this mean, Albus?" asked Professor McGonagall anxiously.

"It means," Dumbledoresaid, his voice calm, measuring, "that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again."

Madam Pomfrey clapped her hand over her mouth. Professor McGonagall stared at Dumbledore.

"But Albus... who?"

"The question is not who," Dumbledore said, his eyes on Colin. "The question is how..."

And from what Sylas could see of Professor McGonagall's face in the darkness, she didn't understand any more than he did.

But one thing got confirmed, the chamber of secrets must exist.

Chapter 14

The winter sun had bathed the ward in a glaring light. The air smelled - as always - of antiseptic potions and freshly laundered linens. The hospital wing was eerily quiet except for the occasional soft rustling of parchment as Madam Pomfrey shuffled through her medical records or books.

Sylas could feel new bones in his arm, but he could not yet move it. It was stiff, like a limb that had been taken apart and poorly reassembled. The aching soreness made him grimace.

Last nights memories occured to him again and he glanced over to Creevey's bed. His view blocked due to a long curtain. It was drawn tight, a silent barrier to spare anyone from whats behind.

Madam Pomfrey noticed that he was awake and came to him with a breakfast tray. She began to stretch and extend his arm and fingers. "How does it feel?"

Sylas winced as she pressed along the bones, testing for weakness. "Like I got trampled by a herd of Hippogriff. 

Madam Pomfrey let out a sniff of disapproval. "That’s normal. Your bones are still settling. Try eating something -" she gestured toward the bowl of porridge as he awkwardly spooned some into his mouth with his left hand, "- and once you’ve finished, you may go."

Relief flooded through him. He wanted nothing more than to leave the stiff, over-santizied ward behind. 

The moment he had finished his breakfast, he threw on his robes hastily, and pratically bolted out of the infirmary. His mind buzzed with urgency - he needed to tell Draco, Theo and Daphne what had happened. 

But when he reached the Slytherin common room, his friends where nowhere to be found. His brows furrowed. Their dorms were empty too. That was odd. Where had they gone?

As he climbed the stairs back up to the main floors, he spotted the Slytherin prefects - Penny and Benedict. 

"Ah Penny, Ben", he called out, slightly breathless as he caught up with them. "Have you seen Theo, Daphne or Draco by any chance?" 

Penny tilted her heads in thought. "Hmm, I think I saw them walking towards the library."

Sylas nodded his thanks and immediately rushed upstairs, but before he could head towards the library, he heard a familiar voice echoing through the corridor. 

Sylas stopped in his tracks. 

"I'm telling you, my name will be here someday!"

Draco. 

Following the sound, he turned toward the trophy room and cracke the door slightly open to see, who's inside. 

Daphne, Theo and Draco stood in front of a gleaming display case, all three of them examining the Quidditch trophies inside. Drao, as expected, was admiring the trophys which had Malfoy on them engraved, no doubt envisioning his future legacy. 

"There you are!" Sylas said slightly out of breath,

Three pairs of eyes turned toward him, and Daphne’s sharp gaze immediately honed in on his arm. She strode over before he could react, her fingers pressing and prodding at his newly healed limb.

"You’ve been discharged already?" she asked, narrowing her eyes as she checked for any lingering damage. "Doesn't it still hurt?"

Sylas flinched slightly under her inspection but quickly brushed her hands away. "It’s fine - that’s not important."

Daphne huffed in mild annoyance, but before she could argue, Sylas cut straight to the point.

"Colin Creevey got petrified last night."

A stunned silence settled over the trophy room. 

"What?", Theo asked, scrunching his brows in confusion. 

Draco tiltes his head slightly, his usual smirk fading. Daphne's arms dropped to her sides, her earlier concern over Sylas' arm forgotten. 

"How do you know?", Theo pressed, his voice quieter now. 

Sylas rubbed the back of his neck, the memory of the hospital wing flashing through his mind. "They brought his petrified statue to the hospital wing ... Apparently he was trying to sneak upstairs to visit me," Sylas explained.

A slight pause fell over the trophy room. All of them just staring at Sylas, as if he just said, he petrified him. 

Suddenly a slight chuckle escaped Draco, while running his fingers through his blond hair. "Great!", he murmured dryly. "Now everyone is going to think, it was you, because Creevey's been annoying you for weeks. You know how people talk, Sylas."

Sylas Stomach twisted. The thought hadn't even occured to him. 

He could already picture the rumors spreading like wildfire. It didn't matter that he had been in the hospital wing the entire time - people would talk. People would assume. 

He sighed, leaning against the doorframe, his shoulders sagging. "How spectacular ... just what I needed."

Theo crossed his arms, looking at the boy pitiful. "Have you at least thought about who might be responsible for the Bludger?" he asked.

Sylas Head shot right up again. "Yes, I know who it was", he said, "It was the house elf! Not only is he responsible for the Bludger, but also for closing the portal at Platform 9 ¾."

He proceeded to tell them everything - about his encounter with Dobby the previous night, about the elf’s desperate pleas for him to leave Hogwarts, and about how Dobby had indirectly admitted to causing the disasters in an attempt to protect him.

But he didn't mention his name - out of fear, Draco would tell on him. 

When he finished, Draco was rubbing his temples. "Bloody hell. So this elf thinks he’s saving your life, but he’s just making things worse."

"That’s what I said," Daphne muttered, shaking her head. "If he keeps saving you like this, he’s going to end up killing you."

Draco let out a short laugh. "Imagine that. Sylas Ashford - defeated the Dark Lord, but not a puny house elf."

Sylas scoffed and, without hesitation, flipped Draco off. Draco smirked, nudging his shoulder.

But beneath the dry humor, they still had no answers.

They were stuck at the same place as before - no new information out of the encounter with the houseelf. Their hopes laid with Mr Malfoy, which Draco has written another letter, but still - no answer. 

"Why hasn't your father answered yet?" Theo asked, glancing at Draco. 

"I don't understand either," Draco grumbeled, his head leaning on one of the cool glass cabinet. "Father usually writes me quickly when I sent him a letter. I'll try again."

Sylas pursed his lips. Something about that was off. Almost as if someone made the letters disappear and Dobby seemed to be quite made for such a job - though risking alot.

However, Sylas kept his mouth shut with that thought. 

The Chamber was open and someone was responsible for it. And for now, all they could do was wait. Much to Sylas regret. His fingers were twitching with curiousity. 

Answers, he needed answers. 

Where was the Chamber? Who opened it? How did creevey get petrified?

Another mystery this year for him solve. It really never gets boring at Hogwarts.  

The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying dead in the hospital wing had spread throughout the school by Monday morning. Suddenly the air was buzzing with rumors and suspicions - just as Draco predicted. The first years now walked through the castle in small groups, as if they were afraid of being attacked if they went out alone.

Ginny Weasley, who had sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was very upset. Her brothers weren't making this time any easier for her. Fred and George were always lying in wait for her behind suits of armor and bewitching her with furs and boils. Ron and Percy did their best to ignore her existence and when Ron did get involved with her, he threw the worst insults at her.

Sylas noticed that she was spending more time in the common room at night. He had spoken to Astoria Greengrass about it and she said that little Weasly might be suffering from nightmares. She often woke up because little Weasley was talking in her sleep and seemed frightened. Astoria had tried to befriend her, but apparently the wall that little Weasley had built up was far too thick.

Meanwhile, behind the teachers' backs, a thriving trade in talismans, amulets and other protective paraphernalia was taking place. Neville Longbottom bought a large, foul-smelling green onion and the rotting tail of a newt before the other Gryffindor boys informed him that he was in no danger; he was a pure-blood and therefore unlikely to be attacked.

The Slytherins were the only ones who were absolutely not worried about the rumors. Because they were the only ones who were safe from the monster that lurked somewhere. The accusations that Sylas was the Heir of Slytherin had only increased after the incident with Creveey.

The fear of Sylas grew with every passing incident. 

 

~~~

 

December, 1992

In the second week of December, Professor Snape came to them as usual and wrote down the names of the students who wanted to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas.

There were more Slytherins staying for the holidays this time. Some of the older ones had signed up, as had Sylas, Theo, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle. Daphne would be going home, but promised to write the boys letters and send them presents.

As they had heard, Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas and Hermione Granger were also staying. Theo noticed that the three were behaving strangely. They kept an eye on the three Gryffindors.

Strange things were happening in Snape's potions class.

Someone had set off fireworks, spilling the swelling potion they were brewing that class on almost everyone. Only a madman would dare do such thing in Snape's class - or a Gryffindor planning something foolish.

A week later, as Sylas and Theo were walking through the entrance hall, they noticed a small crowd around the noticeboard where a piece of parchment was being pinned up. Draco and Daphne waved them over.

"They're starting a dueling club !" Draco shouted excited, "Tonight is the first meeting. Uncle Sev will definitely be the teacher. He's an excellent duelist!"

"And we can see the Gryffindors embarrassing themselves. I'm sure none of them have any experience," laughed Daphne.

The four of them went into the large hall for lunch.

"It could be really useful," Sylas mumbeled lost in thought. "Maybe I can get one over on the Weasley twins."

"It's really starting to get embarrassing for you, hanging upside down somewhere every week," Draco laughed and got a slap on the shoulder.

Sylas eyes flickered with revenege. "Just wait until tonight," he growled, grinning.

The two boys provoked each other all day long – just for fun. So they could get back on each other while being allowed to duel. 

At around eight o'clock the four of them rushed into the large hall. The long dining tables had disappeared and a golden stage had appeared on one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating above it. Under the velvet-black ceiling, almost the entire school seemed to have gathered, all with excited expressions and armed with their wands.

"Has anyone seen Snape yet?" Daphne asked. Apart from the students, they hadn't seen any of the professors yet. The murmuring grew with every minute that past. On the parchment it wasn't stated, who exactly would teach the duel club. 

"He's coming", Theo reassured. "After all, he has a penchant for dramatic performances,"

Meanwhile, Draco and Sylas kept elbowing and shoving each other, trying to make the other fall. Both of them for sure had lots of blue spots on their rips already, from all the nudging. 

But when they saw a certain professor, they sighed in disappointment and rolled their eyes. Gilderoy Lockhart entered the stage, clad in a magnificent plum-blue cloak, and he was followed by none other than Snape, in his usual black cloak.

With a gesture of his arm, Lockhart commanded silence.

"Come closer, over here! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Very good! Well, Professor Dumbledore has given me permission to form this little duelling club and train you in case you need to defend yourselves, as I have done myself on countless occasions - please read my publications for details. I would like to introduce you to my assistant, Professor Snape," he said, flashing a broad smile.

The Slytherins looked at each other, confused and speechless. Lockhart, of all people, who had absolutely no talent, was leading the dueling club.

"He confided in me that he knows a little about duelling himself and has kindly agreed to help me with a little demonstration at the beginning. Well, you young people need not worry, when I'm done with him you will get your Potions teacher back unharmed, don't worry!"

His joke didn't really reach the audience. Only the girls chuckled silently, but the boys? The all, especially the Slytherins, glared at him. 

Draco let out dry chukle. "Lockhart would be more careful that Uncle Sev doesn't accidentally kill him ," he grinned. Theo and Sylas could only agree, but they caught a nasty look from Daphne.

She had her arms crossed, her fingers twitching from anger. "You'll see what he can do!" she grumbled.

The boys just looked at each other, frowning, but Snape himself didn't seem happy either about being called an assistant. His upper lip curled. Sylas wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had looked at him like that, he would have left long ago.

Lockhart and Snape turned to each other and bowed; at least Lockhart did so with much hand-waving, while Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords.

"As you can see, we hold our wands in the traditional fighting position," Lockhart explained to the silent crowd. "I'll count to three and then we'll cast our first spells. Of course ... none of us intend to kill."

"I hope otherwise," Sylas muttered, seeing Snape baring his teeth.

"One two three -"

Both of them raised their wands over their shoulders; Snape shouted: "Expelliarmus!" A blinding scarlet flash knocked Lockhart off his feet. He flew backwards across the stage, slammed into the wall, slid down and lay on the floor, all fours sprawled out.

Many of the Slytherins started to cheer and laugh. Draco wiped his tear away from all the laughte, while Theo and Sylas couldn't surpress the evilish grin on their lips.

Only Daphne hopped around on her tiptoes and looked worriedly at her teacher. "Do you think something happened to him?" she mumbled through her fingers, glancing at him as if Voldemort himself had attacked. 

"Whatever," said the three of them in unison. Lockhart staggered to his feet. He had lost his hat and his wavy hair stood up in spikes.

"Well, as you saw," he said, padding back onto the stage. "That was a Disarming Charm - as you can see, I've lost my wand - ah, thank you, Miss Brown - yes, excellent idea to show them, Professor Snape, but forgive me for telling you this, it was quite obvious what you were up to and I would have prevented it if I had wanted to - although I thought it would be educational if the students saw it..."

Snape's face had taken on a murderous expression. Perhaps Lockhart had noticed this too, because he said, "Enough of the demonstration! I'm coming down now and pairing you all up - Professor Snape, if you'd help me -"

They went through the crowd and paired the students. Lockhart paired Longbottom with Finch- Fletchley and Granger with Daphne. Meanwhile, Snape paired Sylas with Draco and Theo with Ron Weasley. The Slytherins couldn't help but grin.

Granger knew what was in store for her, because her face turned pale as she looked into Daphne's greedy blue eyes. She was a know-it-all, but Daphne would beat her in practical experience.

The Weasley behaved more aggressive, but Theo didn't care. He would definitely not let a Weasley embarrass him. Over his dead body.

Meanwhile Sylas and Draco stood apart from each other, their eyes flickering with a need of action. 

"Scared, Malfoy?" Sylas asked, his wand ready to attack. .

"You wish, Ashford," Draco said with a broad grin.

They had been waiting all day to finally be able to duel each other. Sylas had already thought of a few spells that he could use.

"Stand facing your partner!" Lockhart shouted, now back on stage. "And bow!"

Sylas and Draco tilted their heads with broad grins, never taking their eyes off each other.

"Wands ready!" Lockhart called. "I'll count to three, then you cast your spells and disarm the opponent - just disarm - we don't want any accidents - one... two... three -"

Both Slytherins had the same idea. Instead of starting at "three" they waved their wands at two and cursed each other. Draco's curse hit Sylas so hard that he felt like a pot of soup had been thrown at his head. Meanwhile, he had hit Draco with Rictusempra, which forced the boy to his knees and began to gasp.

"I said, just disarm!" Lockhart shouted angrily over the heads of the fighting crowd, but no one was listening. Everyone was having too much fun cursing each other without consequences.

Sylas didn't wait and put a tickling curse on Draco. He could hardly contain his laughter and had tears in his eyes. Sylas looked over at the others for a moment, just looking what the others where up to. He thought Draco would definitely not use a counter curse.

Big mistake.

While gasping for breath, Draco pointed his wand at Sylas' knee, choked out "Tarantallegra!" and the next moment Sylas' legs began to swing wildly as if he were dancing a fast foxtrot.

"Stop! Stop!" screamed Lockhart, no one listened to him and everything got out of control.

Snape finally decided to take matters in his own hands. 

"Finite Incantatem!" he shouted. Sylas' legs stopped dancing; Draco stopped laughing and both were able to compose themselves again.

Nethertheless, they didn't look at their head of house. Mereley because they were impressed with each others curses.

Draco shot him a proud glance. "Typical Slytherin to start at two, didn't think you would do it," he whispered, winking. 

"Hey, I've been here for 1.5 years now. I'm starting to understand how you all work," Sylas grinned at him.

Greenish smoke hung over the battlefield. Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley lay on the ground, breathing heavily; Theo had immediately killed the duel with hitting the  Weasley with Petrificus Totalus. The Slytherin did not want to know what the boy would have done to him with his damaged wand.

Snape freed the pitiful Gryffindor from his trance.

Granger and Daphne were still wrestling. Both wands were lying on the floor, long forgotten, and they were pulling at each other's hair. All you could hear was a wild discussion about Lockhart, who knew him better, or something like that.

Theo jumped over and tried to separate the two. Even though he was bigger than them, he had trouble.

No man could stand up to the anger of two women.

Only with the help of Sylas and Draco were they finally able to separate the two. They still heard Daphne cursing quietly under her breath and the death glares she shot at Granger.

"Good heavens," Lockhart murmured. He hopped through the crowd and surveyed the debris. "Stand up, Macmillan...careful there, Miss Fawcett...press hard, boat, it'll stop bleeding in a minute - I think I'd better show you how to block hostile spells," said Lockhart, standing confused in the middle of the hall.

He looked over at Snape, whose black eyes were blazing, and quickly looked away again over to the student. His eyes hid a sublte hint of fear. 

"I need two volunteers", lockhart said, searching for the perfect victims. "- Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about them -"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," Snape said, gliding over like a large, ominous bat. "Longbottom is wreaking havoc with the simplest of spells, so we can send what's left of Finch- Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox."

Longbottom's round pink face turned dark pink.

Snape looked over his own students and his dark eyes fixated on two of them. "How about Malfoy and Ashford?" he said  with a crooked smile.

"Brilliant idea!" said Lockhart, gesturing to Sylas and Draco in the middle of the hall. The crowd backed away to make room for them.

Draco winked at him once again. "This time I won't let you get away so easly, Ashford", he whispered. 

Sylas had to chuckle. "Give me all you got, Malfoy"

The both climbed up the table to either of the professor. Sylas wasn't so sure if it was a great thing, that Lockhart was assisting him. For a sudden moment he thought about, just cursing the professor and declaring it an accident. 

After all, he deserved it, after making Sylas suffer so much with his wobble arm. 

Lockhart put his hands on the boys shoulders, his eyes flickering amused. "Now, Sylas," he said, "when Draco points his wand at you, do this." He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated snaking motion, and dropped it. Under Snape's sneer, Lockhart picked up the wand.

"Oops - my wand is a little overheated -"

Sylas just looked over to Theo with wide eyes. He as well, glanced at the professor with his mouth slightly open and brow furrowed. If Theo didn't get the movement Lockhart did with his wand, Sylas wouldn't either.

Great. 

Snape went over to Draco, leaned down and whispered something in his ear. Now Draco grinned too. Sylas could already guess that this couldn't mean anything good. Snape and Draco had known each other for quite a long time and from Draco's stories he knew that he had learned a lot from Snape. But that only made it more exciting for him. Could he keep up with a real pureblood?

Lockhart patted Sylas cheerfully on the shoulder. "Just copy my move, Sylas!"

"So, I should ... drop my wand?" Sylas joked dryly and some had to stifle laughter. But Lockhart wasn't listening. 

"Three - two - one - go," Lockhart shouted.

Draco quickly raised his wand and barked, "Serpensortia!"

The tip of the wand exploded. Sylas, wide-eyed, saw a long black snake shoot out from it, slap heavily on the ground between them, and rear up, ready to bite. Screaming, the crowd backed away and formed a wide circle around them.

Sylas had no idea how to defend himself against a snake. They had never covered anything like that in class before. Nevertheless, he tried to remain as calm as possible. If he knew one thing, it was that animals were more likely to kill an scared, rashly person than one who remained calm and collected.

Snape walked towards the snake with his wand steady in his hands. His lips curled up. "Don't move, Ashford," he said calmly, his voice not loud but stil echoing through the great hall. "I'll take her away..."

"Permit me," Lockhart remarked. To everyones misfortune he flicked his wand faster than Snape. 

He waved his wand threateningly at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of disappearing, rose four metres into the air and then fell back to the ground with a loud thud.

Furious and hissing in excitement, it slid straight towards Justin Finch-Fletchley and reared up again with its fangs bared. Sylas was not sure what had driven him to do this. He had not even consciously decided to do it.

All he knew was that his legs were carrying him forward as if he were moving on wheels, and that he calmly said to the snake, "Easy, my beauty. Just get away from him."

And miraculously - inexplicably - the snake dropped to the ground, peaceful as a thick black garden hose, and turned its eyes to Sylas. Sylas felt the fear leave his body, as if he knew the snake would not attack anyone now. At that moment he only saw the snake in front of him and blocked everything out.

A beautiful misunderstood animal.

"What kind of game are you playing?" Justin Finch-Fletchley suddenly shouted, shifting Sylas focus onto him. He realised how the Great Hall had fallen into deep silence. Everyone staring at the boy with the snake before him.

Before Sylas could say anything, Justin Finch-Fletchley had turned around and stormed out of the hall. Sylas now looked around the hall and everyone seemed to be petrified. Frowning, he looked at his friends, who were also staring at him with their mouths open.

Snape stepped forward, waving his wand, and the snake dissolved into a cloud of black dust. He glanced at Sylas with an unreadable look. Not a word came out of the potions master. 

Deep in his core Sylas knew something was not right. Strange murmuring started along the walls, making him feel even more uncomfortable. 

His gaze swept across the Great Hall. 

All those eyes upon him ... the whispers grew louder and louder in Sylas ears. His chest felt tight - too tight - making it impossible to take a full breath. 

His hands started trembling, his fingers twitching, gripping his wand even harder. His eyes wandered around the great hall. He was searching for an answer - searching for a reason. 

People were talking about him, people were assuming about him. 

They all looked at him, like he was a freak ... an outsider ...a weirdo

But what were talking about? What were they assuming? What did he do? Why are they whispering? Why are they staring at him? What did he do wrong? 

What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it?

Suddenly he felt a pull on his robe. Someone tried to get him down of the table. Sylas' head snapped to the person and he looked into the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen. Suddenly his out of control thoughts vanished in an instant and his tight chest eased. 

"Come on," Theo's voice whispered, his blue eyes full of concern with a hint of - fear? "move ... come on -"

Theo helped him down from the table, clutching onto his wrist, to just get him out of this situation. The shift in Sylas body, Theo caught up to him immediatly. All he could think about was getting Sylas out of here. Somwhere more quiet, more private. So the boy could calm down.

Closely behind them were Daphne and Draco. 

As they walked through the door, the crowd of students parted on either side as if they were afraid. Sylas had no idea what was going on, and none of the other three said a word until they had led him down to the common room. They all wore unreadable expressions.

Theo pushed Sylas into a chair and said sharply, "You're a Parselmouth! Why didn't you tell us?" 

He seemed ... angry? ... frightened? Sylas couldn't put his fingers on it. 

Daphne and Draco stood beside Theo, all three of them forming a barrier around Sylas, as if shielding him from prying eyes or, perhaps, keeping him contained. Their expressions were conflicted, a mixture of disbelief, concern, and something almost accusatory

Sylas just looked at them befuddled, blinking at them. "I am a what?", his voice cracked. 

"A Parselmouth !" Theo repeated slower this time, though no less urgent. "You can talk to snakes!"

Sylas frowned, glancing between their serious faces. “Okay…? I bet a lot of people can do that.” He shrugged, not understanding the intensity of their reaction.

Finally the three Slytherins realized, the boy had no clue what the hell, they were talking about. Why it was such a big deal, especially in Slytherin. 

Draco ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "Oh no, they can't," he noted slightly distressed. "It's not a very common gift. And it's definetly not something people associate with ... good things."

"What's so bad about it?" Sylas asked, he grew impatient. He could feel his chest tightend again, a mix of frustration and unease. "What's wrong with all of you? Listen, if I hadn't told that snake not to attack Finch-Fletchley -"

Daphne cut in, before he could finish his sentence. "Merlin, and I thought you said the snake should attack him", she admitted, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Sylas confusion only deepened. "What do you mean? You were there - you heard me -"

"We heard you speaking Parseltongue, Sylas" Theo emphazised. "Snake language. You could have said anything - no wonder Finch-Fletchley was terrified, you sounded as if you were goading the snake."

Sylas stared at them, his mouth slightly open. "I ... I spoke another language?" His voice barley audible. "But - I didn't realize it - how can I speak another language without knowing it?"

Draco let out a humorless chuckle, but there was no amusement in his face. “Merlin, Sylas. What else is going to happen? First, your personal house ghost, then that voice only you hear, and now it turns out you’re a bloody Parselmouth?” He rubbed his temples as if the mere thought exhausted him.

Daphne, whose earlier relief had been brief, now looked at Sylas with open apprehension. “This is it. This is the ultimate proof that you are the heir of Slytherin,” she murmured.

Sylas stiffened. “Why should that be any proof?”

Daphne crossed her arms. "Because Salazar Slytherin himself was famous for being able to talk to snakes. That's why the Slytherin symbol is a snake," she explained, watching him closely for his reaction.

Draco nodded grimly. "Everyone will think you're his great-great-great-great-great-grandson, or whatever. They will blame you for everything connected to the Chamber of Secrets."

He looked at his three friends with wide eyes. Searching for something in their faces, that hinted it as all just a bloody joke. 

There wasn't. 

A heavy silence settled between them, thick and suffocating. 

If things continued like this, the school could either be closed, Sylas could be expelled, or Sylas would have to save the school from something worse once again.

And he was having none of that. 

Sylas swallowed hard. His mind whirled. Then, a terrible thought struck him, and before he could stop himself, he voiced it aloud.

“Do you think Dumbledore staged this?” His own voice sounded foreign in his ears. “Do you think he’s putting me through another ... test - like last year? Trying to force me into being the hero again?”

His words sent another ripple of tension through the group. Theo, Draco, and Daphne exchanged worried glances.

"If Dumbledore is really behind this ... " murmured Theo quieter, almost hesitant, "Then he is taking a massive risk. He is putting people's lives in danger just to prove that you are the hero in need, and that would be incredibly reckless - even for him."

"We still have to consider it," Daphne muttered, "because he is supposed to have his school under control ... and right now, he doesn't"

Draco crossed his arms, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Well, if this is some elaborate game of his, the best thing you can do, Sylas, is not play into it.” His silver eyes met Sylas’s green ones. “Don’t play the hero. That’s exactly what Dumbledore wants you to do.”

Sylas took a slow breath, his pulse hammering in his ears. The last few minutes rushed through his mind again and again. He was thinking hard about this whole mess, but something deep inside him, deep down in his core, was shaking. Not from fear or anxiety, but from ... excitement.

He was a Parselmouth. He could speak to snakes. 

It wasn’t just any ordinary skill - it was ... rare.

His mind raced with possibilities. What else could he do with this?

How ... thrilling to have such a trait. 

But as soon as his gaze flickered back to his friends, Sylas forced himself to shove those thoughts down. Daphne still had her arms crossed, staring at him like he was a particularly tricky puzzle. Theo’s brows were drawn, his mouth set in a firm line, still deep in thought. And Draco… Draco just looked uneasy, as if realizing Sylas could talk to snakes made things far too real for him being the culprit

He couldn't let them see how curious he was about this skill. That he wanted to test it out again, that it doesn't bother him at all.

But ... he didn't wanna seem like a freak. 

He needed to contain his emotions and bury them deep down in his bones. 

Chapter 15

Sylas lay awake for hours that night, staring at the ceiling above his bed. The dorm was silent aside from the crackling and hissing of the fire to keep them all warm. And as well Crabbe and Goyles occasional snorring. 

But despite the quiet, his mind was loud. 

Sylas' mind lingered with so many questions and thoughts, he could not find any peace. 

He's a Parselmouth. 

The realization still sent a strange, thrilling shiver through him. Even when he quietly tried to speak the snake language again, trying to get some sort of hissing out of him, nothing could be heard. Disappointment sat heavy in his chest.

He wanted to speak it again - hear it, understand it.

And yet, all he could think about were the disturbed faces of his friends. The concern in their eyes. The hesitation in their voices. They weren’t excited like he was. They were worried.

Sylas frowned, his fingers clenching the sheets. He just couldn't understand why people feared Parseltongue so much. What was so bad about talking to snakes? If anything, it was fascinating. It was a gift - something to be proud of.

A deep sigh left him, and after what felt like an eternity of tossing any turning, he had enough. With a grim expression, he threw off the covers and quietly slipped out of the dorm, pulling his blanket around his shoulders, fetching a magic chess board as he made is way down to the common room.  

The Slytherin common room was empty, bathed in the dim green glow of the enchanted lanterns and the cackling fire. It was cold, the stone walls not really contributing any warmth to this place. 

Sylas sat down at the couch infront of the fireplace, setting up the chess. Before long, a familiar presence drifted into the room.

Someone needs company, Olivers voice echoed, his ghostly body floating into his view opposite of the couch. His lips in a broad smile. 

Sylas let out a breath, almost relieved seeing him. "I just need some distraction," he admitted, placing the pieces into position. "My thoughts are spiraling all over the place - especially the whole 'Heir of Slytherin' is not letting me get any sleep."

For a second he paused, studying the board before moving the first chess piece. He could feel Olivers smirk from a mile away.

Hmm, take the role. I don't see any disadvantage. Pawn on B5

Sylas gaze shot up to the ghost in disbelief. "Are you crazy?", he asked, his voice a tad to loud. He lowered it quickly, "Why the hell would I pretend to be the Heir of Slytherin?"

Oliver pointed at the game, prompting him to make his next move before speaking again. 

The Malfoy boy said it, didn't he? Don't play the hero, don't give Dumbledore exactly what he wants. By playing the heir of Slytherin you would exactly do the opposite. People are going to fear you, avoid you. They won't see you as the hero who saved them from Voldemort, but a bludmud hater. Outside of your little gang, no one knows you're not really the heir. Why not using it as an advantage? Knight on C6

Sylas hesitated, his fingers hovering over a knight before finally moving it forward. A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the distant crackle of the fire and the soft clink of the enchanted chess pieces shifting on their own.

He had to admit - Oliver made sense. He always made sense. Sylas had followed the ghost’s advice many times before, and it had never led him astray. Slowly, he leaned against the armrest of his chair, staring at the board in deep thought. "The antihero…" he muttered under his breath. The idea was tempting. Very tempting.

"Maybe that’s not a bad idea."

Oliver crossed his leg and his arms mid air, his nose high up in the air. Of course it's not a bad idea. After all, it comes from me!

Every time he grinned, he had this aura that cast a spell over one.

Sylas huffed a quiet chuckle. He studied the ghost for a moment, tilting his head. "You must have been popular at school, right?" The question left his mouth before he could fully think it through.

His looks alone certainly earned the ghost a lot of points. In addition to his charisma, he for sure had every person around him in his grasp. 

Oliver's smirk widened.

What do you think? Students or teachers - It didn't matter. I had them wrapped around my little finger. I told you once before Sylas..., you have to adapt. Either as a follower or as someone who has the power. Runner D7

Sylas' gaze drifted back to the board, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against the armrest. "And what would you do in my position?", he mumbled.

The queen on F4, you really play miserable

Sylas rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I don't mean the chess game, but the situation I'm in!"

Oh, could have said that, Oliver began to think, letting Sylas linger for his answer, The Hufflepuff boy seems like a good first target.

Sylas frowned slightly. "Finch-Fletchley?"

He is already afraid of you, so why not intimidate him more? Give him something to feed the rumors about you being the Heir of Slytherin. Give all of them something to whisper about in the halls. Fear is a powerful tool, Sylas. Use it. Let them think you're the heir. Make them wonder. Make them doubt.  

Sylas pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders, his mind already working through the idea.

"Tomorrow we have Herbology with the Hufflepuffs...", he muttered more to himself than to Oliver.

Oliver leaned back in the air, looking pleased. Sounds like the perfect opportunity, don’t you think?

Sylas didn’t answer. Not right away. Instead, he made his next move.

The game continued. Three more turns, and Oliver had him in checkmate. Sylas scowled, but without much frustration - he was used to losing to Oliver by now. He set up the board again, determined to at least try and win.

At some point, in the early hours of the morning, exhaustion finally caught up to him. His eyelids grew heavy, his movements slower. He didn’t even realize he had drifted off until the pieces stopped moving, the warmth of the fire lulling him into sleep.

And in the flickering light of the common room the ghostly figure smiled. 

The next morning, however, the night's snow had turned into a blizzard so thick that Herbology was cancelled. Professor Sprout wanted to put socks and scarves on the mandrakes, and it was such a complicated job that she didn't want to entrust it to anyone else - especially now that the mandrakes were growing quickly and were supposed to bring Mrs Norris and Colin Creevey back to life.

Sylas sat by the fire in the common room, thinking about the previous evening. There was a change in plan needed, because of the class cancellation. Meanwhile Daphne and Draco played chess and Theo prepared for the next Potions lesson.

The common room was quiet. After all, all the other students were in their lessons. They few Slytherins and Hufflepuffs were the only one who could relax. 

When they went to breakfast in the morning, he received a lot of support from the older Slytherin students for what had happened the previous evening. However, his actions were not well received by many.

Actually, no one except the Slytherins.

Sylas watched the two of them playing chess absently. His mind always thinking about what Oliver had told him.

Should he go and look for Finch-Fletchley? Or should he wait a little longer? Where should he even start looking? There was no guarantee that he would find the Hufflepuff. He was probably hiding in his common room anyway.

Suddenly he remembered that he still had a book to return. If he left now, he wouldn't have to drag the others with him. After all, the rest of the school was in class. So he sighed and got the book from his room.

Just before he left through the brickwall, Theo said, "I'd better come with you. Otherwise you'll get bewitched." He had just closed his book and stood up.

Sylas just shook his head. "No need, everyone else is in class anyway except us and the Hufflepuffs and they certainly won't dare to hex me. Stay here," he said and started walking without waiting for an objection.

When the brickwall behind him fell right back into his place, he took a deep breath. When was the last time he scurried around the castle alone? Sylas climbed his way up to the library. It felt good walking around without having to worry, that one of the Weasleys could lurk around any corner. 

The heavy snowfall made the castle darker than usual during the day. Shivering from the cold, Sylas walked past the classrooms where lessons were being held, catching glimpses of what was going on inside.

Professor McGonagall was shrieking at a student who, from what she said, had turned his friend into a badger. Sylas resisted the urge to take a look inside and walked past.

Sylas entered the library and stood before Madame Pince's desk. His book already laying on it, he waited for the woman to appear, so he could give it back properly.

Whispers and murmurs echoed through besides the walls. The voices seemed familiar, so Sylas hushed through the bookshelfs to figure out who it was.

When he saw the group, his eyes lit up and his lips curled into a smile. 

The Hufflepuff were sitting at the back of the library with their heads close together, whispering tensely

Sylas got as close as he could to see if Finch-Fletchley was there. He got close enough to overhear their conversation.

"Anyway," said a stocky boy, "I advised Justin to hide in our dormitory. I'd say if Ashford has chosen him as his next victim, he'd better keep a low profile for a while. Ashford must have somehow found out he's a Muggle and is now after him."

Sylas' eyebrow curved. As he expected, the Hufflepuffs was hiding because of him. His mind already thinking, how else to spread rumours. 

"So you're sure it's Ashford, Ernie?" a girl with blonde pigtails said anxiously.

"Hannah," the stocky boy replied seriously. "He's a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that's the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? Slytherin themselves called them Snaketongue."

Sylas heart skipped a beat. His friends had failed to tell him, that being able to speak Parsel, was labeled as being a dark wizard. His confusion finally lifted on why people didn't like wizards talking to snakes. 

His hands clenched to a fist.

Still, it was a gift to be proud of. 

A loud murmur followed these words, and Ernie continued, "Remember what was written on the wall: Enemies of the Heir, beware. Ashford must have had a falling out with Filch. And shortly after that, Filch's cat is attacked. This first-year boy, Creevey, has been following Ashford for weeks, which must have really annoyed him. And what happens shortly after that? Creevey is attacked."

"He may be a Slytherin, but he doesn't seem that evil to me. I never really noticed him because he's so quiet. Not like Parkinson or Malfoy," Hannah said uncertainly, "and besides, well, he was the one who chased You-Know-Who away. He can't be completely evil, can he?"

Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs leaned even closer and Sylas stole himself closer to catch Ernie's words. "No one knows how he survived that attack from You-Know-Who. In any case, there is no evidence that You-Know-Who was under the 3rd floor and no one can say how he defeated him. You-Know-Who may have been weakened, but still, it was an 11-year-old against an adult. If you ask me, something's not right."

He lowered his voice to a haunting whisper, "So either Dumbledore is lying or Ashford is hiding something. Maybe he even made a secret deal with You-Know-Who and through him he knows how to open the Chamber of Secrets."

This was the most absurd thing Sylas had heard in a long time. Admittedly, he even found it funny. These rumors reached a level that he could never have imagined.

With a sly grin, he emerged from between the shelves. Now was the perfect time to take on his role as Heir of Slytherin.

When the assembled Hufflepuffs finally noticed him, all colour drained from their faces. They sat in their chairs petrified.

Sylas stood right infront of their table. "Hello," he said, smiling, "you are having an interesting conversation. May I join you?"

No one in the group dared to say anything. Everyone just stared at Ernie, because he was the one who had talked about the Slytherin.

"What do you want from us?" Ernie asked in a shaky voice.

Sylas leaned casually against one of the bookshelves and folded his arms. "Hmm, what do I want?", he mumbeled, tilting his head as if he was thinking. "Your conversation sounded quite ... delightful and since you're talking about me behind my back, I thought we could discuss it directly. So tell me ... Ernie. What do you think was going on down there when you were sleeping peacefully in your bed and I was facing the darkest and most evil wizard?"

His friendly smile irritated the Hufflepuffs. Ernie looked at the others, but they just shook their heads slightly. He bit his lip briefly, took a deep breath and said, "Then tell us how you defeated him. Otherwise, I'll assume that you and You-Know-Who are working together."

Sylas let out a deep chuckle. "Afraid of his name?", he mocked, his voice full of amusement.

Ernie didn't answer.

"Voldemort -" at the mention of his name, all the Hufflepuffs flinched, "Was actually down there - at the back of Quirrell's head, and you should know, just how untalented Quirrell was. Considering that Voldemort -" the Hufflepuffs sucked in a sharp breath, "- was only a face, he had very little power. So yes, I was very lucky."

"Yet you still hide how you defeated him," Ernie muttered tensely.

Sylas smile faded, his eyes piercing thorugh the Hufflepuff. "I don't remember. I hit my head and got a concussion. It's normal not to remember everything," he said.

"All this just means you're somehow in cahoots with him. You-Know-Who hated Muggles, and there are rumors going around that you hated them too. He somehow managed to tell you how to open the Chamber of Secrets, and now you're hunting down Muggle-borns ," Ernie said, his voice shaking.

The Hufflepuffs looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Telling Sylas directly was the stupidest thing he could have done.

Sylas just raised an eyebrow. "I hate muggles?", he asked confused. "Where does this rumor come from?" 

Ernie swallowed, before hesitantly explaining himself. "I heard that your grandparents didn't teach you anything, even though you're a pureblood. So you grew up among Muggles and since you've been here and know what they've been hiding from you, you hate Muggles."

There was a moment of dead silence and Sylas stared at Ernie with wide, emotionless eyes. The Hufflepuff began to sweat slightly. "A-And if you're getting any strange ideas, my family can be traced back nine generations and you can see that our blood is as pure as can be." he muttered. 

Sylas let out a laugh. It only made the Hufflepuffs tense up even more. With a grin on his face, he approached their table and stopped just in front of Ernie. Sylas noticed that the boy was holding his breath. "Just so you know, Ernie –" he purred, playing with a strand of the boy's hair, "Your blood status is not an important criterion, so I would recommend that you shouldn't feel too confident ... about your saftey."

The Hufflepuffs were on the verge of tears. They sat there as if they were his prisoners .

"Alright!" Sylas said and clapped his hands once, making them flinch. "I'll leave you alone again. I still have something to do."

He patted him on the shoulder a few more times, causing him to wince, winked at the others with a slight smile and left the library. He simply placed the book on Madame Pince's table. He just couldn't shake off his smug grin. Oh, their anxious faces gave him just the right satifsaction.

Oliver emerged from the ground, whistling impressively. Excellent performance. I couldn't have done better. Those Hufflepuffs will definitely not be seen in front of you again.

"I just did what you advised me to do yesterday," he muttered quietly, his voice full of amusement.

The day really couldn't have started better. He could hardly wait to tell the others what he had done. But as soon as he turned the corner, he hit something big and solid and crashed to the ground.

Sylas looked up. "Oh, hello, Hagrid."

Hagrid's face was hidden under a snow-covered woolen hood, but it couldn't possibly be anyone else, as his mole coat almost filled the whole width of the corridor. A dead cockerel dangled from one of his massive gloved paws.

"Are you okay, Sylas?" he said, pulling up his hood to speak. "Why aren't you in class?"

"Cancelled because of the snowstorm," he said, straightening up. "What are you doing here?"

Hagrid picked up the lifeless rooster. "The second one killed this year," he explained. "Either foxes or a blood-sucking ghost, and I need the Headmaster's permission to put a circle around the henhouse."

He peered out from under his thick, snow-glittered brows and looked at Sylas.

"You look happy, did something good happen?" he asked.

Sylas just shrugged and said, "Just in a good mood."

Hagrid let out a deep laugh and patted him on the shoulder, "That's it, Sylas. Glad you're doing well."

"I'd better get going, Hagrid, we're about to have Transfiguration and I still have to get my books."

His head still full of the previous conversation, he left Hagrid.

Sylas stomped down the stairs and turned into a corridor darker than the others; a sharp, icy draft of air blew through a slamming window and extinguished the torches. Halfway down the corridor he stumbled and fell to the floor.

He turned to see what he had tripped over - and suddenly felt as if his stomach was going to dissolve.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, stiff and cold and lifeless, staring at the ceiling, a frozen expression of horror on his face. And that was not all. Next to him was another figure and Sylas had never seen anything stranger.

It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly white and transparent, but filled with black smoke. He was floating motionless a hand's breadth above the ground. His head was hanging down and his face wore the same expression of horror as Justin's.

Sylas scrambled to his feet, his eyes locked on the two victims. All he could hear were the muffled voices of the teachers from the classrooms on either side of the corridor. 

This was fucking awful timing.

If he was seen at the crime scene again, right after he threatened the Hufflepuffs and allegedly threatened Finch-Fletchley with a snake the night before, he was in trouble.

Your timing is truly phenomenal, Oliver murmured, who was examining Headless Nick's body.

"I have to get out of here," Sylas muttered quietly to himself. This time faster, then when he found Mrs. Norris. 

Sylas took off running down the corridor and up the next flight of stairs. Just then he heard Peeves scream, "ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! AAAATTACK!"

Doors slammed open everywhere and students poured into the hallways. There was a huge commotion for several minutes. Sylas took advantage of this to quickly catch his breath at the top of the stairs.

A fatal mistake.

Right behind him, he heard quiet chuckles. "Well, if it isn't the Heir of Slytherin," he heard Fred say mischievously, and the next moment, he saw the world upside down and could no longer speak.

One floor below them, the loud voices of the teachers could be heard calling for quiet. Professor McGonagall rushed over and her instructions could be heard loud and clear. A loud crack from her wand brought silence and she ordered everyone back to the classrooms.

Georges feet came into his view. "Well, I'd like to know how you're going to talk your way out of this mess, Ashford," he said mockingly, and started running.

"You'll never be safe from us, Ashford! Not even when we're in class!" laughed Fred as he ran after his brother.

They would have fit in very well in Slytherin, Oliver watched them in awe.

Sylas began to mumble and curse. Please let one of his friends find him first. 

He could hear Ernie's voice from below, "That must have been Ashford, Professor McGonagall! He was just in the library. Besides, he's got the Muggle-borns on his radar anyway!"

"Shut it, Macmillan!" Professor McGonagall snapped, her voice lingering with anger and a hint of concern. "Arbitrary accusations won't get us anywhere here. Besides, he's nowhere to be seen!"

Peeves started singing a loud song and shouting around until the professor chased him away. Sylas only heard footsteps leading away from him and a hairdryer? However, none of them came in his direction and everything was quiet again.

Well then, who will find you first? Your followers or all your enemies?

Oliver was only bombarded with incomprehensible insults. The ghost held his hands to his ears and pretended to try to understand something.

What are you saying? You need to speak more clearly.

Sylas glanced at him angrily. 

Oliver just fell into loud laughter. 

A bell rang and Sylas knew he was about to miss Transfiguration class. Great, it would take hours for the Silencio curse to lift on its own. He prayed that Draco, Daphne or Theo were looking for him.

But unfortunately for him, someone else found him.

Light steps climbed the stairs and girl's shoes came into his views. He looked up right into the snobby face of Hermione Granger. She looked him up and down, observing the twins work until she smirked with satisfaction. 

"Interesting," Granger began, "Pretty close to Justin's attack. I wonder what Professor McGonagall will say about that." Without lifting him from the curses, she left him alone again. 

Sylas tried to say something, but all he heard was incomprehensible mumbling. He knew full well that Granger knew the counter spells. She would 100% get McGonagall to show her exactly where she had found him. 

It wasn't long before he heard footsteps again. A worried McGonagall climbed up the stairs, looking at the boy with a horrid face.

"My goodness, Ashford!" she said, "who did this to you?" She cast the counter curse and he immediately fell to the ground.

A loud groaning went through the corridor. Falling down head first wasn't something Sylas perticularly enjoyed. 

 "I don't know," was all he could say. There was no way he was a snitch, even if the twins deserved it. He didn't have any prouve anyway, so there was no use.

He rose up, straightening his uniform again.

There was a slight pause and when he locked eyes with his teachers again, he felt it. He was knee deep in goblin shit. 

Her eyes flickered with suspisciouns and concern. Her lips as thin as when he cursed Weasley on the Quidditch pitch. 

"Mr. Ashford", she began, her voice quiet, trying to sound neutral but she failed. "Considering that you were hanging in this corridor ... and from Ernie Macmillan's story that you were in the library earlier", she hesitated,"...you must have seen Justin."

Sylas shook his head, trying to look as innocent as possible. "It wasn't me, Professor. I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time!"

McGonagall was having non of his excuses. "Mr. Ashford, if it wasn't you, why didn't you call for help? Why did you run to this floor when there were several teachers down there, who could have rushed to help."

"I know it looks bad, but -"

"Save your excuses. Explain it to the headmaster."

He looked at her in shock. Only one word echoed through his mind. 

Expulsion. 

The corrodor suddenly felt even more colder than before, as if any living thing has been sucked out of it. 

Only when he heard McGonagall walk, he went after her. Neither of them spoke another word, only leaving their footsteps to be heard. Infront of a large, ugly stone gargoyle they stopped. 

"Lemon candy," she said.

It was a password, because the gargoyle suddenly came to life and hopped to the side. The wall split. Sylas had been feeling uneasy for a few minutes, but he was still amazed at what he saw. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase that slowly moved upwards like an elevator.

He and Professor McGonagall stepped onto the stairs and the wall behind them closed with a thud. Turning in circles, they climbed up, higher and higher, until finally, slightly dizzy-headed, Sylas could see a gleaming oak door ahead of him, with a bronze knocker in the shape of a vulture.

He knew where it was leading him. This had to be the place where Dumbledore lived.

They climbed the last step of the stone staircase and Professor McGonagall knocked on the door. It opened silently and the two entered. Professor McGonagall told Sylas to wait and left him alone.

Sylas looked around. One thing was certain - of all the teachers' offices Sylas had seen so far, Dumbledore's was by far the most interesting. If he hadn't been so scared from expulsion, he would have liked to have a look around.

It was a large and beautiful round room, filled with strange, faint noises. On the stork-legged tables stood strange silver instruments that whirred and gave off little clouds of smoke. On the walls hung pictures of former headmasters and headmistresses, all dozing peacefully in their frames. There was also an enormous claw-footed desk, and on a shelf behind it lay a shabby and cracked wizard's hat - the Sorting Hat.

Sylas hesitated. He cast a wary eye at the sleeping witches and wizards on the walls. Surely it wouldn't hurt to take the hat off and try it on again? Just to see ... what the hat would say about whether he was in the right house.

He remembered the reflection when Quirrell forced him to look into it. He was clearly wearing the Gryffindor uniform. But why was he wearing it? The hat said, he would only be safe in one house and that was Slytherin.

But he stood firm and remained standing where he was. Cissy had told him to trust the Hat's judgment and he was sure that the Hat knew what it was doing.

Suddenly a strange choking sound behind him echoed through the office. He was not alone after all. On a golden perch behind the door sat an old bird that looked like a half-plucked turkey. Sylas stared at it and the bird stared back maliciously and made another choking sound. It looked incredibly sick, which made him wonder why no one was helping the poor animal.

The bird's eyes were dull, and as Sylas looked at it, feathers fell from its tail. The last thing he needed was for the bird to die while waiting alone in Dumbledore's office.

...

Of course.

That fucking stupid bird burst into flames

Sylas backed away and hit his back against the desk. His eyes wandered around the office to look for some water, so he could safe his own ass in some ways.

And of course. 

There was no water. 

His eyes glanced over the bird again, which had now become a ball of fire. A loud scream echoed through the office and then it just vanished into a smoledring pile of ashes on the floor. 

Great. His mere presence caused death.

The office door opened and Dumbledore came in with a serious expression on his face.

"Professor," Sylas gasped, exchanging glances between the pile of ash and Dumbledore, "your bird - I couldn't do anything - it just caught fire -"

To Sylas' astonishment, Dumbledore just smiled.

"It was about time," he said. "He's been looking terrible for days, I told him to hurry up."

He giggled at the sight of Sylas' stunned face.

"Fawkes is a phoenix, Sylas. Phoenixes burst into flames when it is time for them to die, and are reborn from the ashes. Look..."

Sylas looked just in time to see a tiny, shriveled newborn bird poking its head out of the ashes. It was just as ugly as the old one.

"It's a pity you had to see him on a fire day," Dumbledore said, sitting down behind his desk. "Actually, he's very pretty most of the time, with beautiful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, these phoenixes. They can carry incredibly heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make extraordinarily loyal pets."

In his horror at seeing Fawkes burst into flames, Sylas had completely forgotten why he was there, but when Dumbledore sat down on the high chair behind the desk and fixed Sylas with his piercing, light-blue eyes, he suddenly remembered.

Before Dumbledore could say another word, however, the office door burst open with a loud bang and Hagrid rushed in, his hood over his shaggy black hair and a wild look in his eyes.

"It wasn't Sylas, Professor Dumbledore!" Hagrid said urgently, "Seconds before that child was found, I spoke to him, he would never have had the time, sir -"

Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid continued to press him, waving the rooster in excitement, its feathers floating all over the room. "- it couldn't have been him, I swear it before the Ministry of Magic, if necessary -"

"Hagrid, I -"

"- You have the wrong boy, sir, I know Sylas never -"

"Hagrid!" said Dumbledore loudly. "I don't think Sylas attacked those people."

"Oh," Hagrid said, slightly nodding. "Good ... Good ... I'll wait ... I'll wait outside then." And he stomped out, embarrassed.

Sylas turned back to the headmaster, his body straightened and his hands behind his back. "You ... don't think it was me?" he repeated with a raised eyebrow.

"No, Sylas, I don't think so," said Dumbledore, though again with a serious face. "But I still want to talk to you."

Dumbledore put his fingertips together and studied him. Sylas waited quietly, trying to breathe in and out deeply. Dumbledore would not kick him out, no matter how bad things looked for him. Somehow he enjoyed some kind of privilege with the headmaster. After all Dumbledore couldn't just kick the new chosen one out of the school.

The corner of his lips twitched slightly upwards.

How far could he go, until he outstretched this privileg?

"Sylas, I need to ask you if there is something ... you would like to tell me," he said gently. "... Whatever it may be."

Sylas didn't know how to answer. He thought about the voice he had heard in the corridors, about having an abnormal ghost that was following him, or about his newfound ability to talk to snakes. He also thought about how everyone thought he was the Heir of Slytherin and almost the whole school was afraid of him.

"No," Sylas said, smiling slightly, "there is nothing, Professor ..."

Chapter 16

Notes:

Thank you so much for all the Kudos, Comments and Hits! So grateful that so many people seem to like this story as well and I love reading your comments and thoughts about it. I hope y'all stick around till the end and enjoy this chapter!

The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned the tense atmosphere in the castle into sheer panic. Strangely enough, it was Nearly Headless Nick's fate that seemed to worry people the most. Teachers and students wondered; what kind of terrible power could harm someone who was already dead? There was almost a rush for tickets for the Hogwarts Express, as everyone wanted to go home for Christmas.

At a corner of their common room, the four Slytherins sat around a small table, a deck of enchanted playing cards levitating slightly as they shuffled between round. 

Theo let out a relieved breath as he threw a card onto the pile. "You're one lucky bastard that Dumbledore doesn't expell you," he muttered, eyes narrowing as he studied his hand. "The coincidences are far too obvious for you to be able to walk around the castle unsupervised."

Draco, lounging lazily in his chair, smirked as he flicked a card onto the table. "A bit creepy, isn't it?", he drawled, "That Dumbledore has such a thing for you." 

Sylas just sagged down further into his seat, rolling his eyes. "If only stupid Granger hadn't found me first", he grumbeled, nearly spitting at the name. "That McGonagall would even let y'all search for me - irresponsible."

"Don't worry, Karma will get her," growled Daphne, her grip on her cards tightening. 

Ever since the duelling evening, she had been even more aggressive about the Muggle girl than before. During the fight Granger claimed, she knew far more about Lockhart than Daphne did.

And Daphne ... well, Daphne had not taken that well. 

In the past few days, she had thrown herself into Lockhart’s books with an almost obsessive intensity, memorizing every page, every line, every ridiculous, exaggerated anecdote about the so-called hero’s escapades.

She wouldn’t let a Mudblood make a fool of her again.

Sylas barely paid attention to her mutterings, though. He was too preoccupied with the rumors that had spread like wildfire through the school.

The older Slytherins had certainly enjoyed themselves at his expense. For weeks, they had found every excuse to stoke the fire, reveling in the panic it caused among the other students. Even multiple warnings from the prefects - especially Percy Weasley - had done little to deter them.

But Sylas didn’t mind. In some ways, it was amusing how easily fear spread.

However, not everyone was afraid.

The Weasley twins, for one, found the entire ordeal hilarious.

Unlike the rest of the school, they hadn’t bought into the rumors for even a second. How could they? They had spent months tormenting Sylas with pranks, jinxes, and hexes - none of which he had been able to stop. To them, the idea of him being some terrifying dark wizard was a joke.

"Oi, Heir of Slytherin!" they would call out whenever they saw him. "Who’s your next victim?"

"Come on, mate, petrify us! We won’t even run!"

Sylas never answered them. But sometimes, when they put on one of their overly dramatic performances in the middle of the hallways, flinging themselves onto the floor as if they’d been struck down by his mystical powers, he had to bite back laughter.

At least someone wasn’t taking all this nonsense so seriously.

But despite the twins mockery, the rumors had done something useful.

The work he put in with the group of Hufflepuff paid off - specifically, Ernie Macmillan. That idiot couldn't keep his mouth shut and spread bits of their conversation. Whispers got around quickly that Sylas didn't care about blood status. That he wasn't only targeting Muggleborns. 

And that ... terrified them even more. 

Before only the Muggleborns had been the ones fearing for their lives. But now? Now everyone was uneasy. Anyone could be next. When he walked through the corridors the students from other houses looked at him in fear, prepared to strike back if necessary. His mere presence caused disturbance. 

Sylas couldn't believe how easy it was to manipulate them all. How easy it was, to make them fear. 

He smirked at the thought as he picked up a card. 

Theo frowned, he had to drew a card as well. "Unfortunately the rumours haven't scared off Weasley, Grangers, and Thomas. They are still staying for christmas," his voice a tad quieter than before. "I am telling you, the Gryffindors are up to something. Especially since the rest of the Weasley family is going home for christmas - except for Percy." 

Daphne slightly tapped her finger against the table, thinking about the lions. "But what would they even do?", she asked, her lips pressing together in thought. "You'll barley leave the common room anyway. They'd have to go looking for trouble to even find you all." 

Draco shrugged. "Perhaps they are searching for the Chamber of Secrets. Wouldn't surprise me. The castle is practically empty now."

Sylas strechted, rolling his shoulders until they popped, feeling the stiffness from sitting for so long. "Pretty dangerous considering Granger is a Muggle," he muttered. "She's walking into her own death trap."

Draco nudged at his side with the ellbows, smirking. "Well, if the rumors are to be believed, the Heir of Slytherin doesn't care about blood status," he teased.

"Oh, shut up," Sylas chuckled. "Macmillan is such an idiot to believe that, but you should have seen their faces."

When Sylas had told them the story in the library with the Hufflepuffs, they had exchanged impressed glances.

For once he had made a smart move and played his cards right. He hadn't been reckless, didn't put himself in danger. 

This time he had controlled the narrative. 

They continued playing cards for hours, until the fire casted long shadows on the walls. 

The school days were coming to an end and the Christmas holidays were finally beginning. More and more student left the school to go home and it got quieter and quieter.  Sylas desperately needed a break from all the chatter. Even if he enjoyed being in charge for once. A silence had fallen over the castle and Sylas found it peaceful.

No shouting, no murmuring, just peace and quiet.

Of the Slytherins, only he, Draco, Theo, Crabbe and Goyle were left. Even though the latter two were rather dim-witted, it was still fun playing cards with them.

In the common room, they continued to practice duelling and thought up tactics on how best to outwit their opponents. This year, they roasted marshmallows by the fire again, with Crabbe and Goyle each eating their own packet, while the other three only had to contend with one.

Christmas morning dawned, ice cold and snow white. Draco woke his friends up early, pulling them into the common room. He hadn't had any presents for Crabbe and Goyle, so he let them slumber. 

They sat at the fireplace, their eyes still groggy from just waking up. Suddenly both of them got gifts pressed into their hands.

Draco grinned widley at them. "Merry Christmas!" he said, impatiently waiting. 

"Merry Christmas," the boys said in unison.

They hadn't expected to get any presents at all, and if it came from Draco Malfoy himself, that meant something.

Sylas had two presents. One contained the dark chocolate he loved so much and a little note said it was from Cissy. She wished him a Merry Christmas and told him to study hard for the exams. 

Sylas couldn't contain his excitement, when he open the next package. It contained a brand new broom - just like the ones the Slytherin possessed. He couldn't believe it, he had his own broom! Now he could fly through the skies whenever he wanted!

The joy was written all over his face.

Draco contently observed him. "I knew you would like it! Now we can all play Quidditch together during the summer holidays," he grinned.

Sylas thanked him a thousand times and apologized another thousand times more because he didn't have a present for him. He simply hadn't thought to get him anything. But Draco assured him that it was perfectly fine and that he didn't need anything.

Theo received a magic quill set made of dragon bone. It was perfect for him, as the Slytherin student took an incredible amount of notes during class and needed several quills a year as his often wore out.

The other presents for Sylas were just as pleasant. Hagrid gave him a large tin of treacle sweets and Daphne gifted him a thick book about magical creatures. Apparently she had noticed that he had a great interest in animals.

The guilt settled into his stomach. He had absolutely no present for them. Everyone did assure him it was fine, but he it still left him with a sour taste. 

Nevertheless his guilty feeling washed away, when it was finnaly time for dinner.

Christmas dinner at Hogwarts was as splendid as ever. The Great Hall was beautifully decorated. Not only were there the dozen Christmas trees sugared with ice crystals and the tightly woven ribbons of holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling, soft and dry.

Dumbledore joined them in singing some of his favorite Christmas songs, Hagrid's chant growing louder with each mug of eggnog he swallowed. Percy, who hadn't noticed that Fred had enchanted his prefect badge to read "Egghead," just glared at the Slytherin boys, who kept giggling when they saw him.

Crabbe and Goyle pounced on the buffet that had been opened before them. Sylas, Draco and Theo also took part and ate until their bellies burst. As they were getting their second plate of dessert, Theo nudged Sylas from the side and nodded towards the door.

Granger, Weasley and Thomas were sneaking out. They watched them go with frowns, because the party wasn't actually over yet. After all, a magical Christmas tea was still being served. They informed Draco and decided to go straight back down to the dungeon after tea so they wouldn't become a target.

They left Crabbe and Goyle in the Great Hall, because they just wouldn't stop eating. No wonder they were so fat. All three of them just shrugged. They were of no worth for the Gryffindors anyway, as Sylas was the one being accused.

So they sat by the cackling fireplace in the common room and talked.

Finally after weeks of waiting Draco had received an answer from his father about the Chamber of Secrets. Theo and Sylas listened eagerly ready to get new information to dissect, but ... well there was no new informtaion. 

The only thing Mr Malfoy wrote in the letter was that the Chamber was opened 50 years ago, a Muggle had died in the process, and the person responsible was expelled from the school.

Sylas slagged down on the sofa. The excitement that went through his bones before the letter had vanished. Gosh, where else should they search for new clues? 

Draco suddenly shot up again, mumbling something about an article his father had sent him. But before he showed it to the two boys, he wanted to get Crabbe and Goyle over. That meant, it had to be something incredibly funny if he went looking for them.

Draco rushed through the brickwall with a sly grin on his face. "He looked pretty happy, what do you think it says?" Sylas asked, leaning more into the couch. 

Theo strechted himself for a second and yawned.  "Hmm, probably something to do with Muggles. After all, his father sent it," he guessed. 

It must have been half an hour before Draco returned with the two gluttons. He stepped in with a broad grin.

"Go to the others, I'll get it quickly," he said, walking towards their dorm. "My father sent it to me today."

Crabbe and Goyle waddeled over to the sofas and plumbed down opposite of Theo and Sylas.

"How much have you two been eating that you haven't come back yet?" Theo asked, slightly disgusted.

All he got in response was a nervous laugh. Frowning, Sylas looked at the two in front of him. They were sitting so tensely on the sofa that one would think they were here for the first time. Their back was straighter then ever, their hands lay convulsive on their thighs and looked nervously around.

Theo didn't seem to notice, however.

A minute later, Draco returned with a newspaper clipping and stopped between the sofas.

"A laugh in itself," he said and began to read.

 

Investigation at the Ministry of Magic

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Office for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts, was today fined fifty Galleons for enchanting a Muggle carriage.

Mr Lucius Malfoy, an advisory council member at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the enchanted carriage caused an accident several months ago, called on Mr Weasley to resign.

"Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute," Mr Malfoy told one of our reporters. "He is clearly unfit to draft laws for us, and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately."

Mr Weasley was unavailable for comment on the matter. However, his wife ordered the reporters to leave or she would set the family ghoul on them.

 

Theo burst into laughter and Sylas couldn't contain a chuckle. The other two Slytherins however only let out a silent, nervous laugh.

Draco settled back down beside Sylas, an amused smirk playing on his lips. "I told you, it's funny. The fact that Weasley and Thomas weren't thrown out was the limit. It's only fair that at least his father gets punished," he scoffed. "Arthur Weasley has such a big heart for the Muggles that he should break his wand and go to them. You shouldn't think that the Weasleys are purebloods, the way they act."

Theo nudged Sylas from the side. "Even you behave better than that, and you've only been in our world for a year and a half," he said.

Sylas merely smiled about his remark. His thoughts were else where. He couldn’t quite place why, but something about Draco’s usual followers seemed ... off. Under normal circumstances, they’d be the first to cackle at his every joke, especially if Draco found it hilarious.

Crabbe’s face had begun to twist with discomfort.

Draco raised an eyebrow at his expression. "What’s wrong with you, Crabbe?" he snapped, irritated by the lack of reaction. 

Crabbe placed a hand on his stomach, rubbing it absentmindedly. "Stomachache," he grunted.

"Then go to the hospital wing. And while you’re at it, give all the Mudbloods a kick from me," Draco said with a smirk, giggling at his own joke.

Sylas picked up the Daily prophet, flipping through the pages "But it's only half as funny if they don't even notice it," he mused, his eyes narrowing at the articles. "But I'm still surprised that the attacks aren't mentioned at all. After all, it's an immense threat to the students. I thought it would be on the front page news."

Draco leaned lazily back into the couch, tilting his head back. "I suspect Dumbledore is trying to cover it up. He'll be fired if the haunting doesn't stop soon. Father always said that Dumbledore is the worst thing that could have happened to this school. He likes Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never have allowed such slime as Creevey ," he said.

Just hearing the name Creevey made Sylas grimace. "At least Creevey can't besiege me anymore. Scary how that menace was spying on me," a shiver ran down his spine, just thinking about how often they had crossed each other 'by accident'.

Draco started snapping pictures of Sylas with an imaginary camera, imitating Creveey quite well, "Ashford, can I have a picture of you, Ashford! Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, Ashford?"

Theo and Sylas burst out laughing. The imitation was spot on. But Crabbe and Goyle remained oddly silent, only forcing laughter when Sylas' piercing gaze fell on them.

Something was wrong. He could feel it. Their body language was all just ... wrong

"I don't even want to know how many photos he secretly took of me," he grumbled, making a face. 

"What do you expect? After all, you are Dumbledore's golden boy," Theo teased, his voice full of sarcasm, "the hero of Hogwarts, or better yet, the Heir of Slytherin."

The moment those words left Theo’s mouth, Crabbe and Goyle visibly tensed. Goyle’s jaw dropped in an almost comical way before he blurted out, "Is it true? Are you really the Heir of Slytherin?"

For a second there was an akward silence between the group, only the cackling of the fire filling up the room.

Draco furrowed his brows, and looked at them if they were idiots. Theo simply rubbed his face and shook his head, as if that was the stupidest thing he had ever heard. And Sylas ... Sylas tilted his head, scrutininzing them carefully.

Suddenly Theo clapped Sylas on the back. "Of course Sylas is the heir of Slytherin," he mocked loudly. "He is a pureblood, a Muggle hater, a Slytherin, a Parselmouth, and best of all, he speaks to the ghost of Salazar Slytherin himself!"

It was an obvious joke. But perhaps ... not obvious enough. 

Crabbe and Goyle's eyes widened, and they exchanged anxious glances. "With... with the ghost of Salazar Slytherin himself?" Crabbe stammered, his voice cracking.

"What's wrong with you?" Draco asked, irritated. "There were rumors in the first year that Sylas was talking to Salazar because he was always talking and playing chess with himself. If you were any slower, you'd be walking backwards ."

The two suddenly shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, their movement stiff and unnatural. Somehow Theo and Draco just wouldn't notice it. How could they? They had never paid much attention to the two stupid dim-witts, and didn't know their body language and facial expressions. After all, he had spent months taking notes on the behavior of all his classmates in Slytherin so that he could blend in perfectly. Even though Crabbe and Goyle had always been rather ... interesting observations. Though, up until now, not particularly useful.

Sylas leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze locked onto them. His mind raced, recalling all his observations.

Draco let out a heavy sigh. "Father also said in his letter, that we should stand back and not interfere with all the incidents happening. In his opinion it was a great opportunity for the school to be cleanes from all filth. He got enough problems to deal with - the Ministry of Magic even raided our estate last week!" he snarled, shaking his head in disbelief.

"From what I can tell from your father, he either sold the important things or hid it  well," Theo mused. 

At that, Crabbe and Goyle’s faces darkened, displeased.

"Fortunately," Draco muttered.

Their expressions changed again, becoming serious and unnaturally alert.

"They didn't find much," Draco continued. "Not enough to prosecute my father. We have some very valuable items for dark magic and we have a secret chamber under -" 

"Draco, shut up."

Draco blinked, taken aback. "Bloody hell, why?"

Theo exchanged glances with him, equally confused.

But Sylas’ eyes never left the boys in front of him. He had been watching them for minutes now.

"You better not say anything that might get your father in trouble," he muttered unusal calmly.

His gaze made them visibily uncomfortable and nervous, as they shifted more and more around the couch. 

Theo raised an eyebrow, exchanging glances between him and Draco. "Sylas, what's wrong? You weren't being so snappy just now," he asked softly with a flicker of seriousness hidden. 

Sylas briefly lifted his hand, signaling them not to say anything.

"Hey Crabbe," Sylas suddenly said unusally friendly. 

Crabbe froze. "Y-Yeah?" His voice cracked. 

"What did Draco give you for Christmas this morning?" Sylas asked, folding his fingers together and waiting for an answer. 

The room went still. 

His two friends looked at him with frowns. They didn't understand the necessity of such a question nor why Sylas would ask such a trick question. The answer was obvious. 

"What he ... gave us?" Crabbe asked again, discreetly wiping his sweaty hands on his cloak.

"Exactly, what did Draco give you this morning?", he repeated his question, tilting his head with a smile. "Or are you so dim-witted that you don't even remember that anymore? After all, you really enjoyed it."

Realization dawned on Theo and Draco. The tension in the room snapped like a bowstring. Their eyes darkened as they stared at Crabbe and Goyle 

"Of course, it was... a um ... I-"

Draco interrupted, mock-angry, "So you hated it so much that you've already forgotten it?"

A tense pause followed. 

Goyle punched Crabbe jokingly on the shoulder, while laughing nervously.  "Silly, of course he gave you sweets," he grunted.

But the faces of the three Slytherins told him that they had signed their death penalty.

Crabbe and Goyle quickly exchanged panicked glances with each other before suddenly bolting for the exit.

"Medicine for my stomach," the two groaned together, but they didn't believe a word of it.

"Hey!" Sylas shouted and ran after him.

Unfortunately, the wall closed just before Sylas could run through, giving the two boys a head start. He barked the password again and ran off with Theo and Draco. They had an idea who might be behind it.

But as they turned a corner in the dungeons, they bumped into Percy Weasley, of all people.

Percy glared at them with a grim expression. "What are you guys hanging around in the dungeons for this late?" he asked sarcastically.

Theo rolled his eyes. Percy was his least prefered prefect. "We wanted to check on Crabbe and Goyle. They still aren't back," he said immediately.

The prefect waved them away with his hand. "Back to your dormitories, I'll keep an eye out for them," he grumbled. "It's not a good idea to be wandering around dark corridors at the moment."

"You're doing that yourself," Draco shot back, irritated.

"I," Percy said snippily, straightening up, "I am a prefect. Nobody attacks me. So go back to your dormitories! Don't dawdle!"

They had no choice but to go back. As well because Percy accompanied them until the went back through the brickwall. 

"He's always making himself out to be so important," grumbled Draco, sitting down in front of the fireplace again. "He's been lurking around down here for quite some time. I bet he thinks he can catch the heir all by himself."

Sylas and Theo slumped down of the sofa as well. They missed their perfect opportunity to get the Gryffindors expelled. 

Sylas exhaled through his nose. "And I bet that was Weasley, Granger or Thomas in the bodies of Crabbe and Goyle just now. How the hell did they do that?" he grumbled.

"Granger must have dug up a potion or spell somewhere," Theo speculated, slightly annoyed. "What did they want to know anyway?"

"Probably finding out what we know about the heir. Sure, everyone says it's Sylas, but there's no solid evidence for that. The ultimate proof would be a confession from you yourself," Draco guessed, rubbing his temples.

There was silence between them for a moment. All three were thinking exactly the same thing. They had told the Gryffindors directly that Sylas was the heir and had given them a number of arguments as to why he was.

But instead of being frustrated, Sylas started chuckling until his laugh echoed through the whole common room.

His friends looked at him worriedly.

"I'm sorry," he said between laughter, "but I just imagine them telling the whole school that I'm talking and playing chess with Salazar Slytherin, when it's only Oliver. If even Granger believes that, then they're all just as stupid and hopeless as Lockhart."

The serious mood disappeared in an instant and they began to make fun of the Gryffindors.

 

~~~

 

January 1993

When Daphne returned from the Christmas holidays and she discovered that Hermione Granger had to stay in the hospital wing for several weeks, she couldn't wipe away her evil grin. Karma had struck for the muggle girl for snitching. During the holidays, Sylas had sneaked into the hospital wing under his invisibility cloak to see, what had really happened to Granger. When he saw a human-sized cat that looked similar to Bulstrode's, he could already guess what the three Gryffindors had done.

Daphne couldn't stop laughing when he told her, that Granger had somehow turned into Milicent's cat. He made her promise that they would sneak into the hospital wing together as a late christmas gift. 

The rumor mill was boiling over, because everyone was speculating that she had been attacked and it was Sylas' fault. Because he was one of the few who stayed behind in school and the alledged heir of Slytherin. 

It didn't take long either for the next rumour to spread, that he was in an astrophysical connection with Salazar Slytherin. All eyes and ears were on him. Everyone wanted to catch him, when he talked to the almighty Salazar. It became normal for students to lurk around a corner, to catch the boy in the act, but no one had succeded so far. Sometimes, when Oliver felt like being an evil bitch, he put his  ice cold hands on the necks of the lurking students, making them scream. 

One evening in the common room, Sylas nodded for Daphne to follow him and her grin widened, leaving behind an insulted Draco who was just about to win their chess game.

The two of them went out into the dungeon and looked around. There was no one to be seen.

"Ready?" he asked with a broad grin.

"Stupid question, let's go," she giggled and he threw the invisibility cloak over the two of them.

There were still a few students out and about, as it was not yet officially curfew. They had to be extremely careful not to bump into other students. It was an even bigger struggle as when the four of them tried to get to the third floor.

They could already hear some voices coming from the hospital wing. They crept in quietly, cautious not to make any noise. Granger's bed was at the back and the side facing the door was covered by a curtain. Apparently Madame Pomfrey wanted to spare her the shame of being seen with such a furry face. 

When the finally scurried past the curtain, Daphne had to surpress a laugh. Granger looked incredibly ridiculous. The cat's fur had already receded considerably, but she still had her nose, whiskers and ears. 

Next to her bed sat Weasley and Thomas

"If I had grown those whiskers, I would have taken a break," Weasly said, looking at all the books they needed this year scattered around Granger's bed.

Granger rolled with her eyes. "Don't talk nonsense, Ron. I can't miss out on too much," she replied harshly. "Have you heard anything new? What did McGonagall say?" 

Daphnes smile faded instantly and they exchanges suspicious glances with each other. What were those Gryffindors talking about?

Thomas leaned back on his chair and folded his arms. "McGonagall chased us out of her office as soon as we told her about Salazar. She didn't believe a single word we said. She just said it was nonsense," he grumbled.

Weasley gestured angrily with his hands. "Seriously, The teachers are all blind! It's obvious that it's Ashford, but apparently he has sucked up to Dumbledore so much that Dumbledore will never hold him responsible," he scoffed. 

A slight pause hovered over the hospital wing. Granger seemingly thinking about something. 

"After all, he saved Hogwarts last year. No wonder Dumbledore considers him a hero," she  muttered. "Have you spoken to Ernie Macmillan yet?"

Weasly nodded eagerly. "Yes, he is also firmly convinced that Ashford is behind everything. Ashford even threatened him and some of the Hufflepuffs and said that he didn't care about their blood status. He didn't deny it at all," he explained. "How can Dumbledore let him still go to school without supervision?!" 

Sylas still had to grin about it. Since then, he hadn't seen any of the Hufflepuffs outside of school. Even in class, they hid behind the others.

"What is that?" Thomas suddenly asked, pointing to something golden peeking out from under Granger's pillow.

Granger immediately blushed slightly and said hastily, "Just a get well soon card."

But before she could make the card disappear, Ron snatched it and read it aloud, "To Miss Granger, to whom I wish a speedy recovery, from her concerned teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin Third Class, Honorary Member of the League for Defence Against Dark Forces, and five-time winner of Witch Week's Most Charming Smile Award."

Daphne next to him began to curse under her breath. Of all people, Granger had to be the one who got a get well soon card!

Sylas held her by the back of her robes to prevent her from charging at the Gryffindors. Just a small precaution. In this state he would not put it past her to attack them.  

Weasley looked at Granger in disgust. "Do you fall asleep with the card under your pillow?" he asked. "Lockhart is by far the biggest creep one can imagine."

Sylas had to agree with him for once. But his attention snapped back onto Daphne. Her cursing got a tad too loud and the Gryffindor now all stared right through them. He immediately put a hand over her mouth.

"Are you crazy?" he growled softly at her.

"Did you just hear that too?" Granger whispered, her voice full of concern.

Thomas glanced over the whole hospital wing. But no one was there. "What if it's Salazar Slytherin? Maybe Ashford told him to come haunt us to get revenge," he muttered in horror.

The Slytherins couldn't hear Grangers response to that, as Sylas had immediately pulled Daphne out of the hospital wing with him. Once she was at a safe distance, he let go of her and they took off the cloak.

Her eyes flickered with an angerness, Sylas had never seen her with. "That nasty bitch first breaks the school rules, curses herself and then gets a card from Lockhart?! Next time I see her alone, she's in for a treat!" Daphne cursed.

Sylas let out a defeated breath. It looked like their little excursion had backfired.

"Come on, Daphne," Sylas said, hoping he could change her mood. "She looks ridiculous. That's a win, after all."

"Exactly not!" the blond protested. "She got the card, because of it!"

Sylas tilted his head and closed his eyes for a second, thinking about something to cheer her up. Suddenly they heard someone angrily shouting from the floor above them. 

They froze, listening to who it belonged to. 

Sylas knitted his brows. "That's Filch," he murmured and they crept upstairs. With their ears pricked, they lurked behind a corner and kept looking ahead.

"Has someone been attacked again?" Daphne whispered.

"Hope not, I can't be found at the crime scene again," Sylas muttered.

They stood motionless, their heads tilted toward Filch's voice, which sounded distinctly hysterical.

" – more work for me! Cleaning all night, as if I didn't have enough to do! No, that's the last straw, I'm going to Dumbledore –"

His footsteps grew quieter as he ran down the corridor, and in the distance they heard a door slam. They poked their heads around the corner. Filch had evidently been keeping watch in his usual place. Once again they were at the place where Mrs Norris had been attacked. They saw at a glance why Filch had been raging. A large puddle of water covered half the corridor.

"That puddle of water," Sylas muttered as they moved closer. The water was there during the very first attack as well. It seemed to be coming from a girls' bathroom, and as Filch's voice disappeared into the corridors, they could hear loud sobbing coming from it.

Sylas looked confused to the door from the girl's bathrrom. "Is someone crying in there?"

Daphne shrugged as if that was normal. "Oh, that must be Myrtle."

"Who?" Sylas looked at her, irritated.

"Well, Moaning Myrtle," she said again, pulling him into the girl's bathroom, "She lives here and that's why the bathroom on this floor is always empty. It was closed for almost a whole year because she keeps having fits and flooding everything. I never went there anyway if I could avoid it. When I want to go to the bathroom, I don't want to be constantly nagged at."

Sylas tried to not enter the bathroom and pulled back. "Wait, Daphne. That's the girls' bathroom, I can't just go in there! Besides, there's a sign outside saying we're not supposed to go in."

Daphne ignored him and simply pulled him in. "Don't worry, no one ever comes in here. You'll see why."

The toilets were quite gloomy, for the great flood of water that had soaked the walls and floor had also put out the candles. It was the dreariest toilet room Sylas had ever set foot in. A row of chipped sinks ran beneath a huge, splintered and stained mirror. The floor was damp, and dimly reflected the light of a few candle stubs burning out in their holders; the scratched wooden doors of the stalls were peeling off paint, and one was dangling on its hinges.

"Myrtle?" Daphne called, her eyes wandering around the toilets. 

Moaning Myrtle was crying loudly, a wonder the whole castle couldn't hear her.

"Who's there?" they heard a shrill voice, "Do you want to throw something at me too?"

"Did someone attack you?" Daphne asked, her voice friendly as ever.

Suddenly a ghost shot out of a cabin. A wave of water splashed onto the already soaking wet floor. Her expression was angry and frustrated. 

"I'm minding my own business and then someone comes along and thinks it's funny to throw a book at me!" she moaned, "I'm sure people have been talking about me behind my back again! Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, gloomy Myrtle!"

"She's not the easiest," Daphne whispered to Sylas. He could have guessed that himself with how she portrayed herself. 

Myrtle only now seemed to realize that a boy was here.

She shot right infront of his face, making him flinch. "Hey! This is the girls' bathroom! " she squealed angrily, "And you're not a girl! Why do you boys think you can all just come in here?!"

Daphne looked at her, frowning. "What do you mean, Myrtle? Were there other boys here?"

"Yes," she sniffed, gliding away from Sylas up in the air. "A few weeks ago, three stupid Gryffindors came here and brewed a Polyjuice Potion. The girl turned into a cat." She started to laugh cynically as she said this.

Daphne and Sylas exchanged a knowing look. Now they knew what and where the Gryffindors had done it. They had to give them credit for one thing. Brewing it here in the girls' bathroom, where Moaning Myrtle haunted, was extremely clever. That could only have come from Granger.

"But those two boys annoyed me. They have ruined my life even more than it already is. All of you just want to ruin my death! Who would throw a book at a ghost!" she screamed again and flew around wildly.

Sylas looked at her translucent ghostly figure with furrowed brows. "But I mean, it would just fly through, wouldn't it?" he said. "It can't hurt you."

He had already threw a ton of stuff at Oliver as well and it always went right through the boy, not harming him in the slightest. 

Mentioning it to Myrte however, turned out to be a big mistake.

Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, "Sure, let's all throw books after fatty Myrtle, because she won't feel it anyway! Ten points if you can get one through your stomach! Fifty points if it goes through your head! Great, HAHAHA! What a wonderful game - I don't think so!"

Disturbed, Sylas glanced over at Daphne, who just looked at him as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Myrtle," Daphne said sensitively, "Do you know who it was?"

Myrtes mood changed again. "I don't know... I was sitting in the drain thinking about death and it fell right through my head," she sniffed, staring miserably at her reflection in a puddle. Her mood changes were even worse than Mr Ashfords. 

"It's over there, it's all wet..."

Sylas and Daphne looked under the sink, which Myrtle pointed to. There was a small, thin book. It had a shabby black cover and was wet like everything else in the toilet. Sylas stepped forward to pick it up and examined it.

They glanced at it cautiously. After all, there were plenty of black magic books that only caused mischief. But this was just a diary. It had a faded year on the cover, which told them it was about 50 years old. Curious, they opened the book to the first page and could only decipher a name.

T. M. Riddle in smudged ink writing.

"Is the name familar to you?" Sylas asked, but Daphne just shook her head.

She only shrugged, not putting too much thought into it. "Probably just an outdated diary being used again. Recycling is becoming more and more popular among Muggles," she muttered.

Sylas opened the wet pages. They were all completely blank. Not the slightest trace of writing could be found on them. Each page looked as if it had been freshly pressed.

"Not yet used," Sylas muttered, frowning. Recycling didn't work like that. 

"Why would someone throw an unused diary into the toilet and flush it down?" Daphne asked in surprise.

Sylas turned the book over to the back and on it was the name of a newsagent on London's Vauxhall Road.

"Whoever this belonged to must have come from a Muggle family ," he said pensing, "It comes from a Muggle town ."

"I doubt that Theo and Draco know more, but wouldn't hurt to ask them," Daphne mused.

They said goodbye to Myrtle, who had barely noticed their departure because of her loud whining.

Down in the dungeon they showed them the diary and the initials, but neither of them had any idea who it might belong to. Draco examined it with various spells and objects. He had the idea that it might need an external stimulus before it could be read, but here too - no success.

The trio declared the diary to be of no importance, but Sylas had this feeling. He just couldn't part with it and always carried it around with him. Often he would absentmindedly pick it up and leaf through it, hoping there was a story somewhere in it that he needed to finish reading.

Sylas was sure he had never heard of T. M. Riddle, but it felt like he had been friends with Riddle for a long time. A friend he had forgotten. But what was impossible - nonsense. Before he came to Hogwarts, he had no friends at all.

One evening, he sat alone in front of the fire and leafed through the book again. He was so fixated on the empty pages that he didn't notice a certain ghost demanding his attention. It was only when he felt an icy cold on his neck that his eyes shot up to an upset Oliver

I am talking to you!

"Forgive me, I was lost in thought," he murmured and sat up. He had been sitting hunched over on the sofa for hours and his back was slowly starting to hurt.

What do you have there? Oliver glided over to him, trying to get a better look at the book. 

Sylas rubbed his nosebridge and sighed loudly. "Just some diary belonging to a certain T. M. Riddle. We found it in the girls' bathroom on the first floor. Apparently someone tried to flush it down the toilet," he muttered, holding it up in the air so Oliver could look at it from all angles.

The ghost remained unusually calm. Sylas studied his expression and his eyes narrowed. Oliver had this look as if he was remembering something. His eyes gleamed nostalgicly

Oliver knew something.

"Spit it out," Sylas asked harshly, placing the book on the table between them.

I don't know what you're talking about, Oliver just shrugged. The ghost monotonously placed a hand on the diary, as if he was trying to get some information from it.

Sylas raised an eyebrow and stared at him with his piercing green eyes. With a smirk Oliver started staring at the boy as well. None of them taking the eyes off the other.

Reddish brown met poison green.

After a few minutes the ghost sighed, giving the boy the win. 

Well, perhaps I know the owner of the diary.

"Perhaps?"

Well, I shared a room with him – happy?

"I want a name and information about him."

Oliver's smirk widened and he whistled impressed. So demanding, didn't know you could be like that. 

Sylas glanced at him impatiently, to which he only grinned smugly. Oliver let out a loud sigh and folded his arms. 

His name was Tom Marvolo Riddle. A truly excellent student and received several awards for his deeds. He was a prefect, head boy and top of the class every year. Everyone envied him because Hogwarts hadn't seen a better and more charming student for a long time. Oliver just couldn't shake his smug grin.

Silence filled the room for a second. 

Sylas studied the ghost. "Were you friends?" Sylas mused.

Oliver hesitated for a moment before answering, Well... yes, you could say that. I don't know what happened to the boy. Because shortly afterwards I died and -

" - You somehow ended up with me. At some point I'll also perish wondering why you're haunting me," Sylas sighed. That was a mystery for another time. 

Admit it, you like it when I come visiting you, Oliver grinned at him a little too happily. In response, he only got a middle finger from Sylas, which made him laugh even more .

 

~~~

 

February, 1993

The sun was casting its first faint rays on Hogwarts. The mood in the castle had become more hopeful. Nothing had happened since the attacks on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, and Professor Sprout was pleased to report that the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, which meant that they were quickly leaving childhood behind.

"As soon as her acne goes away, she can be potted again," Sylas heard her explain to Filch one afternoon in a friendly voice. "And then it won't be long before we cut her up and stew her. You'll have your Mrs Norris back in no time."

Sylas felt relieved that Mrs Norris would soon be back. Even if she only brought problems to the student body, it was still an animal that did not deserve such a thing.

However, the quartet found it extremely strange that the attacks had suddelny stopped. They came up with theories as to why it was no longer attacking. It had probably become too risky to open the Chamber of Secrets and let the monster out when the entire school was so vigilant.

Many of the students, however, thought nothing of it and were happy to be back to their normal school routine. Since it was announced that Granger had only had an accident and had not suffered from an attack, the rumor mill stopped churning.

Rumors were circulating that the monster had carried out enough attacks and was filled. Many said that the monster had settled down again and would not attack again. But among all those positive theories, the fear of Sylas was still lingering through the cracks of the stonewalls. The Whispers about him decreased by alot, but the eyes of the students ... the eyes did not let him forget, what he was accused for. Especially the Hufflepuffs wouldn't forget his actions towards them. Always on guard when they had Herbology together. 

For Gilderoy Lockhart, there was no question that he had personally caused the attacks to stop. After questioning him further how he did that, he only said it could be read in his next book. As the Slytherins prepared for Transfiguration, Sylas heard him explaining this to Professor McGonagall.

"I don't think there'll be any more trouble, Minerva," he said, winking and tapping his nose ominously. "I think the Chamber of Secrets is now sealed for good. The villain must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught him. Very thoughtful of him to stop now, before I could take him to task. You know, what the school needs now is a mood lifter. Something to wash away the memories of that story! I don't want to talk about it any more now, but I think I know just the thing..." He tapped his nose again and walked away.

What Lockhart imagined a mood-lifter to be, became clear at breakfast on February 14th. When the four Slytherins entered the hall in the morning, they were left speechless. Either from Shock or disgust, they couldn't tell.

Draco even turned around because he was so tired from Quidditch practice that he thought they had mistaken the door. Only Daphne seemed thrilled about the whole ordeal.

All the walls were covered with large, pale pink flowers. Even worse, heart-shaped confetti was snowing down from the pale blue sky. The three boys sat down at their table feeling uneasy.

"What's going on here?" Sylas asked quietly, looking around with slight disgust. He kept wiping confetti from his hair.

"My father is right, the school is going from bad to worse," Draco grumbled, shaking himself from the confetti. A particularly large amount of it rained down on him. As if it the confettig particularly mocked him. 

Theo just pointed to the teacher's desk, "Look there, our favorite teacher is responsible for this."

Lockhart, wearing a pale pink robe that matched the decorations, waved his arms for silence. The teachers next to him sat stone-faced. From where he sat, Sylas could see a muscle twitch on Professor McGonagall's cheek. Snape looked as if someone had just fed him a large cup of Skele wax.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted, through his bright white teeth. "And I'd like to thank the forty-six people who have sent me cards. Yes, I've taken the liberty of preparing this little surprise for you all - and it gets even better."

Lockhart clapped his hands and a dozen grumpy-looking dwarves marched through the portal to the entrance hall. Not just any dwarves, though. Lockhart had adorned them all with golden wings and harps.

Sylas has an uneasy feeling about this. 

"My friendly messengers of love," beamed Lockhart. "They'll be roaming around the school today, delivering their Valentines. And the fun doesn't end there! I'm sure my colleagues won't want to shut themselves out of the spirit of the hour. Why don't we ask Professor Snape to show us how to mix a love potion! And while we're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about putting someone into a trance than any warlock I've ever met, the sly old dog!"

Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Snape looked as if he would poison the first person who asked him for a love potion.

"Daphne ... please tell me," Theo begged, looking at her intently, "you're not one of those forty-six." It was almost like pleading, that's how bad he felt about it. But Daphne acted as if she hadn't heard anything at all and ate her breakfast calmly with rosy cheeks.

The three boys looked at each other with big, worried eyes.

"Lockhart must have cast some kind of magic spell on all female creatures," Theo said immediately, "you can't tell me that guy really has so much charm that everyone throws themselves at him."

"The only problem is that guy is actually useless and women still like him," Draco grumbled, eating his toast and beans, before groaning a moment later. Daphne had kicked him right in the shin under the table.

Curses where heard from under his breath. 

"You all better shut up," she growled, "Lockhart accomplished astonishing things! You just don't want to acknowledge it."

"Just because he wrote about great things in his books doesn't mean he did them himself. Just get it, Daphne," but Sylas was just talking to a brick wall.

Daphne did not even look at him and ate her breakfast in peace. 

All day long - to the annoyance of the teachers - the dwarves burst into classes and delivered Valentine's greetings, and late in the afternoon, as the Slytherins were on their way up to Charms class, one of them caught up with Sylas.

"Hey, you! Sylas Ashford!" shouted a particularly grim-looking dwarf, elbowing his way to Sylas.

He looked at his two friends with murderous eyes, who just grinned at him evilly. Of all things, he had to receive a Valentine's Day greeting in front of a crowd of first years ... which unfortunately also included Ginny Weasley.

He was overcome with utter horror.

His attempt to escape got prevented by the dwarf. The dwarf was utterly fast for his size and kicked his way through the crowd to catch up with Sylas. 

"I have a musical message to deliver to Sylas Ashford himself," he said, ominously tugging on his harp.

Sylas clunched onto his bag. "Not here," he hissed and tried to hurry away. If only those god damn first years weren't in the way.

"Stand still!" growled the dwarf, grabbed Sylas' bag and pulled him back.

"Let me go!" he growled, pulling on his bag.

With a loud ripping sound, his bag burst in two. Books, wand, parchment and quill flew to the floor and, in the midst of all the chaos, his glass inkwell also shattered. Sylas hurried around, trying to gather his things before the dwarf began to sing. A small crowd formed in the corridor.

"What's going on here?" Ron Weasley's stupid voice echoed through the hall. Behind him was the rest of the Gryffindor pack. Unfortunately, they had to go to Charms class as well.

Sylas really wasn't in need of that right now. He feverishly stuffed everything back into his bag so he could escape as quickly as possible.

"What is this mess?" the imperious voice of Percy Weasley rang out. "Come on, off to your classes!"

Sylas prayed that he could actually shoo the crowd away before the serenade started. For a moment he thought, he could finally sneak away, but the dwarf grabbed him by the knees and he fell to the ground with a thud.

A growl escaped his throat. For fucks sake, what did he do to deserve this. 

"Good," said the dwarf, sitting on Sylas' ankles. "Here's your Valentine's Day song ."

Sylas gave Theo and Draco a dark look. He would get revenge on them for this.

 

His eyes, as green as freshly pickled toad
His hair, as black as ebony
I wish he were mine, for divine must be
Who melted the power of the Dark Lord

 

Sylas would have given all the gold in Gringotts to be able to vanish into thin air right then and there. His face was as red as a tomato and he scowled at anyone who started laughing. It was the most embarrassing thing that had happened to him in a long time. He pulled himself up, his feet numb from the dwarf's weight.

Meanwhile, Percy Weasley did his best to disperse the crowd of students, some of whom were moved to tears.

"Move on, move on, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to the classrooms now," he said, gently pushing a few of the younger students along. "You too, Ron!"

The Weasley was laughing his ass off with Thomas and Finnigan at the greeting. Oh, they'll pay for that one day.

Theo helped him pack up the rest of his things and grinned, "Seems like you have a secret admirer."

"Not funny, Theo. I know for a fact that you and Draco are behind it," Sylas grumbled, glancing at him angrily. "I wouldn't have thought you were so poetically embarrassing. How on earth did you come up with such a shitty idea?"

Anyone could see from a mile away that the Slytherin was absolutely not in the mood for something like that and didn't find it funny at all.

Draco patted him on the shoulder and laughed. "Sorry, mate. It wasn't us."

Sylas looked at them, confused. Then, who the hell had sent him the greeting?

Little Weasley rushed past him, blushing bright red, when Ron called out, "Hey Ginny, it doesn't look like Ashford likes your confession. Really embarrassing!"

Little Weasley looked at Sylas for a moment with teary eyes. His expression slipped for a moment and he didn't know what to say to her. When she noticed his refusal, she immediately covered her face with her hands and disappeared through the next door.

This was exactly what he wanted to avoid.

"Shit," Sylas muttered, scratching his neck.

Suddenly, Astoria Greengrass stood in front of him and hit him on the shoulder. She looked not at all pleased and glared at him, "Woe betide you, if you don't apologize to her. It was embarrassing, yes, but you didn't have to react like that in public. After all, we are Slytherins."

He couldn't even answer her before she ran after Ginny.

Draco whistled, "I didn't know those two were friends."

Daphne had finally fought her way through the crowd. She had only seen part of the incident. "Astoria told me that they had only recently become friends. Ginny came up to her," she explained.

Sylas felt a sense of relief. The little Weasley was finally taking his advice to heart. He had often watched her anxiously after their conversation by the fireplace. But back then she was still alone.

Thanks to Percy, the crowd of students finally dispersed completely.

On the way to class, Theo muttered to Sylas, "You were worried about little Weasley."

Sylas shrugged. "You must be imagining things," he muttered. "I only told her a few months ago that she should adjust. After all, I know what it feels like to be excluded from your own house. That's all."

"That's called worrying. No other Slytherin would have told her that," Theo muttered.

"What are you getting at?"

"You like her"

…

"Never say that again."

Theo looked at him in shock, his eyes wide and speechless. He had never heard such a gloomy tone from the boy before. They walked in silence to their Charms class. Sylas sat down next to Draco, who just gave Theo a questioning look. Normally Sylas and Theo always sat next to each other. The boy just shook his head quickly.

During class, Sylas noticed something strange. All of his other books were soaked in scarlet ink, only Riddle's diary was intact. Not a single stain was visible, even though his entire inkwell was broken on it. Frowning, he continued to study. He would have to look into it more closely later.

Chapter 17

Notes:

Thank you for everyone who reads and appreciates this story! I am currently in a lot of stress due to the upcoming exam season and my thesis/presentations I have to do, but I will try to not let it interfere with this story.
Maybe some of you have noticed; I've changed the title of this story. The old one was just a placeholder and I never really liked it to begin with. So I always brainstormed for a new one and low and behold here it is.
Anyway, I wish you a good read and have a lovely day and weekend!

For days, Sylas tried to talk to little Weasley, but she blocked him every time. As soon as she noticed him coming toward her, she either disappeared into a crowd or fled to her room, where he was not allowed.

At the same time, Astoria glared at him angrily. Apparently, little Weasley had been more affected than he had initially thought. Because Astoria had also let her big sister in on the whole mess, he now had to endure her nagging every day. It didn't make it any better that Theo and Draco were enjoying this drama too.

They were sitting outside in the courtyard, enjoying the late February sun shining on their faces. It was rare for the sun to come out from between the clouds. There were hardly any other students around, as many preferred to spend their time indoors in the warmth. A cool wind blew through the air, but it didn't make the sun seem any colder.

"You really should have behaved differently," she grumbled, "Didn't it occur to you that it could almost only have come from the little Weasley? As if Theo and Draco would put on such a show in public," the two boys nodded in agreement as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Little Weasley doesn't know our house very well yet, it could only have come from her! She's also the only one who has a crush on you and you know that!"

Sylas sighed annoyed and rolled his eyes. "Unfortunately ... I was overpowered by a dwarf just before that. I didn't really have my emotions under control, I'm sorry!" He growled.

It was a slight dent in his ego that such a small creature overpowered him so easily, and in front of what felt like half the school!

Theo, Draco and Daphne, on the other hand, had been making fun of him for days and had to really pull themselves together not to burst out laughing again when they thought about, how he was brought to his knees.

"It's not every day that you get overwhelmed by a dwarf," Draco chuckled.

Sylas shot him an angry glare. "One more joke about that shit ass dwarf and you'll wish you never knew me," he hissed at him.

Draco stuck his tongue out at him. "Keep calm, Heir of Slytherin. If I'm the next petrified victim, y'all know who cursed me," he chuckled, and started to untie the hair tie from Sylas hair.

He tried to stop him, but Draco had more skillful hands. When he had it completely out, he jumped up and ran away. His ebony dark hair fell wavy over his shoulders

"Hey! Stop that!" Sylas grumbled. "You're really annoying today!" He shot up and ran after him.

Draco laughed out loud, "You're just too easily provoked!"

Sylas started throwing snowballs at him, and Draco did the same. When Theo got hit in the face by one, Daphne burst into laughter. The two boys ran full speed towards a patch of ice that was not visible because it was slightly covered in snow. They started to slip and slide away.

Sylas slid into Draco's arms and they held each other tight.

Unfortunately for them, they slipped at full speed towards a slope and stumbled when the patch of ice suddenly ended. Together they pulled each other into the abyss down the hill and all they could hear were the worried voices of Daphne and Theo.

They rolled down the entire slope. Snow came through every hole in their clothing. After what felt like an eternity, they came onto a stop. Far down the slope. Completely frozen and covered in snow, the two tried to find their bearings again.

All the rolling made them dizzy. Sylas had snow all over his uniform, which melted cause of his body heat. He was freezing cold. As soon as they were back in the dungeons, he urgently needed a hot shower.

Draco was the first to sit up again. "Shit, I thought we would never stop and fall into the lake," he said, giving himself a good shake to get the snow off him.

Sylas still lay like a star in the snow. "This is all your fault," he growled.

"That's true," Draco laughed and stood up. He held out his hand to his friend, but suddenly hesitated. Sylas' hair was scattered in the snow, giving a clear view of his forehead. In the left corner, Draco could vaguely see several cigarette burns.

"Sylas..." Draco muttered, his voice just barley above a whisper and flickering with concern.

Surprised, Sylas slowly sat up and looked at him questioningly.

"What ... what are those scars on your forehead?" he whispered.

Sylas froze on the spot, his heart stopped for a moment, his eyes widened and his hand shot up to cover his scars. The coldness he felt suddenly disappeard and got replaced with utter horror. 

Silence fell upton them, just looking into each others eyes no one daring to say another word. Sylas mind raced with any explanation he could give him. The lies were on top of his tonuge, but none of them spilled out of his mouth. 

At the top of the hill stood Daphne and Theo, waiting for the two boys to come back up.

"What are you waiting for? Otherwise you'll catch a cold!" Daphne called down.

Their eyes shot up to them. Daphne and Theo waved. 

Sylas eyes scurried back to Draco. Pure Horror could be seen in his gaze. "You ... you can't tell anyone... promise me you won't tell anyone!"

Draco glanced at him and hesitated before nodding. "Okay, I won't," he mumbeled, "but ... who was that?"

"Come on up!" shouted Theo. "Otherwise you'll freeze down there and Hagrid will have to defrost you!"

Sylas quickly got up and straightened his hair so that it covered everything again.

Without looking him in the eyes he walked past Draco. "Daphne and Theo are waiting for us," he murmured quietly, "We should go back upstairs."

"But...Sylas!", Draco got no more answer. He could only watch his friend climbing back up the hill. He let out a heavy sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. After a minute he started going up as well. 

His worried eyes locked on the boys back. 

Before dinner was ready, they had enough time to hurry back down to the dungeons to take a quick shower. Sylas definetly needed something to warm him up. His whole body was freezing and trembling.

Daphne talked the whole time about Lockhart and how he had looked at her in class the other day. She didn't notice the depressed mood that emanated from Draco.

During dinner, Sylas got forced to listen to the poem over and over again by the Weasley twins, as well as Pansy and Milicent.

If he heard his eyes as green as freshly pickled toad one more time, he would set the whole school on fire.

Even in the common room, the two Slytherin girls just couldn't shut up. They not only made fun of him, but also of little Weasley. She hardly dared to leave her room out of shame since the incident. 

That night, Sylas went to bed earlier. For one, he could not stand Draco's worried glances, Daphne's nagging, and Pansy and Milicent's stupid comments any longer.

The dorm was fortunately empty as he climbed in his bed. He drew the curtains tightly so no one could disturb him. Between his fingers he held Riddle's diary and in front of him an inkwell and a quill.

The last few days he had other things to worry about, that gotten heavenly on his nerves. This evening he would finally spend his time figuering out, what that diary was all about.

He sat on his four-poster bed and leafed through the blank pages. The memorys of the 14 of feburary rushed in his mind. The diary was squeaky clean, no scarlet ink anywhere. He opened his cask and dipped his quill in it. First he simply let a few drops fall onto the first page of the diary.

For a second the ink glowed brightly on the paper, and then, as if sucked into the sheet, it disappeared. Sylas eyes widened, his lips parting. Excitement rushed through his vains. It was not an ordinary diary at all.

He dipped the pen a second time and wrote, "My name is Sylas Ashford"

The words glowed on the page for a few seconds and then they too disappeared without a trace. Then, finally, something happened. Words that Sylas had not written emerged from the page in its own ink.

"Hello, Sylas Ashford. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you get my diary?" Those words faded away too. His heart quickened its pace, while he hestitated to answer.

How could a book give him such accurate answers?

"Someone tried to flush it down the toilet." he answered and waited.

"It's fortunate that I have recorded my memories in a more permanent way than ink. But I always knew that there would be some who would not want this diary to be read."

Sylas raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" he scribbled calmly.

"What I'm saying is that this diary contains memories of terrible things. Things that were covered up. Things that happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

So someone had recorded the events from over 50 years ago. Pretty clever, considering that even Mr. Malfoy wouldn't say a word about it. So Riddle took a precautionary measure to ensure that the truth of all this could come to light.

"This is where I am," Sylas wrote quickly. "I'm at Hogwarts and terrible things have happened. Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?"

Riddle's answer came quickly, his writing becoming sloppier, as if he wanted to quickly tell everything he knew.

"Of course I know about the Chamber of Secrets. In my day they told us it was just a legend and didn't exist. But that was a lie. In my fifth year the Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several students, eventually killing one. I caught the person who opened the Chamber and he was expelled. But the headmaster, Professor Dippet, was ashamed that such a thing had happened at Hogwarts and forbade me to tell the truth. They made up a fairy tale that the girl had died in a tragic accident. They gave me a nice shiny medal with an engraved dedication and warned me to keep my mouth shut. But I knew it could happen again. The monster lived on and whoever had the power to release it didn't go to prison."

Sylas let these words sink in for the first time. The headmasters of Hogwarts all seemed to be incompetent regarding doing their job and protecting the school.

"It's happening again now. There have been three attacks and no one seems to know who is behind it. Who was it last time?"

"I can show you if you want ," Riddle replied. "You don't have to believe what I say. I can bring you into my memory of the night I caught him."

Sylas hesitated, holding the quill over the diary. What did Riddle mean by that? How could he get into someone else's memory? Besides, how much could he trust a diary? He looked around the dormitory. No one was here. When his gaze fell back on the book, he saw new words forming.

"I want to show you."

Sylas paused for a split second, at least looking at it couldn't hurt, and then wrote a word.

"Alright."

The pages of the diary began to flutter as if caught in a wind. When the whirlwind died down, the pages were open for mid-June. Sylas saw, open-mouthed, that the small square for June thirteenth had apparently turned into a tiny screen. With slightly shaking hands, he lifted the book and pressed one eye against the small window, and before he knew what was happening, he fell forward; the window widened, he felt his body leave the bed and he was drawn headfirst through the opening, into a whirlwind of color and shadow.

His feet touched solid ground. He sat up, his whole body shaking, and the blurry shapes around him suddenly took shape. He knew immediately where he was. This circular room with the sleeping portraits was Dumbledore's office - but it was not Dumbledore who was sitting behind the desk. A wizened, frail-looking wizard, bald except for a few strands of white hair, was reading a letter by candlelight. Sylas had never seen this man before.

"I'm sorry," he said uncertainly, "I didn't mean to barge in here."

But the wizard didn't look up. Frowning a little, he continued reading. Sylas stepped closer to the desk and stammered, "Um, I'll just go, shall I?"

The wizard still ignored him. He didn't even seem to have heard him. With a sigh, the wizard folded the letter, stood up, walked past Sylas without even glancing at him, and opened the curtains at the window. The sky outside was ruby red; it was evidently sunset. The wizard went back to the desk, sat down, and watched the door, twiddling his thumbs.

Then Riddle's words came back to him. These were his memories, and he was merely an observer of events.

Sylas looked around the office. No phoenix, no whirring machines. This was Hogwarts as Riddle had known it, and this unknown wizard was the headmaster, not Dumbledore, and he, Sylas, was a phantom invisible to people fifty years ago. What kind of magic was it to be able to record something like that in a diary? There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," said the old wizard in a weak voice. A boy entered, but for some reason Sylas could not see his head or face. From his clothes he could tell that the boy was from Slytherin and on his chest was the prefect's badge, but his whole head was blurry and unrecognizable.

He looked back at the headmaster, but his face was clearly visible to him. Nothing was blurry. It was like a dream where you spend the whole time with one person but in the end you could never remember their face.

"Ah, Riddle,"  the headmaster said.

"You wanted to speak to me, Professor Dippet?" Riddle said. Sylas couldn't figure out how the boy must be feeling. His body language seemed normal, but the lack of facial expressions made it difficult.

"Sit down," Dippet said. "I have just read your letter."

"Oh," Riddle said. He sat down and clasped his hands tightly together.

"My dear boy," Dippet said kindly, "I cannot possibly leave you here at school all summer. Surely you would like to go home for the holidays?"

"No," Riddle said immediately. "I would much rather stay at Hogwarts than in this... in this..."

"You live in a Muggle orphanage, don't you?" Dippet said curiously. Sylas' heart stopped for a moment. Riddle lived in an orphanage as well?

"Yes, sir," Riddle said, his voice slightly trembling. 

"You come from a Muggle family ?"

"Half-bloods, sir," he answered. "Muggle father, witch mother."

"And both parents are -?"

"My mother died shortly after I was born, sir. At the orphanage, they told me she was able to give me my name - Tom after my father, Marvolo after my grandfather." Dippet clicked his tongue sympathetically.

For a brief moment, Sylas thought someone was holding up a mirror of his life to him. He and Riddle had quite a lot in common. Is that the reason why he was so drawn to the diary? Why he thought of Riddle as a long-time friend, even though he had never met him?

"The thing is, Tom," he sighed. "Perhaps an exception could have been made for you, but under the present circumstances..."

"You mean all those attacks, sir?" Riddle remarked, and Sylas' heart began to pound. If he went to Dumbledore and asked to stay at school, maybe ... maybe he would make an exception for him too? He didn't even know that was an option.

"Exactly," the Headmaster said. "My dear boy, you must realise how foolish it would be of me to let you stay in the castle after the end of the school year. Especially in light of the recent tragedy... the death of that poor little girl... You are far safer in your orphanage. Incidentally, the Ministry of Magic is currently considering closing the school. We are no closer to the source of this trouble..." Riddle's eyes had widened.

"Sir, if this person were caught - if everything stopped -"

Dippet's head eyes shot up to the boy, carefully watching him. "What do you mean?" Dippet said with a squeak in his voice, sitting up in his chair. "Riddle, are you saying you know something about these attacks?"

"No, sir," Riddle said quickly.

Sylas tilted his head in astonishment. Riddle was a good liar, but unfortunatle for him - Sylas knew a liar when he saw one. If there was one thing he could do, it was twist the truth to suit him.

After all, his entire life was built on a lie.

Dippet sank back and looked a little disappointed. "You can go, Tom ..."

Riddle stood up and left the room. Sylas followed him. They let the spiral staircase take them down and came out by the gargoyle in the now almost dark corridor. Riddle paused and Sylas, staring at him, did the same.

He could see that Riddle was thinking hard. He hesitated, why was he hesitating? Riddle bit his lower lip, his brow furrowed. Then, as if he had suddenly made a decision, he stormed off.

Sylas glided along silently beside him. They saw no one else until they reached the entrance hall, where a tall wizard with long, flowing chestnut hair and a beard called from the marble staircase, "What are you doing wandering around here so late, Tom?"

Sylas stared at the wizard with his mouth open. He was none other than Dumbledore, fifty years younger than him.

"The headmaster wanted to speak to me, sir," Riddle said.

"Good, now let's get to bed," Dumbledore said, staring at Riddle with the same piercing gaze that Sylas had seen him do. "It's best not to wander around the corridors now. Not since..." He sighed deeply, wished Riddle goodnight, and walked away.

Riddle waited until he was out of sight, then strode briskly down the stone steps to the dungeons, Sylas close behind. But to his disappointment, Riddle led him not into a hidden passage or a secret tunnel, but into the very dungeon where Sylas was taking his Potions class with Snape. The torches had not been lit, and when Riddle pushed the door ajar, Sylas could see only Riddle standing motionless at the door, watching the corridor outside.

Sylas felt as though they had been standing there for at least an hour. All he could see was the figure of Riddle at the door, peeping through the crack, waiting as if petrified. And just as Sylas's curiosity and excitement had subsided and he was beginning to wish he could return to the present, he heard something move outside the door.

Someone was creeping down the corridor. He heard him, whoever it was, walking past the dungeon where he and Riddle were hiding. Silent as a shadow, Riddle slipped through the door and crept after him, and Sylas, forgetting that no one could hear him, tiptoed behind. They followed the footsteps for about five minutes, until Riddle suddenly stopped and tilted his head. New sounds reached their ears.

Sylas heard a door creak open and then a rough whispering voice, "Come... I have to get you out of here... come now... into the box..."

Something about that voice sounded familiar ... Suddenly Riddle leapt around the corner and Sylas could see the dark outline of a huge boy crouched in front of an open door, a large box beside him.

"Good evening, Rubeus," Riddle said in a sharp voice. The boy slammed the door and sat up. Sylas couldn't believe his eyes when he saw young Hagrid in front of him. There was no way it was Hagrid!

"What are you doing here, Tom?", Hagrid looked at the boy with slight fear in his eyes. Riddle stepped closer.

"It's over," he said. "I'm going to have to report you, Rubeus. There's already talk of closing Hogwarts if the attacks don't stop."

"What do you mean -"

"I don't think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don't make good pets. I think you just let it out for practice and -"

"It never killed anyone!" the giant boy shouted, backing away from the closed door. Behind it, Sylas heard a strange rustling and clicking.

"Go on, Rubeus," Riddle said, stepping even closer. "The dead girl's parents are coming tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure the creature that killed her is slaughtered..."

"It wasn't him!" the boy thundered, his voice echoing in the dark corridor. "He - would never do it! He never would!"

"Move aside," Riddle said, drawing his wand. His spell suddenly flooded the corridor with flaming light. The door behind the huge boy flew open with such force that it threw him against the opposite wall, and out burst something that made Sylas let out a long, piercing scream that no one could hear - A huge, elongated, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a glow of many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers - once again Riddle raised his wand, but it was too late.

The giant spider threw him to the ground and crawled away down the corridor and disappeared. Riddle got up and looked after him, but the giant boy lunged at him, grabbed his wand and threw it to the ground again, screaming loudly, "NOOOOO!"

And before Sylas' eyes everything began to spin and suddenly his vision turned black. He felt like he was falling and hitting the ground hard. He landed on all fours on his bed in the Slytherin dormitory, Riddle's diary open on his stomach.

He lay on his bed, breathing quickly, trying to digest what had just happened. His heart pounded so loud it was the only thing he heard. His body was still trembling. It took him several minutes to get it together again. 

Slowly he sat up, leaning at the back of the bedframe. His eyes locked onto the diary infront of him. With a big heavy sigh he ran his fingers through his hair. What he just saw ..., just couldn't be true. 

According to Riddle's diary, it was Hagrid who opened the monster and the Chamber of Secrets.

According to Draco's father, the culprit was expelled from school and the attacks stopped after that.

Hagrid would indeed fit into this picture and his preference for large, monstrous creatures, didn't make it any better. 

But a spider is supposed to be the horror of the Chamber of Secrets? Could a spider even petrify other people?

Sylas took out the book about magical creatures that Daphne had given him for Christmas. He leafed through it for a while to find information about a spider that had such abilities, but his search was fruitless. What were the chances that such a species had not yet been researched? But after 50 years, something like this would surely have been found and documented.

A new approach was needed. 

Sylas went back to the memories he experienced. 

Riddle ran into the dungeons straight after talking to Dippet and caught Hagrid red-handed. If Riddle hadn't caught him, he would have had to spend the summer in the orphanage.

Sylas didn't know this boy, wasn't sure what he was capable of. But one thing he knew for sure - what it's like to live in an orphanage.

Riddle needed a scapegoat to keep him at school, but where did he get the confidence that there wouldn't be more attacks after Hagrid was expelled? He had to have some reassurance that it would never happen again.

If Riddle knew the real culprit, he could have threatened him. But this still would not give him any guarantee that the culprit wouldn't do is again. 

Sylas rubbed his nosebridge, trying to think out of the box. What did he knew about Riddle?

Oliver said, there was no better or more charming boy. Nevertheless Riddle could lie like a pro. 

...

After a few minutes, it clicked. The big picture, the last piece of the puzzle… everything made sense.

What if Riddle was the real Heir of Slytherin? If he could control the monster, he could have easily put it to sleep after Hagrid was expelled. That way it would look to everyone as if Hagrid was really the culprit and he would be off the hook. It would only make him look even better and he could stay at Hogwarts over the summer.

What is your pretty brain thinking about so hard?

Oliver lay sideways in the air and had been watching the boy for several minutes. He looked at his two books on the bed with interest.

Sylas flinched, when Oliver appeared out of nowhere. "Tell me," he began, frowning, "What was Tom Riddle like? Was he popular?"

Oliver looked at him in surprise, then a smirk appeared on his lips. Of course he was popular, everyone liked him. He was one of those students who was good at everything. I don't even want to start with his incredible good looks.

Sylas frowned and tilted his head slightly to the side.

He was polite, charming, and always seemed to know exactly what to say. All the teachers loved him – especially Professor Slughorn .

The more Oliver raved about this Riddle, the more Sylas' mouth twisted. He opened his mouth several times, but then closed it again to make sense of what he had just said.

With his charisma he could simply captivate everyone – he had many admirers.

Oliver floated before him as if he were reveling in the most nostalgic and beautiful memories he had ever experienced. For a moment, the Slytherin studied his house ghost.

"No offense, but..." Sylas mumbled, "...did you have a crush on that guy?"

An utter silence fell upon the room. Oliver's mouth stood open, his eyes wide - completley speechless. After a few seconds he shaked his head several times, as if it was the biggest nonsense he had heard in a long time. 

W-What?! What kind of nonsense are you talking about? His eyebrows were pressed so close together that it looked like a monobrow. It was the first time Oliver had reacted so sensitively to something, which only reinforced his suspicions.

Sylas just shrugged. "You were so raving about him," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Oliver stuck out his tongue in insult and cursed him several times as he disappeared through the nearest wall.

"Someone has too big of an ego to admit it to themselves," Sylas muttered, chuckling quietly.

The next day, Sylas pulled Theo, Draco, and Daphne aside. He spoke quietly, almost in a whisper, while looking around to make sure no one was listening.

"Tonight," he said seriously. "I have to show you something. It's important."

None of them asked questions. They went about their daily lives - lessons, meals, homework - as if nothing had happened. But as night fell and the last voices in their common room died away, they gathered in a corner of the Slytherin common room.

Sylas took out the diary and told them what he had found out yesterday. With a quill he wrote in the book Who opened the Chamber of Secrets 50 years ago?

The sentence began to glow and disappeared into the page. The three of them went wide-eyed and looked at each other in disbelief. For a moment the page remained blank and then appeared in curly, flawless writing,

"I caught the culprit 50 years ago. It was Rubeus Hagrid."

Daphne gasped audibly. "No way, it was Hagrid," she gasped indignantly. "He would never risk putting Muggles in danger."

Theo rubbed his nosebridge, already thinking ahead. "Still, things are looking bad for him," he  muttered. "If there is another attack, he will definitely be suspected. After all, they blamed him back then and they will definitely blame him today."

"Father told me that if there is another attack, Dumbledore will be dismissed as Headmaster of the Office," Draco added. "The Ministry is under a lot of pressure and desperate. They will 100% blame Hagrid so they have someone to blame. Dumbledore won't be able to protect him, if he's dismissed."

Sylas clenched his hands into fists. "What are we going to do now? They're putting Hagrid in Azkaban without any evidence!" he said sharply. He definitely didn't want the half-giant to be blamed again for something he was innocent. 

There was silence for a moment. Each of them thought, weighing up options.

"We don't have much to go on," Draco muttered, frowning. "The attacks stopped weeks ago and we have no information on how to find the Chamber of Secrets or who opened it."

"We don't, but the book knows," Theo mused. "If your theory is correct, Sylas, it was Riddle who opened the Chamber of Secrets 50 years ago. He knows where it is and how to open it. Did he tell you anything? Did you see anything in his memory?"

Sylas shook his head, "He keeps saying he has no idea what I'm talking about and that he caught the culprit. He completely denies that he is the Heir of Slytherin."

Daphne suddenly listened and opened her eyes wide. "Of course!" she took a sharp breath, "The previous owner of the book is probably a girl!"

The three boys just looked at her questioningly.

"What makes you think that?" Draco asked skeptically.

"Think about it," she said, "Where did we find the diary?"

"In the girls' bathroom on the first floor," Sylas replied.

"Exactly, no boy would go in there because it's a girl's bathroom and no girl would go in there because of Moaning Myrtle. There's no better place to dispose of it than there. The question is, why did the previous owner dispose of it?" Daphne muttered.

Sylas leaned back thoughtfully. "Maybe... Riddle told her where the chamber was. Maybe he manipulated her, flattered her, influenced her. According to Oliver, he was popular with everyone, always charming. What if Riddle was able to manipulate and control the girl through this? Maybe the girl eventually realized what she was doing and wanted to get rid of the diary," Sylas threw into the room.

The silence that followed was heavy.

But he knew that they all had the same thought. Could a diary really have so much power to make a student do such things?

"Wait a minute," Draco said suddenly, "If it really is the diary that is responsible for these attacks, then all we have to do is make sure we keep it safe or just destroy it outright. Simple as that."

"Of course," muttered Theo, "It's foolproof! Then we won't have to worry about Hagrid being taken out of school as well!"

"But if the diary has such power, it won't be easy to destroy, will it?" Sylas murmured, examining the book between them

Draco took the diary, "Well then, let's find out." Without hesitation, he marched over to the fire and carelessly threw it in. The other three came closer and watched the fire. Minutes passed, but the diary seemed to be magically protected, the flames did not touch it. Not even the corners burned .

"Great, now what?" Sylas asked. "Do any of you know a spell so powerful that it can destroy a diary?"

No one answered. Sighing, Draco fished the book out of the fire again - it was completely intact.

Daphne bit her lip, "Perhaps we should give the diary to Snape. I'm sure he can keep it safe."

"The only question is whether he will buy our story," Theo thought.

"As annoyed as he is with Lockhart, he'll just brush us off and not even look at the diary. If we go to Dumbledore... he'll make me the hero of Hogwarts again," Sylas growled, "And anyway, I don't think Riddle will answer if Snape writes in it."

Draco kept tapping his finger on the diary, "Well then, it stays with us. No one knows what it can do except us and the previous owner. When the school year is over, I'll take it to our mansion. We have a secret chamber just for such objects."

The others looked at each other and nodded.

"Then it is decided," said Daphne.

They stood in the dim glow of the fireplace – four students who silently protect Hogwarts without anyone ever knowing. 

Actually they just wanted to protect Hagrid.

If any other Muggleborn died - they couldn't care less. 

Chapter 18

May, 1993

It had been nearly four months since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick were petrified, and almost everyone seemed to believe that whoever the attacker was had finally retreated. The rumors about Sylas being the heir died down, much to his regret. He cultivated such a great image for nothing. But all Muggle-borns still gave him a wide berth, which gave him a little satisfaction.

The Gryffindors had followed him for a few weeks, monitoring his actions, lurking around every corner, but after not getting any wanted results, they had finally given up. Much to Sylas content. Oliver always informed him, when Granger, Weasly, Finnigan or Thomas were spying on him. After a while Sylas started to mess with them. He would always look in their direction and wait until they lurked around the corner, just to make creepy eye contact. Everytime the Gryiffndors freaked out. Always made his day.

However the Weasley twins continued to bully him, which is why he still couldn't go out alone. Fortunately for him he could escape their hexing, as he is only present in the corridors inbetween huge groups, which made it harder for the twins. But still, their theatetrical perfomances happened on a weekly basis.

But Sylas had other things in mind to worry about then the twins hexing. He still had no success with little Weasley. She avoided him like the plague. His bad conscience was eating him up and when he finally asked Astoria to arrange something, he still met a dead end. Little Weasley would not even listen to Astoria.

In the end Sylas gave up.

If she hated him, so be it.

In March, some Mandrakes threw a noisy and debauched party in Greenhouse Three. Professor Sprout was very happy about it.

"As soon as they start living together in their pots, we'll know they're ready," she explained to Sylas. "Then we can finally revive those poor people in the hospital wing."

Everything finally seemed to be back to normal. Sylas had hidden the diary safely in his infinity suitcase. It was the best place to make it disappear. No one would look for something in a supposedly empty suitcase.

During the Easter holidays, the second graders were given new material to look over. It was time to choose subjects for the third year. While they would keep all of their previous subjects, they were allowed to choose from five additional electives.

The quartet had already agreed on what they would take. Since Sylas had no idea how difficult the subjects were, he asked them for advise.

They all took Magical Creatures together. It was the only thing that caught all their interest. Sylas would take Divination with Daphne. According to Theo and Draco, Divination was the second most ridiculous subject offered at the school. Right after Muggle Studies.

It was clear that no one from Slytherin would take this class. Everyone shared the opinion that it was a waste of time and that it wouldn't get them very far in life anyway.

Daphne stuck with these two subjects because she wasn't really interested in the others. Sylas thought about taking anicent runes, but he decided against it. Too much work.

He stayed far away from Arithmancy. Apparently it was a very demanding subject, which Sylas could do without. Theo didn't take it either, as he also thought that two more subjects were enough.

Only Draco was mad enough to take it. They discussed with him whether he was really sure, but he didn't let them fob him off his decision.

Sylas could already imagine why he felt obliged to do this. Draco received several letters from his father in which he apparently said what was best for him and what he expected of him. Of course, the Malfoy heir would do what his father asked of him.

The night before the Quidditch match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff, they had dinner together. Draco had had no time for anything other than homework and Quidditch in the last few weeks. That evening would be the team's last training session. They had a very good chance of winning the cup for another year. Flint did not tolerate mistakes.

While Draco was training, Daphne, Theo and Sylas spent their time in the common room. They discussed homework and debated who would win tomorrow's game. After about two hours, a cheerful Draco returned to the dungeon.

He would quickly go and put away his broom, change, take a shower, and then he would come to them to talk about his training. As he vanished to their dorm, they suddelny heard him shouting.

"BLOODY HELL, WHO WAS THAT?"

Sylas and Theo immediately rushed over to him. Other boys from Slytherin also ran up and watched the spectacle from the doorway.

Sylas eye widened when he saw the mess in their room. As if a literall bomb had exploded in it. Funny enough, it only looked bad on Sylas, Draco and Theos side of the room. The other half was untouched.

Their things were scattered everywhere, the curtains had all been ripped down, the drawers in the bedside tables had been pulled out and emptied onto the mattresses.

With their mouths open, they climbed over torn pages from Trips with Trolls to their beds. Draco was fuming on his side of the bed, cursing under his breath.

Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise also came running over.

"What the hell happened here?" Blaise asked.

"I could ask you that!" Draco hissed, trying to put everything in order again, "I, for one, was at training!" His rage was not to be messed with. 

Theo and Sylas also started cleaning everything up again.

"It wasn't us either," grunted Crabbe, but Draco wouldn't hear any of it and shooed them all out. He cursed all the onlookers and slammed the door into their faces. 

"Whoever did this should pray that I don't find them!" he growled.

Sylas looked at the thrown out stuff, something ... felt off. "But why would someone do that?" he mused. "And from our own house, too. None of us have enemies here - at least, as far as I know."

Theo stopped in his tracks and took a closer look at the chaos. Realisation dawned on him. "That wasn't a foolish prank," he suddenly muttered. "The person was looking for something!"

All three stopped mid motion, looked each other in the eyes and had exactly the same thought.

That damned diary!

"Shit, shit, shit, shit!" Sylas cursed and took out his suitcase, opened it and stepped inside. The inside of his suitcase was a complete mess. He immediately looked everywhere for the diary - but nothing.

He flipped everything three times just to be sure, it really was the diary that is gone. 

Concerned, he stepped out of the suitcase again, frowned and looked into the eyes of the two boys, and just shook his head. They both gasped for air.

Theo paced nervously. "This is not good," he muttered, "This is not good at all!"

"A girl from our own house is the heir of Slytherin," Draco muttered, sitting thoughtfully on the edge of his bed.

"She must have somehow seen that we have Riddle's diary, but why did she take it again?" Theo muttered, carelessly throwing everything back into the drawers.

Sylas just sighed loudly and sat down on the floor, defeated. "I don't know ... maybe she panicked? That Riddle would rat her out?" He had been looking forward to having a normal rest of the school year. Everything finally seemed to be going in the right direction.

And now ... This.

They shared the news with Daphne, who was more than worried. She would ask the other girls if they mentioned a diary. If necessary, she would search every possible drawer in their rooms, but her efforts were fruitless.

When they woke up the next morning, the sun was shining and there was a light, refreshing breeze. Right now, they needed to support Draco in the Quidditch game. The diary must wait. 

At the Slytherin table, the Quidditch team was in a good mood. They were confident of their victory and hit hard.

Sylas had stared along the crowded Slytherin table and wondered if the previous owner of Riddle's book was sitting right in front of him.

Who could it be? They couldn't report the theft to any teacher, otherwise they would have a ton of questions to answer that they would rather avoid. And they weren't sure how many of them really knew why Hagrid had been expelled 50 years ago. None of them wanted to stir up old stories.

After finishing breakfast, they left the Great Hall together to get Draco's Quidditch gear. Just as they were taking the stairs down to the dungeon, he heard it again.

"Kill this time...let me tear...tear..."

Sylas froze in his tracks, instantly loocking around him. He hadn't heard it for months. The three Slytherins didn't realise, that he was frozen on the stairs until he spoke up. 

"The voice!" said Sylas, looking over his shoulder. "I heard it again - didn't you?"

All shook their heads, their eyes widened. If Sylas heard the monster again, the Heir of Slytherin was once again hunting. 

"This is not good," Theo muttered, "The monster is going to petrify someone again. Can you still hear it?"

Sylas stood uncertainly, trying to catch the voice again. Just in this moment a horde of students came out of the great hall, chattering loudly towards them.

"We can't stand around here any longer," Daphne said, pushing Draco down into the dungeon. "It's almost eleven, the game is about to start!"

"But - " Sylas protested, but Theo interrupted him, "No, Sylas. What can we do against the monster? We don't even know what it is. We can only hope that it hasn't attacked anyone. Otherwise ...," he nearly didn't dare to say it out loud, "... Hagrid would be in big trouble."

Sylas wanted to reason with them, to go search for the monster, but their gaze said it all. They would not do such thing. Especially because non they cared about, would get petrified anyway. Right now, Dracos game was more important. 

He let out a big sigh and scurried the steps down, to get Draco's things. 

At the Quidditch grounds, their paths separated. Sylas, Theo, and Daphne hurried up one of the towers to secure good seats, weaving through the excited crowd. The anticipation was palpable - students decked in their house colors, waving banners and cheering as they waited for the match to begin. But Sylas couldn't concentrate on the game at all. Too many thoughts were racing through his head. That voice just wouldn't let him alone. 

As the players marched onto the field, there was deafening applause. Marcus Flint took a warm-up flight around the goal posts and Madam Hooch released the balls. The Hufflepuffs, playing in canary yellow, formed a cluster and discussed their tactics one last time. Sylas barley registered the scene. His stomach twisted in knots. 

Just as they were all getting on their brooms, Professor McGonagall came across the field, half walking, half running, with a huge purple megaphone in her hand. Her expression was grim, her lips pressed into a thin line. The moment the three Slytherins spotted her, a quiet understanding passed between them, their cheers dying in their throats.

The monster had attacked again. 

"The game is canceled!" Professor McGonagall shouted through the megaphone to the packed stands. Groans and protests erupted from the crowd. Quidditch never gets canceled! Not even in the worst weather conditions or whatever. It always takes place no matter the circumstances. Wood, beside himself with despair, landed and ran towards McGonagall without getting off his broom and started gesturing wildly as he argued, but he could not reason with his Head of House.

"You know what that means," Daphne murmured worriedly.

"There's another victim," Sylas said quietly, his throat tightening by the minute. Now there was nothing they could do for their half-giant friend.

McGonagall called out through the megaphone once more, "All students return to the common rooms where the Heads of House will explain everything else to you. As quickly as you can, please." With that, she lowered the megaphone and waved Weasley and Thomas over to her.

Sylas, Theo, and Daphne watched intently as the two Gryffindors followed McGonagall towards the castle. A shared suspicion passed between them - if Weasley and Thomas were involved, the chances that Granger was the victim skyrocketed. For a fleeting second, Sylas thought he saw the ghost of a smirk cross Daphne’s face, but it quickly disappeared. Even she couldn’t find amusement in the idea of the Mudblood being petrified. Not when it meant Hagrid would take the fall.

The crowd shifted, whispers and speculations buzzing like an agitated swarm. Students exchanged anxious glances, some pale with fear, others whispering conspiratorially. Some looked ready to bolt, while others lingered, desperate for more information. But what they all had in common was the way their eyes settled on Sylas.

It was subtle at first - a few stolen glances, hushed murmurs. Then, as they moved toward the castle, it grew worse. Their whispers sharpened into accusations, their stares turned into daggers. Theo and Daphne did their best to shield him, but even their own house shot them dirty looks and whispered nasty things to them. Older Slytherins shot them hostile looks, some sneering openly, others purposefully bumping into Sylas as the passed. 

Sylas tried to avoid thinking too much about his surroundings. As soon as they were in the dungeons he could hide away from all those staring eyes. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to breath steadily, to keep moving. The castle loomed ahead in all his glory, but the walk to the dungeons felt excruciating long.

Just breath.

Just stay relaxed.

The dimly lit corridors of the dungeons were only marginally better. Sylas kept his gaze fixed on the ground, avoiding every glance, every smirk thrown his way. The tension in his shoulders coiled tighter with every steps. A particularly large seventh-year brushed hard against him, nearly knocking him off balance. 

"Careful, Ashford," the boy sneered. "You don't want to trip and fall into the Chamber, do you? Might wake your little pet and ruin the whole school."

Theo stiffened beside him. "Back off!" he snapped, but the older student just scoffed and shot him a dirty look. 

All Slytherins gathered in the common room and waited for Professor Snape. There was only one topic on the agenda: the heir of Slytherin. It echoed through the whole room, impossible to ignore it. The quartet had retreated to a quieter, more inconspicuous corner. Draco, Daphne and Theo tried as best they could to hide Sylas from the others.

Snape entered the room with a serious expression and attracted everyone's attention. No one said a word, everyone wanted to know what was going on.

"I'll be direct with you," Snape began, his voice low with a hint of concern in it. "There has been another attack... a double attack. Due to these circumstances, we can no longer allow all of you to wander the corridors alone. Professor Dumbledore has ordered the following -" he rolled out a parchment.

"- You are all to return to the common rooms by six o'clock at night at the latest. After that, no one is to leave the dormitory. A teacher will accompany you to every class. No student will go to the toilet without being accompanied by a teacher. Quidditch practice and matches are cancelled until further notice. There will be no more evening events."

Snape rolled up the parchment again and looked intently at all the Slytherins. "The school will probably be closed if the person responsible for these attacks is not caught -" many gasped and looked indignantly in a certain direction, "- I urge anyone who thinks they know anything about this to come forward immediately ."

Their Head of House cast one final glance in a certain direction before turning on his heel and leaving the common room. The moment the stone wall sealed shut behind him, all hell broke loose.

All heads snapped in his direction.

Sharp, furious eyes bore into him from every corner of the room. It was as if the walls themselves had conspired to trap him in a pit of serpents, each one ready to strike.

The air was thick with unspoken words, but it only took a heartbeat before the silence shattered.

"Ashford!"

The sudden bark of a sixth-year's voice made Sylas flinch - only for a second, but long enough for them to notice.

"Stop this bullshit already!" the boy continued, stepping forward with a look of barely contained rage. "It was fun at first, watching everyone piss themselves, but you’re risking a damn full school closure!"

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd, low and resentful. A few students exchanged glances before shifting closer, forming a loose but deliberate half-circle around him.

Something primal curled in Sylas’ stomach. They weren’t just accusing him - they were cornering him.

Before he could react, Draco, Daphne, and Theo moved in front of him in an instant, their shoulders squared, shielding him from the growing mob like a living barrier.

"You’re really going too far," growled a fifth-year, his voice tight with frustration. "Everyone knows you’re the Heir. You've already proven yourself!"

"Go and tell the teachers it was all your fault and just take responsibilty!", another voice said from the half circle. 

Accusations and insults came from all sides. The heavy mood reached its peak. Draco, Daphne and Theo argued desperately with the other students. They fired back, but the older students weren't backing down. 

Sylas took a slow, deep breath, forcing himself not to tense under the weight of their words - not to tense under their eyes. His heartbeat was steady - too steady. It was just like that in the orphanage. He refused to let them see any weakness. He wasn't allowed to show them any weakness.

Not here. Not now.

They were older. They were stronger. They had experience. But they lacked something he had spent years perfectioning.

The art of wearing a mask. 

So he did what he did best - playing a role. 

Sylas Ashford, Heir of Slytherin. 

They wanted to make him the culprit? So be it. 

His face smoothed over, all traces of emotion wiped clean. His breathing was even. He felt nothing. Or, at least, that’s what he let them believe.

Sylas could hear the desperation creeping into his friends' words as they argued, trying to hold back the tide of fury rising against them.

After several minutes, he finally snapped himself to place. Slowley he stood up and placed a hand on Theo and Draco's shoulders to push them aside. His whole demeanour had changed. There was nothing of the quiet Sylas left inside him. 

"What are you doing?" Draco hissed at him, pushing him back

"Stay behind us!" Theo growled.

"I do what the Heir of Slytherin must do," he muttered determinedly. His eyes burned with eagerness. No one could stop him now.

With deft steps he jumped onto one of the tables and shouted loudly, "Salazar Slytherin would be deeply disappointed in you!"

Immediately, silence returned to the common room. Angry and indignant looks were directed at him. He actually wanted to avoid this attention, but what must be done, must be done.

"I speak to you today not only as your fellow student, but as someone who believes deeply in the values that have always characterized our house... - ambition, intelligence, cunning, the ability to find the right path even in the darkest times. I want to speak to you directly and honestly, because there is a lot at stake. Much more than the closure of Hogwarts."

Sylas let his gaze wander around the room for a moment. Theo, Daphne and Draco looked at him worriedly and kept shaking their heads. But this time he couldn't listen to them.

"You know that I am considered the Heir of Slytherin, through a number of attributes attributed to me. I am accused of being behind the recent attacks, and these accusations pain me deeply. I stand here as someone who - like you - believes in the greatness and pride of Slytherin," he paused once more. He had to hit them where it hurt the most.

"I am firmly convinced that these accusations against me are an attempt to divide us - not just the houses, but above all us as Slytherins. Because they know, we are the strongest, when we hold together. I ask you now, what do I, as the heir of Slytherin, gain from a school closure? I am also risking my magical education. And for what? That a few pathetic Muggles get petrified? Pathetic! I now ask you to use your minds or have you been so clouded that you can no longer see the truth behind all the rumors?"

A quiet murmur went through the students. He glanced briefly at his friends again. While Theo and Daphne still looked worried, Draco had put on an arrogant smile.

"The whole of Hogwarts thinks that Slytherins are to blame for the attacks. Not only will I be held responsible ... but all of us. For the simple reason that we are Slytherins. Especially now in these times we must stick together as a house! Especially now we must show the other houses that nothing can tear us apart! That nothing can destroy us. We are a proud house - proud of our blood, proud of our ability, proud of our unity. I ask you now, where was that unity just now? You mercilessly attacked a family member infront of the whole school! And y'all call yourself Slytherins? Is that what Slytherins do?"

Sylas remained calm and looked at them all with disappointment - and it got through to many of them. He had them exactly where he wanted.

"Disputes are not to be fought outside the common room, remember? A golden rule. However, just now y'all seemed to have forgotten that rule. If you're continuing those accusations about me, you are risking the downfall of the whole house Slytherin. This is not, what Salazar imagined the house to be! Here and now I call upon you to defend not only my name, but the reputation of Slytherin as a whole."

It became very quiet in the common room. All one could hear was whispering and murmuring. Many looked convinced, some looked around skeptically.

"So you're not behind the attacks?" a fourth-grader asked.

"Of course not," Sylas replied, "If I'm going to terrorize Muggles, I certainly wouldn't only leave them petrified." A murmur went through the ranks.

Draco called out with a grin, "Is it true that you are personally connected to Salazar Slytherin?"

Sylas' mouth twitched upwards - he knew exactly what his friend was after. Every pair of eyes was looking at him with anticipation. After all, these were very popular rumors in this house. He let the silence linger for a moment before he answered.

"That's true," he said arrogantly, "Salazar couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that angry crowd and asked me to act - as it is my duty as Heir of Slytherin. He asked me to remind you who we are and what we stand for."

"Prove it!" shouted a fifth-grader, "Prove that you are talking to Salazar. Otherwise I won't believe you."

Sylas just shook his head in disappointment. "To question the Heir of Slytherin, I can't believe it," he said in mock muttering. Oliver, who had been watching the whole spectacle intently from a corner, now felt the piercing gaze of Sylas' green eyes.

Every pair of eyes now examined the corner in which he was floating.

"Come on, Salazar," Sylas called with a smug smile, "Show the students of Slytherin that you are here right now."

For a brief moment Oliver looked at him with wide eyes before bursting into laughter.

"You treacherous beast!" he shouted, grinning, "Well then, let me taste the fruit of their glory!"

The spirit flew through all the rows of students, turning the usually warm air icy cold. The cold bit into his lungs and every breath left a trail of white haze. Even the fire in the fireplace, which was powered by magic, went out, leaving nothing but frozen ash.

All the Slytherins looked up at Sylas in awe. Their mouths wide open and no one dared to say a word.

Salazar had actually returned!

Draco pushed all the students aside and stood in front of the table where Sylas was standing. "The Heir of Slytherin has given you enough evidence. You know what to do from now on when you leave the common room. Slytherin sticks together!"

When Sylas climbed down from the table, everyone was in their own conversations and only glanced at him. Slowly the crowd of students dispersed and retreated to their rooms. The quartet retreated to a quieter corner.

"That was the most impressive thing I've seen in a long time," Theo admitted, "For your quiet nature, you can give damn good speeches.

Daphne just nodded proudly. "I have to admit, I was worried at first, but you really are a natural talent. I'm almost jealous."

Sylas leaned back slightly arrogantly, or thats what it at least looked like, because his heart was nearly exploding and his hands still trembling. 

"I only did what the Heir of Slytherin would have done."

Notes:

Thank y'all so much for 100 Kudos and we are so close to reach 4000 Hits!
I must say, that I really struggled with the speech from Sylas, but I hope it sounded somewhat convincing, but still, let me know your thoughts on this chapter and this story in general! I'm looking forward to reading your comments and I can't wait till we make it to the chamber of secrets!
Have a lovely weekend y'all!

Chapter 19

However, they faced another huge problem. If they won't act right now, Hagrid could face huge consequences. Daphne insisted that they had to get out to his hut somehow, even if they were not allowed to leave the dungeon.

Since it was too risky for them to hide under the cloak as a group of four, Sylas suggested they should play rock paper scissor to decide who would go warn him. 

"What the hell, is rock, paper, scissor?", Draco asked confused.

"You've never heard of rock, paper scissor?!", Sylas said incredulous. 

After Sylas quickly explained the rules, they played a few rounds. In the end, Sylas and Theo came out as the lucky winners. They slipped away unnoticed, sneaked into their room, and retrieved the long, shimmering silver cloak.

This was their only chance to sneak out of the school to Hagrid unnoticed. They went to bed at the usual time and waited until Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle finally fell asleep. 

Sylas and Theo threw their cloaks over themselves and crept out. Wandering through the dark corridors was not exactly a pleasure. Sylas had often wandered around the castle at night, but there had never been as much going on after sunset as there was now.

Teachers, prefects and ghosts roamed the corridors in pairs, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. They were invisible, but the cloak didn't stop them from making noise, and there was a particularly tense moment when Theo stubbed his toe. Snape stood guard just a few feet away. Fortunately, Snape sneezed at almost the same moment Theo swore. When they reached the oak castle gates, a weight was lifted from their hearts. Slowly, they pushed them open.

It was a clear, starlit night. They ran as fast as they could over to the lit windows of Hagrid's hut, and only took off their cloaks when they were standing outside his door. Seconds after they knocked, Hagrid opened the door. They stared into his face. Hagrid had a crossbow aimed at them, and Fang stood behind him, barking loudly.

"Oh," he said, lowering the gun and staring at them. "What are you two doing here?"

"You have to get out of here immediately!" Sylas said as they entered.

"What's going on?" Hagrid asked nervously. "Why don't you sit down first? I'll make you some tea."

Sylas exchanged worried looks with Theo, however they sat down.

Hagrid didn't seem to know what he was doing. He almost put out the fire by pouring water from the kettle on it, and then, with a nervous twitch of his massive hand, he smashed the teapot.

"Hagrid, you don't have time to make tea," Theo said. "We know you got kicked out of school for supposedly opening the Chamber of Secrets!"

"It wasn't me!" the half-giant immediately protested, knocking over a chair.

"We know!" Sylas stated , "It was Tom Riddle who pinned it on you!"

Hagrid stood still for a moment, as if remembering the events of over 50 years ago. His expression darkened, "Of course, Riddle! I never liked him! He was a strange guy."

He cast nervous glances out the window and served them large mugs of hot water - he had forgotten the tea bags.

"They'll still make you the scapegoat," Sylas sighed, his eyes pleading, "Please, you have to go. Hide in the forest, or somewhere else. Otherwise you might be sent to Azkaban!"

"Dumbledore will never allow that!" Hagrid gasped nervously.

"If you're so sure, why are you so nervous?" Theo asked. "Why did you open the door with a crossbow? You know full well that you're doomed."

Hagrid started to stutter quietly. He kept repeating that Hogwarts was his home and that he couldn't just leave. Theo and Sylas were starting to panic. The longer he stayed here, the greater the risk that someone would come by and get him. If he couldn't leave on his own, they needed force him.

They tried to take his hand and lead him to the door when there was a loud knock.

Sylas and Theo exchanged panicked glances, threw on the Invisibility Cloak and ducked into a corner. Hagrid made sure they were out of sight with one last look, then grabbed the crossbow and opened the door.

"Good evening, Hagrid."

It was Dumbledore. He entered with a deadly serious expression, followed by a second, very strange-looking man.

The stranger had disheveled gray hair and looked frightened. He wore a strange mix of clothes a pinstripe suit, a scarlet tie, a long black cloak, and pointed purple boots. He carried a lime green hat under his arm.

"This is Cornelius Fudge," breathed Theo, "My father got into trouble with him a few times because he was a Death Eater."

Sylas held his breath. This was it, they were to late. Hagrid would be taken away and accused. 

Hagrid had turned pale and was sweating. He sat down heavily in a chair and looked alternately at Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge.

"Bad news," Fudge said shortly. "Really, really bad news. It had to come. Four attacks on Muggle-borns. Things have gotten out of hand. The Ministry must act."

"I never," Hagrid began, looking pleadingly at Dumbledore, "You know, Professor Dumbledore, sir, I never -"

"I want to make it clear, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my complete trust," Dumbledore said, looking sullenly at Fudge.

"Look, Albus," Fudge said, pained. "Hagrid's record speaks against him. The Ministry must do something - the school governors have been consulting -"

"I tell you again, Cornelius, taking Hagrid with you will get us nowhere," Dumbledore remarked again. There was a fire in his eyes that Sylas had never seen before. His school was at stake, and he was not going to do things by halves.

"Look at it from my point of view," said Fudge, fiddling with his hat. "I'm under a lot of pressure. I'm expected to act. If Hagrid turns out to be innocent, he'll come back and the matter will be settled. But I have to take him with me. There's no other way. I wouldn't be doing my duty otherwise."

"Take me?" Hagrid said, shuddering. "Take me where?"

"Only for a short time," Fudge muttered, avoiding Hagrid's gaze. "Not a punishment, Hagrid, more of a precaution. If anyone else gets caught, you'll come out with an official apology -"

"Not Azkaban?" Hagrid croaked.

Before Fudge could answer, there was another loud knock on the door. Dumbledore opened it. Sylas and Theo gasped.

Mr. Lucius Malfoy entered Hagrid's hut, wrapped in a long black traveling cloak, with a cold and satisfied smile on his face.

Fang began to growl.

The Slytherins knew exactly what that would mean. They would remove Dumbledore from his position.

"Here you are, Fudge," he said appreciatively. "Very nice..."

"What are you doing here?" Hagrid shouted angrily. "Get out of my house!"

"Good man, please be assured that it is no pleasure for me to be in your ... house," Lucius Malfoy said, looking disdainfully around the little hut. "I stopped by the school and was told that the Headmaster was here."

It was a wonder Hagrid even liked Draco if he was so sensitive to his father.

"And what exactly do you want from me, Lucius?" Dumbledore asked. He spoke very politely, but the fire still burned in his eyes.

"Terrible business, Dumbledore," Malfoy said casually, pulling out a long roll of parchment. "But the governors feel it is time you made way for someone else. According to this order, you are placed on temporary leave - you will find all twelve signatures under this document. I am afraid we feel you are no longer in control of the matter. How many attacks have there been so far? Two more this afternoon, aren't there? If things continue like this, there will soon be no Muggle-borns at Hogwarts, and we all know what a terrible loss that would be to the school."

Theo and Sylas could only shake their heads in amusement. The sarcasm in his voice was all too clear.

"Oh, take it easy, Lucius," Fudge said nervously, nibbling on his hat. "putting Dumbledore on leave - no, no - that's the last thing we want right now -"

"The appointment - or dismissal - of a headmaster is a matter for the governors, Fudge," Mr Malfoy remarked casually. "And since Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks -"

"Look, Malfoy, if Dumbledore can't do anything about it," Fudge stated, his upper lip sweating, "- then who can?"

But Sylas and Theo could understand why Malfoy thought so. The previous headmaster, Dippet, couldn't do anything about it, so Dumbledore wouldn't be able to either, which put him in a bad light.

"We'll see," said Mr Malfoy spitefully. "But since all twelve of us have voted -"

Hagrid jumped up, his shaggy black head brushing the ceiling. "And how many did you have to threaten and blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy, eh?" he thundered.

"My good man, you know your temper will get you into trouble one day, Hagrid," Malfoy said. "I would advise you not to shout at the guards in Azkaban like that. They don't like it."

"You can't fire Dumbledore!" Hagrid shouted, and Fang crouched in his basket and whimpered. "If you fire him, the Muggle children won't stand a chance! Next time they'll be killed!"

"Calm down, Hagrid," Dumbledore said harshly. He looked at Lucius Malfoy. "If the school council wants me out of the way, Lucius, of course I will resign -"

"But -" Fudge stammered. 

"No!" Hagrid growled.

Dumbledore's light blue eyes stared intently into Malfoy's cold grey eyes.

"However," said Dumbledore, speaking very slowly and clearly so that no one missed a word, "You will find that I will not leave this school for good until no one here remains loyal to me. And whoever asks for help at Hogwarts will get it."

For a second, Sylas was almost certain that Dumbledore's eyes were flickering toward the corner where he and Theo were hiding.

"Admirable sentiments," Malfoy said, bowing. "We will all miss your... highly idiosyncratic way of running the school, Albus, and only hope that your successor will be able to prevent the murders."

He strode to the door, opened it, and bowed as Dumbledore went out. Fudge, fiddling with his hat, waited for Hagrid to go first.

"It's all right, I'm coming," said Hagrid, pulling on his mole coat. But as he left, he paused and said loudly, "Someone has to feed Fang while I'm gone."

The door slammed and Theo took off his invisibility cloak.

"Even the new headmaster won't be able to stop the murders," he muttered quietly, "The school will be closed, I'm sure of it."

Fang began to howl and scratch at the closed door.

"Shit," Sylas cursed quietly, "We have to find the Chamber of Secrets. We have to find out who is behind it... we have to ..." For a moment he thought he couldn't breathe.

His hands began to shake. The school must not be closed under any circumstances! He could not spend the rest of his years in this home. He won't survive it!

Theo immediately slid in front of him and put his face in his hands. "Hey, calm down," he said and began to breathe loudly and regularly so that Sylas could find a rhythm.

"Daphne, Draco and I will make sure that you don't end up with your grandparents in the country. After all, it would be a shame for your skills as a wizard. Let's go back and tell the others."

 

~~~

 

Summer slowly crept over the castle grounds. The sky and the lake turned green-blue, and flowers the size of cabbages sprouted in the greenhouses. But without Hagrid, whom Sylas had often watched from the window, strolling about with Fang on his heels, it seemed as if there was something wrong with the picture. And it was no better inside the castle, where things were going so terribly wrong.

Madam Pomfrey guarded the hospital wing like a hawk. She no longer allowed any visitors because she feared that the perpetrator might return to finish off the victims once and for all. As soon as Sylas stepped to close to the hospital wing, she immediatly shooed him away. Always with a glare that made him shiver. 

Since Dumbledore had left, a fear like never before had spread through the castle, and the sun that warmed the castle walls outside seemed to stop at the double windows. There was hardly a face in the school that did not look anxious and tense, and any laughter that echoed through the corridors sounded shrill and unnatural and died away quickly.

The fact that they were only allowed to go out as a group was both a blessing and a curse. The other houses couldn't attack the Slytherins in the corridors, but there were still insulting comments during lessons and meals. But Sylas' speech had had an effect. No one from the Slytherin house let it get them down and they kept firing back when they were attacked.

They were led from classroom to classroom by the teachers like flocks of sheep, and most of them seemed happy about it. The Slytherins made sure that Sylas always stood in the middle of the group so that nothing could happen to him.

While all the other houses felt fear and distrust, the Slytherins showed none of it. They knew nothing could happen to them and when the others felt they had to take responsibility, they took advantage of the students' fear to stir up more anger.

Draco in particular seemed to enjoy how scared everyone was. He literally strutted around the school as if he had just been appointed Head Boy. The news that Dumbledore was being suspended made him laugh. Even though he was pleased, he also knew what the consequences would be.

However, when it came to making fun of others, badmouthing someone, spreading provocation, Draco was the right person to go to.

In Potions class, the quartet sat one row in front of Weasley, Thomas and Finnigan. They were given angry looks the entire time.

"I always knew Father would manage to get rid of Dumbledore," he said, making no effort to keep his voice low. "I told you, he thinks Dumbledore is the worst headmaster the school has ever had. Maybe we'll get a decent headmaster now. Someone who doesn't want the Chamber of Secrets to be closed. McGonagall won't be staying long, she's just stepping in..."

"Shut up, Malfoy," growled Weasley, "Without Dumbledore, the whole school will collapse and it's your fault! It's so clear that Slytherins are behind this. None of you have been attacked yet. I don't understand why they haven't kicked you all out long ago."

"Exactly," Thomas interjected, "you are the biggest threat to the school, not Dumbledore or Hagrid. If Ashford hadn't been Dumbledore's favorite, you would have been kicked out long ago! It's obvious that you are the Heir of Slytherin."

"And yet I'm sitting here in front of you," Sylas said calmly, "I always thought that you would support the headmaster's decisions. What happened that you no longer trust him? Maybe it's a good thing that he's leaving. Because apparently none of the students trust him anymore."

The Gryffindors grew even angrier, but then Snape rushed past them without saying a word about Granger's empty seat and cauldron. They had to pull themselves together not to lose their composure in front of the Slytherin Head of House.

"Sir," Theo said loudly, "Sir, why don't you apply for the position of Headmaster?" The Slytherins couldn't help but grin slightly. If Snape became Headmaster, everyone would see what power their house really had. They heard a low growl coming from Weasley's direction.

"It's fine, Nott," Snape said, though he couldn't suppress a thin-lipped smile. "Professor Dumbledore has only been granted leave by the school governors, I'd say he'll be back with us soon."

"But I'm sure my father would vote for you, sir, if you applied for the job - I'll tell father that you're the best teacher in the school, sir -", said Draco, grinning maliciously. 

With a fake smile, Snape rushed off. Unfortunately, he didn't notice Seamus Finnigan pretending to vomit in his cauldron.

"I'm surprised the mudbloods haven't all packed their bags by now," Draco continued. "I'll bet you five galleons that the next one will die.

"Too bad it wasn't Granger," Daphne murmured, grinning.

At that moment the bell rang, and that was fortunate. Because when Daphne said her last words, Weasley jumped up, and because everyone was now hastily gathering their bags and books, no one noticed that he was about to throw himself at Daphne. He was just stopped by Thomas and Finnigan.

"Hurry, I have to get you to Herbology," Snape barked over the students' heads, and they marched off in twos. At the castle gates, Snape stayed behind and watched them until they hung across the vegetable patch to the greenhouses. Then he marched back into the castle to take the Gryffindors to their classes.

The mood in Herbology was ... depressed. The Hufflepuffs were literally sitting on top of each other because no one wanted to get too close to the Slytherins. Angry looks kept falling on Sylas because everyone was still convinced that he was responsible for Finch- Fletchley's misery. But none of them dared to say a word. The fear that they would end up exactly the same was too great.

Professor Sprout gave them the task of pruning the Abyssinian fig trees. Sylas walked over to the compost heap with an armful of withered stalks. Ernie Macmillan stood there, searching his gaze.

Ernie took a deep breath and said grimly, "Everyone knows it was you. Daphne Greengrass and Hermione Granger have always had a falling out, and you probably thought you were doing Greengrass a favor by taking out Granger for her. Dumbledore doesn't want to believe it, but all the students know."

Unfortunately, Daphne came along at that very moment. "Let me tell you something, Macmillan," she hissed quietly at him, "I'm not a Hufflepuff who can't fight his own battles. So you better get out of here before I make you call your mommy for help."

Macmillan gasped loudly and immediately trotted off to his little group. Sylas and Daphne couldn't help but grin smugly. Since Hagrid's arrest and Dumbledore's suspension two weeks ago, the other houses had become more and more daring to blame the Slytherins. They could no longer go to class normally without someone accusing them of something.

After class ended, Professor Snape led them over to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Their head of house's eagle eyes were watchful in all the corridors and sometimes Sylas felt like he had eyes in the back of his head too.

In the last two weeks, he felt particularly closely watched by Snape, as if he knew he had something to hide. As if Snape suspected it was him, who's responsible for the misery. 

The quartet sat down at their usual places at the back of Lockhart's classroom. When everyone was present, their head of house left them alone. He probably wanted to avoid a confrontation with Lockhart. The aforementioned came storming in shortly afterwards and the class stared at him.

All the other teachers at the school seemed more depressed than usual, but Lockhart seemed ... downright exuberant.

"What?" he called out, beaming, "Why all the long faces?"

Everyone exchanged angry glances, but no one answered. Even Daphne could only shake her head in disappointment. She seemed to finally realize what kind of man Lockhart was.

"Don't you realize," Lockhart said slowly, as if they were all a little foolish, "that the danger is over? The villain has been taken away -"

"Well, I still see Ashford among us," shouted Thomas.

Sylas rolled his eyes in annoyance.

Lockhart was filled with indignation. "Now, my dear young man, you must be careful. Random accusations can damage Syla's reputation!" he said, shaking his head. "The Minister of Magic would not have arrested Hagrid if he wasn't 100% sure that he was the culprit." He explained it as if they were all dumb as a brick.

Sylas eyes narrowed and his fingers clenched his quill harder. "It wasn't Hagrid," he shouted angrily.

A murmur went through the rows.

"So you admit it!" Weasley shouted, his voice filled with anger and accusation. "It's you, that's why you know it's not Hagrid!"

"What nonsense," Daphne growled, "Everyone knows Hagrid is incapable of such a thing. He loves Muggles, why would he risk endangering them?"

"So, you Slytherins are all in cahoots!" Parvati Patil said.

All the Slytherins just rolled their eyes in annoyance, sagging down in there seats. All day, every day it was the same. They have been defending themselvs for two weeks now, an none of the others would stop. Always searching for trouble.

"Pah, we for one can at least use our brains and not fall for all the rumors and scaremongering," Pansy growled.

Weasley stood up in anger and looked grimly at all the Slytherins. "You snakes are all an incredibly disgusting bunch. How can you justify all this?! People's lives are at stake!"

His gaze turned to Sylas, "How can you still sleep with a clear conscience, Ashford? You are responsible for every misery that has happened this school year."

Now he had enough. If words couldn't bring them anywhere - brute force was the answer. 

Sylas stood up loudly, causing the chair to tip backwards. "Is that a challenge?" he hissed quietly.

All these senseless accusations - he just couldn't stand to hear it anymore. If they want to blame him for this, then they should confront him directly!

"Now calm down!" Lockhart shouted, slightly angry. "I flatter myself that I know a little more about Hagrid's arrest than any of you. You don't know all the information. Even though it's nice that you're standing up for your friend Sylas, he did a terrible thing!"

But Lockhart's repulsive cheerfulness, his insinuations that he had never thought well of Hagrid anyway, his confidence that the whole matter was now over - all this pissed Sylas off to such an extent that he felt like cursing the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Sylas was getting angrier by the minute as Lockhart spoke.

The Gryffindor and him stared at each other with glaring eyes. Both had their wands in their hands, ready to curse the other. They knew exactly what was going to happen next.

"Calm down," Theo whispered, tugging on his cloak to make him sit down again.

Sitting down and would only be a sign of weakness.

"Admit that you are doing all this at Salazar Slytherin's request. That he chose you to eliminate the Muggles!" Weasley demanded.

Sylas scrutinized him, making the boy uncomfortable under his stare. 

For a moment the Weasley twitched his wand and Sylas reacted instantly.

"Expelliarmus!"

The broken and demolished wand flew far through the air. Sylas had barely raised his wand for another spell when -  

"Expelliarmus!"

His own wand wrenched itself from his fingers and flew away

Sylas turned around filled with hatred in his chest, ready to teach a foolish Gryffindor a sharp lesson.

But then his breath caught in his throat.

Those dead, black eyes drained the anger from his veins like venom from a wound.

He was knee-deep in goblin shit.

An angry Snape stood at the door, wand still raised, his expression one of barley restrained fury

The room fell into a suffocating silence. His look said it all; if anyone spoke, they would spend seven years cleaning cauldrons.

Not even Lockhart dared to make a sound. 

Snape's gaze swept over the scene, making his displeasure sink into everyone's bones. 

"Sylas Ashford," he said, in a dangerously low voice. "Into my office ... now."

Sylas opened his mouth, instinctivley wanting to protest, when he felt a sharp and brutal kick into his shin. Immediatly he bit his tongue, not to let out a groan.

Pain flared up his leg, and he turned with a glare to find Theo giving him an exasperated look.

"Go," Theo whispered quietly, nodding to the door. 

With clenched teeth and a grim expression, Sylas turned on his heel and stalked out of the classroom.

The walk to the dungeons was a silent one. The heavy echo of their footsteps on the stone floor was the only sound, each step hammering the inevitable into Sylas’ skull.

The moment the office door shut behind them, the explosion came.

"What, precisely, were you thinking?!" Snapes voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. The sheer weight of his fury pressed down on Sylas like a vice.

"You, of all people, know what the school already suspects. You, of all people, should understand how closely you are being watched! And yet -" He leaned forward slightly, bracing both hands against the desk, his black robes billowing slightly from the force of his movement. " - you decided that a public display of childish dueling in the middle of class was a wise decision?"

Sylas kept his gaze fixed just below Snape’s face, his eyes locked on the older man’s chest instead. "I’m sorry, Professor Snape, sir."

"That," Snape hissed, "is not an answer."

Sylas inhaled deeply, steadying himself against the sharp bite of the words. He had been here before. Not in this office, but somewhere just like it - Mr. Ashford’s office. The air was different, but the tone was the same. The accusations. The demands for explanations he could never give.

Instinctively, his body reacted before his mind could stop it. His back straightened, his shoulders squared, and his hands folded behind him in that practiced, impassive stance. His face smoothed over into something blank. Detached.

"Between the Gryffindor accusations," he said evenly, his voice disturbingly calm, "Professor Lockhart’s remarks about Hagrid, and his arrest... I lost control of my emotions." He paused, then repeated, "I’m sorry, Professor Snape, sir."

Snape's nostrils flared slightly. His fingers twitched against the desk.

"You do not have the luxury of losing control." His voice was low, deliberate, every word sharp enough to cut. "You have spent months cultivating a reputation - intentionally or not - that paints you as the most obvious suspect in the eyes of the entire school. If these attacks continue, if this rumours reaches the Ministry, do you have any idea what will happen to you?"

Sylas remained perfectly still, but his fingers twitched slightly behind his back, thumb grazing over the inside of his wrist.

No arguments. No justifications. He knew how this worked. Just stay quiet. Let him finish.

"You will pull yourself together," Snape ordered, "because your reputation - your future - your life is at stake here. You are lucky that Dumbledore has shielded you thus far, but he is no longer here."

Snape did not raise his voice. He did not need to. But his words kept coming, relentless, pressing down, down, down -

More and more and more and more and more -

Sylas stopped hearing them. His breathing was shallow. The room felt too small, too tight. He rubbed his neck absentmindedly. Just a little. Just enough to ease the tension.

Snape kept talking. The words blurred together, overlapping, folding in on themselves. Sylas’ fingers dug harder into his skin.

Snape should stop. He should stop. Please just stop.

Sylas had done nothing wrong. He was the Heir of Slytherin. He had only been defending his house - defended Hagrid. Anyone else would have done the same.

His nails scraped harder, until something warm trickled down his fingertips.

And then—

A hand clamped around his wrist.

His head snapped up, startled. Snape’s cold fingers, held his wrist firmly, halting the motion.

For the first time since the argument began, Sylas met his eyes fully.

And then, for just a second - he saw something. 

Sylas was no longer in Snape's office but in the Forbidden Forest.

But something seemed ... off.

His perspective was not his own. He was observing everything in a bird's eye view.

Deep in the Forbidden Forest, he saw two students walking around with a dog trotting along beside them.

The scene suddenly changed and they were standing in front of a derelict car that looked exactly like the Weasleys' flying car.

Sylas looked at the two boys more closely.

Two Gryffindors. One with red hair and the other with dark hair.

He knew immediately that this was the Weasley boy and the other... the other boy looked awfully similar to the reflection he had seen back then.

Ebony hair that was quite short, the exact same piercing green eyes, round glasses on his nose and a scarlet scarf wrapped around his neck.

The Weasley seemed happy to have found his car again and within seconds the picture changed again.

Suddenly the two Gryffindors found themselves standing in front of a huge spider and were surrounded by several small spiders. They spoke to it, but Sylas could only hear fragments of words.

"...All thanks to Hagrid's kindness."

"So you... attacked someone?"

"Never... out of respect for Hagrid... girl's body... found in toilet... as the cupboard I grew up in."

The voices were lost in the darkness and Sylas could no longer hear anything. The students and the spider talked for several minutes and then suddenly the spiders attacked. The two of them just managed to escape back to Hogwarts in the Weasleys' car.

They left the wagon at the edge of the forest and hurried to Hagrid's hut, where they took out the Invisibility Cloak. They threw it over their heads and then Sylas could no longer see where they had disappeared to.

" ... ford ",

"... Ashford",

"Sylas Ashford! Can you hear me?!"

Sylas snapped out of this fantasy and cracked his neck several times.

What the hell did he just see?

There was no time to process it, because Snape snapped his fingers in front of his face to get his attention. 

Sylas blinked.

Snape’s dark eyes were still fixed on him, but the anger from before had faded. In its place was something far more unsettling - concern.

A sudden pain struck him in the forhead - right over the scar. A sharp hiss escaped him as he pressed his fingers against the spot, his face twisting in discomfort. 

Snape's gaze sharpened instantly. "What's wrong, Ashford?" His voice was quieter now, but still edged with authority.

"I just ... have a headache," he murmured quietly.

Snape's expression did not change, but his scrutiny deepened. His black eyes swept over the boy, calculating, dissecting.

"Are you certain?"

"Of course, Professor Snape, sir," Sylas murmured quietly, while rubbing his forhead. Then, with forced composure, "May I return to class now?"

Snape didn't answer him right away, His gaze remained fixed, as if weighing his options, considering something beyond what had just been said.

"You will come with me to the hospital wing."

Sylas stiffened. "Sir, I d'ont -"

"You will not argue," Snape interrupted, his tone brooking no defiance. "Your neck is bleeding, and I do not have the patience to waste class time watching you scratch yourself to ribbons."

The finality in his words made it clear; this was not a request.

Sylas touched his neck; it was damp and it burned when he touched the skin. There were a few blood spots and bits of skin on his fingers. How could he not notice his doings?

He gazed at his fingers disturbingly. 

Sylas swallowed hard, then gave a stiff nod. 

Snape turned on his heel, robes billowing behind him, and Sylas had no choice but to follow.

Snape did not tell Madame Pomfrey how the student had injured himself, and he himself remained silent as well. Madame Pomfrey just shook her head in annoyance and brought out ointment, bandages and disinfectant.

Sylas, meanwhile, looked over the petrified students with cloudy eyes. Snape stood patiently at the entrance to the hospital wing.

It took less than 10 minutes before Madame Pomfrey chased the student out of the hospital wing again. They walked down the stairs and along the corridors in silence until Snape delivered him back to Professor Lockhart's classroom and continued on.

The moment Sylas stepped back into the classroom, a wave of seething hatred crashed over him. His fingers twitched when he saw him again.

Lockhart. 

His mere presence was enough to set his blood aflame. 

The insufferable smile. The arrogance in his eyes. The oblivious, self-importan way he carried himself, as though he had the slightest idea what he was talking about. 

Sylas' face portrayed every ounce of his fury. His eyes were cold. The kind of expression that made people instinctively step back. 

He dared anyone - anyone - to make a sound. 

Even Weasley, who had been so eager to run his mouth earlier, shrank slightly behind Thomas, his usual bravado failing him. The redhead’s face had gone slightly pale, and his hands clenched the edges of his desk.

Merlin only knew what Snape had done to him.

At the Slytherin table, Draco, Theo, and Daphne exchanged worried glances. Their parchment, meant for note-taking, had quickly turned into a silent exchange of scrawled messages.

What the hell happened?
Why is he so quiet?
Did you see his neck?

Beneath the flickering candlelight, the thick white bandage wrapped around Sylas' throat was glaringly obvious. None of them had seen him get injured during the duel, which meant whatever happened had been after Snape dragged him away.

Yet, as concerned as they were, there was one person who remained blissfully ignorant

"It's wonderful to have you back, Sylas," Lockhart's voice echoed through the classroom like nails on glass

Sylas' eye twitched. That idiot did not know when to quit. 

"I do hope you've learned your lesson," Lockhart continued, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Attacking a classmate over such a petty matter - kindergarten behaviour!"

His laugh was lighthearted, completley unaware of the danger before him. 

And then - 

BANG

Sylas stood up abruptly, his hands slamming down onto the desk with such force that the entire room jolted.

A few students gasped. Someone knocked over an inkwell in their panic. 

Lockhart let out a high-pitched yelp, stumbling backward. His hands shot up instinctively, as if to shield himself from a spell that never came.

For the first time, real fear flickered in his eyes. Because the boy staring him down was not the same one from before.

There was nothing in Sylas' expression but pure, unfiltered hatred.

A stillness settled over the classroom - tense, suffocating. No one dared to breathe.

Until Sylas felt a cool, steady hand, ghosting against the nape of his neck.

The anger receded like the tide. His muscles uncoiled, his breath steadied. And when Sylas moved again, it was with unsettling ease.

His body relaxed completely, his sharp features softened, and slowly - too slowly - his lips curved into a gentle smile.

It didn’t reach his eyes.

"You are absolutely right, Professor Lockhart, sir," he said, his voice eerily soft. "I apologize for my behavior."

A sudden suffocating pause. 

"Please," he gestured with an open palm,  "continue with your incredibly exciting lesson." 

He sat back down with perfect composure, his movements smooth, fluid.

As if the outburst had never happened. As if nothing had happened at all.

Lockhart let out a nervous chuckle, but his voice trembled as he resumed his lesson. His usual flair was gone, his previous confidence shattered.

He kept his eyes on Sylas for the rest of the class.

Outside, hidden by the door, Severus Snape watched. 

His fingers curled into the fabric of his robes, his mind turning over what he had just witnessed.

This was not normal.

This was not the reaction of an average twelve-year-old.

That sudden change in demeanor - it was practiced. Precise. Deliberate.

Earlier in the office, Snape had never expected the boy to hold his gaze for so long, not when he almost always avoided his eyes. But in that fleeting moment, before Sylas even realized what was happening, Snape had seen.

A glimpse. A flicker. Something deep within the boy’s mind.

A memory? A vision? A dream?

Snape's gut twisted uncomfortably. 

For months now, he had felt that something was off with Sylas Ashford, but this ... this was the first time he had real cause for concern.

 

~~~

 

Nobody mentioned the incident again.

No one dared to ask what Snape had done to him in his office that made him come back wounded.

The oh-so-calm Sylas almost attacked a professor. It was a miracle that he was able to calm down.

Only three Slytherins knew what had really happened. What Snape said to him, where the bandage came from and how he was able to pull himself together so quickly.

The only thing he kept quiet about was the dream he had. Sylas himself couldn't really interpret it.

And obviously he didn't want to tell his friends, that he, however possible, hung out with the freaking Weasley. 

But in the first lesson, in Transfiguration, something happened that drove the incident and the Chamber of Secrets from their minds for the first time in weeks. After ten minutes of class, Professor McGonagall announced that their exams would begin on June 1st, exactly one week from now.

"Exams?" Seamus Finnigan cried out, "We still have exams after all?"

There was a crash behind Sylas. Neville Longbottom's wand had fallen from his hand and two legs of his desk had disappeared. Professor McGonagall reappeared them with a flick of her wand and then turned to Seamus, frowning.

"We are keeping the school open solely so that you can receive your education," she said sternly. "The exams will therefore take place as usual and I am sure you will all study the material diligently."

Sylas sagged down in his seat. He never thought they would have exams, with everything that was happening in the castle. There was mutinous whispering in the classroom, and Professor McGonagall looked even darker.

"Professor Dumbledore's instructions are to continue classes as normally as possible," she said. "And that, I hardly need to  say, is to find out how much you have learned this year."

Sylas looked wearily at the pair of white rabbits that he was supposed to turn into slippers. Oliver had helped him to repeat and deepen the material from time to time, but the teachers still gave exams!

"I tell you," Draco whispered to him annoyed, "a letter to my father and McGonagall will also be put on leave. "

Sylas surpressed a slight chuckle, his gaze sweeping across the classroom. No one seemed thrilled that they were being tested on their knowledge.

Ron Weasley looked down at his broken wand. He would definitely not pass a single test with it. Not even the potions class, where he didn't even needed a wand.

After class, the Slytherins made their way to the common room to study, as a week was not a lot of time to review a year's worth of material.

Squeezed together in the furthest corner, they repeated the material, asked each other questions about the ingredients of a magic potion, explained how the goblin uprisings took place back then and corrected each other when they recited something from Lockhart's books incorrectly.

Actually ... Daphne corrected them, when they said something wrong about Lockhart. 

Unfortunatley, every single line was engraved in her brain.

Since the incident in the classroom, Daphnes feelings for the professor had changed - into pure hatred. 

She couldn't belive how Lockhart accussed Hagrid of doing such things. 

Sylas could only concentrate halfway on the material. The scene in the Forbidden Forest that he had seen in Snape's office kept playing over and over on his head. 

He was certain that this spider was the same spider that Hagrid had hidden in the castle fifty years ago. It knew about the real monster in the castle, but he couldn't catch a glimpse of whether the spider had said a word about it.

It only talked about the victim.

The dead girl. 

His eyes widened.

Who was the dead girl?

Sylas kept tapping his finger against one of Lockhart's books and staring at the pages, lost in thought.

It never said a word in Riddle's diary about who she was, and Draco's father also explained only the least. 

"Say, Draco," Sylas murmured, getting his attention, "Did your father say anything else about who the victim was fifty years ago?"

Draco, who was writing something on parchment, paused for a moment and thought.

Finally, he shook his head, "He just said that a Muggle girl had died. He never told me the exact circumstances. I don't think there are any official reports of what really happened. After all, the Ministry and the former headmaster wanted to cover everything up."

Sylas just nodded absently.

"What makes you think that?" Theo asked, forrowing his brows.

He just shrugged, "I was just wondering what happened to her."

Daphne, who was sitting over Lockhart's books with pure digust in her face, asked, "Have you asked Oliver? Maybe he knows something."

Sylas paused in his moment. 

Why didn't he think of that right away?

He merley thought of his house spirit and after a few minutes it appeared from the deck. It was interesting to see how quickly Oliver appeared. 

Somehow Oliver could sense when Sylas wanted something from him or when something exciting was about to happen.

The Heir of Slytherin has requested me, the great and powerful Salazar Slytherin, Oliver giggled, hovering over the four students and examining their books.

Sylas could only roll his eyes. Since the announcement he made in the common room, Oliver started to refer himself as Salazar Slytherin.

"Do you remember what happened to that Muggle girl who died?" Sylas asked.

Oliver pretended to think hard and crossed his arms. Hmm, let me think, who was that again?

Sylas tapped his finger on his book, becoming more and more impatient. The ghost took an eternity to remember.

It took so long that even the other three were staring up into the air, even though the couldn't see him. All of them with an annoyed, impatient look.

It's fine, grumbled Oliver, you don't all have to stare at me. He stuck his tongue out at all of them.

Sylas just shook his head in irritation.

"Nobody can see this but me," he said, his gaze back to his friends. "By the way, he just stuck his tongue out at you because you're all staring at him."

Daphne bit her lip to keep from laughing, causing Draco and Theo to giggle.

Sylas eyes fixed again on the ghost above them. 

If I remember correctly, I think she was found in a toilet. I don't know any more than that. Oliver shrugged his shoulders. Am I released now?

"As helpful as ever," Sylas sighed. With a flick off his hand, he brushed him off, "Get lost, you're annoying."

Before Oliver disappeared into the next wall, he gave him the middle finger.

"So?" Theo asked curiously, "what does Salazar Slytherin say?"

Sylas was hunching over his book, his finger still tipping on the pages.

"He doesn't know any more than we do. Apparently they really didn't let anything slip back then," Sylas muttered, not lifting his gaze to look him in the eyes. 

"Great, then we're exactly where we've been for weeks," Theo sighed, "Well, the Chamber of Secrets will have to wait now anyway. The exams are making me more nervous."

Draco beside him started to chuckle, running his fingers through his hair. "I swear, I'll be better than Granger this year," he declared maliciously, "Because she'll hardly be able to learn if she's petrified."

Daphne shot him a look of reproach. "It's pathetic that you can only beat her when she has no chance to learn," she said with a mocking undertone, "You can hardly be proud of that."

She caught a dark look from Draco. He would not let that slide.

"At least I didn't have a crush on a complete narcissist this year," he hissed at her. The girl turning bright red and just imitated him stupidly. She couldn't think of anything better.

Sylas stopped listening to their discussions because he was only thinking about what Oliver had said and what the spider in his vision meant.

The girl was found in a toilet.

Could it be that her ghost might still be haunting the place?

Was the victim Moaning Myrtle?

Notes:

Finally y'all can read one of my favourite scene bewteen Sylas and Snape. Honestly, I just love writing any Snape/Sylas interaction. Makes me giggle and kick my feet. I Hope you liked it just as much as I did.
And another thing ... did we just witness Sylas lying to his friends without a secound thought? Oh well..., Whoopsie Daisy hihihihi

Chapter 20

Three days before their first exam, Professor McGonagall made another announcement at breakfast.

"I have good news," she said, and the crowd in the Great Hall, instead of falling silent, erupted into cheers.

"Dumbledore is coming back!" some shouted exuberantly.

"They've captured the Heir of Slytherin," squealed a girl at the Ravenclaw table.

"There are Quidditch matches again!" Wood boomed excitedly.

When the commotion had died down, Professor McGonagall said, "Professor Sprout told me that the mandrakes are finally ready for cutting. We will be able to reanimate the petrified ones this evening. I hardly need to remind you that one of them may tell us who - or what - attacked him. I have great hopes that this terrible year will end with us catching the perpetrator."

This was followed by a deafening scream.

"Very well," Daphne murmured, resting her head on her hand. "Then the matter is also settled for us. If the victims can say who did it, the perpetrator will surely be caught quickly."

But something told Sylas that it wasn't quite over yet. 

Frowning, he looked at the table and everyone present. She must be sitting here somewhere and was panicking right now. At some point today or tomorrow he had to find an opportunity to talk to Myrtle. He simply had to know for sure whether she was the victim.

"Then let's hope they answer truthfully. I could well imagine that they'll blame everything on us," muttered Theo. "Wouldn't put it past Granger to just straight up lie, to get Sylas expelled."

"Don't worry," Draco said, not worried at all. "If they really want to pin this on us, I'll inform my father. He's a member of the Hogwarts school govenor and can take care of the problems if it comes to that." He took a relish in his toast, as if all worries were gone.

Sylas remembered the incident with Lucius Malfoy in Hagrid's hut all too well. If this man wanted to get something moving, he would act in the most immoral way possible to achieve it. His lips twitched slightly upwards at that thought. 

At that moment, little Weasley came over and sat down slowly next to Sylas. All four of them looked at her with wide eyes. Sylas immediately noticed how nervously she was kneading her hands in her lap.

"Ginny, what's up?" Daphne asked sensitively and looked at her with a friendly smile.

It was the first time that little Weasley had approached Sylas on her own. There was no way Daphne would let Sylas mess things up with her again.

She said nothing, but just looked anxiously along the Slytherin table. Sylas reminded her of someone, but who was it again?

"Is everything ... alright?" Sylas asked cautiously.

The Slytherins looked at her carefully. Something was wrong and she seemed to be afraid to explain what it was. Then he remembered who she reminded him of. She rocked slightly back and forth as she sat, just like Dobby did when he was about to give forbidden information.

"I have to tell you something," little Weasley murmured, carefully avoiding any glance at Sylas.

Sylas raised an eyebrow, maybe it was about Valentine's Day? She kept opening her mouth, but no words came out. Sylas leaned forward and spoke so quietly that only she could hear him.

"If it's about the incident with the dwarf, I wanted to talk about that anyway -" 

Penelope Beaumont appeared, tired and pale and not having anyones shit. 

"Hey Weasley, if you're done eating, I'd like to sit in your seat. I've just come back from guard duty. Not for the faint of heart," she grumbled and yawned loudly.

Little Weasley jumped up as if the chair had just given her an electric shock and scurried away.

"That was your chance, Sylas!" Daphne grumbled. "You could have apologized now!" She just shook her head in disappointment.

"I wanted to, but she left as quickly as she came!" he defended himself with a sigh. Great, it was the first attempt at getting close to me on her part and it was botched.

All four Slytherins gave Penny a dark look, but she didn't even notice. She was eating her cereal, half asleep, and had to support her head. The other prefects looked just as exhausted.

Later that morning they were escorted to History of Magic by Gilderoy Lockhart. Lockhart, who had so often assured them that all danger was over, only to be immediately proven wrong, was now deeply convinced that escorting them through the corridors was hardly worth the effort. His hair was not as neat as usual; he had evidently been up all night, standing guard on the fourth floor.

"Mark my words," he said as they rounded a corner, "the first thing those poor petrified people will say will be it was Hagrid. Frankly, I'm amazed that Professor McGonagall still thinks these security measures are necessary."

Since the incident in his class, Sylas could no longer stand him. His whining and self-absorbed attitude got on his nerves - worse then Grangers fact spitting. 

But one thing was pleasant about Lockhart - he was easy to manipulate.

"I agree with you, sir," Sylas said, his voice unusal calm. 

Daphne gasped in surprise. She glanced at him angrily and pinched him in the side. 

"What the hell?" she hissed at him, but he just raised his hand for her to wait.

"Thank you, Sylas," Lockhart said graciously as they waited for a long line of Hufflepuffs to pass. "I mean, as if we teachers had nothing else to do but escort the students to the classrooms and keep watch all night... "

"That's true," Sylas said, completely indignant. "Besides, it hardly makes sense that they have to escort us Slytherins. After all, we are not being attacked. None of us are Muggles, and the monster will not attack anyone from the same house."

Silence fell upon the professor and he stopped in his motion. He nodded his head up and down faster and faster, while wiggeling with his finger. 

"I knew you would understand, Sylas!" Lockhart grinned, "Really, I could use my time so much better than constantly wandering around all these corridors! I am a man with excellent goals and I am relegated to escorting students who don't even need it!"

All the Slytherins, however, frowned at their classmate. A few days ago, Sylas had almost sent the professor to the afterlife , and now he was ingratiating himself as if there was no tomorrow.

"We only have one corridor ahead of us anyway. You can leave us alone. I mean ... what could possibly happen ... right?" Sylas smiled at him.

"You know what, Sylas, you're right," Lockhart said. "I really should go and prepare my next lesson - " And he hurried away.

The Slytherins couldn’t believe their eyes.

Sylas threw his middlefinger high up in the air. "Hopefully he gets kicked out for refusing to supervise," he grumbled, watching the professor leave. His friendly face vanished in an instant. Oh how much he hated that professor within his soul. Since their first meeting he just couldn't stand that man. 

His classmate all walked passed him, while he needed a second to not throw up from all the sucking up. Just as he was about to rejoin them, he noticed that his shoelaces were undone.

"Sylas, come on!" Theo called to him just before they disappeared around the corner.

"Right away, go ahead. My shoelaces," he said and bent down.

He could see the group turn the corner, vanishing from his sight, when suddenly someone pulled a sack over his head. He was cursed with the Silencio spell and dragged into a room.

Sylas tried to defend himself with his hands and feet, but the three attackers completely overwhelmed him. He had no chance against them.

With quick movements they tied his hands behind his back and pushed him to the ground.

That will leave bruises

The rope was wrapped so tightly around his hands that he felt as if his blood supply was being cut off. The sack was pulled away from him and in front of him stood three damned familiar Gryffindors.

Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan.

They all looked down at him as if he were their prey. Their posture full of conviction, full of self-assurance, as if they had just climbed Mount Everest and were on top of the world.

There better be a damn good reason for the fucking Gryffindors to kidnap him.

"We have the ultimate proof that you are the Heir of Slytherin," Weasley said with a broad grin. "You can't talk your way out of it anymore. We know what monster you are controlling!"

Frowning, Sylas looked at them and could only shake his head in confusion.

"Don't lie!" Finnigan growled, "Hermione did some research and found out that there is a basilisk somewhere in the castle and do you know what the basilisk is known for?"

Sylas really couldn't believe what was happening. Annoyed, he sat down cross-legged and just shrugged his shoulders.

Weasley took out a piece of paper and began reading from it.

Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, none is stranger or more deadly than the basilisk, also known as the king of snakes. This snake, which can grow to gigantic sizes and live for hundreds of years, is born from a hen's egg hatched by a toad. The basilisk kills in a most strange way, for in addition to its deadly and poisonous teeth, the basilisk has a murderous gaze, and all who fall under its spell suffer instant death. Spiders flee from the basilisk, for it is their deadly archenemy, and the basilisk only flees from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it.

"A snake, Ashford," Weasley muttered. "And who is the only known Parselmouth in all of Hogwarts right now? ... You. We caught you, so tell us where the Chamber of Secrets is!"

But at that moment, a realization dawned on Sylas.

That voice he had been hearing over and over again ... was from the basilisk! That's why he could hear it and no one else! Another realization occurred. Hagrid tried to free his spider because it was afraid of the basilisk. Unfortunately, he did it at exactly the wrong time.

But how could it be that no one died? They were all just petrified.

Sylas thought hard before he realized it.

No one had looked him straight in the eyes!

Creveey looked at him through his camera. The basilisk had only completely burned the film, but Creveey was just petrified. Finch Fletchley must have seen the basilisk through the almost headless Nick! Nick got everything, but couldn't die again. Something similar must have happened with Mrs. Norris, Granger and the Ravenclaw prefect.

Sylas mumbled against the curse to let them know he wanted to say something. With a nod from all three, they released him.

"Nice theory you've come up with, but how could such a huge basilisk have gotten through the castle? Someone had to have seen it," he growled at them.

"It's simple," Finnigan replied with a smug grin, "he crawled through the pipes."

For a moment Sylas wanted to call him mad, until his eyes widened. Because what the Gryffindors were saying made a damn lot of sense. He had always heard the voices coming from the walls  ...

"Why do you look like you're hearing about this for the first time?" Thomas grumbled, "Stop acting so innocent. You're the Heir of Slytherin! You're to blame for all this! You control the monster!"

"Are you stupid? Or are you just pretending to be brainless?" Sylas hissed, frowning. "It's not just that I look like I'm hearing about this for the first time. I'm actually hearing about it for the first time!"

Weasly looked him up and down, weighting his words and calculating just as Snape would. But obviously Weasley wasn't as clever as his Head of House. "You're the best liar I've ever seen," Weasley whispered with his head slightly shaking.

A chuckle escaped Sylas throat.  For once, he told the truth and no one believed him. How funny.

"But unfortunately for you, we will hand you over to the teachers immediately and tell them what we have found out. In ten minutes the bell will ring for recess."

Sylas gaze wavered through the room the brought him in. They had dragged him into the middle of the teacher's room.  It was a large paneled room full of dark wooden chairs. Well then, he wanted to see how they explained to the teachers why he was sitting tied up on the floor. None of them thought of freeing him to cover up the crime. They paced around excitedly and couldn't sit down. They kept talking about how they were being celebrated as the heroes of Hogwarts this year. That they were the ones who caught the true heir of Slytherin. Apparently the wound ran deep when Theo and Daphne blamed Granger and Weasley that the Slytherins at least did something to protect Hogwarts last year and they didn't.

The ten minutes were up, but the break bell didn't ring. Instead, Professor McGonagall's voice echoed through the corridors, magically amplified.

"Students return to their dormitories immediately. Teachers gather in the staff room. Immediately, please!"

The Gryffindors paused in their movements. 

Their eyes widened and panic settled in.

"That doesn't sound good," Thomas muttered nervously.

"Something happened and if they see us here now instead of with the others, they'll kick us out of school!" Finnigan shouted.

"Hide!" Weasley said and grabbed Sylas. To their right was an ugly wardrobe full of teacher's robes. It smelled really musty. They hid in the closet, listened to the clatter of hundreds of students above their heads, and then heard the teacher's room door open. Sylas cleared his throat, ready to shout - when Finnigang cursed him again with the silencio. He glared angrily at the Gryffindor. This would have been his chance to get her out of school. 

Between the musty robes, they saw one teacher after another enter the room. Some looked confused, others made no effort to hide their fear. Then Professor McGonagall came in.

"It happened," she explained to those silently gathered before her. "The monster kidnapped a student. And into the chamber."

Professor Flitwick let out a sharp scream. Professor Sprout clapped his hands over his mouth. Snape gripped the back of a chair and said, "Are you certain?"

"The Heir of Slytherin," Professor McGonagall said, now completely white in the face, "has left another message. Directly beneath the first. Her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever."

Professor Flitwick burst into tears.

"Who is it?" Madam Hooch asked, who had sunk into a chair with weak knees. "Which student?"

"Ginny Weasley," Professor McGonagall said.

A heavy silence settled in the room. 

Weasley sank to the floor in disbelief.

And Sylas sat there in pure shock. His mind racing.

Not Ginny! Any other student, but definitely not Ginny!

She wasn't even a Muggle - She's a pureblood!.

Why would the monster take her to the Chamber of Secrets? Why would the Heir of Slytherin ...

...

She's a pureblood. She had access to his rooms, had a rough year, and he saw her write in a diary months ago.

"We have to send all the students home tomorrow," Professor McGonagall ordered. "This is the end of Hogwarts. Dumbledore always said..."

The teacher's room door opened again. A contented and happy Lockhart entered.

"I'm so sorry - I dozed off - what did I miss?" He didn't seem to notice that the other teachers were staring at him with an expression that clearly suggested hatred. Snape stepped forward.

"Just the right man," he said. "The right man. The monster kidnapped a girl, Lockhart. He took her to the Chamber of Secrets. Your time has finally come."

Lockhart recoiled.

"That's right, Gilderoy," Professor Sprout interjected, "didn't you say just last night that you always knew where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was?"

"I - well, I -" stammered Lockhart.

"Yes, didn't you tell me you knew for sure what was hidden in the chamber?" squeaked Professor Flitwick.

"Have - have I? Can't remember -"

"I remember you saying it was a pity you weren't allowed to take on the monster before Hagrid was arrested," Snape scoffed. "Didn't you say the whole thing had been botched and that you should have been given free rein from the start?"

Lockhart stared at the stony faces of his colleagues. He got back all the karma he had accumulated this year.

"I - I really never - you must have misunderstood me -"

"So we'll leave it up to you, Gilderoy," Professor McGonagall said. "Tonight is the best time. We'll make sure no one gets in your way. You can then take on the monster all by yourself. You've finally got a free hand."

Lockhart looked around desperately, but no one came to his aid. He no longer looked remotely handsome. His lips trembled, and without his usual toothy grin he looked slack-cheeked and frail.

"Well... well," he said. "I'll go to my office and - prepare myself."

And he went out.

So Sylas knew who he would visit when he went down into the chamber to free Ginny.

"Good," said Professor McGonagall, flaring her nostrils, "now we've got him out of the way. The Heads of House should now go and tell their students what has happened. Tell them the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing tomorrow morning. And I ask the others to make sure that no students are left outside the dormitories."

The teachers stood up and left one by one.

When everything was quiet, the four students literally flew out of the closet.

"Ron," Thomas muttered, his face as white as a sheet. "I don't think Ashford is the heir of Slytherin after all."

He released him from the Silencio.

"You're thinking is just as fast as a damned snail," Sylas scoffed. "I've been saying that for months! How could I possibly kidnap little Weasley? I was out with the others all day until you kidnapped me!" he growled. "Now untie me!"

Trembling, Finnigan untied the rope, leaving clear marks on his wrists.

Weasley started pacing around, making sense of everything. "Well then, did Malfoy, Nott or Greengrass help you with your plan! Maybe Ginny is even behind it herself to scare us all!", fantasized the Weasley, "I wouldn't be surprised if your bad qualities rubbed off on her!"

"Oh, shut up, Weasley!" Sylas almost shouted at him and gave him the middle finger.

Just as he was about to walk out the door, he crashed into a black figure.

Behind him, dead silent.

He didn't even have to look at the man's face to know who was standing in front of him. His aura alone was enough.

"What exactly are you doing here?" Snape hissed dangerously quietly. His anger was palpable. After all, the students were in a staff room without permission.

Sylas wouldn't let this opportunity let go to waste and raised his wrist. "These lunatics kidnapped me from my group, gagged me and claimed that they had solid evidence against me. They wanted to hand me over straight away. But when they noticed that something was wrong, they hid in the wardrobe and listened. They put the Silencio Curse on me!" Sylas explained angrily and glared at the Gryffindors.

The more he talked, the angrier Snape became. His eyes flashed with anger and his eyebrows drew together so tightly that they almost became one.

The Gryffindors just stood in the middle of the room. None of them dared to speak up and defend themselves. 

The Gryffindors had scored an own goal and if they were lucky they would be thrown out.

His voice was cold and sharp as a blade, he pronounced each name slowly and dangerously, "Weasley..., Finnigan..., Thomas... – you will now return to your common room immediately. I will speak to your head of house this evening about a possible expulsion. Abducting a student at these times!"

The Gryffindors turned white as a sheet when they heard this.

Finnigan tried to save them, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. "But, we have evidence that Ashford –"

"Do not let me hear another word from you," he snarled, the authority in his voice weighing them all down. " Back to your dorms ... immediately."

For a second they hesitated, before they walked passed the potions master. There head low and frightened to look at him.

Snape nodded to Sylas to follow him. They walked quickly down to the dungeon. When they entered the common room, it was already packed with Slytherins.

They all looked at their head of house with questioning glances.

Meanwhile, Sylas scurried over to Theo and Draco.

Daphne was sitting with Astoria in a completely different corner, little Greengrass wasn't feeling well at all. After all, her friend is missing and she must have put two and two together. Her eyes were all puffy and red. 

Snape explained to them the circumstances, that Ginny Weasley had been kidnapped and that everyone would be taking the first train home tomorrow morning. He also stressed that the school might be closed.

No one was allowed to leave the premises.

When he left, a tense depressed mood settled in the air.

Nobody cared about little Weasley, except for a few, and they didn't care that they had to go home early. At least then they wouldn't have to take any exams, but the fact that Hogwarts was closing - that was the problem.

Many retreated to their rooms and began packing. Others sat in the common room in silence and simply thought. The news left many speechless. Daphne retreated with Astoria to comfort her. Her first year was anything but what she had hoped for. Sylas quietly explained to Theo and Draco why he had disappeared. Much to their horror, as they would not have thought the Gryffindors capable of kidnapping. They also sat quietly in a corner for the rest of the afternoon and observed the underwater life.

Sylas' thoughts were only with Ginny.

He had to save her, he had to make sure she was okay. Weasley's words about Ginny being behind this had been haunting him for hours.

Because from everything he knew, there was a damn good chance that it really was her.

Throughout the afternoon, every Slytherin looked hopefully at the heir. But as the sun slowly set and Sylas still sat in the same corner - everyone lost hope.

He himself thought of a plan on how best to save her. Above all, he considered how much of a help his friends could be. But Sylas just couldn't put it pass him, to ask for their help. It was much to dangerous for them.

Draco would let him go alone - no question asked.

But Theo -

Theo would stop him, and if he didn't succeed in stopping Sylas, he would wanna come with him. 

A year ago, when he recovered from Voldemorts attack, Daphne came up to Sylas. She told him, how much Theo hated himself for not coming with them down the trapdoor. How much he blamed himself for Sylas' injuries. 

Draco suddenly cleared his throat, the attention falling on the boy. "Do you think little Weasley knew something?" he whispered quietly. It was the first time either of them had spoken in hours. "Perhaps she wanted to tell you something about the Chamber of Secrets this morning. After all, everyone here thinks you're the heir, so perhaps she thought you could make a difference."

Sylas had thought of that too and it just fit the narrative too well. How could he be so foolish and not notice it earlier?

"I think," Sylas began slowly, the following words not wanna belive himself. "that Ginny is behind this, that she's the one using the diary."

When the words left his mouth, the two friends looked at him with wide eyes. Both opened their mouths to say something, but closed it again. They thought about, trying to come up with a defense - but it was useless. 

Ginny fit the profile of the perpetrator too well. 

She was hopelessly in love with him—clumsy, desperate, invisible in all the wrong ways. She had no real friends, no safe place to unload her thoughts, and far too easy access to their room. Worst of all: she trusted him. That made her vulnerable.

Up until then, only Muggles had been attacked; the fact that she was the only pureblood among the victims felt too ... convenient. 

Tom Riddle found the perfect pawn.

Sylas tapped his finger thoughtfully on his thigh and surveyed the rest of the Slytherins in the common room. Students lounged about, blissfully unaware of what the heir of Slytherin was thinking. What he was about to do.

But it wasn’t just about Ginny. It was about him.

He had carefully built this persona. The heir. The mystery. The edge of fear and respect. He didn’t just fall into the role - he crafted it. Wore it like armor. And now, when Slytherin House needed someone to look up to, someone to be that heir, he couldn't back down. They defended his name and Slytherin. Now it was time to give them something back. 

Even if he was playing right into Dumbledore's hands by protecting everyone from danger again, he couldn't abandon Ginny. He couldn't explain this feeling lingering around him, but he owed it to her. 

Overall it was Sylas' duty.

He exhaled slowly, the weight of decision sinking into his chest, his eyes filled with determination

"I'm going to the chamber," he murmured quietly.

Two heads snapped at him.

Draco glanced at him in dismay.

Theo shot him a gaze that said: You're an idiot. 

"Are you out of your mind?" Theo whispered. "We don't know where the Chamber of Secrets is, nor what kind of monster awaits us. Do you just want to wander around the castle at random?"

"Lockhart knows," he murmured back just as quietly. "He said in the staff room that he knew where it was. I'll go to him and make sure he actually goes down there."

Theo just kept shaking his head and looked at him doubtfully. "You can't expect Lockhart to -"

Draco just playfully slapped him on the shoulder.

"Leave it, Theo," he murmured, studying Sylas' face closely, "Can't you see that no matter what you say ... he'll still go?"

His piercing green eyes burned with willpower.

Theo opened his mouth to say something, but Draco beat him to it, "Your reputation and honor are at stake, aren't they?"

He nodded slightly not breaking the contact. If one person knew how important that was in the house Slytherin - than it was Draco Malfoy.

Sylas gaze slid back to Theo, his eyes imploring him not to go - to reconsider. 

"If I don't go now, Theo. What do you think people will call me for years to come? The Heir of Slytherin, kidnapping his own purebloods. No one will want to associate with me, and if they label me, they will label you too. Just because we're friends," Sylas explained, his voice unsettling calm. 

Theo bit his lip.

That was just how things worked in Slytherin. If one person became an outsider, anyone associated with them became one as well.

"I'm going to the chamber for Slytherin and for you," Sylas said.

Not fully the truth. He left out Ginny on purpose. 

"Then I'll come with you," Theo said immediately, "Better in pairs than alone."

Sylas immediately shook his head. "The risk that something could happen to you is too great. We should keep the risk as minimal as possible. Besides, Lockhart will be there, this man must be able to do something", Sylas scoffed.  "... And if not ... well, then he's done for."

Theo was about to protest but Sylas gaze shut him up. 

"You don't even have to start arguing. You know I'm right...", Sylas paused, "... You have something to lose - I don't."

The corners of Draco's mouth twitched upwards.

"You said the exact same thing to me down by the trapdoor, just before you met Voldemort," he said nostalgically.

"I only have one thing to say to you," he said, becoming deadly serious again, "Just come back alive. Otherwise I've got a crying Daphne and a depressed Theo to take care of."

Sylas had to smile at these words, but he didn't have much time left. He slowly stood up and walked over to the stone wall. None of Slytherin stopped him, they all let the Heir of Slytherin go. The brickwall opened up and he stepped out into the dark corridor. 

He glanced back, looking at his friends for a last time. Draco had to hold Theo's arm so he wouldn't run after him. The blond had to force himself not to do the same.

The bricks gradually began to rebuild.

Sylas stood in front of them until he could no longer see them.

How touching, one could almost think it was a farewell forever, Oliver emerged from the stone wall.

"Then let's make sure it doesn't come to that," Sylas murmured, slightly worried, "Otherwise Daphne will kill them both for letting me go."

He couldn't help but smile. But it quickly disappeared, he had something more important to take care of.

Darkness fell over the castle as he walked up to Lockhart's office. Sylas could already guess that Lockhart had no idea where the chamber was or what kind of monster was hiding down there.

Despite this, he would have taken the professor with him anyway - purely for revenge and out of spite. Never again would such a perfect opportunity come again. All the pent-up anger that Sylas had had to swallow because of him this school year would now come back to him twice and three times over. The closer he got to the office, the more excited he was to get his revenge once and for all. Euphoria filled him.

He could kill four birds with one stone.

Get revenge on Lockhart, save Ginny, protect his friends, and keep the respect he had earned as heir.

Outside the office, Sylas listened briefly. There seemed to be a lot going on inside. He could hear grinding and banging and hurried footsteps.

His hands shook with joy at the thought of sending this man off into the unknown. He didn't bother to knock and opened the door slightly in front of him.

"Good evening, Professor Lockhart," he greeted with a gentle smile.

"Oh - Mr Ashford," Lockhart said in surprise, almost running to the door to close it slightly. He seemed to want to avoid anyone seeing his office. "I'm very busy at the moment - if you'd hurry -"

"I wanted to tell you something," Sylas explained, "it will definitely help you."

"Er - well - it's not necessarily -" The side of Lockhart's face that he could see looked very embarrassed. "I mean - well - very well -"

He opened the door and the student entered. His office was almost completely empty. Two large trunks stood open on the floor. Cloaks, jade green, purple, midnight blue, had been hastily packed into one, books were piled up in all directions in the other. The photographs that had covered the walls were stuffed into boxes on the desk.

"Are you leaving already?" Sylas asked, his voice angelic.

"Er, well, yes," Lockhart said, ripping a life-sized poster of himself from the door and starting to roll it up. "Urgent call - inevitable - must go -"

"Merlin, so much more urgent than the kidnapping of Ginny Weasley?" Sylas gasped, feigning shock. "But professor Snape told us you were going to rescue her!"

"Well, as for that - unfortunate business -" Lockhart mumbeled, avoiding his eyes as he pulled out a drawer and tipped its contents into a bag. "No one regrets it more than I -"

"Don't you say... you're turning your back on us?" Sylas asked. "You're the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher! You've saved countless lives in your books. So this will be a piece of cake for you, won't it?"

Lockhart smiled helplessly and said gently, "Books can be... misleading."

"How so?" Sylas asked, quietly closing the door behind him.

"My dear boy," Lockhart said, straightening up and frowning at Sylas. "Use your common sense. My books wouldn't have sold half as well if people didn't think I did all that. Nobody wants to read about an ugly old Armenian wizard, even if he saved a village from werewolves. He'd look terrible on the cover. No idea how to dress well. And the witch who banished the Banshee from Bandon had a harelip. Now listen to this -"

"So you steal the fame of others for your own profit," Sylas summarized.

"Sylas, Sylas,"  Lockhart said, shaking his head impatiently. "It's not that simple. It took work. I had to track these people down. Ask them exactly how they did it. Then I had to put a forgetting charm on them so they wouldn't remember. If there's one thing I'm proud of, it's my forgetting charms . No, it was a lot of work, Sylas. It's not enough to sign books and have photos in the newspapers, you know. If you want fame, you have to prepare yourself for quite a grind."

He slammed the trunk lid shut and locked it.

"Let's see," he said. "I think I have everything. Yes, just one more."

He pulled out his magic stand and turned to face him. Before he could open his mouth, Sylas shouted "Expelliarmus!"

Lockhart flew backwards and fell over his trunk. His wand spun through the air and slammed to the floor. It busted and would need replacing. Sylas picked it up and put it in his pocket. Two were better than one.

Like a predator hunting for its prey Sylas approached Lockhart. A malicious grin spread across his lips as he looked down and pointed his wand at him. The professor looked like a slack rope.

Oh, how long had he been waiting for this exact moment? 

"W-What are you planning?" Lockhart stammered in a weak voice. "I don't know where the Chamber of Secrets is! There's nothing I can do."

Sylas began to chuckle quietly. "You're  one lucky bastard," he said. "I have a hunch where it might be and what's hidden inside. Of course I need help from an experienced professor. That would be the story for your next book, dont you think?"

Oliver whistled impressively, I like it when you're so mean.

He put a silencing charm on Lockhart to keep him from attracting attention. He tied his hands behind his back with rope, leaving a long piece of the rope loose so that Sylas could use it as a leash.

Pushing Lockhart ahead of them, they left the office and went down the nearest flight of stairs, along the dark corridor where the messages glowed on the walls, to Moaning Myrtle's lavatory door. He sent Lockhart in first. Sylas was amused to see that he was shaking. He too entered the girls' bathroom and for a brief moment his gaze fell on a particular sink.

But a quiet moan interrupted his focus.

Moaning Myrtle was sitting on the toilet bowl in the last stall. "Oh, it's you," she swallowed, recognizing Sylas. "What do you want?"

"Ask you how you died," Sylas said in a gentle voice.

Myrtle's whole demeanor changed. She looked as if no one had ever asked her such a flattering question before. "Ooooh, that was awful," she said with relish. "It happened in here. I died in this cubicle. I remember it so well. I was hiding because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked and I was crying and then I heard someone come in. Then something funny was said. It must have been another language. Anyway, what really surprised me was that a boy was speaking. So I opened the door to tell him to go away and use his own loo and then -" Myrtle swelled up and her face shone "- then I died."

"How?" Sylas asked.

"I don't know," said Myrtle in a low voice. "All I remember is seeing a pair of big yellow eyes. My whole body went stiff and then I floated away..." She looked at Harry dreamily. "And then I came back again. I was determined to play my pranks on Olive Hornby. Oh, he was so sorry he ever laughed at my glasses."

"Where exactly did you see those eyes?" Sylas asked, frowning.

"Somewhere over there," she pointed to the sink opposite.

He immediately went to the sink, which he had noticed earlier. Lockhart stayed in the background, with an expression of speechless horror on his face.

It looked like an ordinary sink. He examined every inch, inside and out, and the pipes underneath. And then Sylas stopped,  noticing a tiny snake scratched into the side of one of the copper faucets.

"The tap never worked," Myrtle said cheerfully as he tried to turn it on.

Hmm, looks like you'll have to speak Parseltongue, muttered Oliver, enjoying the sight of Lockhart.

His heart filled up instantly with excitement. There was his chance to use this beautiful language again, but ... how? He only spoke Parsel once before, infront of a real snake. He stared at the tiny engraving and tried to imagine it was a living snake.

"Open up," he said.

Didn't work

Sylas looked at the snake again and tried to convince himself that it was alive. When he moved his head, it looked as if it was slithering a little in the candlelight.

"Open up," he hissed.

But it wasn't those words he heard; an eerie hissing sound had escaped him, and immediately the tap glowed brilliantly and began to turn - a moment later the sink began to move. It sank completely into the wall, revealing the end of a large pipe, wide enough for a person to slide through.

With a mischievous smile, Sylas glanced at Lockhart, who immediately shook his head vigorously. He tugged on the leash and the man stumbled over to him.

"You will go first," Sylas said, holding his wand dangerously close to the professor. He tried to refuse, but Sylas started to jab his wand into his back, forcing him to stick his legs in the pipes.

"Farewell!" Sylas shouted spitefully and gave Lockhart a hard kick in the back. "I hope he's twisted his back."

Moaning Myrtle twisted her body as if she was trying to look flattering. "You are such a bad boy," she purred to him, blinking vigorously.

A cold shiver ran down his spine. Disgust came over him. Oliver burst out laughing as Sylas' face turned chalk white. The Slytherin quickly followed the professor to escape the moaning Myrtle. He climbed into the pipe and slid down. It was as if he were tumbling down an endless, slimy, dark slide. He saw other pipes branching off in all directions, but none as thick as theirs, which ran steeply downward in endless twists and turns, and Sylas knew that it went deep beneath the school, to depths far below the dungeons. And then, just as Sylas was considering how he would hit the ground, the pipe bent upward and leaked. With a wet splutter, he rolled out and landed on the damp floor of a dark stone tunnel, high enough to stand in.

Lockhart was sitting on the ground, slightly hunched over. The kick seemed to have hit him hard. 

Deserved. 

"We must be miles beneath the school," Sylas said, his voice echoing in the dark tunnel.

We're probably under the lake, considering how long you've been sliding Oliver examined the tunnel with big interested eyes. 

Sylas pulled on the leash and forced Lockhart to stand up again. He mumbled something, but Sylas couldn't understand a word, because of the Silencio curse. He put a hand to his ear and strained to try to understand him. Lockhart tried even harder to make him understand his quibberish.

"I'm sorry, Professor," he chuckled, his eyes filled with taunt, "you don't seem to be speaking clearly enough."

Lockhart glared at him angrily.

"Lumos," Sylas muttered, and his wand began to glow.

They walked down the tunnel, their footsteps slapping loudly on the wet floor. It was so dark in the tunnel that they could only see a few meters ahead. In the light of the wand, their shadows on the walls looked like giants.

Sylas was prepared to close his eyes immediately if anything moved. But the tunnel was as silent as the grave, and the first unexpected sound they heard was a loud crunch as Lockhart stepped on what turned out to be a rat's skull.

The professor flinched violently.

Sylas pointed his wand at the ground and saw that it was littered with small animal bones. Trying hard to banish the thought of what Ginny would look like if he found them, he led her further down a dark bend in the tunnel.

Lockhart kept gesturing upwards with his head. Sylas followed his gaze. An outline of something huge and round, lying across the tunnel, lingered on the ceiling.

But it didn't move.

"Probably asleep," he whispered. Lockhart closed his eyes in fear.

Very slowly, with his wand raised, his eyes narrowed to tiny slits, Sylas crept forward.

The light flashed across a gigantic snakeskin, bright green in color, lying coiled and empty across the tunnel floor. The creature that had shed it must have been at least twenty feet long. It had to be the basilisk.

Sylas felt his heart pounding with nervousness and ... excitement. If push came to shove, he would sacrifice Lockhart.

Suddenly Lockhart's knees gave way and he fell to the ground.

"Get up!" Sylas hissed at him, but the professor just shook his head and crawled on the floor as if he were a fish. His whole body was shaking and he didn't seem to want to move a millimeter further.

Sylas cursed under his breath.

He was wasting his time!

Ginny had been in the Chamber of Secrets for several hours now. What should he do now? There was no way he was going to leave Lockhart behind, the bum deserved punishment.

Then he had an idea. It worked then, so it would work now too.

He waved his own magic wand and muttered, "Wingardium Leviosa."

It took tremendous concentration to carry something that heavy in the air. Sylas managed to levitate him just a few centimeters.

With Lockhart's demolished wand he muttered "Lumos". Luckily it still seemed to be good enough to withstand spells. If it had been Weasley's wand, half the tunnel would have collapsed by now.

A creative way of tackling the problem and then holding two spells at once, impressive, Oliver commented.

Sylas had no nerve for his ghost's comments. 

His mind was by someone else. 

The tunnel seemed endless to him. It went further and further into the darkness. The tunnel wound along in endless bends. Every nerve in Sylas' body vibrated more strongly with each step. He couldn't tell if it was out of fear of not being able to find Ginny in time or out of excitement at finally finding out what was lurking down here.

And then, finally, as he crept around a bend, he saw a wall carved with two intertwined snakes.

Their eyes were great, shimmering emeralds.

Sylas approached, fascinated. There was no need to imagine that these stone snakes were real, for their eyes looked eerily alive. He knew what he had to do. He cleared his throat and the emerald eyes seemed to flicker.

"Open!" Sylas said with a deep, faint hiss.

The snakes untangled and a gap opened in the wall. The two halves of the wall slid gently to the side and Harry, shaking from head to toe, stepped in with an excited grin.

Finally, he reached the Chamber of Secrets. 

Notes:

Alright guys, we are approaching the finale of the second year and I can't wait for y'all to read the next chapter about the Chamber of secrets.
Never the less, I wanna thank everyone who reads this story and leaves Kudos, comments etc! I hope y'all liked this chapter and I see you around!

Chapter 21

He stood at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Mighty pillars, also entwined with stone snakes, rose up to the ceiling, which was in darkness. The pillars cast long black shadows through the strange greenish twilight that filled the room.

Sylas' heart raced as he walked through the dim, ancient corridors of the Chamber of Secrets. Humidity hung in the air, and every wall was covered in carvings of snakes that seemed to move in the darkness.

His grip on his wand was firm, determined - he was here to save Ginny.

That was all that mattered ... or that's what he was trynna convince himself to belive. 

Sylas stood there alert, listening into the cold silence. Could the basilisk be lurking in a corner, behind a pillar? Where was Ginny? He turned off Lumos and walked forward between the snake pillars. Each cautious step echoed off the walls. His eyes were narrowed to slits, ready to close them tightly at the slightest movement. The empty eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to follow him and it seemed to him as if they were stirring.

Lockhart kept looking around nervously, but could hardly move because of the spell. His eyes kept darting from one corner to the other.

Then he stepped between the last pair of pillars. Before him, on the back wall, towered a statue as tall as the chamber itself. Something about this place made him pause. The smell of age, of magic older than anything he knew. The massive stone snakes that lined the path. This was not some forgotten room at Hogwarts - this was a relic from another time, a place full of power.

A place only he could enter.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. 

Sylas craned his neck to see the gigantic face: it was the old, ape-like face of a wizard, with a long, narrow beard that fell almost to the hem of his billowing stone cloak. Two huge grey feet stood on the smooth chamber floor. And between the feet, face down, lay a small figure with black cloaks and flaming red hair.

His face drained all the color. 

"Ginny!" Sylas whispered. He leapt to her side and fell to his knees. "Ginny, don't be dead, please, don't be dead - "

He threw Lockhart's wand aside, grabbed Ginny by the shoulder and turned her around. Her face was white as marble, and just as cold, but her eyes were closed - she wasn't petrified. He put a finger to her neck and felt a pulse, faint.

"Ginny, please wake up," Sylas whispered desperately, shaking her. Ginny's head rolled back and forth hopelessly. She couldn't die here, not because of him! This girl still had a whole life ahead of her, so many experiences ahead of her!

"She won't wake up," a quiet voice said. Sylas shifted on his knees. A tall boy in a Slytherin uniform was leaning against the nearest pillar, studying him. His outline was strangely blurred, as if Sylas were looking at him through a foggy window.

His face ... Sylas could not see his face. 

Just like back then in the diary ...

His eyes narrowed and he stood protectively in front of Ginny.

"Tom Riddle."

Riddle nodded, without taking his eyes off Sylas' face.

"What are you? A ghost?" Sylas asked, not taking his eyes off him.

He tensed his shoulders as the figure came closer and closer to him. He was responsible for all of this - this boy was his enemy. And yet... he couldn't look away from him. That feeling of familiarity came over him again. Just like when he held his book in his hands. It was as if he had known this boy for ages. Something about Riddle's posture, the way he seemed to control the darkness, aroused a forbidden curiosity in Sylas.

"A memory," Riddle said quietly. "Kept in a diary for fifty years."

He pointed to the floor next to the statue's giant toes. There lay the small black pocket diary that Sylas had found in Moaning Myrtle's toilet. So there was no doubt about it. Ginny really was behind everything.

"You used Ginny, didn't you?" Sylas asked quietly. "You noticed how easy she was to manipulate and you took advantage of it."

A low, deep laugh escaped Riddle. Even though Sylas couldn't make out his facial features, he was sure that the Slytherin in front of him was grinning maliciously.

"Tell me," Riddle whispered, "What made you realize that I am the true Heir of Slytherin?"

"I know a liar when I see one," Sylas muttered.

"Hmm, interesting. Is it because your entire life is based on a lie?" he asked. "I've waited a long time for this moment, Harry Potter."

Sylas nearly lost his composure, his face wiped of all emotions except shock. He stared at Riddle in shock. How does he ...?

Lockhart, who had now landed on the wet ground, since Sylas could no longer maintain the spell, looked at the boy with wide eyes.

Riddle laughed. It was a deep, cold laugh that didn't suit him and made the hairs on Sylas' neck stand up. "Surprised? Want to know how I found out?"

"You don't know anything!" Sylas hissed at him.

"I can say, Harry, that I have always been able to charm those I needed. And so Ginny poured out her heart to me, and her heart was exactly what I needed. I grew stronger and stronger, for I could feed on her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I became powerful, much more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to eventually feed Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to gradually infuse her with a little of my soul..." he paused to revel in the boy's anger.

Who the hell was Tom Riddle that he could infuse his soul into someone and control that person?! At that moment, Sylas might regret not having taken Theo with him. 

"Of course, she didn't know what she was doing at first. It was very funny. I wish you could have read her new diary entries... Dear Tom ," he quoted, watching Sylas' horrified face, "I think I'm losing my memory. There are chicken feathers all over my cloak and I don't know how that happened. Dear Tom, I can't remember what I did on Halloween night, but a cat was attacked and I'm covered in paint. Dear Tom, there was another attack today and I don't know where I was. Tom, what should I do? I think I'm going mad... I think it's me who's attacking everyone, Tom! "

Sylas clenched his hands into fists. His fingernails dug deep into his flesh. Ginny must have been so afraid all year. She must have been so terribly afraid and he didn't notice because he was too busy ignoring her.

"Little Ginny wrote in it month after month, confiding to me all her miserable worries and heartaches - how her brothers teased her, how she came to school with second-hand cloaks and books, and how the famous Sylas Ashford would never like her."

As he spoke, Riddle never took his eyes off Sylas' face. There was something hungry in his gaze.

Sylas bit his lip. That was exactly the conclusion he had come to. Having it confirmed didn't make it any better.

"It took a long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her diary," Riddle continued. "However, she became suspicious and tried to get rid of it. And then you came on the scene, Harry. You found it, to my great delight. Of all the people who could have found it, you were the person I wanted to meet the most ..."

Sylas frowned, unsure what that was supposed to mean. 

"Ginny told me all about you, Harry," Riddle said. "First she told me how in love she was with the legend of the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter. When he died she was devastated, but then she met you. A new glimmer of hope in her life. When you first met at the train station she lost her heart to you. She told me so much about you and your life. Then when you found my diary I knew immediately who you really are."

The Slytherin student came closer and closer to him. Sylas' heart began to pound wildly against his chest. If he touched Ginny, he would protect her with everything he had.

But ... Riddle was not interested in her. He crouched down right in front of Sylas and gently took the boy's face in his hands. A shiver immediately ran through him, his hands were icy cold, as if he were really alive.

Thrill rushed through his vains, once again amazed about what magic could do.

Bringing a mere memory back to life... fascinating.

"Why are you hiding it?" Riddle murmured, his voice soft nearly purring. 

Sylas just stared at his blurry face. With one hand he pushed his hair back and exposed his forehead. Riddle's face changed from joy to disappointment, but the longer Riddle stared at the boy's scars, the better he could see them.

A malicious grin appeared on his lips.

"All these burns can never cover whats lurking underneith. You'll never get rid of it, Harry," Riddle whispered, gently tracing his thumb over it. "When I realized what a double life you were leading, I really wanted to get to know you, talk to you, meet you... touch you. So I decided to gain your trust and show you my glory of catching that huge idiot Hagrid -"

"Hagrid is my friend," Sylas grumbled, grabbing Riddle's wrist to stop him from touching his scar. "And even though you showed me your memory, I knew right away that it wasn't him. I saw right through you from the first minute."

Riddle giggled again and his demenour grew hungrier.

"Another reason I wanted to meet you. Because back then, no one could catch me. It was my word against Hagrid's. You can imagine what it was like for old Armando Dippet. On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave, Head Boy, exemplary student... on the other hand, big, bumbling Hagrid, getting into trouble every few weeks, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking into the Forbidden Forest to wrestle with trolls... but I admit, even I was surprised at how well the plan worked. I thought someone would have to realize that Hagrid couldn't possibly be the Heir of Slytherin. Even I had taken five years to find out all about the Chamber of Secrets and find the secret entrance... and Hagrid had the brains or the power to do that? Only Dumbledore, then Transfiguration teacher, seemed to think Hagrid was innocent. He persuaded Dippet to keep Hagrid as gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore suspected something... Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers..."

"Is that why you never opened the chamber again?" Sylas asked through gritted teeth.

"Ah, it is so fascinating and relieving to meet someone who can add two and two together. If you had gone to school with me fifty years ago, we would have gotten along well. What power we would have had..." Riddle fantasized.

"You're right. After Hagrid's expulsion, Dumbledore had his eye on me, incredibly annoying. I knew it would be too dangerous to open the Chamber again while I was at school. But I didn't want all those long years of searching to have been in vain. I decided to leave a diary and keep my sixteen-year-old self in the pages so that with a little luck I could one day put someone else on my trail to complete Salazar Slytherin's noble work."

Riddle's face got suspicously closer. 

"You understand, don't you?" his voice was soft, almost flattering, barley above a whisper. "The power that lies within these walls. The magic that makes your blood sing. You feel it just as I do."

Sylas' eyes widened ... because he does. Ever since he had entered this room, he could sense it clearly. A kind of magic that was not only in the air, but vibrated deep in his bones.

Forbidden, ancient, overwhelming.

Part of him wanted to understand, to see. 

Then he felt Ginny's weak body behind him. A sharp pain shot through his heart, a wave of fear and anger.

No. It didn't matter how fascinating this chamber was or how overwhelmed he was by Riddle's aura. His goal of saving Ginny had to be his top priority.

Sylas steered the conversation into another direction. In one, where he wasn't fascinated by him. "But you didn't. No one died and you could have carried out far more attacks. The petrified ones will be healed this evening -" Riddle interrupted.

"Have I not already explained to you," Riddle said calmly, "that I am no longer interested in killing Mudbloods? For many months now, I have had a new target - you, my dear Harry. "

Sylas stared, his eyes full of surprise, his mouth slightly open, not knwoing what to say to this.

"Imagine how angry I was when my diary was opened and Ginny was sitting in front of me writing to me, not you. She saw you with the diary and panicked. What if you found out how to use it and I told you all her secrets? And worse, what if I told you who strangled the roosters? So the stupid little brat waited until there was no one left in your dorm and stole it. But I knew what to do. It was clear to me that you were on the trail of the Heir of Slytherin. After everything Ginny told me about you, I knew you would stop at nothing to solve the mystery - not after your little speech in the Slytherin common room. Where you managed to convince everyone. If you wanted to keep the respect and awe of the others, you had to come down here ... So I had Ginny write her own goodbye on the wall. She struggled and cried and bored me very much. I have been waiting for you since we got here. I knew you would come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter."

Riddle slowely raised to his feet again. His gaze filling up with enjoyment from being able to look down at Sylas. 

"For example?" Sylas asked.

"Well," Riddle said, smiling happily, "how is it that you managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How could you escape with nothing more than a scar while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"

"How should I know? I was just a baby back then, and since Harry Potter is actually dead, no one told me how I survived. I didn't even know until a year ago, until the Dark Lord told me himself. What do you care about the Dark Lord anyway?" Sylas asked slowly.

"Voldemort," said Riddle gently, "is my past, my present and my future..."

He pulled Sylas' wand out of his pocket. He looked at it with wide eyes. How had he managed to get his wand?

Riddle swung it through the air and wrote three shimmering words.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

With another swing, he swapped the letters around.

I am Lord Voldemort.

"See?" he whispered. "It was a name I had already used at Hogwarts, only for my closest friends, of course. Do you think I wanted to bear the name of my lousy Muggle father forever ? Me, who has the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself running through my veins from my mother? I should keep the name of a shabby, mean Muggle who left me before I was even born just because he found out his wife was a witch? No, Harry - I made up a new name for myself, a name that I knew that one day, when I became the greatest wizard in the world, wizards everywhere would fear!"

Sylas' mind seemed paralyzed. Dazed, he stared at Riddle, the orphan boy who would later kill his parents and many others...

The corners of his mouth began to twitch upwards.

Almost the same thing happened a year ago. He really couldn't escape this fate. A giggle escaped his throat.

"What is your pretty brain thinking about?" Riddle asked , looking at the boy carefully.

"I can't run away from you," he whispered, "I faced you a year ago. Now I face you again. Will it be exactly the same next year? And in my fourth year too? I've tried so hard to free myself from the fate of Harry Potter, but you haunt me."

Amused, Riddle crouched down so he could speak to the boy at eye level. He smiled slightly at him. "No matter how much you try to avoid it," he said cheerfully, "we are linked. It is our destiny; a twist of fate. You will not get rid of me until I am dead, and that ... will never happen."

"Why?" Sylas asked sharply, "Because you'll kill me first? You don't seem to be very good at that."

Riddle put a hand over his eyes and began to laugh quietly. He couldn't stop laughing at the dry joke.

Sylas threw a confused glance at Lockhart, who was still lying on the ground like a fish. He was apparently trying to free himself from the rope, but he couldn't. Sylas turned his gaze back to Riddle, who was still giggling quietly.

Slay, I guess? He made the darkest magician laugh and who could hardly contain his laughter.

After what felt like an eternity, Riddle exhaled deeply and shook his head happily. "Harry, Harry," he whispered. "I have completely different plans for you, my dear Harry."

Riddle looked over at Lockhart. "It's good that you brought him," he said loudly, so Lockhart coudl hear him, "otherwise I would have had to use the girl, but that is no longer necessary. If you allow me."

Riddle stood up again, slowley walking over to the professor. With every step he took the fear in Lockharts eyes grew - Sylas forced himself not to enjoy the sight of his scared professort too much. 

Because Ginny hasn't been safed yet.

"That professor has been giving you a hard time this year, hasn't he?" Riddle asked.

Lockhart began to struggle against the ropes even harder, but there was no way out.

With a wave of Sylas' wand, Riddle said, "Petrificus Totalus" and Lockhart could not move an inch. "Don't run away from me. You are an important essence for the ritual."

"Ritual?" Sylas asked, slightly panicked but his voice flickering with interest. "What kind off Ritual?"

"Don't worry," Riddle said cheerfully, "Nothing will happen to you. You'll get out of here safe and sound."

He cast a malicious look at the professor.

Lockhart's eyes looked at Sylas in panic. As if he was telling him to save him. But he was definitely not going to do him that favor. If the professor died here, it would only play into Sylas' hands. Lockhart didn't deserve anything else. Not after terrorizing him for a whole year and stealing his entire purpose in life.

He said it to Draco and Theo, if Lockhart couldn't do anything ... then he's done for. 

This man needed to be gone anyway. 

With another wave of his wand, a cauldron appeared in the middle of the chamber and Riddle began to draw runes and ancient symbols around it with chalk. While Riddle was busy preparing, Sylas gaze lingered around the chamber. 

Feverishly he though about an escape plan for Ginny. She had to go back upstairs in any case, and judging by Riddle, he didn't care if she lived or died.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lockhart's half-broken wand.

He had expected that he might have to fight a basilisk, but he hadn't expected that he would have to face Voldemort again... A year ago he fought against a severely weakened Dark Lord. But could he hold his own against the younger version? According to all the stories, Tom Riddle was the perfect model student.

Now or never. 

As silent as possible he tried to slide over to the wand, while always having Riddle in his sight. Its hearts pace fastened when he finally had the wand between his fingers. 

Sylas pointed the wand at the Slytherin student, but before he could say Quidditch, the wand flew out of his hand.

"Harry, Harry," Riddle giggled, "Do you really think I would let you out of my sight like that? I know you better than you think."

With another swing, he conjured up several ropes that gagged the boy. Sylas rolled his eyes in annoyance.

To be tied up twice in one day ...

With another wave of his wand, he floated through the air and came ever closer to Riddle. Just before he reached the cauldron, he let him fall again.

Nervously, Sylas kept looking over his shoulder to see Ginny's chest rising and falling.

"You'll get the best seat," he said, smiling, and continued with the runes.

It was quiet in the chamber. All they could hear was the splashing of the occasional drops of water. The cauldron seemed so incredibly small in this huge room. Sylas' heart was pounding wildly against his chest. His eyes fixated on the cauldron and the runes under it. His hands slightly trembling from nervousness. 

This ritual ... what kind off ritual this might be?

He wanted to know, he needed to know. 

Since Riddle apparently wanted to sacrifice Lockhart, it had to have a black magic origin.

"You know, Harry," Riddle suddenly said, "we have a lot in common."

"What are you talking about?" Sylas asked uncertainly.

"There are... strange similarities between us," he began. "We're both half-bloods, no parents, raised by Muggles. We both even grew up in an orphanage. Probably the only Parseltongues to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin. We even look a little alike."

"Coincidences ... they're nothing more than coincidences," Sylas said immediately, trying to conivnce himself. 

He had realized it, when he saw Riddles memories. It was too perfect to be true. As if it was already predetermined that they should be similar.

"Do you think Dumbledore has noticed these coincidences?" Riddle asked. "Perhaps that is precisely why he is trying to pull you over to the side of the light, to make you a hero. He is ... afraid that you will become the next Dark Lord."

Sylas eyes widened as he processed Riddles word. He made a damn good point.

Dumbledore was a wise man, perhaps he was just taking precautions to keep him out of the darkness.

A quiet laugh escaped the boy.

How funny.

Dumbledore tried to protect him, to make him a hero, and in doing so he achieved exactly the opposite.

"Funny, isn't it?" whispered Riddle, "That he would choose you as the next Chosen One, even though he doesn't even know that you are Harry Potter. It is simply your destiny."

"Are you just here to talk about Dumbledore, or are you going to perform this ritual?" Sylas hissed at him maliciously, but he could wipe that grin off his face. Because of his fascination with this ritual and with Riddle himself, he almost forgot what he had actually come here for. The dark sparkle from the cauldron had completely captivated him.

Riddle began to laugh loudly. "It seems that someone can hardly wait for the popular Professor Lockhart to finally be silenced," as soon as he said that, a loud mumbling could be heard from the person mentioned. Lockhart tried everything to move, to escape - nothing worked.

The Petrificus Totalus had him completely under his control.

Riddle drew the last symbol around the cauldron and they began to glow blood red. A magical fire appeared under the cauldron, causing the water to boil immediately. A dark aura flowed through the entire chamber. A shiver came over Sylas, as if the black magic was taking over the entire room. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly upwards, he could hardly control his facial expressions in fascination.

Riddle dragged Lockhart carelessly towards the cauldron and pulled a knife out of one of his pockets. With a simple flick of the wand, it turned into a sharp axe. Sylas watched the boy with pure fascination.Tears rolled wildly down Lockhart's cheeks. His eyes kept searching for Sylas', but he only met eyes full of madness.

"Watch carefully, Harry," Riddle whispered , his eyes filled with insanity. "This will be your first black magic ritual. The first time is always something to remember."

With this sentence - and a mad grin on his lips - he rammed the axe into the middle of Lockhart's chest.

Blood sprayed all over the chamber. It took only seconds for all life to leave Lockhart's eyes. He lay rigid on the cold floor, his head rolling to the side, his cloudy eyes staring at Sylas.

The last time the boy saw death up close, he was a small baby.

Sylas, who was sitting just a little way away, got the full load of blood. Blood spattered all over his clothes and face. His white shirt under his sweater was soaked red. He could feel how it dripped down his cheeks, how it crept into his clothes. 

It was much warmer than he expected. 

His eyes stared at Lockharts dismembered body, not being able to look away. His breath was shallow, his hands trembled from captivation. It was the first time he had consciously witnessed someone being killed.

How utterly disturbing ... how utterly beautiful. 

So much blood was coming out of his body - the red puddle reaching him already.

But no matter how fascinating he found it, his stomach could not bear the sight; it turned several times, making him nauseous. 

When Riddle began to search for something in Lockhart's body, the bones in his chest cracked. With blood-staines everywhere, the student ripped out the heart and held it high in the air.

At that sight, Sylas could no longer keep the contents of his stomach and vomited heavily times.

"Don't worry," Riddle said, grinning, "Others would have fainted long ago."

With a well-aimed throw, the heart landed in the cauldron. Dark red smoke immediately escaped from the brew.

Satisfied, Riddle walked closer to the stone face. He stopped at the high pillars and looked up. He opened his mouth wide and hissed - Sylas understood everything he said...

"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the four of Hogwarts "

Slytherin's gigantic stone face began to stir. Adrenaline rushed through Sylas, but he sat petrified in Lockhart's pool of blood - still tied up. The statue's mouth opened wider and wider until a huge black hole was revealed.

And something moved inside the stone mouth. It writhed up from its depths.

He stared into the black tunnel, his eyes wide open. Something huge slammed onto the stone floor of the chamber, making it tremble. The snake wriggled out of Slytherin's mouth. He could hear its heavy body sliding across the dusty floor.

The basilisk, bright green and thick as an old tree trunk, had risen high into the air and its large, blunt head was swaying drunkenly between the pillars. Sylas shuddered, always careful not to look into the snake's eyes.

Such a beautiful animal.

Who would have thought that such a huge snake really lived beneath the school?

"I ssssmell blood ... musssst eat it ..." the hissing sound crept through the darkness, barely a whisper, but still full of menace.

It was exactly the same voice that Sylas had been hearing in the walls for months.

"I have a present for you," Riddle said to him, "I will give you this human and in return I will get a scale from you."

A deep, lurking hiss filled the room. The sounds were not just hisses - they formed words, cold and full of malice. The basilisk agreed immediately. Before Riddle even threw Lockhart's body to him, he approached the beautiful creature and carefully removed a scale.

The scale pulsed with dark magic.

With a wave of the wand, Lockhart's body flew directly in front of the giant snake, which immediately pounced on its prey.

"Take your food and go back. I'll call you if I need anything," Riddle hissed, approaching Sylas.

The basilisk retreated back into his hell and Slytherin's mouth closed again.

Sylas' heart was beating wildly against his chest. His lips slightly parted. 

Riddly made his way towards the boy, the only noise his footsteps echoing through the chamber. Gently, as if Sylas was made out of glass he lifted him up

Even through his uniform Sylas could feel the icy cold body, sending a shiver down his spine. 

"Now comes the exciting part," he said. They stepped closer to the cauldron and Sylas caught his first glimpse of what was going on inside.

The water was pitch black and bubbling away. Lockhart's heart was floating on the surface and seemed to still be beating due to dark magic. Euphoria ran through Sylas' small body. What was the effect of this ritual?

"I'll say it again, you don't have to be afraid," Riddle said gently, "Nothing will happen to you, just ... let it happen."

Before Sylas could ask for more, Riddle dropped him into the black brew. The black magic he could feel was so strong, it almost took his breath away. He had never felt so much darkness, as if he gets swallowed whole. He couldn't feel the heat of the liquid. It was as if an invisible film was protecting him from being touched.

Riddle began to chant an ancient, forbidden incantation in a dark singsong tone in Parseltongue. "Ex tenebris iterum nascor ... Anima mea influat ... Virtutem meam auge. " With the last word he let the basilisk scale fall into it. The liquid immediately bubbled, dark clouds of smoke rose. Riddle raised his hand and pressed it against Sylas' forehead, right on his scar.

As soon as he pressed his icy hand onto it, Sylas was overcome by an unbelievable pain he had never experienced before. Riddle pushed the boy down into the liquid and he was completely surrounded by darkness.

He screamed as loud as he could, he shrieked as if all the life was about to be sucked out of his soul. 

But something was pushing into his scar. Dark substance was pushing further and further in. His head felt like it was going to explode at any moment.

As if he had been studying for days without a break.

And when he thought, he could not take it any more - it stopped.

The pain vanished as if it had never been there and Sylas was finally able to surface again. His heart was pounding like never before, he could hardly control his breathing, he was gasping for air so much.

A dull pain spread across his forhead.

He looked around, disoriented. All sorts of thoughts raced through his head. It took him a few minutes to regain his composure.

Suddenly the cauldron underneath him dissolved and he slid to the ground with the liquid.

The black mixture wiped away the chalk marks and mixed partly with the pool of blood. Sylas sat trembling in the chamber.

Nothing could be heard. Everything was dead silent.

His bonds had dissolved. The first thing he did was wipe his face over and over, shaking. His hands were still covered in blood.

The hope that the brew might cleanse him was dashed.

There was no trace of Tom Riddle. All that remained of Lockhart was a pool of blood and his heart, which was lying on the floor, but it already seemed to be rotting. His stomach was turning.

Frowning, Sylas continued to look around. His wand was lying in the middle of the black liquid. He immediately took it back.

The diary caught his eye. Trembling, he scurried over to it and examined it. It no longer seemed to have any magic left. The feeling he had had then, as if he knew Tom Riddle, as if they were childhood friends, had disappeared.

As if he was no longer among them.

The diary was no longer special.

His eyes wandered further and looked at Ginny. A strong feeling of remorse and guilt overcame him. The real reason he had come down here ... was her! Inwardly he cursed himself. He had let himself be carried away by Tom Riddle, led away by his fascination with the chamber.

"Please be alive, please, please..." he repeated over and over as he approached her. The moment she opened her eyes, a huge weight fell from his shoulders. A faint moan escaped her and she began to stir slightly. By the time Sylas reached her, she had already sat up. Her confused gaze wandered around until she fixed on the blood-soaked Sylas.

When she saw the diary in his hand, she shuddered and tears streamed down her face.

"Sylas, oh, Sylas - I wanted to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn't - it was me, Sylas but I - I swear I didn't mean to - R-Riddle made me, he f-forced me. Where's Riddle? The last thing I remember is him coming out of his diary - "

"It's all right," Sylas said, holding out the book to her, "Riddle is no longer here. I was able to drive him away. No one who uses his diary will ever meet him again."

"A-And the basilisk?" she asked fearfully.

"The basilisk only follows someone who can speak Parseltongue . The chances of someone finding this chamber again and speaking Parseltongue are very slim," he explained, extending a hand to her. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"They're going to kick me out of school," she cried as Sylas clumsily helped her to her feet. "I've been so excited about going to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill went, and n-now I have to leave again and - what will Mum and Dad say? "

Sylas hold her hand tight, and forced her to walk with him. A silence fell upon them, only Ginnys sobbing echoing from the wet, cold stone walls.

"We can blame everything on Lockhart," Sylas murmured quietly. He wasn't sure if Ginny would go along with this plan, but it was a solution that would keep her from having to answer anything.

"What do you mean?" she sobbed.

"We say Lockhart opened the Chamber of Secrets", Sylas explained, his voice low as if someone could overhear them. "He can't defend himself. You won't have to answer anything, you just have to say that Lockhart kidnapped you and knocked you unconscious. We say that he staged it all so he could have material for a new book. He wanted to be the hero of Hogwarts who saved the Muggles."

Ginny's eyes widened, her lips parted several times in an attempt to say something - but she failed to do so. She seemed torn about what to do. 

"Trust me," Sylas said gently, taking her hand and squeezing it tightly. "All you have to do is say that Lockhart kidnapped you and you don't remember anything. Leave the rest to me."

Ginny's glassy eyes met Sylas' piercing green ones. She bit her lip and came to a decision. Slowly she nodded. 

"I trust you," she sobbed. "So don't betray me."

"Of course," he said gently. "If you don't betray me either."

They left the Chamber of Secrets and entered the tunnel. The stone gates behind them smashed open with a soft hiss and their noise echoed throughout the cave. Sylas immediately shone a light into the darkness and they continued walking hand in hand.

Suddenly they heard music. Sylas immediately stood guard in front of Ginny with his wand raised high. The eerie music grew louder and louder. It made them shiver as if it was out of this world.

Sylas' neck hairs stood on end and his heart felt as if it wanted to swell to twice its size. Then, when the music reached a pitch so high that Sylas' ribs trembled, something burst into flames far back in the tunnel.

A scarlet bird, as big as a swan, emerged from the flames, chirping its eerie music toward the vaulted ceiling. It had a shimmering golden tail, long as a peacock's, and bright golden talons.

"That's a phoenix..." Ginny murmured quietly.

"Fawkes?" breathed Sylas.

The phoenix unfolded its large wings before them, and one could see its long, sharp golden beak and a pearly black eye despite the darkness.

Fawkes accompanied them to the entrance of the tunnel. Then it occurred to Sylas as he looked up the slide. How the hell were they going to get back up? There were no stairs anywhere and climbing up the slide was next to impossible.

The phoenix rushed past them and fluttered in front of their faces, waving its long golden tail. Sylas looked at it uncertainly.

"He wants us to hold on," Ginny murmured.

Sylas hesitated for a moment, until Dumbledores word rushed into his mind. Phoneix could lift heavy loads.

"Alright, Ginny, you hold on to me and I'll hold on to Fawkes," he said and tucked the diary into the back of his belt. Ginny held on to his cloak and Sylas reached out and grabbed Fawkes' strangely hot tail feathers.

An unusual lightness seemed to flood through his whole body and a moment later they rushed up through the pipe. The cold air whipped through Sylas' hair, and before he lost interest in the ride, it was over - they both splashed onto the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle's toilet, and as Ginny and Sylas scrambled to their feet, the sink that hid the pipe slid back into place.

Myrte made bulging eyes.

"You're still alive," she grumbled disappointedly to Sylas.

"It's good to see you too, Myrte," he said grimly, straightening his clothes. His pants stiffened with dried blood and his shirt felt just disgusting.

Ginny looked at him with wide eyes. Only now seeing just how much blood was on the boy. 

"What happened down there?" she breathed, shocked.

Sylas just shook his head. "The less you know, the better."

Myrtle pushed her way back into his line of sight. "Well... I was just thinking. If you had died, you would have been happy to share my toilet with me," she said, turning silver.

Disgusted, they left the toilet into the dark, deserted corridor. Sylas looked around carefully to make sure that no one was there and turned to Ginny.

He gently wiped away her tears and said, with a soft voice, "We're going to Snape's office now. You have to pull yourself together so that everyone will believe you. Okay?"

She sniffed again briefly, "Okay."

Hand in hand they walked down the stairs and corridors together. Fawkes, glowing gold in the dark corridor, showed them the way.

A short time later they were standing in front of Professor Snape's office. Sylas squeezed Ginny's hand firmly once more and then let go to knock.

There was silence for a moment and everyone stared at Sylas and Ginny. Especially because Sylas was covered in blood.

Then there was a scream.

"Ginny! "

It was Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting in front of the fireplace. She jumped up, Mr. Weasley followed her, and they both threw themselves at their daughter.

Sylas, however, looked past them. Professor Dumbledore was standing by the fireplace, his eyes shining, and Snape was sitting at the desk, looking at the boy with an unreadable expression, but still breathing a sigh of relief. Fawkes fluttered past Sylas' ear and settled on Dumbledore's shoulder, and suddenly Mrs Weasley took Sylas in her arms too.

He immediately stiffened.

"You saved her! You saved her! How did you do that?"

"We all would  like to know," Professor Snape's voice cut through the air. 

Mrs Weasley released Sylas, who hesitated for a moment. The images of the incident all came over him suddenly. Especially Lockhart's disemboweled body; his stomach immediately turned again. He held a hand over his mouth and tried not to throw up again .

"Professor Lockhart," Ginny sobbed quietly, "It was him, he kidnapped me and took me downstairs."

Everyone in the room gasped sharply. 

Even the potions master widened his eyes in shock ... or surprise?

"Gilderoy Lockhart?" Mrs Weasley asked, horrified. "But why would he do that?"

"He needed material for his new book," Sylas explained quietly, "I don't know how he managed to do all this, but he wanted to portray himself as Hogwarts hero who saved Muggles."

He could no longer control himself and ran to one of the cauldrons in Snape's office. Everything he had left in him came back to the surface. A worried "Uuh" made the rounds in the office.

"What was going on down there?" Mr Weasley gasped in horror, her eyes looking back at heir daughter. "Ginny, what happened?"

The girl could only shrug her shoulders with glassy eyes, "Professor Lockhart knocked me unconscious. I only woke up when Sylas came to my rescue."

The eyes were on him again. Sylas was wiping the spit from the corner of his mouth and muttered, "I'll clean that up for you, Professor Snape, sir. I'm sorry."

"No ... need," he said monotonously, his fingers twitching. "I'll do it myself."  Snape looked over to the Weasley family. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, you better take Ginny to the hospital wing right away. Madame Pomfrey is probably still awake to take care of her."

He walked to the door and opened it. As he did so, Dumbledore said, "Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot cocoa, that always cheers me up." He looked up at her with a friendly wink.

Mrs Weasley escorted Ginny out and Mr Weasley, still deeply shaken, followed them.

A silence fell over the office and Snape sat back down at his desk. Dumbledore sat down by the fireplace while Sylas remained near a cauldron.

"Well then, Sylas," said Dumbledore calmly, "please tell us what happened down there and where Lockhart is now."

Two pairs of eyes were fixed on him. He automatically stood up straight and held his hands behind his. He didn't look anyone in the eyes.

"Lockhart is... was... he was eaten by the monster. It all happened so fast, I don't know..." Sylas stopped himself and pretended to think. "I was just lucky, that's all."

He remained quiet for a moment to collect himself. "When I arrived, he no longer had control of the basilisk and was attacked by it. All I could do was... watch as he died. Luckily, I was able to calm the basilisk down because it could understand me. I sent it back to its cave and immediately fled with Ginny."

"You have shown great courage, Sylas," said Dumbledore proudly, "Not everyone would have gone in to save their fellow students."

"Ginny is a Slytherin," Sylas just muttered.

"How did you know where the Chamber was?" Snape asked sharply, tapping a finger up and down on his desk.

"As you know, I was suspected of being the Heir of Slytherin all year. Accordingly, I did my own research. Draco, Theo and Daphne helped me. But as I said, it was a lucky coincidence that I found out where she was in time," Sylas explained calmly.

Sylas dared to glance briefly at the headmaster, who just looked at him proudly. There was no suspicious in his eyes. 

Good. 

"I want to thank you, Sylas," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling, "you have once again saved Hogwarts from greater harm. However, I can imagine that this night will not be forgotten so quickly. You will certainly need food and sleep ... and a shower," the old man looked at the boy with pity.

"I'm going back to my office and writing to Azkaban - we need our gamekeeper back. And I need to write a new advert for the Daily Prophet," he added mentally. "We need a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher... My goodness, we're wearing them all out pretty quickly."

But before the headmaster could leave the office, the door was pushed open so hard that it slammed against the wall.

Lucius Malfoy stood before them, his face red with anger. And under his arm, thickly wrapped in bandages, crouched Dobby.

Dobby limped after him and ducked under the hem of his coat, an expression of pitiful fear on his face.

"So!" said Lucius Malfoy, his cold eyes fixed on Dumbledore. "You are back. The governors have given you leave of absence, but you have seen fit to return to Hogwarts."

"You see, Lucius," said Dumbledore, smiling solemnly, "the other eleven governors sent me messages today. It felt like I'd been caught in a hailstorm of owls, to be honest. They'd heard that allegedly Arthur Weasley's daughter had been killed and wanted me back immediately. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. They also told me very strange stories... several of them apparently believed that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn't give me leave."

Mr. Malfoy turned even paler than usual, but his eyes were still angry slits. "And - have you put an end to the attacks yet?" he sneered. "Have you caught the villain?"

"We did," said Dumbledore with a smile.

"Oh, yeah?" said Mr Malfoy sharply. "Who is it?"

"Gilderoy Lockhart," Dumbledore said, looking up at him. "He wanted to gain glory for himself by saving Hogwarts. But luckily our Sylas was able to stop him and save Ginny Weasley."

Lucius Malfoy looked at the still dirty Sylas, but slowly turned his gaze back to Dumbledore. "I understand ..."

Sylas, however, was only watching Dobby. The elf was doing something very strange. With his big eyes fixed on Sylas, he drew a rectangle in the air, pretended to open it, then on Mr Malfoy, and then he hit himself hard on the head with his fist.

Sylas' eyes widened when he realized what Dobby was trying to tell him.

How the hell did Mr. Malfoy manage to slip the diary to Ginny? The two hadn't had any interactions... But then he remembered the argument at Flourish & Blotts. Mr. Malfoy must have somehow told her then.

Sylas bit his lip. He couldn't tell anyone what he had just found out. To do so, he would have to come out with the truth and would not only betray Ginny, but Draco as well. It could cost their reputations if it came out that his father was knowingly handing out old Voldemort school supplies.

"You'll certainly be given a warning, Lucius. One more slip-up and it could cost you your position and your reputation," said Dumbledore cheerfully.

Lucius Malfoy stood motionless for a moment, and Sylas saw his right hand twitch as if he were reaching for his wand. Instead, he turned to his house elf.

"Dobby, let's go!"

He opened the door and as the elf came limping towards him, he kicked him out. He scowled at Lucius, who didn't even pay him any attention. They could hear Dobby screaming in pain all the way down the corridor.

"Well then," announced Dumbledore, "lots to do this night!"

The headmaster left the office with a broad grin, leaving Sylas alone with Snape.

For a long moment, there was silence. Sylas could feel the scrutinizing gaze of his head of house.

"Who are you protecting, Ashford?" Snape's voice sliced through the stillness, low and deliberate.

"I ... I don't understand, sir," Sylas murmured, though he knew it was pointless to feign ignorance. 

Snape let out a quiet scoff. "Do not insult my intelligence," he said. "We both know that Lockhart is certainly incapable of anything remotely beyond vanity and fraud. Something else happened in that chamber - something you are not telling us. Dumbledore may believe your little tale because you stopped Voldemort last year. Because Fawkes came to you."

Sylas frowned, "What does Fawkes have to do with this?"

Snape arched a brow, as if unimpressed by his deflection. "Phoenixes are not creatures of whim. Their loyalty is earned. That it chose to aid you - to risk itself for you - is not something the headmaster overlooks." He paused, watching Sylas closely. Then, slowly, he stood, placing his hands on the desk and leaning forward. His voice dropped to something barely above a whisper. "When you stepped into my office earlier, you looked more shaken than some men who walked away from the last wizarding war." His dark eyes flickered with something unreadable. "No, you saw something else, didn’t you? Something beyond Lockhart being devoured by a basilisk."

Sylas remained perfectly still, his gaze locked on the knot of Snape's robes rathe than his face. His mind raced. He couldn't tell anyone. Not about what really happened down there. Not about what he had felt

How fascinated he was by Tom Riddle.

The very man who killed his parents - and yet, Sylas had sat there listening, captivated of every word, that left that boys mouth. 

Snape glanced at him for another long moment before he leaned back, his expression unreadable. "At some point , Ashford," he murmured, his voice like a whisper, "the house of cards you’ve so carefully constructed will collapse." His black eyes gleamed. "And when it does… you may lose more than you are prepared to."

A dull ache throbbed in Sylas’s forehead. He pressed his fingers to it, hoping it to fade. Where was Oliver when he needed him?

"If this means I can protect the people I care about most..." Sylas muttered, "Then it's worth it." He turned to the door and mumbeled, "Now if you'll excuse me. I feel disgusting." 

He left the office but with nothing other on his mind than Lockharts blood on his body. 

A shower. 

He just needed a cold shower, washing away everything that happened that night. 

His body felt weak, he nearly had no energy left to keep himself going. 

How exhausting to alway be the hero. 

Notes:

Alright and here we are!
Sylas and Tom have officially met now. Any thoughts and feelings about it?
Hope you enjoyed it!
See you next week
xoxo

Chapter 22

A familiar, hated smell lingered around Sylas nose. A scent he had not great memories with, remembering him about unfortunate events in his mind. As he drifted in and out of conscience, he tried to pin point where exactly he knew this smell from.

It was sharp, steril and unmistakably clean. And it filled him with dread. 

Hospital wing 

The thought rushed weakly through his mind, he couldn't quiet grasp it. 

His eyelids felt heavy. With great effort he managed to open them just a tiny slit, showing him the high ceiling he lay under. Muffled noises reached his ears - voices and footsteps. But they seemed distant, like he was underwater. He couldn't make out who was speaking or what they were saying. 

Sylas closed his eyes again, focusing on his surroundings. So many sounds around him. So many people talking. It came from all direction, all overlapping and indistinct. Unease wash over him. Why were there so many people around him?

Once again he put all force into opening his eyes, his vision was blurry, but still good enough to see whats going on. It took him a moment to realize that the room was filled with redheads. His fingers started twitching and he put his all in to move his hand. It felt like an impossible task, as if his body were no longer his own, but he managed to lift it slightly. The movement caught the attention of the people around him. 

Suddenly a worried motherly face appeared infront of his face. Her lips were moving, but he couldn't hear a thing she said. He blinked slowly, trying to clear his vision and his mind. 

With a groan, he raised his hand to rub his eyes, the motion slow and uncoordinated. As his vision cleared, the hospital wing came into sharper focus. He slowley managed to rub his eyes with one hand. The sterile white walls, the rows of empty beds, the faint scent of potions and herbs - it was all too familiar.

And there, in front of him, sat the entire Weasley family.

Mrs. and Mr. Weasley right next to his bed, looking at him in a mixture of worry and relief - Ginny and Ron on the other side. While Ginny smiled at him warmly, Ron sat their with his arms crossed, looking like a snobby troll. Across the room, Fred and George were causing their usual chaos, darting between beds with Percy's prefect badge in their hands. Percy, red-faced and furious, his voice rising as he demanded the return it.

"Sylas, dear", Mrs Weasley said again, her voice filled with softness and concern. Her hand reached out to his, holding onto it tightly. "How are you feeling?"

Sylas blinked up at her, his mind still struggeling to catch up. How was he feeling? His brows furrowed in confusion. He felt ... empty, as if a part of him had been drained away.

But more importantly, how the hell did he end up in the hospital wing again? He rembered walking out of Snapes office on his way to the common room and then ... nothing. 

"Im ... confused", he admitted, his voice hoarse and barley above a whisper. He swallowed hard, his throat dry and scratchy. "Why am I here?" 

Before Mrs Weasley could answer, Madam Pomfrey appeard from behind a curtain, her arms crossed and her expression as stern as ever. “You passed out in the dungeons,” she said briskly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Professor Snape found you minutes later and brought you here immediately. You’ve been unconscious for nearly 15 hours.”

Sylas' eyes widened in shock. Fifteen hours?!

He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced him back down. "What ... what happened?", he asked.

Madam Pomfrey sighed, her annoyance softening just a fraction. "Your little trip to the Chamber of Secrets weakened your body massivly", she said, pulling out a stethoscope and examining his heartbeat. "You only made it out alive, because your body produced so much adrenaline, that you wouldn't die on the spot. Professor Snape found you with a dangeriously low heartbeat. You really have an guardian angel. If it wasn't for him, you would be dead."

Sylas glanced at her with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open. "So ... I passed out from ... exhaustion?", he double-checked with an arched eyebrow. Meanwhile Madam Pomfrey ruttled through one of her shelfs. 

"Yes, something like that", she said, pulling out a vial. "If I knew the exact events that happened down there, I can give you a better diagnose." Quietly she handed the potions to him, "Invigoration Draught, it will help you getting back on your feet. In any case, I must order you to stay here for several days."

With a worried face, he took the potion, opened it and drank it in one go. All eyes were on him and he knew exactly what they were expecting. They wanted to know, what happened down there, that made him pass out this badly. 

And to be honest. 

He didn't know himself. 

He could only assume. However, he would never tell a soul what really happened down there. 

Mrs Weasley squeezed his hand tighter, her grip firm but comforting. "You don't have to talk about it, Sylas", she said gently. "Focus on your recovery. We will forever be in your debt. You saved our Ginny and ... nearly died for her." Her eyes started to water. 

Mr Weasley gave him a thankful smile. "If there is anything we can help you with. Now or somewhere in the future, let us now", he said, his voice filled with gratitude. 

Ron scuffed and rolled annoyed his eyes, which earned him a hard slap from Ginny. "Why are you still being such a Snargaluff", she snarled at him. "You've been like this ever since we're here. If you got nothing good to say, then get lost!"

Sylas glanced over the little Weasley impressed. Never had he expected her to snap so easily. 

"Ronald", Mrs Weasley said, her voice filled with every threat known to human kind. "You better be thankful! He saved your sister!"

Ron just let out a slight snarl. "And he is still a Slytherin! Why does no one see that he made everything up, so he can be the hero of Hogwarts again?" he narrowed his eyes, shooting a crucial look at Sylas. "As long as Ashford does not explain, what really happened down there. I won't see him as someone who saved my sister." 

Sylas took several deep breaths and stared at the boy with a blank face. This was not the right moment to lose it. His mind was racing. He and Ginny had agreed to keep the truth about the chamber a secret, pinning everything on Lockhart. Ron's suspicion was a wildcard anyway, he had zero prouve. 

"Ronald Weasley", Mrs Weasley shouted again, her voice sharp, her face red with a mixture of fury and embarassment. "How dare you speak to Sylas like that, after everything he's done for this family!"

Ron crossed his arms, his jaw clenched stubbornly. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking,” he muttered, his voice lacking its usual confidence. “He’s a Slytherin. Ginny’s a Slytherin now too, and I don’t trust it. Since when do Slytherins do anything without an ulterior motive?”

Sylas let out a low chuckle. "You're so fixated on the prejudice about Slytherins, that you would trust your own sister to have an ulterior move about being brutally kidnapped?", he scoffed. "Use your brain for once and stop making things worse for Ginny. You've been a jerk all year long to her."

Mrs Weasley's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean by that, Sylas?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern. 

In that moment George and Fred stopped playing around. Even Percy came to an halt, looking over to his family with furrowed eyes. 

He hesitated for a moment, glancing at Ginny. She gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod, her eyes filled with anxiety and saddnes. Sylas took a deep breath before turning back to Mrs Weasley. 

“Ginny’s been bullied all year,” he said, his voice steady but laced with anger. “By her own brothers. Fred and George have been playing pranks on her. Percy’s been ignoring her like she doesn’t exist. And Ron…” He paused, his gaze flickering to Ron, who was now staring at him with wide eyes. “Ron’s either ignored her or insulted her every chance he got. All because she was sorted into Slytherin.”

The room fell silent, the weight of Sylas' words hanging heavily in the air. Mrs and Mr Weasley faces went pale and their father turned to Ginny, his eyes filled with horror. "Ginny ... is this true?"

Ginny looked down at her feet, her shoulders slumping as she only could give a simple nod. 

Mrs Weasley turned to Fred, George and Percy her eyes blazing. "How could you do this to your own sister? How could any of you?!" Her voice trembled with emotions. 

For the first time, Sylas saw the twins truley ashamed about themselvs. Their usual mischievous grins replaces with a guilty expression. "We didn't mean anything by it, Mum", Fred said quietly. "We just thought ... I dunno, it was funny?"

Ginnys head snapped in their direction, her eyes filled with fury. "Funny?", her voice cracked. "It was humiliating!"

Percy, who had been standing silently in the corner, finally spoke up. “I… I didn’t realize it was affecting you so much, Ginny,” he said, his voice stiff and formal. “I thought you were handling it.”

“Handling it?” Ginny repeated, her voice rising. “You didn’t even talk to me, Percy! You acted like I didn’t exist!”

“And you,” Mrs. Weasley said, turning to Ron, her voice trembling with anger. “How could you treat your own sister like that? After everything she’s been through?”

Ron looked away, his face red with a mixture of anger and shame. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he muttered. “I just… I didn’t know what to do. She’s in Slytherin, Mum. Slytherin!”

“And what does that matter?” Mrs. Weasley demanded, her voice rising. “She’s your sister, Ron! Your family! How could you let something as silly as a house divide you?”

Ron didn’t respond, but the look on his face made it clear he wasn’t ready to let go of his prejudices. He shot up and stormed out of the hospital wing.

The room fell silent for a moment before Mrs. Weasley let out a sigh. She turned to Ginny, pulling her into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry, Ginny,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “I had no idea this was happening. I should have been there for you.”

Ginny hugged her back, her shoulders shaking as she finally let out the tears she’d been holding in. “It’s okay, Mum,” she whispered. “It’s not your fault.”

Sylas watched the scene unfold, his heart aching. What he would give to have such a loving mother. After just shortly meeting Mrs Weasley, Sylas was certain. Even if they told her the whole truth, she would have forgiven her daughter. Especially with the circumstances of her brothers bullying. 

Madam Pomfrey, who had been quietly observing the exchange, finally stepped in. “Alright, that’s enough excitement for one day,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Sylas needs rest, and the lot of you need to clear out. Visiting hours are over.”

The Weasleys began to gather their things, though Ginny lingered for a moment longer. She leaned down and whispered in Sylas’s ear, “Thank you. For everything.”

Sylas felt a lump form in his throat, but he managed a small nod. “You’re welcome,” he murmured.

As the Weasleys filed out of the hospital wing, Ginny glanced back at Sylas one last time before following her family. Once they were gone, Sylas let out a long breath and leaned back against the pillows. Hopefully Ginny wouldn't need to suffer as much anymore in the upcoming year. Sylas let out a big sigh, his mind still racing with recent events and conversations. 

Would there be any time, where he could catch his breath?

Gosh, how exhausting.

The hospital wing was quiet, the soft glow of lanterns casting long shadows across the room as the sun finally dawned. Sylas lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, he wasn't able to sleep at all. The Invigoration Draught had helped, but he still felt drained, both physically and emotionally, but it wasn't enough to make him fall asleep again. He had too many things - or rather someone - racing in his mind. 

Suddenly he heard light footsteps coming his way, pulling him out of his thoughts. He turned his head to see Albus Dumbledore stepping inside, his half-moon spectacles glinting in the dim light. In his hand, he held a small, black diary -

Tom Riddle’s diary.

Sylas eyes widened instantly at the sight of the book. How didn't he realize it wasn't with him anymore? 

Shit, shit, shit, shit. 

That was a crucial prouve, that they had lied!

“Good evening, Sylas,” Dumbledore said, his voice warm but carrying an undercurrent of seriousness. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Sylas sat up slightly, wincing at the stiffness in his body. “No, Professor. I couldn't fall asleep anyway.”

Dumbledore nodded and approached the bed, his blue eyes studying Sylas with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “I thought I’d check on you. Madam Pomfrey told me you’ve had quite the ordeal this afternoon.”

Sylas shrugged lightly. “You could say that,” he replied, his voice dry. He glanced at the diary in Dumbledore’s hand, his stomach tightening. “Is that…?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said, holding up the diary. “Professor Snape found this on you when he brought you to the hospital wing. He thought it best to bring it to me.” He paused, his gaze piercing. “Do you know what this is, Sylas?”

Sylas hesitated, his mind racing. 

Be oblivious, be oblivious. 

"It's ... a diary," he said carefully. "I found it in the common room."

Breath. 

Don't let him see. 

Dumbledore's eyebrow rose slightly. "A diary, you say? How odd that such an object would be lying carelessly in the Slytherin common room." He opened it, flipping through its blank pages. "An yet, it appears to be empty. Tell me, Sylas, did you happen to write in it?"

Sylas shook his head. "No, I haven't"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but there was no mistaking the sharpness in his gaze. "I see. And yet, Professor Snape found it hidden in your clothes. Almost as if it were ... important to you."

Sylas eyes fixated on the long white beard of Dumbledore, his mind scrambling for an explanation. "I just thought it might be a clue," he said, his voice unsettling neutral. "Something to help us figure out what was going on."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, though it was clear he wasn’t entirely convinced. “A valid thought,” he said. “But I must ask, Sylas - did you encounter anything unusual in the Chamber? Anything that might explain why you were found in such a state?”

Sylas hesitated again, his mind flashing back to the ritual. Back to the black brew he sat in, the darkness surrounding him, Lockharts beating heart swimming in the same liquid as him and Riddles weird enchantment. 

"No, professor," he said calmly. "Nothing."

Dumbledore studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “I see,” he said again, his tone thoughtful. “Well, I’m glad you’re safe, Sylas. The Chamber of Secrets is not a place to be taken lightly.”

Sylas gaze landed back on the diary. His fingers twitched.

He wanted it back - he needed it back

"May I have the diary back?", he asked carefully. The diary wasn't magicall anymore anyway. Right now, it was just a normal book. Nothing more. 

Dumbledore closed the diary. "Is there a specific reason, why you want it back, Sylas?", he asked, his voice hiding a flicker of concern. 

Sylas just shrugged. "It's just a diary. It would be a waste, not to use it", he murmured, trying his best sounding as nonchalant as possible. 

Silence filled the room.

Dumbledore looked at him, as if he was weighting the outcome of each decision. With deliberate movements he put it down on the beside table. "You're right. It would be a waste", he said. 

Sylas nodded thankfully, though he couldn't help the flicker of unease that shot through him. 

Dumbledore smiled, though his eyes remained serious. “You’ve been through a great deal, Sylas. It’s not every day one faces the horrors of the Chamber and lives to tell the tale. I imagine you have many questions - and perhaps some things you’d rather not discuss. But know this: you are not alone. If you ever need to talk, my door is always open.”

Sylas looked down at his hands, his throat tight. “Thank you, Professor.” 

Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder, the gesture surprisingly comforting. “Rest well, Sylas. You’ve earned it.”

As Dumbledore turned to leave, Sylas suddenly shot his head up to him. "Professor?"

Dumbledore paused and glanced back. "Yes, Sylas?"

"Is there ... I mean could I ...", the words were stuck in his throat. He let out a big breath and gathered all his courage. "Could I stay in Hogwarts over the summer holidays?"

Dumbledore gaze lingered on the boy, thinking for an answer and making the boy more nervous as the seconds passed by. "Why the sudden request?", he asked surprised. 

Sylas slowley scratched his neck and shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought, there could be a possibilty to ... stay", he murmured, but somehow he knew the answer already. "Making a request doesnt cost anything."

Dumbledore smiled at him apologetic and shook his head. "We would need someone who supervises you and I don't wanna burden any of the teachers with it. They deserve a holiday as well", he said, but his voice was not filled with a single sorrow. "In any way, isn't it much better to spend the holidays with your family? I'm sure the people you grew up with in your home would miss you." 

Sylas nearly scoffed at that comment, but didn't wanna raise any suspicious about the condition at the orphanage. If Dumbledore already refused, he wouldn't let him stay here anyway, no matter how bad his circumstances were. 

“You missed the feast tonight,” Dumbledore suddenly said, his eyes twinkling once more. “A pity. The house-elves outdid themselves with the treacle tart. I’ll have to see if I can arrange for a slice to be sent up to you.”

Sylas forced a smile, despite the weight of the conversation. “That would be great, Professor. Thank you.”

Dumbledore chuckled softly. “Consider it done. And don’t worry - there will be plenty more feasts to enjoy. For now, focus on recovering.”

With that, he turned and walked toward the exit, his robes sweeping behind him. Just as he reached the threshold, he paused and glanced back one last time. “One more thing”

“Yes, Professor?”

“Curiosity is a powerful thing,” Dumbledore said, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “But it is also a double-edged sword. Be careful where it leads you.”

 

~~~

 

Sylas’ recovery in the hospital wing became a strange mix of restlessness and quiet reflection. The sterile smell of potions and the faint hum of Madam Pomfrey’s bustling movements were constants, but the visits from his friends broke up the boredome Sylas felt. 

The first to visit after the Weasleys were Daphne, Theo, and Draco. Daphne’s arrival was anything but subtle. The moment she saw Sylas lying in the hospital bed wide awake, her usual composure shattered. She practically threw herself at him, her arms wrapping around him in a tight embrace before she pulled back just as quickly, her face a storm of emotions.

"You stupid idiot!" she scolded, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and relief. "What were you thinking, going off alone like that? Do you have any idea how worried we were?"

For the first twenty minutes, Daphne oscillated between hugging him and lecturing him, her emotions a whirlwind of relief, fury, and guilt. Draco, leaning casually against the foot of the bed, smirked faintly. "You should’ve seen her when she found out you’d gone to the Chamber alone," he said, his tone dry but not unkind. "She cried. Actual tears. I didn’t think she was capable of that."

Daphne shot him a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. "Shut it, Draco or else I will give you something to cry about," she muttered, her voice cracking slightly. She turned back to Sylas, her expression softening. "Don’t you ever do something like that again, do you hear me? You’re not allowed to die. Not on my watch."

Theo, who had been quietly observing from the sidelines, finally spoke up. "We’re just glad you’re okay," he said, his voice calm but sincere. But Sylas saw it in his eyes - the regret he didn't come with him. 

When they asked what had happened in the Chamber, Sylas gave them a similar vague answer he’d given Dumbledore and Snape. But he didn't mention Tom Riddle at all. Daphne looked like she wanted to press further, but Draco cut in with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Whatever. You’re alive, and that’s what matters," he said, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

The trio quickly moved on to filling Sylas in on everything he’d missed. McGonagall had canceled the exams for everyone - a heavy burden lifted off Sylas’ shoulders. The House Cup had gone to Slytherin once again, thanks to Dumbledore awarding Sylas 400 points for his "secret rescue mission."

They also explained that Dumbledore had made it public that Gilderoy Lockhart was allegedly behind everything. Surprisingly, most students seemed to believe it, only a handful suspected it could be a lie. They filled him in, that many seemed to regret their actions for their behaviours towards Sylas - especially the Hufflepuffs. 

As they left, Sylas couldn’t shake the unease settling in his heart. He didn't wanna lie to his friends more than needed, but he couldn't share the truht - not right now.

The ritual, the fascination, the strange power he’d felt in the Chamber ... They would label him as a psycho or a freak. As long as their was no need, he would hold on to his lies. It makes everything much easier. 

The next day, Hagrid came by, his massive frame nearly filling the doorway. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes wide with a mixture of gratitude and concern, before lumbering over to Sylas’s bed. "You’ve got no idea how worried I was," Hagrid said, his voice gruff but trembling. "When I heard you’d gone down there… Merlin’s beard, Sylas, you could’ve been killed!"

Hagrid’s emotions were as large as he was, swinging between gratitude and scolding - just like Daphne. He thanked Sylas profusely for saving Ginny and getting him out of Azkaban, his voice breaking as he admitted how helpless he’d felt during the whole ordeal. But he also couldn’t resist giving Sylas a stern talking-to about his reckless behavior. "You’ve got a good heart, Sylas, but you can’t go riskin’ your life like that. Not for anyone."

Sylas listened quietly, feeling a pang of guilt. Hagrid’s gratitude was overwhelming, but his concern was even more so. When Hagrid finally left, promising to bring him a batch of his famous rock cakes, Sylas couldn’t help but smile, though the weight of Hagrid’s words lingered.

But what him really surprised him, were the Huffelpuffs who suddenly appeared in the hospital wing. As a group they apologized and even handed him a handwritten apology for their actions. However, Sylas could sense, that they were still quiet afraid of him. After all, he did threaten them in the library. 

The rest of the summer term passed in a haze of brilliant sunshine. Hogwarts seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief as everything returned to normal. The corridors buzzed with chatter about Lockhart’s alleged involvement, and while some students remained skeptical, most were content to accept the official story. Sylas, meanwhile, found himself the subject of quiet admiration and curiosity, he did his best to avoid the spotlight. Especially Creevey gave him a hard time with his constant need for thanking him and taking photos. At some point Sylas just hid in the common room and or behind his friends, when he heard the boys mousey voice. 

All too soon it was time to travel home on the Hogwarts Express. Theo, Daphne, Draco, Ginny, Astoria and Sylas got a compartment for themselves. They spent the last few hours together telling each other what they had planned for the holidays and making jokes about Lockhart. Just before the reached King's cross, Sylas made them promise to send him owls or else he would go berserk. 

"Your grandparents will surely be proud," Astoria said as they got off the train and joined the crowd pushing through the enchanted barrier, "when they hear what you've done this year. After all you saved your other family."

"My family," Sylas murmured, letting the conversation take over. That's right, he found his family at Hogwarts, the first place where he was welcomed. Even though his 'grandparents' would never know what he did, the people who need to know, knew. 

But something seemed to be missing.

Or rather ... Someone.

Notes:

Thank you all for the Kudos, Hits and Comments! I love reading through your thoughts about what might be going on, so stay tuned to get all your questions answered!

And finally we have finished the second school year. This is moreover a small filler chapter to round up the whole year. Next week we are starting with third year and I am soo excited to show you, what I have written so far.
See ya next week!
xoxo

P.S Gotta disappoint all the Tom Riddle girlies out there. It's gonna take awhile till he reappears again, but it will be worth it. After all, its a slow burn for a reason.

Chapter 23

Notes:

Alright party people we are starting slowley with the first year! Enjoy this chapter and thank you so much for reaching 6k Hits and so many Kudos! And I can't say it enough, but I love reading your comments and your theories about Sylas!
See ya next week!
xoxo

August 1993

The summer heat hung heavy in the air, forcing its way through every crack in the orphanage. Even nighttime brought little relief from the hot, stuffy air. Sometimes, when Sylas couldn't clear his head, he would grab his broom and fly through the night sky. At that moment, he was incredibly grateful to Draco for this Christmas present.

Occasionally, he just sneaked out to get away from him. Since the incident in the Chamber of Secrets, he hadn't heard or seen anything from Oliver. As if he'd never existed.

As if he were a pure fantasy.

A figment of his imagination.

In that filthy orphanage where no one liked him or talked to him, he had been his anchor. It was only thanks to Oliver that he didn't completely lose his mind in that madhouse. But now... now he wasn't there anymore. Sylas kept staring into the same corner where the ghost always slithered around, uttering his stupid sayings.

Always empty when he looked.

A part of him was missing.

Day after day, he sat alone in his room. Hedwig rarely kept him company; she flew around outside, enjoying her freedom. He no longer took her in every night; sometimes she disappeared for days. But Sylas wasn't worried. Hedwig always found her way back to him.

That night, too, she finally came home. A soft knock sounded outside his room. He immediately opened his door, and directly opposite her sat on the windowsill, but not alone. Next to her sat a smaller, chubby owl - Errol - with a package tied to its legs. He raised an eyebrow when he saw a third owl next to them. A pretty tawny owl, Sylas didn't recognize it, but it carried a letter bearing the Hogwarts seal and a small package. 

With a slight smile, he opened the window for them, and they slid into the closet with him. Errol slammed right into his bedroom wall. She fell backward onto his bed, twitching. Sylas took the letter from the tawny owl, which rustled its feathers meaningfully, spread its wings, and fluttered back out the window into the night.

Sylas closed the door behind him and gave Hedwig something to nibble on. He sat down on the bed, untied the package from Errol's leg, and carried her over to Hedwig's cage. Errol opened one bleary eye, squeaked a thank you, and choked down a few gulps of water.

His attention was drawn to Errol's package; he tore off the brown paper and discovered a gift wrapped in gold paper. Two sheets of paper fell out - a letter and a newspaper clipping.

The clipping was obviously from the wizarding newspaper, the Daily Prophet, because the people in the black-and-white photos were moving. Sylas picked up the sheet, smoothed it out, and read:

 

Ministry of Magic official wins Grand Prize
Arthur Weasley won the Daily Prophet 's annual Grand Gold Prize
A delighted Mr. Weasley told the Daily Prophet: "We will spend the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, works as a curse-breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank."
The Weasley family will spend a month in Egypt and return at the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, where five of their children currently attend.

 

Sylas glanced at the moving photograph and a grin spread across his face. All nine Weasleys were standing there in front of a large pyramid, waving enthusiastically at him. The chubby little Mrs. Weasley, the tall, balding Mr. Weasley, six sons and a daughter, all - not visible in the black-and-white photo, of course - with flaming red hair. In the center of the picture was Ron, tall and lanky, with his pet rat Scabbers on his shoulder, and next to him, Ginny, wearing a broad smile. His heart sank. It was nice to see them so happy after what had happened a few weeks ago. He picked up Ginny's letter and unfolded it.

Dear Sylas,
It's amazing here in Egypt. Bill showed us all the tombs, and you wouldn't believe the curses those ancient Egyptian sorcerers put on them. Mum didn't want me to go into the last tomb , but I went anyway . Inside were a bunch of weird skeletons of Muggles who wanted to rob the tomb and who had grown new heads and disgusting things. I couldn't believe Dad won the Daily Prophet prize. Seven hundred galleons! Most of it will go towards this vacation, and they'll finally buy Ron a new wand for next school year.

Sylas couldn't suppress a grin. It was high time Weasley got a new wand. Given how poorly he'd performed his magic last school year, he was glad the exams had been canceled.

We'll be back a week before school starts and then we'll drive up to London to get my books. Could we meet there? Don't let your grandparents spoil your mood! Try to come to London,
All love
Ginny

PS, this is a pocket spyscope.
A small thank you for what you've done for me over the last year. When someone is nearby who can't be trusted, it's supposed to light up and spin. Bill says it's junk they sell to the wizarding tourists, and it can't be relied upon because it kept lighting up during dinner last night. But he didn't notice Fred and George putting bugs in his soup.

 

Sylas placed the pocket spyscope on the bedside table, where it remained motionless on its pointed stand, reflecting the luminous hands of his alarm clock.

He examined the gift with longing eyes. He missed his friends, Hogwarts - Merlin - even Snape's stupid snarky remarks. There was no one here anymore with whom he could talk about magic. His homework was also falling by the wayside because he couldn't concentrate. His mind was only on his foolish, but missing house ghost.

At least his friend's letters weren't intercepted this time, and he actually received them. Draco wrote to him that he was in Scandinavia with his parents the entire time and wouldn't be coming to Diagon Alley at all this year.

Daphne's letter said that she and her family were visiting an old castle in the South of France. A magical ball was to be held there. It would be the perfect opportunity for international networking. But she would be returning during the last week of the holidays to get her things for school. She had told him, that her parents both worked at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Ailments and Injuries. They enjoyed a high reputation for their research and leadership positions.

He'd heard the least from Theo so far. Unlike the other two, he also stayed home and wrote that his father was finally letting him read through his old research. Sylas didn't know much about his family. Until now, Theo had only ever mentioned his father, who was already older. He seemed to have done a lot of research into magic - especially dark artifacts. He assumed that if Theo was writing to him, he'd probably want to meet them in Diagon Alley as well. 

He took the last package for himself. He immediately recognized the messy scrawl on the brown paper - it was from Hagrid, the gamekeeper at Hogwarts. He tore off the top layer of paper and saw something green and leathery underneath, but before he could unwrap it properly, the package began to tremble strangely, and whatever was inside snapped loudly  - as if it had strong jaws.

Sylas froze. He knew that Hagrid would never intentionally send him something dangerous, but the gamekeeper had his own ideas about what counted as dangerous. After all, Hagrid had made friends with giant spiders, bought a vicious three-headed dog from shady figures in pubs, and secretly hatched illegal dragon eggs in his hut.

Nervously, Sylas tapped the package. From inside, there came another loud snap. He grabbed the lamp from his nightstand, held it tightly in one hand, and raised it above his head, ready to strike. Then he took the remaining wrapping paper in his hand and ripped it off.

And out fell - a book.

Sylas barely had time to glance at the handsome green cover, on which the title The Monster Book of Monsters gleamed in golden letters, before it sprang open at the edges and scuttled sideways across the bed like some hideous crab.

"Urrgh," Sylas muttered. The book fell noisily off the bed and quickly shuffled across the room. Sylas followed it cautiously. The book had hidden itself in the darkness under his desk.

"Ouch!" The book snapped shut on his hand and then hurried past him, hopping along on its spine. Sylas whirled around, threw himself at it, and pressed it flat against the floor.

Hedwig and Errol watched with great interest as Sylas firmly tucked the unruly book under his arm, rushed over to his dresser, yanked out a belt, and strapped it tightly around the book. The Monster Book quivered angrily, but it could no longer snap or scuttle. Sylas tossed it onto the bed and picked up Hagrid's card.

Dear Harry,
This will be useful for you next school year. Don’t want to say too much now. I’ll explain when I see you. Hope your grandparents are treating you well.
All the best, see you soon,
Hagrid

Sylas had a vague suspicion of what Hagrid might be hinting at. Hopefully, at least Daphne would get suspicious too and ask what it was all about. There was only the letter from Hogwarts left. Unusually, it was much fatter than normal.

Dear Mr Potter,
Please note that the new school year begins on September 1st. The Hogwarts Express departs from King's Cross Station at 11:00, Platform 9 and 3/4. Third-year students are permitted to visit Hogsmeade Village on certain weekends. Please give the enclosed consent form to your parent or guardian for signature. Also enclosed is a list of books for the next school year.
Sincerely,
Professor McGonagall
Deputy Headmaster

Sylas took out the Hogsmeade consent form and read it. It would be great to be able to go to the village on weekends; he knew only wizards and witches lived there. Last year, when he and Draco were picked up by Snape, he was able to look around a bit. It was a beautiful village that he was eager to explore.

He frowned and sighed loudly. Would Mr. Ashford even sign this? The head of home seemed a lot grimmer lately. Sylas wondered if something had happened in his absence. Mr. Ashford no longer went to his evening casino or drinking sessions. The other children in the home were also much quieter than usual.

Everyone was walking on eggshells all day long - much to Sylas suspicious.

He looked at the alarm clock. It was already two in the morning.

He decided to think about getting permission to go to Hogsmeade when he woke up. Sylas climbed back into bed and reached out to make another mark on the calendar he had made to count the remaining days until his return to Hogwarts. He quickly brushed his hair, lay down, and stared at the pocket spyscope with half-closed eyes.

The next morning, Sylas' stomach rumbled so loudly that he was forced to go downstairs to the kitchen. If he could avoid it, he would stay in his room, but even he was only human and needed to eat.

There was a little commotion in the kitchen. Jack and Bryan, the two youngest in the house, were just serving breakfast. They gave him grim looks, but didn't say a single word to him. It was conspicuous - too conspicuous. Normally, they couldn't resist shoving some kind of joke into his face or otherwise pestering him.

He stared back at them with cold eyes, sat down in his seat and waited. Eating was not allowed until Mr. Ashford was present. After a few minutes, more and more of the children in the house came down and sat down in silence. No one said a word. Only Sebastian and Michael whispered to each other and repeatedly pointed at him.

Merlin, how he couldn't wait to finally be rid of those two. In a few weeks, they would turn 18, and then he would finally get rid of them.

Mr. Ashford finally walked in with heavy footsteps. He seemed exceptionally sober for his standards. He frowned at the headmaster. His clothes were freshly laundered, his drab black hair was neatly brushed back, and his fetid breath smelled of mint.

Without a word, he turned on the small television on the kitchen table, sat down, and began to eat. Sylas took a slice of toast and looked over at the television, where the news anchor was reporting on an escapee.

"...The police are warning the public. Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A dedicated emergency number has been set up, and anyone with information about Black should be reported immediately."

Sylas stared at the criminal's photo with a queasy feeling. There was something about the guy ... The younger children at the table stiffened at the news, fear running through their bones.

"They don't need to tell us he's a criminal," Michael smacked his lips. "Look at what he looks like - a filthy Marauder! And that hair!" His gaze fell on Sylas. "They'll definitely mistake him for you. Your hair looks just as disgustingly long."

Sylas remained silent, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. However, compared to the man on television, whose gaunt face was overgrown with matted, elbow-length hair, Sylas felt quite well-groomed. Daphne had shown him some products she used to keep her hair smooth and shiny. She even gave him her spare products so he could use them right away.

The news anchor appeared again. "The Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries announces today that –"

Mr. Ashford let out a chuckle. "Of course, they won't tell you where this madman escaped from. Watch out, kids, the madman could come down the street at any moment. If you don't behave, I'll leave the door open so Black has a free choice."

The silence was oppressive. The younger ones looked out the window anxiously. If they had access to a telephone, they would surely call the number for every little thing.

With a loud jerk, Mr. Ashford stood up, his hands on the table, and he looked intently at everyone. The mood suddenly changed. "A new inspector from the Children's Services is coming this afternoon. They've replaced the old lady, and apparently the new one doesn't like the reports." His eyes darkened looking intently at every kid in the room. "If even one of you behaves improperly, you'll all get a punishment - and you don't want that."

With that, he left the kitchen. As soon as he turned his back on them, Sebastian and Michael stood up. Their gazes wandered over the children, staring intently at each one.

"If we're punished because of you little bastards, you'll get another beating. So you better pull yourselves together," Michael growled. Everyone visibly tensed, no one daring to say a word. Only Sylas stared at the two elders with emotionless eyes.

Sebastian noticed this look, frowned, and walked around the table until he was standing behind Sylas. With a firm grip, he placed a hand on his shoulder, almost crushing his bones. He leaned down toward him. "This applies especially to you, Sylas," he whispered in his ear. "You give no fucks about what happens here. After all, you're leaving for another year in four weeks. Watch what you say."

When Sebastian patted his cheek, Sylas immediately grabbed his wrist. "Do not ... touch me," he hissed dangerously.

The younger ones all gasped. None of them dared to say anything against the two oldest. After all, Michael and Sebastian behaved quite violently when it came to anything they didn't like.

Sebastian's expression sank. "Oh...? so you can talk after all," he grumbled. "And I thought you were mute. So ... you know how to behave."

Sebastian smashed Sylas' head onto the tabletop with all his strength. A loud bang echoed through the kitchen. The younger ones all flinched. Pain shot through his nose, and he felt something warm running out.

The pressure on the back of his head eased, and Sebastian and Michael disappeared from the kitchen with warning glances. Sylas felt his nose, his face contorted in pain.

Shit, that hurt like a bitch.

Without another word, he too left the kitchen - straight into his room. He let the water run in the sink and splashed it on his face. Blood trickled down the drain. Sylas' heart was pounding in his throat. The two idiots could do whatever the fuck they wanted ... as long as they left him alone.

For a while, he stared at the sink, watching the water disappear down the drain. His thoughts revolved solely on the afternoon inspection.

The corners of his mouth suddenly twitched slightly upwards.

Oh boy, he had an idea.

He quickly dug out the consent form and hurried to the head of home's office. He knocked and immediatly entered without waiting for a respone. When Mr. Ashford saw him, he frowned. "What do you want, Sylas?" he asked, annoyed. His desk was littered with various documents. Some looked almost ancient. Next to him was indeed a whiskey glass, but it was filled with ... water?

The smell in the office also seemed considerably more refreshing than what he remembered it to be. There was no trace of alcohol or cigarettes, not even an ashtray on his desk.

Wordlessly, Sylas placed the consent form in front of him. "Could you please sign this for me?" he asked quietly. His posture immediately straightened and his hands disappeared behind his back.

Mr. Ashford narrowed his eyes, put on his reading glasses to read the form. The silence almost overwhelmed Sylas, and the tapping of Mr. Ashford's fingers nearly drove him crazy.

"And you wanna go there?" the old man asked, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. His desolate blue eyes pierced through him.

"Yes, sir," Sylas said, hesitating briefly. "If you don't sign it ... I might let something slip with the inspector this afternoon." His gaze remained fixed on the head of home.

It was a gamble whether this threat would achieve anything.

Mr. Ashford's expression faltered for a moment, until he chuckled quietly to himself. His laughter grew louder and louder. Surely, he could be heard throughout the entire orphanage. Sylas stood uncertainly before the old man, unsure whether this was a good sign or not. His hands clenched behind his back.

"You are threatening me?" Mr. Ashford asked, amused. But the next moment, he fell silent and looked at him with deadly seriousness. "You forgot who's in charge here, Sylas. If you behave yourself and the inspector is satisfied, then and only then will I sign the consent form for you. Otherwise, I'll throw you out and you can wait for Black to come and get you."

Sylas stroked the back of his hand with his thumb again and again

He had to stay calm.

Breathe.

Don't let his emotions boil over. Otherwise, he could forget about Hogsmeade.

Still, he was bubbling inside. He hadn't thought that far ahead. How could he? He had an idea and wanted to implement it right away. Oliver usually advised him and pointed out his shortcomings.

But Oliver was no longer here.

It remained quiet between them for several minutes. Neither of them took their eyes off the other.

"All right," Sylas hissed, picking up the consent form again. He couldn't hide the anger in his eyes. As soon as he had the sheet in his hand, Mr. Ashford grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer.

"Let me tell you something," the old man hissed, his voice dangerously low. "You better control your emotions. Otherwise, you can forget about your weekends with your little friends."

Sylas tore himself away from him. "Yes, sir," he answered forcefully. 

Without a word, he left the office and retreated to his room. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he kicked the wall several times.

"Shit, shit, shit – that damned bastard!"

Stressed, he ran his hands through his hair several times. How could it be that he always had the short end of the stick? This damned Squib had the most miserable life he'd seen in a long time, and yet - yet he held him in his hand as if he were so much more powerful. And he couldn't even cast spells!

Angrily, he threw himself onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. Until the afternoon, he listened to the noises coming from the dorm, his eyes constantly fixed on a certain corner.

He dozed off for a brief moment until there was a loud knock on his bedroom door. "Sylas, come into the living room. The inspector is here," Mr. Ashford's muffled voice called out. He sounded anything but pleased. When Sylas opened the door, the head of home looked at him with serious eyes.

"Control your face," he growled at him. "The inspector is especially fixated on you."

Mr. Ashford led the way. Frowning, Sylas followed. Why on earth would this guy be fixated on him? He was the most pleasant guy in this filthy place.

The orphanage was completely silent; only the creaking of the wood from their footsteps could be heard. The living room was tense. It wasn't particularly large and had little furniture. A large rug lay on the floor, already quite frayed. Against one wall stood an old black leather sofa; Sylas didn't want to know where all the holes came from. Opposite it stood an old table with several chairs around it. It was intended for homework or other work.

The children were all sitting on the sofa or on the floor in front of it. A middle-aged man sat on the chair opposite them. His smile seemed fake. His posture simply screamed that he was looking for something to discredit the orphanage. He was leaning forward, his arms resting on his thighs. His receding hairline seemed to be light, and his brown hair had long since turned gray. His mustache didn't exactly add to his appearance. His love handles were already bulging out from all sides of his trousers, and Sylas was afraid that one of the buttons on his shirt might puncture him, it looked so tight.

His gaze was fixed on the boy. With a gesture, he invited him to sit down with the others. Sylas took a deep breath before leaning slightly against the armrest of the sofa.

"Well then," Mr. Ashford cleared his throat. "Now that we're all gathered, I'd like to introduce you to Mr. Franklin Tilley. He'll be spending the rest of the week observing our routine and getting a feel for us. Act ... as you always do. He'll also be conducting a one-on-one interview with each of you."

The director's gaze slid back to Franklin Tilley and he nodded. Without further ado, he left the living room and closed the door behind him. For a few minutes, the atmosphere remained silent. A tense atmosphere prevailed. Even Sebastian and Michael were sitting slightly tense on the sofa. No wonder. Franklin Tilley's dark eyes looked as if he were scanning each of them.

His lips continued to curl into a smile. "How about...," he began, his voice filled with suspicious friendliness, "...we introduce ourselves. I'm Frank."

With a demanding look, he looked at Jack, who meekly introduced himself. After him came Bryan, Manuel, Nelson, Finny, Sebastian, Michael, and finally, Sylas introduced himself. The man's gaze lingered on the boy for a fraction too long.

"I want you to know in advance: Everything you say will remain between us. Nothing of this will reach your head of home. You can confide in me anything that's on your mind. No matter what it may be," he remained calm for a moment and looked at all the children. "Well then, tell me a little about yourselves."

They stayed in the living room for about an hour, chatting with the inspector. Well, the younger ones talked to him. Michael, Sebastian, and Sylas remained silent and just watched what was happening.

They were then released with instructions to behave exactly as they would normally.

Ridiculous.

Never had the orphanage been as quiet as it was this week, and never had Sylas felt so closely watched as he did at this moment. He spent most of his time in his room, unless he had chores to do. And even then, Frank stood just a few feet away, watching his every move. Every time Sylas glanced over his shoulder at the inspector, he repeated over and over, "Just ignore me. I'm not even here." He was making notes on his pad so loudly that he was almost impossible to ignore.

His manner disturbed him.

Unfortunately for Sylas, he was regularly taken out of his room by the other children during mealtimes. Never before had he eaten as regularly as he did this week. Never before had anyone cared whether he was present at mealtimes or not.

But apparently Mr Ashford would have problems if it came out that a child wasn't eating enough.

Every now and then, as Sylas walked through the hallways and looked out the window, he saw Frank talking to one of the children. They were sitting outside in the backyard, which looked just as empty as the orphanage itself. A small table and two plastic chairs were set up for the conversations. The inspector carried a file and a notepad with him.

Mr. Ashford also kept a close eye on Sylas during this time. He had to make sure the boy didn't get up to any mischief and endanger his orphanage. Every time he encountered the headmaster in the corridors - assuming Frank wasn't watching him - Mr. Ashford reminded him of their agreement.

At the slightest suspicion, the consent form was over.

On his very last day, shortly after dinner, the inspector asked Sylas to come out for a talk. He caught a warning glance from the head of home before they went out into the garden. His heart was pounding wildly against his chest, his hands trembling slightly with nervousness. All he had to do was deceive the inspector, nothing more.

Just lie, just like he always did.

Sylas sat back in his chair, his hands calmly resting on his thighs. His face was washed away by all emotion as he watched the inspector go through his file. A silence reigned between the two. Only the chirping of the crickets and the cars on the street could be heard. The cool evening breeze made the boy shiver slightly.

His thoughts revolved only around the consent form.

Frank turned his gaze back to Sylas, the file resting neatly on his lap. He cleared his throat, "Well then, finally I have the pleasure talking to you. Firstly, is there anything you'd like to say to me?"

Sylas hesitated for a moment. "No, sir," he replied, his voice monotone.

Frank nodded repeatedly and folded his hands. "How do you like it here?"

"It's... okay to live here."

"Do you get along with the other children?"

Sylas shrugged. "Sometimes more, sometimes less."

"You're not exactly talkative. Is there a reason for that?" Frank frowned.

Sylas hesitated for a moment; he hadn't expected the question. Since he was a child, he'd been allowed to speak only to a minimum. No one wanted to hear his voice, no one wanted to acknowledge his presence. So he stopped making himself known. 

Frank continued, when he realised the silence. "Your file says you barely exchanged a word with the other children when you arrived here. In fact, you didn't say a word for the first few weeks," Frank said.

Sylas frowned. "That's ... not true," he muttered. He was sure he had spoken. Why would he have suddenly fell silent?

"Well, the other children told me that for a long time they thought you were mute. Only when they heard you talking to yourself did they realize you could talk. Yet you hardly exchange words with them," Frank said, his eyes searching for the slightest bit of information.

Sylas slowly clasped his hands together. His memories of the first few weeks raced through his mind, but they were incomplete, almost completely gone. His heart beat faster in his chest by the minute.

"It's okay if you can't remember, Sylas," the inspector soothed, his lips curving into a sympathetic smile. "After all, you had to go through a lot."

Sylas tilted his head to the side. What was this idiot talking about?

"I can't quite follow you."

"Tell me how you got here. Your first day."

Sylas frowned further. Why was he asking such a ridiculous question? Of course he remembered how he got here.

He opened his mouth to answer him, but then ... he hesitated. 

How did his first day here go? How did he even get to the orphanage at all?

Everything was a ... void.

Suddenly, the more he thought about it, the more he felt trapped in his own head. The walls of his mind were closing in, erasing more and more memories from his mind. A stinging pain ran through the scars on his forehead the longer he thought about it.

His breathing became shallow and he clenched his hands tightly.

Frank watched the boy. "Early in the morning at the church after a stormy night, you were sitting soaking wet on one of the pews and were found by Father Markus,"

Sylas let the words sink in. He searched frantically for a memory, an image, anything that fit that description, but there was ... nothing.

"You had burns all over your body that someone had taken care of. Not particularly well, but well enough that major damage got avoided. You couldn't tell anyone where you came from or who you were."

The fire.

The hissing, crackling and popping of burning wood.

The flames, the arduous heat, the burning air in his lungs.

"The authorities couldn't find anything about you. No one was missing a boy your age and appearance. So you were sent to the Ashford Orphanage and given a new name."

Nervously, Sylas began to scratch his neck and twitch his neck.

What happened that night?

How did he get out of this house?

How the hell did he survive the fire?

He never thought about that terrible night again. The flickering and shimmering of the flames was still all too clear in his memory. The screams, how everything suddenly fell silent.

Suddenly, he felt a clumsy hand on his knee and immediately flinched. His eyes shot back to the inspector. Concern was written all over his face. "As I said, you don't have to remember right away, but your development in this orphanage is ... worrying," he said, flipping through the file again.

"You moved into a single room. According to Mr. Ashford, it was for your own safety because the other children don't like you. The others have told me several times that they find you ... creepy. You talk to yourself, suddenly laugh out of nowhere, no emotion on your face, and dead, empty eyes," he read from the document.

Sylas frowned. He only did that so the others wouldn't have more reason to bully him. Besides, everyone in the orphanage was like that. No one wanted to show weakness.

"You have to understand, Sylas. Everyone in this orphanage has at least one other boy they're friends with -"

"That's ... not true," Sylas blurted, shaking his head slightly. There was no such thing as community or friendship in this orphanage. Here, it was everyone against everyone else.

Frank raised an eyebrow and remained silent for a moment. As if carefully reconsidering and evaluating his words. "Your perception is deceiving you, Sylas," he said. "Think carefully about the dynamics in the house."

Sylas frowned in confusion. What did this guy want from him? His perception was perfectly fine. His image of the orphanage was completely accurate. It was the worst place on earth; they weren't family, they weren't friends. No one helped each other.

"Michael and Sebastian, Jack and Bryan..." Frank said, crossing his legs. "Of course, the don't get along with everyone but at least with one other boy. Don't they seem like ... friends, almost like brothers?"

Of course not, they couldn’t stand each other because –

…

Oh.

Oh.

Sylas' eyes widened, his thoughts racing through his brain. He practically clenched his hands together to prevent them from shaking.

It wasn't everyone against everyone.

It was just everyone against Sylas.

They had each other, they could identify with each other, they didn't have to endure the torture alone. The more he thought about it, the more it broadened his perspective, the more it made sense. Only he felt the orphanage was hell on earth, only he hated every single one of them. How often did the other children come into Mr. Ashford's line of fire? How often were they beaten? He couldn't say; it happened so rarely that he rarely registered it. Mr. Ashford only had a grudge against Sylas. Because the boy suffered so often at the hands of the head of home's, he automatically assumed that everyone suffered as much as he did.

His hands dug into his pants. "Okay, fine, fine!" Sylas grumbled, a hint of anger bubbling inside him. "Maybe that's true, maybe you are right, but I found my friends - my family -at the Academy. It doesn't matter if the others here don't like me and find me creepy. I have people who like me, for who I am!"

Frank leaned back slightly, crossed his arms, and watched Sylas thoughtfully. "It's good that you've found people who accept you," he said finally. "But -"

"Of course there's a but," Sylas scoffed, rolling his eyes. He was so done with this shitty interview. 

Frank wasn't fazed by this. "But I wonder if you're truly accepted, or if you've just clung to the only ones who haven't rejected you."

Sylas' jaw tensed. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

He wasn't clinging to Draco, Theo, or Daphne. Not at all. If they had left back in first year, he would have let them go. Without a doubt.

Frank shrugged as if it were nothing more than a casual remark. "It's just that sometimes huamns are so desperate to belong somwhere, they settle for the first place they find - even if it's not the right one for them."

A bitter laugh escaped Sylas' throat. "Oh, don't worry. I'm exactly where I belong. And you know what? I don't give a single fuck whether you understand that or not."

Frank nodded slowly, as if he'd been expecting exactly this reaction. "I understand that you think that." Then he leaned forward a little, his voice softening. "But don't you think it's strange? That you grew up here in an environment where no one wanted to befriend you - and then suddenly you found an entire group that accepted you exactly as you are? No questions, no doubts?"

Sylas's hands clenched into fists. "Stop talking like this is a bad thing."

He thought of Theo, Daphne, and Draco. His friends - his family at Hogwarts. They were the ones who understood him, who respected him - not like the other children here at the orphanage. They were the first his age to be kind to him, to treat him fairly. He didn't want to think about that possibility any further.

He knew exactly who he was.

He knew exactly where he belonged.

He knew exactly why people liked him.

Frank. was. wrong.

Sylas stood up abruptly, his chair tipping backward. "This conversation is over," he growled and stomped off. He could feel the idiot's thoughtful gaze on his back all too well.

For the first time since living in the orphanage, he slammed the door behind him. His gaze wandered to his desk. It contained a moving picture of Theo, Draco, Daphne, and himself. They were all grinning broadly at the camera. It had been taken a few weeks ago.

Sylas ran his hands through his hair several times, annoyed and stressed. His friends liked him for who he was. There was no other reason, what could there even be? They hadn't known each other before.

Chapter 24

Sylas sat huddled on his bed late into the night, staring at the picture of his friends. He couldn't wait to see them again. All those weeks he was wondering, what his friends were up to besides all the stuff they mentioned in their letters. His gaze fell on the consent form right next to it. A queasy feeling spread through him. He sighed loudly and rubbed his face. After today's conversation, he wasn't sure if he'd get a signature. He'd spent the entire week trying not to stand out, to fit in with the house - ultimately for nothing.

He slowly rolled out of bed and stretched his back. It was still worth a try.

On tiptoes, with the paper in his hand, he crept through the orphanage. All the children were asleep in their rooms; he heard only the faint whispers of Sebastian and Michael, who fell silent. The closer he got to the office, the more clearly he heard two muffled voices.

Sylas frowned. It was unusual for Mr. Ashford to have visitors at such an hour. Actually Mr. Ashford never had visitors. So what the hell was he talking about? He stopped in front of the door and carefully pressed his ear against the door.

"- don't think the boy will be pleased if you initiate something like that," definitely Mr. Ashford's voice, he sounded anything but pleased.

"This isn't about whether he likes it or not. No one likes being confronted, especially when it comes to traumatic experiences." Sylas' eyes widened. Frank was in there. "This boy needs help. He's going to perish here. The fact that you didn't get him help yourself is almost bordering on neglect!"

It remained quiet for a brief moment.

"You don't know what's at stake here. I can't let you take the boy," Mr. Ashford's voice was barely audible, but it sounded just as dangerous as Snape's.

"I think you don't quite understand, Mr. Ashford," Frank's voice grew impatient, a hint of anger flickering in it. "He's deeply traumatized. He needs help -  immediately. And if you make a fuss about it, I'll report this orphanage to the authorities. This place barely meets the requirements to pass, but I can change that quickly."

Sylas frowned. What boy were they talking about?

There was a loud bang, he flinched noticeably.

"Okay, so you want to take him with you? Then what? Lock him up in a psychiatric hospital for years? Deprive him of his childhood and youth? Even if Sylas isn't happy here in the home, he is at the academy!"

Sylas stood frozen in front of the door, his eyes wide, his breathing shallow. They were talking about him! Frank wanted to take him away from here. No..., lock him away - he wanted to lock him away! 

Breathe, he had to breathe.

He had to leave, disappear, go into hiding.

If he didn't disappear right here and now, they'd send some authority here and take him away. Then to a psychiatric hospital? He wasn't crazy! He was everything, but he was definitely not crazy! Frank was wrong!

"I'm concerned about the boy's well-being!" growled the inspector. There were rustling noises. "If I leave him here, he'll endanger those around him or worse - commit suicide!"

Sylas couldn't move a muscle, standing in front of the door paralyzed. He repeatedly tried to move his legs, to encourage them to run away – but nothing. This conversation had left him with too much of a legacy. They labeled him a madman, a psychopath who deserved to be locked away. Even when he heard footsteps heading in his direction, his mind was elsewhere.

The door opened in front of him, and the light blinded him for a moment. He blinked a few times until he could make out Frank's shocked face. The inspector looked at the boy and then over his shoulder at Mr. Ashford. For the first time since Sylas had lived here, Mr. Ashford didn't look angry or annoyed, but shocked and ... worried? There was real concern in his eyes.

Frank turned his gaze back to the boy in front of him. "Sylas, my boy," he croaked, but his voice failed him. "Tell me, how much did you hear?" The corners of his mouth twitched upward nervously. He maintained constant eye contact, the boy never avoiding his gaze. His eyes grew emptier and more desolate by the second. The inspector's words echoed in his head. 

Sylas didn't answer him. He hadn't imagined such a thing even in his wildest dreams.

"He has heard enough," Mr. Ashford said, his voice dangerously low. "And now that he knows what you think of him, he certainly won't go with you willingly, Inspector."

Frank wasn't fazed by this comment. "You have to understand, Sylas," he began, "I'm just worried about you, and I think you're better off somewhere else."

All emotion drained from Sylas' face, his shoulders slumped. "In the nuthouse?" His voice was barely above a whisper, full of horror and frustration. "You think I'm better off in the nuthouse? Surrounded by crazy people? I'm not one of them ... I don't belong there ... I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy!"

Frank tried to put his hands on the boy's shoulders, but he immediately backed away. "Do not touch me," he hissed dangerously. He still had a chance to escape; he simply couldn't let himself be captured now. As long as he could defend himself with his hands and feet, he wouldn't let anyone lock him up.

Frank raised his hands. "It's okay, it's okay," he murmured, his voice softening. "You're not ... crazy. You've just been ... deeply disappointed, and the adults in your life have failed to help you. I just want to help you work through your past and maybe even discover who you really are."

Sylas began to tremble slightly. He clenched his hands into fists, crumpling the consent form. He absolutely did not want to revisit his past. Absolutely did he not want to risk his true identity being discovered. As long as he could, he had to try to conceal the fact that he was Harry Potter, that he had survived the house fire.

"Why can't you just piss off?" Sylas growled, his eyes blazing with anger. "I don't want to find out who I am. I don't want to reconstruct my past either! Just leave me alone and fuck off! Go back to where you came from and forget you ever met me!"

Frank just shook his head again and again. "Then I would be neglecting my duties ... Please just try to understand, Sylas. I want you to feel better. I don't mean you any harm." He took a step closer, whereupon Sylas immediately stepped back.

"Shut up, don't come near me, don't touch me!" Sylas growled, the corners of his mouth twitching upward for a moment. A devilish idea came to him. "Otherwise... I'll tell everyone that you touched me sexually during the interview!" If Frank wanted to ruin his future, he could do the damn same thing. He'd never get out of a psychiatric hospital, and that would be the end of Hogwarts and his wizarding education.

Frank's eyes widened in shock. Anger gathered in his face. His brow furrowed into so many wrinkles that Sylas couldn't even count them, his teeth ground unhealthily, and the man also clenched his hands into fists. "Now listen to me, boy," Frank growled, his voice filled with frustration and anger. "You don't seem to realize how serious these accusations would be. This could cost me my career!"

"Oh ... really?" Sylas scoffed. "And if I end up in the nuthouse, won't it cost me my youth and education?"

The atmosphere flickered with angry glares. Only a clock ticking could be heard in the distance.

"Now listen to me, you impudent, ungrateful little shit -"

But then the inspector suddenly fell silent. For a moment, it seemed as if he were at a loss for words. He seemed to swell with unspeakable rage - but there was no end to it. His large, red face stretched, his tiny eyes bulged, and his mouth was so tight that he could no longer speak - and now several buttons ripped off his shirt and flew against the walls - he swelled like a monstrous balloon, his belly now bursting through his shirt, each individual finger inflating to the size of a salami.

"Mr. Tilley!" the head of home shouted in horror as the inspector's body suddenly lifted off the ground. He was now spherical like a giant beach ball with piggy eyes, his hands and feet sticking out strangely as he floated upwards, choking and puffing.

Mr Ashford rushed out of his office, grabbed his foot and tried to pull him down, but lifted himself off the floor.

Adrenaline shot through Sylas' entire body. Now was his chance to escape. He immediately took to his heels, ran back to his room and placed the chair under the doorknob. Just for safety.

"Sylas!" the head of home's voice rang out loud and clear through the halls; he hadn't heard him sound so angry in a long time. "Come back and fix this!"

Several footsteps passed by his room. The other children came out of their rooms to see what the noise was. Mr. Ashford's angry voice could be heard loud and clear.

Sylas wasn't distracted by this. He immediately pulled his suitcase out from under the bed and threw everything he had lying around in his room into it. Hedwig was flying around somewhere outside. Hopefully, she'd find her way to him.

Sylas pushed the chair away from the door and dashed down the stairs to the front door.

…

Locked.

"Shit," he cursed. The noise upstairs slowly became quieter. He opened his trunk and took out his wand.

"Alohomora," the door immediately burst open in front of him.

Just as he was about to run away, he caught a glimpse of an angry Mr. Ashford in the corner of his eye and stopped. "Where are you going?" he growled, slowly trudging down the stairs. The other children gathered behind him, staring wide-eyed.

Sylas immediately pointed his wand at his warden, who froze in his tracks. His eyes darkened. "You don't dare," he hissed.

"Do you want to find out?" Sylas growled back. His eyes glared at him. With slow steps, his eyes fixed on Mr. Ashford, he left the orphanage. As he closed the door behind him, he immediately muttered "Colloportus " and ran as fast as he could. While gasping for breath, he threw on his invisibility cloak.

A glance over his shoulder confirmed his suspicion. After a few minutes, the entire orphanage rushed out, searching for him. He immediately turned his gaze forward again. He couldn't look back. He simply had to get out of here.

With his suitcase in tow, he wandered through the nighttime streets. He couldn't remember how long he'd been scurrying along the dark, silent sidewalks. The quieter it became, the safer he felt. That meant no one was on his tail.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally sank down onto the curb, gasping for breath. He sat there motionless, but anger still boiled within him and he could feel the rapid pounding of his heart in his ears.

After ten minutes alone on the dark street, a new feeling overcame him - panic. No matter how he looked at it, he hadn't been in such a miserable situation in a long time: alone, on his own, stranded in the Muggle world, with no one around him to turn to. He couldn't even send an owl to anyone.

Gosh, not even his stupid house ghost was there to help him out of this miserable situation. If Oliver had been there earlier, he would have 100% calmed him down and told him what to do instead. If he had stayed calm and gone back to his room, he could have left in the middle of the night without making such a dramatic exit.

And he'd even deliberately used magic! That could mean expulsion from Hogwarts. He'd violated the Regulations Restricting Underage Magic so blatantly that he was surprised the Ministry of Magic representatives hadn't descended on him right then and there.

A frustrated chuckle escaped him. What would happen to him? Would they arrest him or just banish him from the wizarding world? With Oliver by his side, that wouldn't have happened.

He tilted his head back, his smile fading, and stared at the stars. A loud sigh escaped him as he furiously ruffled his hair. Dumbledore would surely get him out of this somehow, right? He basically has to help him. The old geezer wouldn't let anything like this happen to him. After saving Hogwarts twice already, it was his duty to help him in situations like this. It was the only thought, that made him somewhat calm down. 

Still, he was in a mess. He couldn't contact anyone and didn't have enough Muggle money to afford a train ticket to London. A little wizard gold was in his wallet at the bottom of his trunk, but the rest of his fortune was stored in a vault at Gringotts Wizarding Bank in London. He'd never be able to drag his trunk all the way to London.

Except ... he looked down at his wand, which he still clutched. He's already broken the law anyway, so a little more magic wouldn't make his situation any worse. And if it does, he'll just plead it an emergency.

He would magically make the trunk as light as a feather, tie it to his broom, and throw on the cloak so no one would see him fly to London. That way, he would at least somehow get to Diagon Alley and stay in an inn for at least a night or two.

If he stayed on the street any longer, he risked being discovered by the Muggle police. He certainly didn't want to explain to them what he was planning to do with a magically enhanced trunk containing all sorts of magical items.

He immediately opened the suitcase and tried to climb inside, but before he even dared to take a step inside, he suddenly sat up and looked around. A strange tingling sensation in the back of his neck made him feel like he was being watched. But the street still seemed deserted, and not a single house window was lit.

He bent over his trunk again, but almost immediately stood up again, his hand clutching his wand. He sensed it more than heard it: someone or something was standing behind him, in the narrow passage between the fence and a garage.

If only Oliver were here, he could quickly fly over and see who was there.

Sylas peered into the darkness. If it would just move, he would see if it was just a stray cat - or something else.

"Lumos," Sylas murmured, and a light appeared at the tip of his wand, almost blinding him. He held his wand high above his head, and the rough-plastered walls of number two suddenly glittered; the garage door shimmered, and between them, Sylas clearly saw the powerful outline of something very large, with wide-open, glowing eyes.

Sylas backed away, kicking his leg against his trunk and stumbling. His wand flew from his hand as he reached out to break his fall, and he landed painfully in the gutter.

There was a deafening bang and Sylas threw his hands over his face to protect his eyes from the sudden, blinding light of a headlight.

With a scream, he rolled back onto the sidewalk, just in time. A second later, a gigantic pair of tires screeched to a halt right where Sylas had just been lying. They belonged, he realized when he raised his head, to a garish purple bus. A triple-decker that had appeared out of nowhere. Golden letters across the windshield proclaimed: The Knight Bus.

For a brief moment, Sylas wondered if he was still in his right mind after his fall. Then a conductor in a purple uniform jumped out of the bus and began speaking loudly into the night.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, the emergency transport for stranded witches and wizards. Just hold out your wand hand, hop in, and we'll take you wherever you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I'll be your conductor for tonight."

The conductor fell silent abruptly. Frowning, he looked at Sylas, who was still sitting on the floor. Sylas picked up his wand and scrambled to his feet. Up close, he saw that Stan Shunpike was only a few years older than him: eighteen or nineteen at most, with large, protruding ears and a fair amount of pimples.

"What were you doing down there?" asked Stan, now completely without his professional seriousness.

"I fell," Sylas muttered.

"What's the point of that?" Stan giggled.

Such stupid questions were the last thing he needed right now. "I didn't mean to," he growled, annoyed. His jeans were ripped at one knee, and the hand he'd extended to catch himself was bleeding. Suddenly, he remembered why he'd fallen, turned on his heels, and stared at the passage between the fence and the garage. The Knight Bus' headlights flooded him with light - and there was nothing to be seen.

Stan also looked intently in the same direction. "Who are you looking for?" he asked.

For a moment, Sylas was silent, staring tensely into the alley. "There was something ... big and black," he murmured, pointing uncertainly toward the doorway. "Like a dog ... but bigger." He turned to Stan, whose mouth was half open. Sylas' heart leaped when he noticed that Stan's eyes were too fixated on his scars. He immediately patted his hair over the scar.

"What's that on your head?" Stan said abruptly.

"Nothing," Sylas growled.

"What's your name?" Stan asked.

"Oliver... Riddle," was the first thing that came to mind. "So - so this bus," he continued quickly, hoping to distract Stan, "you say it goes everywhere?"

"Yep," Stan said proudly, "wherever you want to go, as long as it's on land. It won't work underwater." Again he looked at Sylas suspiciously. "Look, you waved to us, didn't you? You held out your wand, didn't you?"

"Yes," Sylas said quickly. Since he had the opportunity, he might as well take full advantage. "How much would it cost to London?"

"Eleven sickles," said Stan, "but for thirteen you get hot chocolate, and for fifteen you get a bottle of warm water and a toothbrush in the color of your choice."

Sylas rummaged through his suitcase again, pulled out his wallet, and counted some silver into Stan's hand. With his suitcase firmly at his side, he boarded the bus. There were no seats; half a dozen brass beds stood along the curtained windows. Candles burned in holders beside each bed, illuminating the wood-paneled walls. At the back of the bus, a tiny wizard in a nightcap mumbled .

"Not now, thanks, I'm just pickling some snails," he turned over and went back to sleep.

Stan led him to one of the beds further up near the driver. With a nod, he indicated it. "This is yours," Stan whispered.

Sylas pushed the suitcase under the bed right behind the driver, who was sitting in an armchair in front of the steering wheel.

Stan nodded forward. "This is our driver, Ernie Prang. Ern, this is Oliver Riddle."

Ernie Prang, an elderly wizard with thick glasses, nodded to Sylas, who nervously patted his hair on his forehead once more and sat down on his bed.

"Step on it, Ern!" Stan shouted, sitting down in the chair next to Ernie.

There was another tremendous crash, and the next moment Sylas was lying flat on the bed, thrown by the Knight Bus' acceleration. He scrambled to his feet, stared out the window, and saw that they were now rolling down a completely different road. Stan studied Sylas' stunned face with great amusement.

"This is where we were before you waved us down," he said. "Where are we, Ern? Somewhere in Wales?"

"Hmm," Ernie murmured.

Sylas surveyed the streets outside. They were in the middle of a city, and even though it was night, there were a few Muggles milling around. No one noticed the bus, though. "How come the Muggles don't hear the bus?" he asked, raising a brow.

"Muggles!" Stan scoffed contemptuously. "They don't really listen, do they? They don't really look either. Muggles never notice anything, huh?"

Sylas had to agree with him when he thought back to the stone wall at Platform 9 ¾, where no Muggle noticed what kind of magic was happening.

"You'd better wake Madam Marsh up, Stan," said Ern. "We'll be in Abergavenny soon."

Stan walked past Sylas' bed, climbed a narrow wooden staircase, and disappeared. Sylas, still looking out the window, grew increasingly nervous. Ernie seemed to have yet to fully master the use of a steering wheel. The Knight Bus repeatedly bumped along sidewalks, but never crashed. Rows of lampposts, mailboxes, and trash cans leaped out of his way as he approached and back into place as he passed. Magic was an amazing thing.

Stan came back down, followed by a witch wrapped in a traveling cloak who looked a little green in the face.

"Here we are, Madam Marsh," Stan said happily, as Ern slammed on the brakes and the beds slid about half a meter toward the driver's seat. But Madam Marsh just quickly pressed a handkerchief to her mouth and staggered down the steps. Stan threw the bag after her and slammed the door. Another loud crash sounded, and they thundered down a narrow avenue, trees leaping out of the way at the edge.

Sylas felt like he was on an untested roller coaster. Yet he'd never been on a roller coaster in his life. Sleep was out of the question, even if he hadn't been on a bus that constantly banged loudly and could travel 150 kilometers at a time. His stomach lurched as he remembered what would happen to him. Even though he put his trust in Dumbledore, he flashed his wand and used magic in front of the entire orphanage.

Meanwhile, Stan had opened a copy of the Daily Prophet and was reading it with his tongue between his teeth. A large photograph of a man with a sunken face and long, matted hair stared back at Sylas from the front page.

"That man there..." Sylas frowned, forgetting his worries for a moment, "he was on the Muggle news." Stanley flipped back to the front page and squealed.

"Sirius Black," he said, nodding. "Of course he was in the Muggle news, Oliver. Where on earth do you live?" Seeing Sylas's puzzled expression, he chuckled superiorly, tore out the front page, and handed it to Sylas. "You should read more newspapers, Oliver."

Sylas held the sheet up to the candlelight and read:

 

Sirius Black still at large,
Arguably the most notorious prisoner ever held in Azkaban Fortress is still on the run, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.
"We are doing everything we can to catch Black," said Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge this morning, "and we ask all witches and wizards to remain calm."
Fudge was criticized by members of the International Confederation of Wizards for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.
"Well, I had no choice, you know," said an exasperated-looking Fudge. "Black is crazy. He's a danger to anyone who crosses his path, wizard or Muggle. The Prime Minister has assured me he won't say a word about who Black really is. And let's face it - who would believe him?"
While Muggles have been warned that Black is armed with a gun (a type of metal wand used by Muggles to kill each other), the wizarding community lives in fear of another massacre like the one twelve years ago, when Black killed thirteen people with a single curse.

 

Sylas chuckled quietly at the description of the gun. It really couldn't have been made more ridiculous. His gaze wandered over to the picture. He saw Sirius Black's shadowed eyes, the only part of his sunken face that seemed alive.

Sylas had never met a vampire, but he had seen pictures of them in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and Black, with his waxy white skin, looked just like one.

But he still had this uneasy feeling in his stomach.

Stan looked at the boy in front of him. "Quite scary, right?" he said.

Sylas scanned the text again and raised an eyebrow. "He killed thirteen people?" he asked, handing the page back to Stan, "with a curse?"

Stan nodded vigorously. "Yep," he said, "and in front of witnesses, too. In broad daylight. Caused quite a commotion, didn't it, Ern?"

"Hmm," Ernie mumbled.

Stan, his hands on the backrest, swiveled his chair around to get a better look at Sylas. "Black was a huge follower of You-Know-Who," he said, his eyes darkening and his voice barely above a whisper. As if he were afraid Black would kill him too.

"Of Voldemort?" said Sylas thoughtlessly.

At the mention of his name, Stan's pimples turned white; Ern jerked the wheel so hard that an entire farmyard had to jump out of the way of the bus. "Are you out of your mind?" Stan gasped, gripping his seat tightly. "Why are you saying his name?"

Sylas had clung to the bed to avoid falling flat on his face. "I'm sorry," Sylas mumbled hastily, "excuse me, I - I forgot -"

"Forgot!" Stan cried in a faint voice. "My dear boy, my heart is beating so fast..."

"So - was Black a follower of You-Know-Who?" Sylas asked, his expression begging for forgiveness.

"Yeah," said Stan, rubbing his chest. His eyes darted left and right, wary that the Dark Lord wouldn't suddenly jump out of a corner. "Yeah, that's true. Black was very close to You-Know-Who, so they say. Anyway, when little Harry Potter won over You-Know-Who-" Sylas nervously patted his hair again. "- all of You-Know-Who's followers were tracked down, weren't they, Ern? Most of them knew it was all over, with You-Know-Who gone, and they backed down. But not Sirius Black. I heard he thought he would be second in command if You-Know-Who took over one day. Anyway, they surrounded Black in the middle of a street full of Muggles, and Black drew his wand and blew up half the street. He caught one wizard in the act, and a dozen Muggles who were in the way. Horrible, wasn't it? And do you know what Black did then?" Stan continued in a dramatic whisper.

Frowning, Sylas muttered, "What?"

"...Laughed," Stan whispered. He paused for a moment for dramatic effect. "Just stood there and... laughed. And when reinforcements arrived from the Ministry of Magic, he calmly let himself be led away, shaking with laughter the whole time. Because he's crazy, isn't he, Ern? Isn't he crazy?"

"If he wasn't then when he came to Azkaban, he would be by now," said Ern in his slow way. "I'd blow myself up before I set foot in there. Serves him right, though... after what he's done..."

"It was quite an effort to cover it up, wasn't it, Ern?" Stan said. "Whole street in ruins and all those dead Muggles. What did they say happened again, Ern?"

"Gas explosion," Ernie grumbled.

Stan looked at the newspaper photo of Sirius Black's gaunt face. "And now he's out there," he murmured, his voice a mixture of astonishment and fear. "No one has  ever managed to escape from Azkaban before, right Ern? I wonder how he did it. It's quite frightening, isn't it? I wouldn't want to know what the guards did to him there, would I, Ern?"

Ernie suddenly shivered. "Let's talk about something else, Stan, old boy. When I think of those guards in Azkaban, I feel sick."

Reluctantly, Stan put down the newspaper, and Sylas leaned thoughtfully against a window. He knew nothing about the wizard prison, only that everyone he'd heard mention it had spoken in fearful tones. Hagrid had spent a few months there just last year. Sylas would never forget the look of horror on his face when he heard he was going there, and Hagrid was one of the bravest people he knew.

The Knight Bus rolled through the darkness, and bushes and plotters, telephone booths and trees on either side of the path bounced away. Sylas lay restless and dejected on his feather bed.

The image of the murderer Sirius Black kept creeping into his mind. The man looked obviously broken. No wonder; Azkaban was certainly no paradise. His outward appearance symbolized exactly what he had done.

Something was bothering him. Something ... was just not right.

The look in his eyes; it wasn't an expression that belonged to a murderer.

After a while, Stan remembered that Sylas had paid for hot chocolate, but he spilled it all over his pillow as the bus leaped from Anglesea to Aberdeen in a flash. One by one, wizards and witches in dressing gowns and slippers came down from the upper decks and disembarked. Everyone seemed very happy about it.

Finally, Sylas was the last passenger left.

"Let's hear it, Oliver," said Stan, clapping his hands, "where in London?"

"Diagon Alley," Sylas murmured absently. He desperately wanted to get into a warm, still, dry, clean bed.

"All right," said Stan, "then hold on tight—"

Bang!

They thundered along a major London thoroughfare. Sylas sat up and watched as houses and benches squeezed out of the Knight Bus's path. The sky was gradually getting brighter. He would lie down for a few hours, then go to Gringotts as soon as it opened, and then rent a decent room with no moving beds.

Ern slammed on the brakes and the bus screeched to a halt in front of a small, dingy pub, the Leaky Cauldron, behind which lay the magical gate to Diagon Alley.

"Thank you," Sylas said to Ern. He grabbed his suitcase from under the bed and jumped down the stairs.

"Well then," murmured Sylas, "goodbye!"

But Stan didn't hear him. He was still standing at the bus door, staring goggle-eyed at the dark entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.

"There you are, Sylas," said a voice. He recognized that voice from somewhere, and the shiver that ran down his spine didn't make it any better.

Before Sylas could turn around, he felt a hand on his shoulder. And at the same moment, Stan yelled, "Wow! Ern, come here! Come here!"

Sylas looked up at the owner of the hand on his shoulder and suddenly felt as if a bucket of ice had been poured into his stomach – he had walked straight into the arms of the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

Well, great.

Wow.

Masterpiece once again.

If the Minister of Magic got his hands on him first, Dumbledore wouldn't be able to do much. He remembered all too well the night in Hagrid's hut, when the headmaster could no longer do anything for the gamekeeper. Azkaban now seemed closer than ever.

Black's drained and empty face came back to him. He would look exactly the same in a few weeks.

Stan jumped onto the sidewalk next to him. "What did you just call Oliver, Minister?" he asked excitedly.

Fudge, a portly little man in a long pinstriped cape, looked forbidding and exhausted. "Oliver?" he repeated, frowning. "That's Sylas Ashford."

"I knew it," Stan cried gleefully. "Ern! Ern! Guess who Oliver is, Ern! It's Sylas Ashford!"

"Yes," said Fudge gruffly. "Well, I'm very glad the Knight Bus picked you up. We're both going into the Leaky Cauldron now -" Fudge increased the pressure of his hand on Sylas's shoulder, and to his chagrin, he had to let him guide him into the pub. A stooped figure carrying a lantern came through the door behind the bar. It was Tom, the toothless landlord, gray with wisdom.

"You've got him, Minister!" said Tom. "Would you like something? Beer? Cognac?"

"Maybe a pot of tea," said Fudge, still holding Sylas tightly. He had a sort of déjà vu; a few hours ago, he'd been in almost the same situation. At least there, he could escape with the help of magic; here, he doubted it would give him any advantage.

"Bye, Oliver!" Stan called, waving vigorously. He couldn't wipe the cheeky grin from his lips.

"Bye," Sylas grumbled dejectedly to Stan and Ern, while Tom directed the minister to the passage behind the bar.

"And a room where we can be undisturbed, please, Tom," Fudge added impatiently.

Tom led the way with his lantern raised, and Fudge led Sylas through the narrow passage into a small back room. Tom snapped his fingers, a small fire lit in the fireplace, and with a bow, he exited.

"Sit down, Sylas," Fudge instructed, pointing to a chair next to the fireplace. Sylas sat down; despite the warming fire, goosebumps crept up his arms. Fudge took off his pinstriped cloak and tossed it aside, then rolled up the trouser legs of his bottle-green suit and sat down opposite the boy.

"I'm Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic." Sylas knew that, of course; he'd seen Fudge before, but back then he'd been wearing the Invisibility Cloak, and the Minister had better not know about that story.

Tom, the innkeeper, reappeared, wearing an apron over his nightshirt and carrying a tray of tea and small rolls. He placed the tray on the table between Fudge and Sylas, walked out, and closed the door behind him.

"Well, Sylas," said Fudge, pouring them tea, "you've really got us into a pickle, I'll tell you that. First you make that mess at the orphanage, and then you run away! I was concerned ... but you're safe, and that's all that matters."

Sylas frowned. Something was fishy here. Why was he concerned about his safety?

Fudge buttered half a roll and pushed the plate toward him. "Eat, Sylas, you look pretty beaten up. Well then... You'll be pleased to hear that we've sorted out the unfortunate matter of that pompous Mister Franklin Tilley. Two members of the Department for the Reversal of Unfortunate Sorcery were dispatched to the town of Ashford a few hours ago. Mister Tilley was picked and his memory altered. He has no recollection of the incident. Your little friends at the orphanage also had their memories altered. For security reasons, of course. Even if they're your family in a way, they can't know. So, nothing's wrong, and the matter is settled."

Fudge smiled at Sylas over the rim of his teacup, just like a good uncle who's given his favorite nephew a nice present. Sylas, unable to believe his ears, opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say, so he closed it again.

What the hell was going on?

Fudge noticed the confused expression and waved his hand dismissively. "Aah, you're worried about how your Head of Home will react?" asked Fudge. "Well, I won't deny that he's extremely angry, but he's willing to take you back next summer as long as you stay at Hogwarts over Christmas and Easter."

Sylas cleared his throat. Of course, he hadn't expected anything else. Still, it seemed strange to him. Mr. Ashford treated him considerably worse than the other children, yet he had argued with Frank that he wouldn't be sent to the mental institution. It was an opportunity to get rid of him. So why, was it important to the head of home that Sylaswouldn't get locked away?

Sylas took a sip of tea and looked thoughtfully into the cup. "I'm staying at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays anyway," he muttered, "and I never want to go back to the orphanage."

Fudge's eyes flickered with concern. "All right, all right, once you've calmed down, I'm sure you'll think differently," said the Minister, giving him a warm smile. "It's your family, after all, and I'm sure you all ... like each other."

Sylas had no desire to prove Fudge wrong. He was still waiting to hear what would happen to him now.

"So all we need to figure out," said Fudge, buttering his second roll, "is where you'll spend the last three weeks of the holidays. I suggest you get a room here at the Leaky Cauldron and -"

"Wait a minute," Sylas blurted out, his voice filled with confusion, "what about my punishment?" he was completley befuddled. The Minister himself had him in his hands, knew about what was happening, and he doesn't get a punishment?

Fudge blinked several times. "Punishment?"

"I broke the law?" Sylas explained. "The Ordinance Restricting Underage Sorcery?" He felt foolish explaining the law to the Minister.

A laugh escaped the man, which confused the boy even more. "Oh, my dear boy, we're not going to punish you for such a trivial matter!" cried Fudge, waving the half-roll impatiently in the air. "It was an accident! We don't send people to Azkaban just for accidentally blowing someone up!"

This didn't fit at all with Sylas' knowledge of the Ministry of Magic.

"Things change, Sylas... under today's circumstances... we have to take this and that into account... you don't want to get thrown out, do you?"

"Of course not," he blurted out.

Fudge shrugged. "Fine, so why all the fuss?" he laughed. "Here, have a roll while I go up front and see if Tom has a room for you." Fudge left the back room; Sylas stared after him. Something extremely strange was going on. Why had Fudge waited for him at the Leaky Cauldron, of all places, if not to punish him? And now that Sylas thought about it, wasn't it unusual for the Minister of Magic to personally concern himself with underage magic?

Fudge came back with Tom.

"Room eleven is free," said Fudge. "I'm sure you'll feel very comfortable here. Just one more thing, and I'm sure you'll understand... I don't want you wandering around Muggle London, all right? Stay in Diagon Alley. And every night, before it gets dark, come back here. I'm sure you'll understand. Tom will keep an eye on you a bit."

"Okay...?" Sylas frowned, "but why -?"

"We don't want to lose you again, do we?" said Fudge, laughing heartily. "No, no... better we know where you are... I mean..." Fudge cleared his throat loudly and reached for his pinstriped cape. "Well, I have to go. Lots to do, you know..."

Sylas had a vague suspicion as to why the minister seemed so nervous. "Do you have any lead on this Black yet?" Sylas asked, testing the situation.

Fudge's fingers slid nervously over the silver clasps of his cloak. "Excuse me? Oh, you've heard about it, well, no, not yet, but it's only a matter of time. The guards at Azkaban have never failed... and I've never seen them so angry..." Fudge shuddered a little. "Well, I'll take my leave."

He extended his hand, and as Sylas shook it, something suddenly occurred to him. A glimmer of hope flickered in his eyes. "Minister, can I ask you something?"

"Of course," said Fudge, smiling.

"Third-years at Hogwarts are allowed to attend Hogsmeade, and Mr. Ashford hasn't signed the consent form yet. Do you think you could -?"

Fudge looked embarrassed. "Um," he said. "No. No, I'm very sorry, Sylas, but since I'm not your father or guardian -"

"But you're the Minister of Magic," Sylas insisted, this might be his last chance. "If you'd give me permission -"

"No, I'm sorry, Sylas, but that's the rules," Fudge said in a weak voice, but there was something in his expression that Sylas didn't like. "Perhaps you can visit Hogsmeade next year. Actually, I think it's better if you don't... yeah... well, I have to go. Have fun here, Sylas."

And with a final smile and a handshake, Fudge said goodbye. Something was very wrong here. The Minister was hiding something from him. Tom approached Sylas, beaming with joy.

"Would you please follow me, Mr. Ashford," he said. "I've already carried your things upstairs..." He followed Tom up a beautiful wooden staircase to a door bearing the brass number eleven, which the landlord unlocked and opened for him. Inside stood a very comfortable-looking bed and some highly polished oak furniture, a fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, and perched on the wardrobe -

"Hedwig!" Sylas gasped, his heart warming with relief. The snowy owl clicked its beak and fluttered down onto Sylas' arm.

"A very clever owl you have there," Tom chuckled. "Arrived about five minutes after you. If you need anything, Mr. Ashford, don't hesitate to ask."

With another bow, he left. Sylas sat on the bed for a while, stroking Hedwig, lost in thought. The sky outside the window rapidly changed color, from a deep, velvety blue to a steely gray, and then, gradually, to a pink tinged with gold.

Sylas could hardly believe that he had escaped from the orphanage just a few hours ago, that he hadn't been expelled from school, and that he now had three weeks ahead of him without a single person observing him.

"That was a rather strange night, Hedwig," he said, yawning. Only now did he notice the exhaustion that spread throughout his entire body, deep into his bones. After all, it had been the most stressful night in ages.

He immediately lay down and fell asleep. Finally, he would get a good night's sleep again.

Chapter 25

It took Sylas a few days to get used to his new freedom. Never before had he been able to get up or lie down as he pleased, or eat whatever he wanted. He wasn't even allowed to do that at Malfoy Manor. Cissy always made it a point to make sure he attended all three meals, and the Malfoys ate quite early.

One day after his arrival at the Leaky Cauldron, Cissy suddenly appeared at his door. Apparently, word had gotten around that he'd put a spell on someone. She gave him a long lecture, but ended by saying she was glad he was safe. He also had to promise her not to return to the Muggle world.

He didn't even have to think twice about it, with all the tempting wizarding shops around. It never even occurred to him to break that promise. The Muggle world simply couldn't compete with Diagon Alley.

Cissy didn't stay with him long and Apparated back to Sweden. Sylas felt a little guilty that she had interrupted her vacation just to make sure he was okay.

But his heart still warmed a little.

Franklin Tilley had been wrong on several occasions. There were adults who didn't disappoint him.

At breakfast each morning at the Leaky Cauldron, Sylas enjoyed observing the other guests: funny little witches from the country who had come for a day of shopping; ancient wizards arguing about the latest essay in Transfiguration Today; wild-eyed warlocks, rowdy dwarves, and once even a somewhat suspicious-looking creature ordering a plateful of raw liver from its thick woolen headdress.

After breakfast, he went out into the backyard, pulled out his wand, tapped the third brick from the left above the trash can, and stepped back. The wall opened, revealing the passage to Diagon Alley. Sylas spent the long, sunny days browsing the shops and eating ice cream under the brightly colored parasols of the sidewalk cafés, where other customers showed off their purchases.

"It's a lunascope, man, no more messing around with moon charts, you know?" or talking about the Sirius Black case: "I wouldn't let my children out alone until he's back in Azkaban."

Sylas was able to concentrate somewhat better on his homework. Not only because he was finally doing what he'd always wanted to do - namely, eating ice cream here in the parlor - but because Florean Fortescue himself knew an incredible amount about the topics of his essays. He even brought him a new fruit ice cream sundae every half hour, which he devoured immediately. Sweets were simply the way to get the boy.

Once Sylas had filled his purse with golden galleons, silver sickles, and bronze knuts from his vault at Gringotts, he had to pull himself together to avoid spending all the money in one go. He had to constantly remind himself that he still had five years of Hogwarts ahead of him, and under no circumstances would he ask Theodore Ashford for money for the spellbooks. Not that he had any hope of getting any money from him at all.

Anything to keep him from buying a set of pretty, solid gold Goblin Stones -a magical game, similar to marbles, where the stones would squirt a foul-smelling liquid into the opposing player's face whenever they lost a point. He also almost gave in to the fully movable model of the galaxy in a large glass sphere, which would have saved him any further astronomy lessons.

But a week after his arrival at the Leaky Cauldron, something appeared in the Quality Quidditch shop that severely tested his resolve. Intrigued by the throng of people inside, Sylas pushed his way inside and squeezed through the excited witches and wizards to a specially erected small platform, on which was displayed the most magnificent racing broomstick he had ever seen.

"Brand new, a prototype," a square-jawed wizard explained to his companion.

"This is the fastest broom in the world, isn't it, Dad?" squealed a little boy dangling from his father's arm.

"The Irish Internationals just ordered seven of these beauties!" the shopkeeper announced to the crowd. "And they're favorites for the World Cup!"

A tall witch in front of Sylas stepped aside, and now he could read the sign next to the broom:

 

The Firebolt

This state-of-the-art racing broom features a streamlined, super-refined ashwood handle with a diamond-hard polish and a hand-carved registration number. Each hand-selected birchwood rod in the tail is ground for aerodynamic perfection, giving the Firebolt unparalleled stability and razor-sharp precision. The Firebolt accelerates from 0 to 250 kilometers per hour in 10 seconds and is equipped with an unbreakable braking system. Price upon request. Price upon request...

 

Sylas didn't want to imagine how much the Firebolt would cost. He'd never wanted anything more - but he already had a functioning broomstick that certainly wouldn't break. And buying a second one wasn't something he could reconcile with his conscience. After all, Draco had given him his first one. It seemed sneaky to buy a new one.

Sylas didn't ask about the price, but he came to the shop almost every day just to see the Firebolt.

There were, however, things he actually needed to buy. At the apothecary, he replenished his supply of potion ingredients, and since his school robes were now several inches too short on the arms and legs, he went into Madam Malkin's all-occasion suits and bought new ones. Most importantly, though, he needed to get the new textbooks, including those for his new subjects: Care of Magical Creatures and Divination.

A glance into the bookstore window made him stop and think. Instead of the usual display of gold-embossed spellbooks, as large as sidewalk slabs, there was a huge iron cage behind the glass, containing about a hundred copies of The Monster Book of Monsters. The books clapped and snapped, jammed angrily into each other, and torn pages fluttered everywhere. Sylas pulled the book list from his pocket and read it carefully for the first time.

The Monster Book of Monsters was the textbook for Care of Magical Creatures classes. Now he felt lighter; he had been afraid that Hagrid had acquired a terrible new pet and needed his help. But still, such a book for class was typicall Hagrid. Sylas could only pray, that Hagrid wouldn't start with any difficult creature, that could cost him his job. 

As he entered Flourish & Blotts, the salesperson ran towards him. "Hogwarts?" he asked curtly. "Are you here for the new books?"

"Yes," said Sylas, "I need -"

"Out of my way," said the salesman impatiently, pushing the boy aside. He put on a pair of very thick gloves, grabbed a large, knobby walking stick, and walked toward the cage of monster books.

"Wait," Sylas said quickly, "I already have one of those."

"Oh yeah?" A look of immense relief spread across the salesman's face.

"Thank heavens, I've been bitten five times this morning." A loud rattle filled the air; two of the monster books had grabbed a third and were tearing it apart.

"Stop! Stop!" cried the salesman, poking through the cage bars with his walking stick and scattering the books. "I'm never ordering these again, ever! It's hell! I thought things couldn't get any worse when we had two hundred copies of The Invisible Book of Invisibility here - it cost a fortune, and we never found them... Well... can I help you?"

"Yes," said Sylas, looking at the book list. "I need The Unclouding of the Future by Kassandra Wablatschki."

"Ah, I see, you're starting with Divination," said the salesman, taking off his gloves and leading Sylas to the back of the store, to a corner filled with books on fortune-telling. On a small table were stacked works like Predicting the Unpredictable: How to Protect Yourself from Shocks and Shattered Dreams: When Fortunes Turn.

This was the subject he was most excited about. Draco and Theo only talked about how bad it was supposed to be and how completely useless it was. But Daphne convinced him to take it. Besides, he didn't want to leave her alone; apparently no other Slytherin had chosen it except them.

"Here you go," said the salesman, who had climbed a small stepladder and brought down a thick, black-bound book. "Unmasking the Future. A very good overview of all the basic methods of Divination - palmistry, crystal balls, bird entrails -"

But Sylas wasn't listening anymore. His gaze had fallen on another book lying on a small table: Omens of Death - What to Do When You Know the Worst is Coming.

"Oh, I'd rather not read that if I were you," the salesman said casually, following Sylas's gaze, "otherwise you'll start seeing signs of death everywhere, and that can really scare you to death."

But Sylas didn't take his eyes off the book's cover; it depicted a dog, as big as a bear and with glowing eyes. It seemed eerily familiar...

The salesman pressed The Defogging of the Future into Sylas' hand. "Anything else?" he asked.

"Yes," Sylas murmured, straining to look away from the dog's eyes and, puzzled, consulting his book list. "I still need Transfiguration: The Intermediate Stages; The Spellbook, Volume 3."

After ten minutes he left Flourish & Blotts with his new books under his arms .

Lost in thought and bumping into someone here and there, he strolled back to the Leaky Cauldron. He stomped up the stairs to his room, went inside, and threw the books on the bed. Someone had been in to clean; the windows were open, and sunlight flooded in. Sylas heard the buses rumble past on the Muggle street he hadn't visited and the noise of the invisible crowd down in Diagon Alley. He looked at his face in the mirror above the sink.

"It can't have been an omen of death," he defiantly explained to his reflection. "I just... panicked when I saw that thing in the alley... a stray dog, clearly... Coincidences can happen in my life too. Not everything has meaning." As if by itself, he raised a hand to smooth his hair.

But he doubted even his own words.

If Oliver were here, he would surely reassure him.

Oliver always knew better.

Oliver could have told him directly what was going on.

Oliver…

His gaze wandered to his scars. But something... was different. He moved closer to the mirror and smoothed his hair back even further. Among all the burn scars, one lightning-shaped one stood out. Merlin, how long had it been since he'd seen that? A bad feeling rose in his stomach. How could it be that this scar never faded? Above all, it was well hidden by the other wounds - until now.

He furrowed his eyebrows slightly and gently ran his fingers over them. It should have faded over time, too, especially since Madam Pomfrey had taken care of his forehead back in the first year after the troll attack. Yet it seemed as omnipresent as ever. When it became invisible, because of the burn scars, he was actually quite glad.

He exhaled carefully and let his hair fall over it again.

This scar won't be that important.

As mentioned, not everything had a meaning.

 

~~~

 

The days slipped by, and Sylas explored Diagon Alley extensively. He visited every shop he came across. From the craziest toys to the most absurd sweets to supposed fortune-telling shops, he knew the entire alley inside and out.

And at some point it became ... boring.

At one day, while watching out the window from the Leaky Cauldron, he spotted something. Not far from Diagon Alley lay Knockturn Alley. A dark place with numerous shady businesses, sinister residents, and a menacing atmosphere. It attracted anyone interested in the forbidden arts. The exact opposite of the lively and friendly Diagon Alley. He watched witches and wizards vanishing into the darkness and curiousity arose to see the place for himself. 

Just a little sneak peak. 

Theoretically, he wouldn't even break his promise to Cissy and the Minister. After all, he stayed away from the Muggle world. They never mentioned that he wasn't allowed to go to Knockturn Alley.

A decision hadn't felt so easy for him in a while. 

To avoid being discredited, he always pulled his hood deep into his face and wore a tight black cloth mask which covered his mouth and nose. He skillfully avoided all suspicious individuals to explore the dark and mysterious shops. The narrow, winding alleys were often bathed in a permanent half-shadow, as if the sun never reached this place. The air was heavy and smelled of old books, burnt herbs, and a hint of something sinister that one couldn't quite identify. The atmosphere was eerie, and one had the feeling of being constantly watched.

Sylas simply couldn't help but come here. Ever since the incident in the Chamber of Secrets, he'd been thinking about what magic could still do, what rituals, objects, or hidden symbols he'd never know if he didn't educate himself. His fingers tingled every time he visited the alley, wondering what he could do with all this hidden knowledge.

The fact that he was unsupervised during those three weeks played into his hands. Of course, no one would expect a thirteen-year-old to wander around Knockturn Alley alone. Nevertheless, he only stayed in the gloomy alley for short periods at a time. He remembered all too well his first trip there with Draco and his father. One could not be careless here. He certainly did not want to spread rumors that the great hero of Hogwarts, Sylas Ashford, was interested in dark magic. The outcry would be enormous.

Still, it filled his heart when he thought about how Dumbledore would react to him taking such a path. Sylas remembered Tom Riddle's words. Dumbledore tried to dissuade him from the dark path, to prevent him from becoming the next Dark Lord. But unfortunately, the old fart wouldn't get what he hoped for.

Knockturn Alley was home to a variety of shops and inns that caught Sylas' attention. Cobb & Webb's sold goods related to dark magic. They had a similar range to Borgins & Burkes. Ancient artifacts, cursed objects like amulets, masks, and daggers, lay everywhere; even parts of magical creatures like spider legs, bat wings, and Doxy Venom. Sylas could have spent hours in that shop, but the old witch who ran it didn't seem pleased that he wasn't buying anything and was just snooping around. When he spent half the afternoon looking at the masks, she finally chased him out.

The Spiny Serpent was the next store he wanted to enter, but he couldn't. The door just wouldn't open. He was itching to try Alohomora , but he didn't want to get into any more trouble. So he chose the next store.

Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary sold numerous ingredients for potions that didn't seem entirely legal. If Sylas was a little better at potions, he'd certainly try making a dark magic potion. Their stock ranged from dragon liver to fairy wings to bat spleen. They sold not only ingredients, but also ready-made potions.

But there was one shop that particularly caught his eye. From the outside, it seemed rather insignificant among the crooked buildings. A dim light flickered behind the dirty, soot-covered windows, barely allowing a curious eye to penetrate. Its weathered wooden sign was barely legible. Sylas only discovered it by chance while loitering through the winding alleys.

Noctis' Librarium sold numerous books on dark magic, ranging from beginners to advanced. Every time he entered this small, dusty bookstore, his entire body trembled with excitement. A euphoria crept into his heart that he had never experienced before.

Upon entering, one was met with a smell of old parchment, spilled ink, and a hint of decay - as if someone had forgotten more than just books among the shelves. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves, their books bound in leather, fitted with iron fittings, or secured with thick chains. Some volumes seemed to breathe, their pages rustling of their own accord, as if whispering.

A layer of dust lay on most of the tomes, but some seemed unnaturally untouched - as if waiting for someone to select just those. In a dark corner, a massive, scratch-marked table sat upon which lay a particularly sinister-looking book, its cover made of something that looked suspiciously like skin.

Every time Sylas entered the bookstore, there was no one behind the counter or among the shelves. It was always unnaturally quiet - sometimes too quiet, as if someone were watching him the entire time. But like in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts, Sylas sometimes felt as if the books were whispering to him.

As on his previous visits, he stood among the narrow shelves, searching for a book that piqued his interest. Fortunately, the dangerous books that were not to be opened without precautions were labeled. Thus, he avoided a second mishap. Memories of his first year returned; when he and Oliver had sneaked into the restricted section. The memory made the corners of his mouth twitch upward.

For a moment he reveled in nostalgia until his eyes grew cloudy.

Oliver would have loved this store ...

He sighed loudly and turned his blank gaze back to the shelf in front of him. Today, he was determined to buy a book. The holidays were almost over, and he desperately wanted one so he could continue to study the dark arts during the school year.

His gaze fell on an old leather-bound book with runic symbols on the spine that were already peeling off. Just as he was about to pull it out, he heard the bell above the entrance door. Light footsteps moved toward the counter. He immediately stopped. With furrowed brows, he looked between the shelves.

It was unusual for someone to wander here. Noctis's Librarium was located in one of the furthest and most remote corners of Knockturn Alley. With silent steps, he scurried between the shelves and peeked out from behind one of the bookshelves.

A young witch sat relaxed on an old wooden chair, leafing listlessly through a magazine. Her dark curls curled wildly around her face, held back only by a deep red scarf. Gray eyes - a rare and piercing contrast to her dark skin complexion - scanned the pages attentively, registering every tiny detail, even if her expression betrayed that she wasn't really interested. Her freckles gave her an even younger appearance than she already had.

Her round face seemed out of place in the gloomy surroundings - as if she didn't belong there, as if her vibrant radiance gently brightened the room. She wore a collection of crystals and pearls around her neck and hands. Her floor-length, dark green skirt, decorated with delicate floral patterns, swayed gently with her every move. She wore a light brown bandeau and a soft, deep red knitted cardigan that clung to her flawlessly.

Despite her apparent composure, there was a hint of impatience in her demeanor - as if she were waiting for something long overdue.

And that long overdue seemed to be Sylas.

"How long are you going to stare at me, sweetie?" Her voice sounded slightly annoyed, but she didn't look up from her magazine. "It's time you finally buy something in this store and stop hanging around in here all the time."

Sylas' heart skipped a beat. How did she know he'd been here several times? She'd never sat behind the counter before.

She put her magazine down and looked directly in his direction. She rested her face on her hand. "There are some clever spells that keep a close eye on this place," she explained, sounding bored. "My grandpa may not be able to hold the fort here anymore, but nothing can stop him from shutting this place down - not even me." A loud sigh escaped her.

A brief silence hung in the air before Sylas dared to speak. "You don't exactly have many customers," he murmured, "how can he afford this?"

"He ran dubious business deals in his heyday, but that's all he wanted to tell me," she said, her gaze sweeping over all the shelves. "Apparently, it was his childhood dream to own a bookstore in Diagon Alley. Now he can't give it up."

"In Diagon Alley?" asked Sylas, raising an eyebrow.

The young witch nodded. "Yes, but those kinds of books aren't welcome there. That's why he had to settle in Knockturn Alley."

"So you have some knowledge about them? About those books?" he asked. A little advice certainly wouldn't hurt.

The dark-haired woman pierced him with her gray eyes, as if she were seeing through his cloak. A slight grin suddenly played around her full lips. "Sweetie, how old are you anyway? Judging by your height, you can't be much older than 10," she said amusedly.

Sylas blushed slightly, which she couldn't see, of course, and was speechless for a moment. "I'm already 13!" he blurted out. For a moment, the young witch looked at him perplexed, until her laughter echoed through the old bookstore, making the place seem more lively and friendly for a brief second.

"What do you want here, sweetie?" she asked, unable to wipe the grin off her face. "Where are your parents? You really shouldn't be wandering around Knockturn Alley alone."

Sylas' hands clenched in his cloak. For a moment, he couldn't find the right words. "My parents -" his voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat. "My parents are no longer ... alive." It was the first time he'd said it out loud, and it felt... surreal. As if he'd never realized until now that he no longer had parents.

The witch's radiant face instantly darkened when she heard the boy's words. Her gaze remained fixed on him - searching, with a hint of compassion she didn't want to openly show.

She put the magazine aside and sat up straight in her old wooden chair. "No more parents, huh?" Her voice was thoughtful, but a subtle tremor in her tone betrayed that the words touched her more than she wanted to show.

For a moment, she said nothing, simply reaching into the pocket of her flowery skirt and pulling out a small, worn stone. "Here," she placed it on the counter. "A labradorite - for protection." She shrugged when Sylas didn't move. "Can't hurt, right?"

With slow, uncertain steps, he walked up to her at the counter. He never took his eyes off the woman. He didn't take his eyes off her until he held the shimmering stone in his hands and examined it. Its surface consisted largely of a brilliant light blue, interspersed with black and golden veins.

The more Sylas looked at this stone, the more it reminded him of something. But he couldn't say what. It was on the tip of his tongue, but it just wouldn't leave his mouth.

With a slight swing, his hood was suddenly thrown back. He looked at the witch before him with wide eyes. "Not only are you green behind the ears, but you also have the greenest eyes I've ever seen," she murmured, examining his eyes even more closely. As if she recognized someone else in them.

"No, not quite... There was someone else who had exactly the same green," she whispered so quietly he could barely hear it. Her voice dripped with infinite sadness.

Sylas was left breathless. Could anyone really tell him by the color of his eyes alone? Did she know who he really was?

"Tell me, sweetie," she began, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms. "What's your name?"

But Sylas didn't answer her. It was already too much that she knew half of his face and his age. He couldn't reveal his name as well. "Too many eyes and ears in Knockturn Alley," he grumbled in response, pulling his hood back down over his face.

The corners of the witch's mouth twitched slightly upward, and she nodded thoughtfully. "Hmm, you're absolutely right. Perhaps it's even better if I don't know," she said, her eyes clouded. "So, you want to buy a book? At such a young age, you're interested in the dark arts? Where does that come from?"

She stood up and walked through the shelves. The jewelry on her hands clinked with every movement she made. Sylas stood frozen at the counter, watching her. "Sometimes you're confronted with it unexpectedly, and instead of being afraid, you're captivated."

"Any other witch would have refused to sell you anything. After all, Knockturn Alley isn't for children," she called from between the shelves. Several minutes passed before she returned with a leather-bound book in her hands. "However, I believe that knowledge is for everyone and that no one can be forbidden anything. If it's your wish to lose yourself in the dark arts, then that will probably be your path. You would have found a book of black magic somewhere anyway." She placed the book on the counter, sat back down on the chair, and crossed her legs.

Sylas looked down at the counter. Magick Moste Evile written in gold letters. There was no author listed anywhere, not even when he opened the first few pages.

"How much do you want for this?" he asked, continuing to leaf through it.

"Fifty galleons."

"Fifty?!" Sylas blurted out a little too loudly. Merlin, that was a lot more expensive than his schoolbooks!

A quiet laugh escaped the young witch. "You'll hardly find this book in stores anymore. Be glad I'm even selling it to you." She tapped her foot up and down, amused.

A short, mocking laugh escaped Sylas as he took out his purse. What else had he expected? He was in Knockturn Alley. Reluctantly, he placed the Galleons before her, stuffed the stone into a trouser pocket, and the book disappeared beneath his robes.

"It was nice doing business with you, sweetie," she grinned at him and put the money away. Only quiet curses escaped Sylas, which no one could understand. He turned to leave, but paused briefly in the doorway. His gaze searched those gray eyes once more.

"What's your name?"

"Lysandra," she replied with a slight nostalgic smile on her lips. "Feel free to come back if you want a new book."

Without saying anything else to her, Sylas left the bookstore. His footsteps carried him toward Diagon Alley. But a queasy feeling spread in his stomach.

Somehow he had the feeling that he just got ripped off.

 

~~~

 

The holidays were coming to an end  - sooner than Sylas had planned. After purchasing Magick Moste Evile, he stopped his little trips to Knockturn Alley. Purely as a precaution. Instead, he wrote many letters to his friends.

He wouldn't see Theo again this year until the Hogwarts Express. But he arranged to meet up with Daphne and Ginny on the last day before the holidays. Euphoria coursed through his veins just thinking about finally being able to go back to Hogwarts. Even though he greatly enjoyed his time at the Leaky Cauldron, he missed his friends.

The approaching school year was clearly evident from the increase in the number of Hogwarts students in Diagon Alley. Sylas had already seen several familiar faces from various houses. Among them was Blaise, who was shopping for his books with his mother. He, too, stood there, his eyes filled with longing for Quidditch quality, admiring the Firebolt. Outside Flourish & Blotts, he bumped into Pansy and Millicent. He greeted them with a brief hello and then immediately left. He really couldn't stand their arrogant looks. Sometimes he wondered if the two of them would ever become friends with him.

On the last day of school, Sylas woke up with the thought of finally seeing his friends again tomorrow on the Hogwarts Express. His stomach growled, and a quick glance at the clock told him it was almost noon. He quickly put on some clothes and went outside to take one last look at the Firebolt when someone called his name.

"Sylas! Sylas!"

His head immediately turned toward her, and there they were. Daphne, Ginny, and Astoria were enjoying an ice cream sundae at Fortescue Ice Cream Parlor. Ginny had gotten even more freckles over the holidays, and the Greengrass sisters were quite tanned. Daphne waved enthusiastically, while Ginny was more reserved, her cheeks slightly rosy. Her eyes lit up when she spotted Sylas.

Sylas hurried through the crowd of students and sat down with them. "Finally!" said Daphne, grinning broadly at Sylas. "We were already at the Leaky Cauldron, but they said you were out. Then we went to Flourish & Blotts and then to Madam Malkin's and -"

Sylas interrupted her monologue. "I got my school supplies two weeks ago. And how do you know I live at the Leaky Cauldron?" he asked, frowning.

"I know from my dad," Ginny explained.

"And we know it from Draco, who learned it from his father," Astoria murmured, continuing to spoon at her ice cream.

Of course, how could he have assumed they wouldn't find out about something like that? Surely the entire Ministry of Magic already knew that he had blown the Inspector's mind. At that moment, his breath caught in his throat for a moment.

How much did the three know?

"Did you really blow up a Muggle?" Daphne asked in a serious voice, raising an eyebrow.

Sylas felt a wave of relief. So only a Muggle had been mentioned. "It wasn't intentional," he murmured, scratching his neck lightly. "I lost my nerve for a moment.

"You're really lucky you didn't get expelled," Ginny said seriously, relief in her eyes.

"I am, too, but I already assumed Dumbledore would have done something about it if push came to shove," Sylas admitted, shrugging. Daphne immediately slapped him hard on the shoulder.

"Ouch!!"

"You can't just hope Dumbledore will sort out your problems!" she growled at him. Her dark blue eyes stared at him sharply.

"It was just an exceptional situation," Sylas grumbled, rubbing his shoulder. His gaze returned to Ginny. "Your father wouldn't happen to know why Fudge let me go, would he?"

"Probably because it's you," she guessed, shrugging. "After all, you're Sylas Ashford, you know. The hero of Hogwarts, everyone's hope. If Ron had blown up a Muggle, I don't want to know what the Ministry would have done with him. Although, they'd have to dig him up first, because Mum would have killed him first," a giggle went through the group. "But you can ask my dad yourself tonight. We're staying at the Leaky Cauldron and can go straight to King's Cross together tomorrow. Daphne and Astoria are coming too!"

Daphne nodded at him, beaming. "Mum and Dad brought us here this morning with all our Hogwarts stuff."

Sylas looked at the Greengrasses and the Weasleys in surprise. "I didn't know your families got along so well," he said, stealing a spoonful of ice cream from Daphne, which she let him do.

"Well, it surprised us too," Ginny admitted. "I wrote Astoria a letter saying we'd be staying at the Leaky Cauldron on the last day and then taking a Ministry car to the station."

Astoria continued. "When I told our parents, they immediately contacted Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. They wrote back and forth for ages until they told Daphne and me that we were staying here with the Weasleys -"

Daphne interrupted. "And when they dropped us off this morning, they immediately shooed us out of the room because they needed to discuss something with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Everyone seemed pretty worried. Something's not right here, I tell you."

Sylas frowned thoughtfully. "I wonder if this has something to do with Sirius Black?" he asked, looking around at the others. None of them seemed to be particularly familiar with the name.

"Maybe, but why would he target us?" Astoria asked, shrugging. "He doesn't even know us and he went to jail when we were babies."

Ginny swirled her spoon thoughtfully. "Hmm, there must be a reason why he escaped. Dad said the entire Ministry is going crazy."

Sylas kicked something under the table. Three shopping bags were underneath.

"Are those your books?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Of course, we had to get them at some point," Daphne grinned at him. But then something important occurred to her. "Oh God, that's right! Did Hagrid send you a letter with a Monsterbook too?" she asked him.

Sylas nodded at her. "The clerk at the bookstore was delighted I didn't need that monster book," he said.

"Merlin, I immediately wrote Hagrid a letter saying that such books aren't suitable for teaching!" she said, letting out a stressed sigh. "I immediately started going over his plans with him, and you can guess three times which magical creature he wanted to show first!"

Sylas studied her face; she was clearly horrified by Hagrid. "A dragon?" he guessed. Knowing Hagrid, he certainly wouldn't start with something boring.

"Luckily not, that would have been it," she said. "He wanted to show us a hippogriff. A hippogriff! As soon as we get to Hogwarts, I'll pay him a visit to make sure he really does what I suggested." She sank further into the chair.

An amused smile played on Sylas's lips. "Seems like you've had a stressful week. Was the ball at least good?" he asked, and suddenly he had the beaming Daphne back in front of him.

She immediately launched into a monologue about the holidays, during which Astoria also shared many details. Mr. Fortescue brought him a free second helping, winking at Sylas and whistling impressively as he looked at the three girls. The boy immediately turned bright red, which prompted laughter from the three present.

Ginny also talked about her holiday in Egypt. She mentioned that Scabbers - Ron's pet rat - had had a pretty bad time. Fred and George made a bet that the rat wouldn't live much longer. When Ginny mentioned that it was actually quite possible that Scabbers would die soon, since he was already twelve years old, Sylas raised an eyebrow.

A rat that lived so long – how unusual.

After they had all finished their ice cream, they made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron. Mr. Weasley was sitting in the bar of the inn, reading the Daily Prophet.

His gaze fell on the boy standing among the three girls. When he recognized him, his expression briefly changed into concern. "Sylas!" he called out, smiling. "How are you?"

"Hello Mr. Weasley, I'm good, thanks for asking," said Sylas, and they all sat down with their shopping. Mr. Weasley put the newspaper down, and Sylas' gaze fell on a familiar photo. Sirius Black stared into his face.

"You still haven't caught him?" Sylas asked.

"No," Mr. Weasley grumbled gravely, rubbing his face with a hand. "The Ministry has relieved us all of our daily duties to join forces to search for him, but so far we've had little luck. We're just hoping the Azkaban guards will catch him."

The guards of Azkaban... Fudge had mentioned them too, but who were these guards?

Mr. Weasley's expression became more serious, and he was about to say something to Sylas when Mrs. Weasley suddenly entered the bar, loaded with groceries. Closely followed by the twins Fred and George, who were now beginning their fifth year, and the newly elected Head Boy Percy.

Percy was the first to greet him. "Sylas, nice to see you here. Hope you're well," he said pompously, shaking his hand as if he were the mayor himself. Sylas had to suppress a laugh.

"Hi Percy, I'm fine, thanks." It seemed the Weasley children had reflected on their behavior over the past year. They all seemed to feel much more comfortable around each other.

"Sylas!" Fred shouted, elbowing Percy out of the way and bowing low. "It's great to see you, old boy!"

Sylas raised his eyebrow in confusion.

"Terrific," said George, pushing Fred aside and taking Sylas' hand. "Absolutely stunning. Now tell me, is it really true that you blew up a Muggle?"

A quiet chuckle escaped Sylas. Of course, that was what they were getting at. "Rumor has it, yes," he admitted mysteriously, shrugging. The twins stood close to the boy and looked at him with wide, curious eyes.

"Tell me," Fred demanded. "Who was it?"

"A teacher? A civil servant? A grumpy old aunt with a fondness for cats?" George speculated.

Sylas just continued to shrug. He couldn't really tell them that he had puffed up an inspector who wanted to put him in an institution. That would only lead to explanations and justifications he really didn't need right now. But he had a bad feeling that Mr. Weasley knew exactly who the Muggle was. His worried look said it all.

Both twins took turns putting their arms around Sylas' shoulders. "Come on, don't be shy," George said. "We've seen plenty of mischief - we've practically perfected it - but turning someone into a balloon? That's art."

"Are you so impressed that you've laid down your hatchet against me?" Sylas asked with a raised eyebrow. "Can I stroll through the corridors in peace again?"

The two twins looked at each other critically, tilting their head side to side. "You literally sent someone to heaven," Fred murmured thoughtfully. "We'll take that as a sign of peace."

Percy suddenly cleared his throat. "Well, bewitching Muggles is a serious matter and absolutely not to be taken lightly. It violates several laws of the Ministry of Magic. You should be glad you got off lightly, Sylas." His gaze brooked no argument.

Sylas saw out of the corner of his eye Ginny rolling her eyes in annoyance.

Fred grimaced. "Stop it, Percy. Do you really have to keep your head so deep in the Ministry's ass?" Percy turned bright red and disappeared up the stairs, cursing.

"Fred Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley cried indignantly, and tried to hit him over the head with the Daily Prophet, but he ducked away quickly.

"What?" he defended himself with a grin, while George laughed quietly next to him. Her mother tried to hit them again with the newspaper, but all her attempts were unsuccessful.

"Enough now!" Mrs. Weasley rebelled, letting out an annoyed sigh. She turned her attention back to Sylas. "It's good to see you here, my dear," she said, pulling him into a warm hug, which Sylas gratefully accepted. "You've probably heard the news. Percy is the second Head Boy in the family!" She swelled with pride.

"And the last one," Fred murmured behind him.

"I don't doubt it," said Mrs. Weasley, suddenly frowning. "It hasn't escaped my notice that they didn't make you both prefects."

"Why should we be prefects?" said George, seemingly disgusted by the very idea. "It would take all the fun out of our lives."

Ginny chuckled, Daphne held a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud, and Astoria had to turn away.

"You should be a better example to your sister," Mrs. Weasley snapped, turning to her shopping.

George sighed heavily. "We wanted to wall Percy up in a pyramid," he said to Sylas. "But Mum caught us."

Once again, the Slytherins had to restrain themselves from laughing out loud. With the Weasley twins, not a minute went by that wasn't funny.

Chapter 26

Dinner that evening was a delightful affair. Tom, the innkeeper, set three tables together in the drawing room, and the seven Weasleys, the two Greengrasses, Granger, and Sylas tugged their way through five delicious courses.

Dinner, of course, was filled with chaos. The twins, who couldn't leave Percy alone. Daphne and Granger, who couldn't stop giving each other death glares. Ron, who occasionally made stupid remarks to the Slytherins.

After dinner, they all felt stuffed and sleepy. One by one, they went upstairs to their rooms to prepare for the next day's departure. Unfortunately for Sylas, Ron and Percy had the room right next to him. He had just closed and locked his trunk when an angry babble of voices came through the wall.

Annoyed, he threw himself into bed and pressed the pillow against his ears. It could be a long night if those two were sleeping next to him.

Suddenly, there was a knock at his door. Frowning, he sat up, unsure if it was really the knock. But then there was another knock, and Sylas jumped out of bed to open the door.

Mr. Weasley stood before him.

"Ah, good, you're not asleep yet," he whispered, looking around nervously. "I have something important to tell you. Can I come in ?"

Frowning, Sylas opened the door wider and let the man in.

"What's wrong?" Sylas asked, frowning. Mr. Weasley had already looked suspiciously worried at the bar.

"There's something you should know," he began. "The Ministry doesn't want me to tell you, but I believe, you, above all else, should be informed."

Sylas involuntarily sat up straight. "It's about Sirius Black, isn't it?"

Mr. Weasley nodded. "Yes. We have reason to believe he's heading to Hogwarts."

Sylas raised an eyebrow. "Why? There's nothing of significance to him there."

A silence fell around the two of them, and Mr. Weasley just stared at him intently. He hesitated to answer, as if struggling with whether he should really tell the boy. Then he sighed. "He's looking ... for you," he finally admitted.

Sylas' heart beat a beat faster. "Why? I don't even know him."

"You don't know him, but ... he knows you," Mr. Weasley explained. "Back 13 years ago, he was supposedly a notorious Death Eater who served Voldemort faithfully. There are rumors that he still is, and that he escaped from Azkaban for one reason only."

The air became more tense by the second.

"You defeated Voldemort once, and somehow Black must have found out. Now he most likely wants revenge on you," Mr. Weasley's voice left no room for argument. A chill ran down the boy's spine.

"Promise me, Sylas," said the red-haired man, "that you will be extra careful this year."

Sylas was silent for a moment. Then he shrugged. "I'm always cautious."

Mr. Weasley snorted softly. "Oh yes, of course."

Sylas couldn't stop a slight grin from creeping onto his lips. But Mr. Weasley didn't return it. Instead, he leaned forward a little and said emphatically, "I'm serious, Sylas. If you notice anything unusual - if you feel like you're being watched, or if someone seems strange to you - go to a teacher. Or to me. But don't do anything rash."

Sylas swallowed. He had rarely seen Mr. Weasley so serious.

"Okay," he finally said. "I promise."

But deep down, he wasn't sure he could really keep that promise. His gut feeling told him something completely different about Sirius Black.

"Well, you don't have to worry too much," Mr. Weasley explained. "The Azkaban guards will be watching all of Hogwarts and will catch Black if he dares to venture onto the grounds. I'm not a fan of the guards, but the Ministry had no other choice. Otherwise, you still have Dumbledore protecting you."

Sylas had to restrain himself from scoffing out loud at the last sentence. Dumbledore hadn't even been able to keep the Dark Lord out of the school twice, so how could he possibly keep Sirius Black out? Let alone protect Sylas?

Mr. Weasley approached him and patted him encouragingly on the shoulder. "All right," he murmured. "Then I'll let you sleep. Good night, Sylas."

"Good night," he murmured, closing the door behind him. He stayed where he was for a few minutes, the words about the Weasley still fresh in his mind. Now it made sense why Fudge was being so lenient; he was just glad the boy was still alive. Sylas had promised him and Cissy that he would stay in Diagon Alley, where there were enough wizards to keep an eye on him. And he was sending three Ministry cars to take them all to the station tomorrow so the Weasleys could look after him until he got on the train. He wouldn't be surprised if the Greengrasses came this morning, too, to discuss this with the Weasleys.

Sighing loudly, he lay back down in his bed. He listened to the muffled argument next door and wondered why he wasn't more afraid. Sirius Black had killed thirteen people with a curse. Everyone seemed to think Sylas would panic when he learned the truth. But everything in Sylas screamed that there was something fishy about this story.

And until now, he's always been able to rely on his gut feeling.

And then there were the Azkaban guards everyone was talking about. They seemed to terrify most people, and if they were posted around the school, Black would certainly have little chance of getting in.

No, all in all, what worried Sylas most was that his chances of getting into Hogsmeade were now apparently zero. No one would want Sylas to leave the safety of the castle until they caught Black. Sylas also anticipated that his every move would be watched until the danger was over. He'd still had hopes that he might be able to persuade Snape somehow. He'd thought up the perfect sad orphan story, but with Black? Now he could forget it.

He stared grimly at the dark ceiling. Did they really think he couldn't take care of himself? He'd escaped the dark lord three times; he wasn't completely helpless...

His heart fluttered, however, at the thought that someone else wanted to kill him as well. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly upward.

"Maybe I do belong in the nuthouse after all."

 

~~~

 

Tom woke Sylas the next morning with a cup of tea and his usual toothless grin. Sylas got dressed and was just persuading the grumpy Hedwig to go into her cage when Daphne stumbled into the room with a grim expression.

"It's about time we leave," she grumbled. "At least at Hogwarts, the Weasley siblings are far away, and I don't have to hear their stupid arguments." She flopped face-first onto Sylas' bed. "Percy spent the whole night blaming Ron for everything. Apparently, he even poured water on a picture of Percy's girlfriend."

"Girl, You don't know how happy I am, when they are finally far away again," Sylas grinned, until something occurred to him. "Oh yes, I have something else to tell you." But before he could begin, Fred and George burst in, up to mischief again and mocking the two of them. 

With red faces they scurried downstairs together for breakfast. Mr. Weasley frowned as he read the front page of the Daily Prophet, and Mrs. Weasley told Hermione, Ginny, and Astoria about a love potion she had brewed as a young girl. All three giggled and squealed.

"What were you just about to say?" Daphne asked as they sat down.

"Later," Sylas muttered, as Percy stormed in.

Sylas had no chance to speak to her in the confusion of departure; they were fully occupied dragging their trunks down the narrow stairs of the Leaky Cauldron and stacking them next to the door. Hedwig and Hermes, Percy's barn owl, perched in their cages, lording over the pile of luggage. A loud hissing sound came from a small wicker basket next to the trunks.

"It's okay, Crookshanks," Granger purred through the wickerwork. "When we get on the train, you can get off."

"Don't," Ron snapped at them. "What's going to happen to poor Scabbers then?" He pointed to his chest. A large bulge showed that Scabbers had curled up in his pocket.

"Oh, oh, trouble in paradise," Daphne whispered softly to Sylas, who couldn't help but smile.

Mr. Weasley, who had been waiting outside for the staff car, poked his head in. "They're here," he said. "Come with me, Sylas -" Mr. Weasley led Sylas across the short stretch of sidewalk to the first of the three antique dark green cars, driven by wary wizards in emerald green velvet suits. He made it quite obvious that he wanted to protect him.

"Get in, Sylas," said Mr. Weasley, scanning the busy street. Sylas got into the back of the car, and soon Daphne, Astoria, and Ginny climbed in as well. It's better if the Slytherins are in the same car. Just to make sure they're not with Hermione or Ron.

The journey to King's Cross was quite uneventful compared to Sylas' journey on the Knight Bus. The Ministry of Magic cars seemed to be ordinary, except that Sylas noticed that they glided through narrow spaces.

By the time they reached King's Cross, they still had twenty minutes to spare; the drivers fetched trolleys, unloaded the trunks, said goodbye to Mr. Weasley with a quick touch of their hats, and drove off, somehow managing to jump to the front of the queue at a set of traffic lights.

Mr. Weasley stayed close to Sylas' side the whole way into the station.

"Well then," he said, peering around warily, "we'll go two at a time, since there are so many of us. Sylas and I will go first." Daphne cast a puzzled glance at Sylas. She seemed to have now realized that he was under close scrutiny.

Mr. Weasley strolled over to the barrier between platforms nine and ten, Sylas with his infinity trunk at his side and seemingly very interested in the InterCity 125 that had just pulled into platform nine.

He gave Sylas a meaningful look and leaned casually against the barrier. Sylas did the same. The next moment, they toppled sideways through the metal wall and landed on platform nine and three-quarters. It's always astonishing how little Muggles notice. When they looked up, they saw the Hogwarts Express, with its scarlet engine puffing steam from its chimney. The platform was packed with wizards and witches escorting their children to the train.

Suddenly, Percy and Ginny appeared behind Sylas. They had apparently run over the barrier and were still out of breath.

"Ah, there's Penelope!" said Percy, smoothing his hair and turning pink. Ginny caught Sylas' eye, and they both turned away to hide their laughter, while Percy strode over to a girl with long curly hair, his chest puffed out so that she couldn't possibly miss his shimmering badge.

Once the remaining Weasleys, the Greengrasses, and the Grangers arrived, Sylas and Mr. Weasley led the small group past the crowded compartments to the end of the train, where they reached a carriage that still seemed quite empty. They hoisted the trunks, stowed Hedwig and Crookshanks in the luggage rack, and got out once more to say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

Mrs. Weasley kissed her children, then Granger, gave the Greengrass sisters a warm hug, and finally Sylas. Although he was a little embarrassed, he was pleased when she hugged him too.

"Take care, Sylas, promise me," she said, adjusting her clothes with strangely bright eyes. Then she opened her enormous handbag. "I've made sandwiches for all of you... here, Ron... no, not corned beef... Fred? Where's Fred? Here you are, my dear..."

Mr. Weasley took Sylas aside again. He looked up at him, confused.

"I forgot to mention one more thing," he said, looking around nervously. "You have to promise me you won't look for Black."

Sylas stared at him with furrowed eyebrows. "What?"

A loud whistle sounded. Conductors walked along the train and slammed the doors.

"Promise me, Sylas," said Mr. Weasley even more hastily, "that whatever happens -"

"Why would I look for someone I know wants to kill me?" Sylas asked bluntly.

"Swear to me, whatever you hear –"

"Arthur, hurry!" called Mrs. Weasley.

Jets of steam hissed from the engine; the train had started moving. Sylas ran to the train door, and Daphne stopped and stepped back to let him in. They leaned out the window and waved to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley until the train rounded the bend and blocked their view.

"Mrs. Weasley is truly one of the kindest witches I've ever met," said Daphne. "She treated Astoria and me just like her children, even though we're Slytherins."

"She doesn't care which house you're from," Sylas explained more to himself. "Come on," he murmured as the train gradually picked up speed, "let's find Draco and Theo. I need to talk to you all alone." Luckily, Ginny and Astoria seemed to have already left.

Daphne just looked at him with a raised eyebrow. They walked silently down the corridor, searching for Draco and Theo. Every compartment was completely full. In one compartment, they also spotted Astoria and Ginny, who were meeting up with the others from their year. It wasn't until the very end of the train that they finally found them.

Draco and Theo were talking quietly, as a man sat sound asleep at the window next to them. Sylas slowly opened the sliding door and frowned as he looked back and forth between them. The Hogwarts Express had always been reserved for students, and they had never seen an adult on the train, except for the witch with the food cart.

The stranger wore an extremely shabby wizard's cloak, patched in several places. He looked sick and exhausted. Although still quite young, his light brown hair was streaked with gray.

"Who's that?" Sylas asked as he closed the door and they sat down, too. His gaze fixed on the stranger.

"We're glad to see you again, too, mate," Draco joked, slapping him on the shoulder in mock insult.

"We haven't seen each other in so long and that's the first thing you say," Theo sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

Sylas rolled his eyes. "Not a minute has passed and you're already on my nerves," he grumbled. His gaze slid over the man to the luggage rack. A small, crumpled suitcase lay there, carefully tied with a lot of string. A name was written on one side in peeling letters.

"Professor R. J. Lupin," Sylas muttered to himself.

"Probably our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Daphne chimed in.

"Hopefully he's better than the other two," Sylas said. "I can't have problems with another Dark Arts teacher again." After Quirrell and Lockhart, a good professor might finally come along. Rumor had it that this position wasn't bringing any luck.

"Oh by the way, Sylas," Theo began, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "What exactly did you do during the holidays?"

Draco looked at him curiously. "I'd be interested, too. Father just said you were puffing up a Muddblud."

Sylas slid further into the seat, crossed his arms, and sighed loudly. "It was an accident," he grumbled. "That Muggle just pressed the wrong buttons on me and then... well, it just happened." He shrugged.

Theo looked at him with a raised eyebrow, Draco frowned, and Daphne still seemed unconvinced.

"Are you going to tell us the whole story, or will it remain a secret between you, the Muggle, the Ministry, and Oliver?" Daphne asked.

Oliver …

Sylas sighed loudly. "I don't want to talk about it," he murmured, tilting his head toward the sliding door and slowly scratching his neck. His three friends exchanged slightly concerned glances.

Draco ran his fingers through his hair. "All right, then, let's change the subject," he began. "My father wanted me to tell you something else, Sylas -"

"Sirius Black?"

"From where -?"

"Mr. Weasley already told me," he explained. "That's what I was going to tell you earlier in the Leaky Cauldron, Daphne."

"Yeah, and what about Sirius Black?" the blonde asked, confused.

So Sylas told the whole story, how Mr. Weasley had come to his room the previous evening. The warning he had given, and how Fudge had also acted unusually concerned. Daphne had pressed her hands to her lips, and Theo seemed thunderstruck. Draco was the only one Sylas couldn't figure out what he thought about it.

"Sirius Black actually escaped to hunt you down? Merlin, Sylas... you have to be careful this year. Don't go looking for trouble," Daphne said, her voice dripping with worry.

"I don't look for trouble," Sylas grumbled irritably. "Most of the time, trouble finds me."

"You'd be a complete idiot, looking for a madman who wants to kill you," Draco grumbled, shrugging.

A few Gryffindors were hanging around outside their compartment. They heard, among other things, Ron Weasley's stupid laugh and Seamus Finnigan's stupid jokes.

"If every Voldemort follower is like that, a lot of people have you on their list, Sylas," Theo said, also running a stressed hand through his hair. "Merlin, Black escaped from Azkaban, something no one had ever done before, and he was a maximum security prisoner, too."

"They'll... no, they have to catch him," Daphne said emphatically. "I mean, even the Muggles are looking for him."

"What's that noise?" Draco asked suddenly and looked around searching for the noise. 

A faint, tinny whistle came from somewhere. They frowned as they looked around the compartment.

Theo pointed to Sylas' suitcase on the luggage rack. "It's coming from your suitcase, Sylas," he said. He stood up and pulled it down. A moment later, he had pulled the pocket spyscope out from between Sylas' cloaks. It spun rapidly and brightly in Theo's palm.

"A spyscope?" Draco asked, confused. "Why do you have one of those?"

Sylas shrugged. "Ginny gave it to me. She bought it from Egypt. As a thank you for saving her last year," he murmured, slightly embarrassed.

"Wow, you save her life and she buys you such a cheap thing," Draco said, immediately earning a slap on his thigh.

"Ouch!!"

"Stop making those derogatory remarks about Ginny," Daphne glared at him. Draco just raised his hands innocently and said nothing more.

"Ginny herself suggested it might not be working properly," said Sylas. "Put it back in the trunk. Otherwise we'll wake him up," he said, pointing to the sleeping Lupin. Theo stuffed the spyscope into a pair of old socks, which silenced the whistling, then closed the trunk.

"Have you ever talked to her?" Daphne asked curiously.

"We talked at the ice cream parlor."

Daphne sighed loudly and just shook her head. "Boys," she murmured. "I mean, did you talk about her having feelings for you? It didn't look to me like you turned her down."

It rattled in his head for a few seconds. His face changed from confusion to realization to shock. "Shit," he said quietly. "I didn't even think about that. "How could he? He'd been busy the entire holidays, and she'd never mentioned it to him. How could he not realize she still had a crush on him?

"By Merlin's beard, Sylas..." Daphne murmured disappointedly, rubbing her forehead.

"My advice, pretend you don't know anything," Draco said, shrugging.

"Yes, because you know so much about it," Theo countered reproachfully.

"If you want me to shut up, all you have to do is say so," Draco growled, slightly offended. The others started to laugh quietly.

But the mood immediately became serious again, and Daphne looked intently at Sylas. "I really mean it, Sylas," she said emphatically. "If you don't want anything from her, you should tell her as soon as possible. Please don't get her hopes up if you're not interested."

Sylas sighed loudly. "This school year is starting off really well. A felon trying to kill me, and I have to turn Ginny down. What's next?"

Theo examined Sylas closely. "Black seems to be the lesser evil for you," he speculated. "Aren't you afraid?"

Sylas remained silent for a moment, then shook his head slightly. "Not really. I'd rather meet Black than break Ginny's heart," he replied. He received another round of worried looks.

"Sometimes I wonder what exactly is going on in your brain that makes you think that way," Theo said.

"If you figure it out, let me know. I sometimes wonder that too," Sylas murmured.

"Let's forget all these stressful topics," said Daphne, beginning to grin slightly. "This year we're going to Hogsmeade! I've always wanted to go to Honeydukes and try the sweets."

Theo just shrugged. "I'm not much of a sweet tooth, I must admit," he admitted, earning a disappointed look from her. With a nod to Sylas, he murmured, "Sylas will definitely accompany you."

Daphne's eyes lit up again. "Just wait until you see it, Sylas! They have everything there! Peppermint cookies that make your mouth smoke, and big, plump chocolate balls filled with strawberry mousse and whipped cream, and really great sugar quill pens you can suck on at school and look like you're just thinking about what to... write... Why are you looking so grim?" Her enthusiasm vanished when she saw his slightly sad expression.

Sylas was silent for a moment, searching for the right words. He didn't really want to spoil the mood again. Finally, he sighed, "My grandparents didn't sign the form, Fudge didn't want to either, and I was actually going to tell Snape a sob story, but now that Black is after me, I can forget about Hogsmeade altogether."

"You'll be spoiled for fun," Draco said dryly, patting him encouragingly on the shoulder.

"Maybe it's for the better," Theo murmured, his eyes more worried than ever. "Black won't stop himself from attacking Sylas just because we're in Hogsmeade."

Daphne placed a hand on his knee and squeezed sympathetically. "They'll probably find Black soon, then we can come up with a plan to get you to Hogsmeade after all."

Sylas just nodded slightly, but this school year was already over for him. And it hadn't even really started yet. He'd been looking forward to Hogsmeade ever since he 'd read Historic Cities of Wizarding in his first year. Even when he'd walked through the village with Snape and Draco a year ago, he couldn't wait to go there.

Dejectedly, he looked out the window and let the others take over the conversation. He didn't notice the bright blue, shining eyes staring at him the entire time.

The Hogwarts Express continued its steady northward journey, and the landscape outside the window became wilder and darker, and the clouds thickened in the sky. Students ran back and forth in front of the compartment door. At one o'clock, the clumsy witch with the food cart pushed the door open. They all enjoyed pumpkin juice and some cake.

Professor Lupin remained rigidly asleep. He never woke up once. While he wasn't pleasant company, his presence in their compartment had its advantages. Late in the afternoon, just as it had begun to rain and the rolling hills outside the window were beginning to blur, the Gryffindors decided to get on their nerves.

But when Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas noticed that a teacher was sitting in the same compartment, they immediately disappeared. Blaise Zabini joined them for a short while, and they talked about the holidays until he went back to his own compartment.

The train continued north, and the rain grew heavier; the windows had taken on an impenetrable, shimmering gray, gradually darkening until finally the lanterns in the aisles and above the luggage racks flickered on. The train rattled along, the rain drummed against the windows, the wind howled, but Professor Lupin slept soundly on.

"We must be there soon," Sylas said, looking more closely out the nearly black window. His stomach was already rumbling. He could really use something to eat right now. And as if to confirm his words, the train began to slow down.

Theo frowned at his watch. "Actually, we can't be here yet," he muttered.

"Then why are we stopping?" Daphne asked uncertainly.

The train gradually slowed down. Now that the noise of the pistons had subsided, the wind and rain beat against the windows louder than ever.

Sylas, who was sitting by the door, stood up and glanced down the aisle. Curious heads were peeping out of compartments all along the carriage.

The train lurched to a halt, and distant rumbling and crashing told them that suitcases had fallen from the luggage racks. Then, without any warning, all the lights went out, and they were suddenly plunged into black darkness.

"What's going on?" Draco's voice sounded from behind Sylas.

"Ouch!" Theo gasped. "Daphne, that was my foot!"

"I'm sorry!"

Sylas groped his way back to his seat. "There's no reason for the Hogwarts Express to stop," he muttered, frowning.

There was a squeaking noise, and Sylas saw Theo's blurry black figure wiping the window to look out. "Something's moving out there," he murmured. "It looks like new people are getting in."

"Nonsense," said Draco. "There's no train station near."

"Be quiet!" a hoarse voice suddenly said. Professor Lupin seemed to have finally woken up. Sylas could hear something stirring in his corner. Neither of them said a word.

They heard a faint crackling sound, and a flickering light illuminated the compartment. Professor Lupin seemed to be carrying a handful of flames. They illuminated his tired gray face, but his eyes gleamed with alertness and suspicion.

"Stay where you are," he said in his hoarse voice, rising slowly, his hand with the flames outstretched before him.

But the door slid open before Lupin reached it.

At the entrance, illuminated by the flickering flames in Lupin's hand, stood a hooded figure, reaching up to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath a hood. Sylas glanced downward, and what he saw made his stomach clench. A hand peeped out from beneath the cloak, and it was a glistening gray, slimy hand, like that of a corpse that had lain in water too long.

...

But he only saw it for a split second. As if the creature beneath the cloak had sensed Sylas' gaze, it quickly withdrew its hand beneath the folds of the black cloak.

And then the hooded creature, whatever it was, took a long, deep, rattling breath, as if trying to suck more than just air from its surroundings.

A bitter cold settled over them. Sylas felt his breath catch in his chest. The cold penetrated his skin. It penetrated his chest, into his heart...

Sylas' eyeballs rolled inward. He could no longer see. The cold drowned him. There was a rushing in his ears, like water. Something was pulling him into the depths, the rushing grew louder...

And then, from far away, he heard screams, terrible, terrifying, pleading screams. He wanted to help whoever it was. He tried to move his arms, but he couldn't. Suddenly, he heard the crackling of a huge fire. The cold from a moment ago disappeared, and everything became unbearably hot - as if his entire body were burning up.

"Sylas! Sylas! Are you okay?" Someone slapped him.

"W-what?"

Sylas opened his eyes; lamps were burning above him, and the floor was vibrating - the lights had come on, and the Hogwarts Express was moving again. He had evidently slipped from his seat to the floor. Theo and Daphne were kneeling in front of him, and above them he saw Draco and Professor Lupin, staring intently at him. Sylas felt nauseous; his hunger had long since been forgotten, and he wanted to vomit right then and there.

Theo and Draco hoisted him back into his seat.

"Are you okay?" Theo asked nervously.

"Yes," Sylas managed, quickly glancing toward the door. The hooded creature had disappeared. "What happened? Where is this - this thing? Who was screaming? And where is the fire?"

Theo, Draco, and Daphne exchanged confused and worried glances. "No one screamed," Daphne said, worried. "And there was no fire. It was freezing cold."

Sylas looked around the brightly lit compartment. All their faces were chalk-white.

"But I... I heard screams and this heat... I thought I was going to burn," he croaked.

A loud crack made everyone jump. Professor Lupin broke a huge bar of chocolate into pieces.

"Here," he said to Sylas, handing him a particularly large piece. "Eat. You'll feel better."

Sylas took the chocolate but didn't eat it. "What was that creature?" he asked Lupin.

"A Dementor," he replied, distributing the chocolate to the others. "One of the guards at Azkaban."

Everyone stared at him in amazement. Professor Lupin crumpled up the empty chocolate wrapper and put it in his pocket. "Eat," he said emphatically to Sylas again. "It helps. Excuse me, I need to speak to the conductor." But Sylas didn't feel like eating chocolate at all.

"Are you sure you're okay, Sylas?" Theo asked worriedly.

"I don't understand... what happened?" he asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Well - this creature - this Dementor - stood there looking around - at least I suppose he did, I couldn't see his face - and you, you -"

"I thought you were having some kind of seizure," Daphne said, shock evident on her face. She had pressed her hands together tightly to stop her shaking. "You kind of stiffened and fell off your seat and started twitching."

"And Professor Lupin stepped over you, stood in front of the Dementor, and pulled out his wand," said Theo. "And then he said, 'None of us here are hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go.' But the Dementor didn't move. Then Lupin muttered something, and something silver shot out of his wand at the Dementor, and it turned around and glided away in a strange way."

"I've never experienced anything like this," Draco murmured, rubbing his face. "It was as if all the joy was sucked out." Even his voice trembled slightly. He, who was usually unfazed by anything and always seemed to have everything under control, sat there in complete horror, barely able to utter a word.

"But... But didn't any of you... fall off your seat?" Sylas asked uncertainly, and was met only with a shake of the head. He didn't understand. He felt weak and shaky; as if he were recovering from a severe bout of flu; he also felt a pang of shame. Why had it struck him so badly and none of the others?

A tense silence fell around the four of them. Each lost in their own thoughts. They didn't speak to each other for the remainder of the journey. After what felt like an eternity, the train finally stopped at Hogwarts Station. In great confusion, everyone scrambled outside; owls hooted, cats meowed, and Longbottom's toad croaked loudly from under his hat. It was bitterly cold on the small platform; the rain pelted down in icy gusts.

"First-years this way," called a familiar voice. Sylas, Daphne, Theo, and Draco turned to see the gigantic silhouette of Hagrid at the far end of the platform, beckoning the frightened-looking new students over, then, as was customary, taking them across the lake.

"Everything all right, you four?" Hagrid called over the heads of the crowd. They waved, but had no chance to speak to him because the mass of people pushed them in the other direction. The quartet followed the other students down the platform and out onto a bumpy, muddy track, where at least 100 carriages were waiting for them. Once they boarded and closed the carriage door, the carriage started moving of its own accord, lumbering and rocking its way into the procession. Sylas kept glancing ahead at the bat-like horses, but no one else seemed to be paying them any attention... except Theo. But he seemed so lost in thought, Sylas didn't want to disturb him.

The carriage smelled faintly of must and straw. Sylas felt even more miserable than before. Yet the others seemed to be doing worlds better than he was. Daphne and Draco kept glancing at him sideways, as if afraid he might faint again.

As the carriage rattled toward an ornate, double iron gate, flanked on either side by stone pillars topped by winged boars, Sylas saw two more giant, hooded Dementors standing guard among the boars. A cold wave of nausea threatened to drown him again; he leaned back in his hard seat and closed his eyes until they passed through the gate. The unpleasant chill on his skin just wouldn't go away. And yet, he liked Oliver's cold hands so much, but his cold hands just felt different than this. 

On the long, uphill path to the castle, the carriage gradually gained speed; Daphne stuck her head out the small window and watched the many battlements and towers approaching. Finally, the carriage rocked to a stop, and they got out.

They joined the crowds of other students who went up to the castle and streamed through the mighty portal into the spacious entrance hall, lit by flickering torches, from which a magnificent marble staircase led to the upper floors.

To their right, the door to the Great Hall opened. Sylas, slightly dizzy, followed the students streaming in, but no sooner had he caught a glimpse of the enchanted ceiling, which was black and cloudy this evening, than a voice called to him.

"Ashford! A word!"

Draco and Daphne hadn't noticed anything and were already long gone into the Great Hall. Sylas and Theo turned around in surprise. Professor Snape had called them over the heads of the crowd. His face showed no sign of joy. Not that he ever radiated joy, but something inexplicable seemed to lurk beneath his hard expression.

Sylas and Theo fought their way to him with a sense of foreboding; Professor Snape was a master at making the students feel like they were doing everything wrong.

"To my office," he said, his voice cold as snow. When Theo tried to come along, Snape blocked his way. "Without you, Nott." Theo looked at Sylas worriedly, sighed briefly, and walked back into the Great Hall.

Snape led Sylas away from the chattering crowd. They walked along the dark corridors and down the damp stairs to the dungeon. It was eerily quiet when no one was hanging around. Only the echo of their footsteps reverberated through the halls.

Once they were in the office, a small room with many shelves lining the walls filled with books and jars of unknown contents, Professor Snape directed him to sit down. With a flick of his wand, the fire flickered, and warmth slowly crept over Sylas' skin. Snape himself sat down behind her desk and began without further ado.

"Professor Lupin -" he pronounced his name with particular hatred, "- sent an owl ahead to inform me that you fainted on the train, Ashford."

Sylas sighed loudly. Great. If word got around, he'd be subjected to those stupid Gryffindor jokes again. Before he could answer, there was a gentle knock at the door and Madam Pomfrey bustled in.

Sylas felt his face flush. It was bad enough that he fainted, or whatever that was. Now they were all making such a fuss about it.

"I'm fine," Sylas grumbled. "I don't need anything." He ignored the fact that he felt miserably weak and his emotions were getting the better of him. He just couldn't stop thinking about the screams and the fire.

"Oh, you again?" Madam Pomfrey said. Ignoring his words, she leaned over him and examined him sharply. "I take it you've been up to something dangerous again?"

"A Dementor, Poppy," Snape said. They exchanged dark glances, and Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue in disapproval.

"Putting Dementors around the school," she growled, about to place her hand on Sylas' forehead, but he immediately hushed back a few inches. His widened eyes staring into Madam Pomfrey's surprised ones, which immediately clouded over when she realized why he was stepping back.

"I just want to feel your temperature," she said, her voice flickering with a hint of concern. "There's nothing I haven't seen on you anyway."

For a moment, Sylas hesitated, biting his lip, but then she let him go. Much more slowly and carefully, she pushed his hair aside and placed her hand on it. She immediately furrowed her eyebrows and also checked his pulse.

"Everything all right?" Snape asked, frowning.

"He needs to go to the hospital wing immediately. It's a miracle you even made it to the castle!" she ordered. "His body is completely hypothermic and his pulse is severely weakened. Come on, come with me."

"I'm fine," Sylas murmured again, the thought of what the Gryffindors would say if he had to go to the hospital wing already bothering him.

"So you're okay?" Pomfrey repeated his words. "You won't even make it to the Great Hall without fainting!"

"But -"

"Ashford," came a dangerously quiet voice from the side. Snape's voice brooked no argument; it was full of authority. "Don't be foolish, you're going to the hospital wing, immediately."

Sylas fought to keep himself from arguing. But the persistent cold lingering on his skin and the dizzy feeling in his head made him doubt. For a moment, he sat stubbornly, then exhaled loudly and admitted defeat. Reluctantly, he toddled after Madam Pomfrey, Snape's stare only too clearly felt on his back, for he accompanied them.

The walk out of the dungeon felt considerably longer than Sylas remembered. The soundproofed corridors kept blurring his vision. Every few meters, he rubbed his face. His legs felt like jelly, and every step was incredibly heavy. Sometimes he thought he heard faint screams or the sound of enormous flames, but whenever he looked around, there was nothing. His senses were playing tricks on him.

The stone steps leading out of the dungeon posed a particular challenge. Each step was a struggle, and each one cost him precious energy. When they reached the middle of the stairs, he had to brace himself with one hand against the wall. His heart was pumping so much blood, Sylas thought it would explode. The longer he had to run up this way, the more he felt like he couldn't breathe.

"If you are unable to continue, say so now," Snape voice cut through the silence.

Sylas shook his head, which he immediately regretted. Everything spun, and he stopped on the step. Only his heavy breathing echoed through the corridors. Concerned glances pierced him.

"It's worse than I thought," murmured Madam Pomfrey. "Didn't Professor Lupin give you any chocolate?"

"He did," he croaked, but before he could continue, she interrupted him again. "So we finally have a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows his antidotes?" Madame Pomfrey said approvingly.

"Professor Lupin can be as good as he wants," Snape sneered, "but if Ashford doesn't eat the chocolate, it won't do him any good."

Madame Pomfrey raised an eyebrow at Sylas. "Why didn't you eat it?" she asked sharply, her hands on her hips.

Before Sylas could even answer her, his knees buckled beneath him and he collapsed backward. Luckily, Snape was standing right behind him and was able to prevent his fall down the stairs. His hard knees dug into Sylas's back.

A loud sigh escaped the professor. "Mobilicorpus!" and with a flick of his wand, Sylas effortlessly floated above the ground and they continued up the stairs.

"Your hubris is truly remarkably ridiculous, Ashford," Snape hissed. Sylas couldn't answer him, his head rolling from side to side, and he was glad to be conscious at all. "You're a Slytherin - I expect you won't let something like that get you down."

As always, Sylas couldn't stand Snape's stupid remarks, but he was in a too awkward position to object. His eyes stared at the ceiling of the corridors, incredibly boring and not particularly beautiful.

But when the familiar smell of disinfectant hit his nose, mixed with the scent of freshly washed sheets and dried herbs - presumably for the healing potions -Sylas knew where he was.

Horror crept into his bones.

He actually wanted to avoid the hospital wing; he didn't like being here, and yet he'd managed to end up here on the very first evening. He could really get a room, given how often he ended up here.

Snape lowered him onto one of the beds, and Madame Pomfrey immediately began tending to him. First, he was given a piece of chocolate, and a few minutes later, Sylas actually felt a little better. On the train, he hadn't even considered eating it. His mind had been too preoccupied with the screams and the fire. He was all the more surprised that his friends all seemed to have eaten the chocolate. Otherwise, they would have made a trip here as well.

Madame Pomfrey wrapped him in several blankets to raise his body temperature while Snape began heating the cauldron to brew a potion for him.

Sylas heard their muffled voices and the flickering of old parchment. It took a short while before Madame Pomfrey handed him a vial. He sat up slightly and was the first to grimace as the stench of the brew hit his nose.

"Healing potions can't smell like chocolate," grumbled Madame Pomfrey, folding her arms.

Sylas stared at the vial for a moment, lost in thought, before finally pulling himself together and drinking it all in one go. He felt like throwing up again.

"Well, you should be fine by tomorrow. So you better rest," Pomfrey ordered, disappearing from his sight.

Snape's voice rang out. "I'll tell your friends where you are, Ashford." After that, all he heard was footsteps moving away from his bed, and the room fell silent.

Notes:

Thank you so nuch for all the Kudos and Hits! <3 Hope y'all enjoyed this chalter and stay tuned for next week!!!

Chapter 27

After a thorough examination by Madam Pomfrey, Sylas was allowed to leave the hospital wing the next morning. Relieved and with much more energy than the previous evening, he dashed into the Great Hall. Upon entering, the first thing he noticed was the Gryffindor table. Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas were performing a dramatic fainting spell, earning roars of laughter.

Frowning, his gaze shifted to the Slytherin table. Theo, Daphne, and Draco were grimly eating their breakfast and glaring at the Gryffindors. Sylas headed toward them.

"Hey, Ashford!" Thomas shouted with a nasty grin. "Ashford! The Dementors are coming, Ashford! Uuuhuuuh!"

Sylas rolled his eyes in annoyance and sat down with his friends. "They'll get it back," Daphne grumbled, the jam on her toast slowly dripping onto her plate. "If it wasn't for McGonagall they wouldn't even be in school anymore, because of the kidnapping incident."

Sylas silently began to butter himself a sandwich. He had known that the Gryffindors would find out somehow. They always do. However, he was disappointed to see them again, because he was certain Dumbledore would expell them because of the incident. But what the could gather from the rumours, Gryffindors housepoints suffered alot because of them. Making them fall in fourth place last year. As well as they had to clean the school top to bottom without any magic. Filch was a true monster to them. Sylas' mouth twichted slightly upwards at that thought. 

"Snape said you didn't eat Lupin's chocolate," Theo began, and Sylas stopped in his tracks.

"Yes... that's right," he croaked quietly.

All three looked at him reproachfully. "I'm more surprised that you all ate the chocolate," Sylas said.

"Of course," Theo said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. "Lupin is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He should know the antidote for Dementors."

Sylas sighed loudly. "Yeah, yeah, got it," he grumbled, annoyed. "Did Dumbledore say anything about the Dementors yesterday?"

"The old geezer just said they're posted at all the entrances to the grounds," said Draco, taking a spoonful of his cereal.

"And that we're not allowed to leave the school without permission," Theo added. "He emphasized again that it's not in a Dementor's nature to understand pleas or excuses. So we shouldn't give them any reason to hurt us."

Sylas just nodded slightly. He rested his head on his hand, pondering the current situation. Still, he didn't understand why he was being attacked by them, and why he was the only one who had reacted so violently.

The rustling of parchment distracted him from his thoughts. Daphne held something out to him. "Here, your timetable," she said. "Penny came by earlier and gave it to us. We're starting a few new subjects today. Divination is at 9, and Care of Magical Creatures is after lunch." She couldn't wipe the broad grin off her face.

Sylas quickly scanned his timetable. "What do you have planned for Hagrid's first lesson?" he asked, folding the parchment again and stuffing it into one of his shoulder bags.

"Bowtruckle," she said curtly, playing nervously with a strand of hair. "I hope he actually sticks to that."

Theo just shrugged. "You've been talking to him non stop, he can't suddenly change plans."

"Unless he's trying to get you to tear his hut apart," Draco joked, earning a slap on the shoulder.

"As if I would destroy his hut," she growled at him. "I like his hut, would be a shame."

The hall slowly began to empty. The students left for their first class.

"If we're having Divination first, then we'd better get going, Daphne," said Sylas, finishing his toast. "It'll take us at least ten minutes to get to the North Tower."

They hastily finished their breakfast, said goodbye to Theo and Draco, and headed for the exit. Thomas and Weasley pretended to faint once more. Roars of laughter followed Sylas into the Entrance Hall.

The walk through the castle to the North Tower was long. Two years at Hogwarts hadn't been enough to get to know every nook and cranny of the castle, and they'd never been to the North Tower. Luckily, Daphne had asked Penny the night before where exactly the Divination classroom was.

They climbed the seventh long flight of stairs, visibly out of breath, past several paintings and empty corridors, up another narrow spiral staircase, and finally heard the murmur of voices. They took the last step up to a small corridor where most of the others were already gathered. There was no door, but Daphne poked Sylas in the ribs and pointed to the ceiling, where a round trapdoor with a brass plate was set into it.

"Sibyll Trelawney, Divination Teacher," Sylas read. "How are we supposed to get up there?"

As if in answer to this question, the trapdoor suddenly opened and a silver ladder floated down. Everyone fell silent. One by one, they climbed the ladder. Sylas was one of the last to ascend.

He entered the strangest classroom he had ever seen. It didn't really look like a classroom at all, more like a cross between a garret and an old-fashioned teashop. It was crammed with about twenty small round tables, surrounded by chintz armchairs and lush cushions. Everything was bathed in scarlet twilight; the curtains at the windows were drawn, and dark red silk scarves were thrown over the many lamps. It was stiflingly warm; the fire under the cluttered mantelpiece heated a large copper kettle, from which wafted a heavy, slightly nauseating perfume. The shelves along the curved walls were piled high with dusty quills, candle stubs, stacks of crumpled playing cards, countless glittering silver crystal balls, and an enormous variety of teacups.

Sylas stood next to Daphne, who had to stretch a little to see over the heads of the others. "Where is she?" Daphne asked.

As if in response, a voice emerged from the shadows, a soft, smoky voice. "Welcome," it said. "How nice to finally see you in the material world."

At first glance, she seemed to Sylas like a large, shining insect. Professor Trelawney stepped into the firelight. She was thin; the enormous lenses of her glasses magnified her eyes many times over. A veil-like, glittering shawl was wrapped around her body. Countless chains and strings of pearls hung around her spindly neck, and her arms and hands were adorned with clasps and rings.

All the jewelry reminded him of Lysandra.

"Sit down, my children," she said, and the class shyly and stiffly settled into their chairs and cushions. Just as Sylas was about to scurry past his new professor, she suddenly shrieked. The classroom fell silent, and everyone stared at her in shock.

Trelawney's eyes nearly burst through her glasses, and her lips trembled slightly. Her gaze flickered between Sylas and something to his right. He looked at her, frowning uncertainly.

"Is everything all right, Professor?"

She slowly raised her trembling finger and pointed directly next to him. "Darkness haunts you, my boy," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Sylas stiffened, unable to speak. He searched her face for something that would tell him it was just a stupid joke. A joke to annoy the newbies, but there was nothing. Just pure horror and fear. His stomach lurched.

He carefully looked next to him, but no one was there. Suddenly, he felt a warm hand around his, pulling him backward. Daphne tried to pull him with her.

"You should begin your lesson, Professor," she said seriously, trying to get everyone's attention away from Sylas. Trelawney nodded again and again.

"W-Welcome to Divination," she said, slowly lowering herself into a winged chair by the fire. Meanwhile, Sylas and Daphne sat down at a round table in the far corner. The classroom was filled with several Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and exactly two Slytherins.

"M-My name is Professor Trelawney. You've probably never seen me before. I find that the all-too-frequent descent into the hectic hustle and bustle of the school is clouding my inner eye."

Daphne leaned closer to Sylas. "Penny told me yesterday that she predicts the death of a student every year. After that greeting, it'll probably be you," she whispered softly. Relief spread through his body. If that was the case, he didn't have to worry too much about it.

No one commented on Trelawney's explanation. The professor carefully adjusted her scarf and continued. "Well, you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. But I must warn you right at the outset: If you don't possess the Inner Eye, there is little I can teach you. Books won't take us very far in this field..."

Daphne's and Sylas' gaze fell on Hermione Granger, who seemed quite dismayed by the news that books could not help in this subject.

"Many witches and wizards, how gifted they may be when it comes to loud fuss, disgusting smells, and sudden disappearances, are nevertheless incapable of penetrating the veiled secrets of the future," Professor Trelawney continued, her huge, sparkling eyes darting from one nervous face to another. "This is a gift granted to only a few. You, boy -" she said suddenly to Longbottom, who nearly fell off his seat cushion, "- is your grandmother all right?"

"I think so," said Longbottom, trembling.

"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you," said Professor Trelawney, the firelight gleaming off her long, emerald-studded earrings. Longbottom swallowed hard.

Professor Trelawney continued calmly. "This year we'll learn the basics of fortune-telling. In the first term, we'll interpret tea leaves. In the second term, we'll cover palmistry. By the way, my dear," she suddenly turned to Parvati Patil, "beware of a red-haired man."

Parvati gave Ron Weasley, who was sitting behind her, a puzzled look and slid her chair away from him.

"In the summer quarter," Professor Trelawney continued, "we will turn to the crystal ball - if we have finished with the Fire Omens by then. For, unfortunately, classes will be interrupted in February by a severe bout of flu. I myself will lose my voice. And around Easter, one of those gathered here will leave us... forever."

A very tense silence followed this announcement, but Professor Trelawney did not seem to mind.

"You see," whispered Daphne, "her trademark. Probably to stimulate interest in fortune-telling."

"But given my history, it could actually happen," Sylas chuckled, whereupon he received a kick to the shin. He had to suppress a loud groan. Daphne glared at him angrily.

"Don't say that!" she hissed at him.

Trelawney's voice sounded again. "Now I ask you to go in pairs. Take a teacup from the shelf over there, then come to me and have it filled, then sit down and drink; drink until only the dregs remain. Swirl it three times with your left hand, turn the cup over onto the saucer, and then hand it to your partner to read. You can probably easily interpret the patterns using pages five and six in Unclouding the Future. I'll come to the tables and help you a little."

She grabbed Longbottom's arm as he was about to stand up. "If you broke the first mug, would you please take one with a blue pattern? I'm quite fond of the pink ones."

Daphne and Sylas exchanged confused glances until Longbottom stood at the shelf with the teacups, and suddenly the clatter of breaking china was heard. Professor Trelawney scurried over to him with a dustpan and broom. "Now, one of the blue ones, my dear, if you don't mind... thank you..."

They had their teacups filled and returned to their table, where they drank the piping hot tea as quickly as possible. They swirled the remaining tea leaves, as Professor Trelawney had instructed, then drank the last of the tea and exchanged cups.

"Well then," said Daphne as they opened their books, "what can you tell me about my magnificent future?"

Sylas rubbed his eyes. "A lot of wet brown stuff," he muttered. The heavily perfumed smoke in the room made him drowsy and dulled his thinking.

"Broaden your horizons, my dears, and allow your eyes to see beyond the mundane everyday!" Professor Trelawney called through the gloom.

Sylas gave himself a jolt. "Here, you have such a crooked cross..." he said, consulting the book. "That means trials and suffering lie ahead for you - I feel sorry for you - but this looks like a sun... wait a minute... that means great happiness. So you will suffer, but you will be very happy..."

"You should get your inner eye examined, if you ask me," said Daphne, and they both had to stifle their laughter because Professor Trelawney was looking in their direction.

"It's my turn..." Daphne peered into Sylas' saucer, her brow furrowed with effort. "There's a bubble there, it looks like a hat - a bowler hat," she said. "Maybe you'll work for the Ministry of Magic someday..."

She turned the saucer in her hand. "But this looks more like an acorn... what is it?" She skimmed the pages of Defogging the Future. "Looks like an animal... yes, if that were its head... looks like a horse... no, a sheep..."

Professor Trelawney whirled around as Sylas snorted with laughter. "Let me see this, my dear," she said accusingly to Daphne, floating over and snatching Sylas' saucer from her hand. Everyone fell silent and watched. Professor Trelawney stared at the leaves, spinning them counterclockwise.

"The falcon... my dear, you have a mortal enemy!"

Sylas cast an unimpressed glance at Daphne, who also didn't seem particularly surprised.

"But everyone knows that," Granger whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear. She was stating the obvious. Professor Trelawney stared at her. "Yes, it's true," Granger said, slightly annoyed. "Everyone knows the story of Ashford and You-Know-Who."

Everyone stared at her with a mixture of astonishment and admiration. They had never heard Granger speak to a teacher like that before. Professor Trelawney chose not to respond. She lowered her huge eyes again to Syla's saucer and continued to turn it in her hands.

"The baton... an attack. My goodness, that's not a pretty one... The skull... danger awaits you there, my dear..." Everyone stared transfixed at Professor Trelawney, who spun the saucer once more, held her breath, and then screamed.

More clinking of broken china; Longbottom had dropped his second cup. Everyone flinched noticeably and stared, transfixed, at what had caused the professor to scream. Professor Trelawney sank into an empty armchair, her glittering hand pressed to her heart and her eyes closed.

"My dear boy... my poor dear boy... no... better if I don't say... no... don't ask me..."

Everyone jumped up, slowly gathering around Sylas and Daphne's table, and jostling around Professor Trelawney's chair to get a good view of Sylas' saucer.

"My dear," said Professor Trelawney, her eyes widening dramatically, "you have... the Grimm."

"The what?" Sylas frowned. He saw he wasn't the only one who didn't understand. Dean Thomas shrugged, and Lavender Brown looked puzzled, but almost everyone else clapped their hands over their mouths in horror. Except for Daphne, but she too seemed to know what the Grimm meant.

"The Grimm, my dear, the Grimm!" cried Professor Trelawney, who seemed shocked that Sylas hadn't understood. "The giant ghost hound that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, that's an omen - the worst omen - of death!"

That dog on the cover of Omen of Death by Flourish & Blotts - the dog in the shadows of the alleys. But instead of being shocked and afraid like everyone else, Sylas just snorted in amusement. Everyone looked at him with even wider eyes.

"I'm sorry," he murmured quietly, trying to wipe the grin from his face. "Of course, that's not funny at all. One could say it's dead serious." No one seemed to find his joke funny, only he himself had to contain his laughter and as well Daphne, who hid her smile behind her hand. 

Granger suddenly took a step closer and examined his saucer as well. She turned it over and over, but didn't recognize anything. "It certainly doesn't look like a Grimm to me," she said evenly.

Professor Trelawney eyed Granger with growing distaste. "Forgive me for saying this, my dear, but I detect very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to vibrations of the future."

The Slytherins had to turn away briefly to avoid bursting into laughter. They weren't the only ones. Some Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs also had to suppress a grin.

"I think we'll end class for today," said Professor Trelawney in her huskiest voice. "Yes... please put your things away."

In silence, the class returned their teacups to her, packed their books, and closed their bags. Everyone avoided Sylas' gaze, except for Daphne, who flipped him the bird with a slight grin. In silence, they climbed back down the ladder and made their way to Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class. Everyone kept glancing at him, as if he were about to drop dead at any moment.

Theo and Draco frowned at all the stares. Daphne and Sylas then began passing small scraps of parchment over with a brief explanation.

After the Transfiguration lesson, they joined the large crowd that streamed into the Great Hall for lunch, laughing and chatting.

"I told you Divination is the biggest nonsense," said Draco, helping himself to a plate of meat stew. "Even Professor McGonagall says it's one of the most inaccurate branches of magic."

"Well, maybe an omen of death should still be taken more seriously," Theo said, shrugging.

"I recognized everything in these tea leaves except the Grimm," Daphne argued. "It's not like you've seen the Grimm before, right, Sylas?"

Sylas stopped moving and didn't say a word.

"Sylas?" Theo asked suspicously. "Have you ever seen the Grimm?"

"Well...yes, something like that," he murmured, scratching his neck lightly. "But probably just stupid coincidences."

"Where?" Daphne asked sharply, taking it now much more seriously than before. 

"Just before I was picked up by the Knight Bus, I saw something like a Grimm in a dark alley, but it was probably just a stray dog and the second time I went to get the school books, I saw him on a book cover," he explained briefly.

Theo and Daphne exchanged worried glances. Only Draco seemed unconvinced. "You're making too big a deal out of this," he said. "It's all just coincidences, like you said."

"Stupid coincidences? When we know there's a serial killer on the loose targeting Sylas?" Theo argued, and an awkward silence fell between the four of them. Sylas had completely forgotten about Sirius Black.

Draco just shrugged. "Maybe... Maybe Trelawney knew about it and that's exactly why she made you her victim, so her prediction would come true."

"It still doesn't hurt to be on your guard," Theo said, concern flickering in his voice. "There are enough people in the wizarding world who saw the Grimm and suddenly vanished."

Once again, a tense atmosphere spread around the four of them.

"Let's forget all this Grimm talk," said Daphne. "Let's worry about Hagrid doing well in his lesson later."

"I still haven't been able to open his stupid monster book!" Draco growled, annoyed. "Really, only Hagrid would come up with the stupid idea of recommending a book like that."

Daphne sighed loudly and waved her hand dismissively. "Unfortunately, it was too late to change the book. Otherwise, I would have recommended another one."

After lunch, they set off for their first Care of Magical Creatures class. Yesterday's rain had cleared; the sky was clear and pale gray; the damp grass beneath their feet was springy as they walked from Hagrid's to their first class.

Theo and Draco told them about their first Ancient Runes lesson. Their fascination with the subject meant they didn't notice how bored Daphne and Sylas were. Translating runes... how exciting.

They walked across the sloping lawn to Hagrid's hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid was waiting for the class at the door of his hut. There he stood in his moleskin cloak, with Fang at his heels, and seemed eager to finally begin.

"Come on, get moving!" he called to the approaching students. "I have a little surprise for you! It's going to be a great lesson! Is everyone here?" In front of him was a small table with a wooden suitcase on it. His huge hand rested on it and tapped it several times.

"Stand in a little distance away from me!" he called. "Very well – make sure everyone can see something – and now open your books –"

"How?" Weasley asked, annoyed.

Hagrid looked at them perplexed. "What?"

"How do you open the books, Hagrid?" asked Daphne. She took out her Monster Book of Monsters , which was tied with a long rope. The others pulled out their books as well; some, like Sylas, had tied it with a belt; others had stuffed them into tight pockets or tamed them with large clothespins.

"Didn't... couldn't anyone open their book?" the half-giant asked, completely bewildered. Everyone shook their heads. "You have to pet them," he said, as if it were perfectly natural.

He took Sylas' book and ripped off the rope. The book tried to bite, but Hagrid ran his giant index finger along its spine, and the book began to tremble, opened, and lay still in his hand.

Everyone began to open their books. Draco just mumbled something unintelligible, which earned him a dig from Theo. The half-giant seemed to have lost track of what he was saying because of the little incident.

"The magical animals, Hagrid," whispered Daphne as an uncomfortable silence fell over them. "Show us."

"Oh, of course!" he said, slowly opening the suitcase in front of him. At first, there seemed to be nothing inside, but suddenly, long, thin fingers appeared at the edge of the suitcase, tiny, glowing eyes peered out, suspiciously examining the students before him.

"These are Bowtruckles," Hagrid proudly announced, slowly extending his hand toward them. One of the small creatures hesitantly climbed onto his giant hand. "They may be small, but they can be quite aggressive. Who knows where these little guys live?"

Daphne and Granger's hands stood in the air as one. Draco raised his hand rather hesitantly. Even though he only tolerated the giant, he had nevertheless prepared well for the lesson. Hagrid nodded encouragingly at the Malfoy boy.

"They live in trees, which are used to make wands. They shouldn't be provoked," he replied. Hagrid's eyes sparkled with joy and he nodded vigorously at everything he said.

"Exactly!" he exclaimed. "If you do provoke them, you're in trouble. Their fingers are as sharp as small knives, and if they feel threatened, they'll attack. So I'd advise you not to extend your hands if they don't know you."

"And if you have to work with them?" Theo asked. 

Hagrid nodded excitedly. "Good question! If you want to distract them, give them something to eat. They especially like woodlice or fairy wings."

He reached into a large pocket on his belt and pulled out a small can. When he opened the lid, tiny, wriggling insects crawled around inside. The bowtruckles in the branches seemed to notice them immediately, as several craned their heads curiously.

"Anyone want to try it?" asked Hagrid, his eyes twinkling.

For a moment, the class hesitated. Just as Sylas was about to take a step forward, Daphne got there first, took a wood louse from the tin, and held it carefully between two fingers toward the suitcase.

One of the Bowtruckles slowly climbed closer. Sylas could see its tiny eyes fixed on the louse. After a moment, it reached out with its long fingers, grabbed the insect, and began to devour it relishably.

Hagrid laughed, and an astonished murmur went through the students. "Very good! If they trust you, they'll let you up to their tree."

Daphne cautiously moved her hand a little closer, and the Bowtruckle hesitated briefly before actually climbing onto her fingers. He seemed to be examining her closely, as if considering whether he could trust her.

Draco, on the other hand, frowned skeptically and crossed his arms. "That doesn't look particularly spectacular. How difficult could it be?"

Sylas grinned and leaned closer. "Would you have preferred a hippogriff?"

Draco gave him a sharp look. "Very funny, Sylas."

"Come on, Draco, give it a try," Theo said challengingly, nudging him gently toward the trunk.

Draco hesitated before finally, reluctantly, picking up a woodlouse. He held it out with pointed fingers, as if unsure if he really wanted to. A second Bowtruckle eyed him suspiciously, sniffed at the woodlouse - and grabbed Draco's finger instead.

"Ouch!" Draco cried, recoiling as the Bowtruckle squirmed deeper into the trunk. Cursing slightly, he rejoined Sylas and Theo.

Sylas laughed softly. "He doesn't seem to like you."

"The audacity," Draco muttered, rubbing his finger.

Hagrid patted him good-naturedly on the shoulder - almost hard enough to make Draco stumble. "Well, you see, you'll just have to be gentler!"

"Better than being attacked by a hippogriff," Sylas joked again, which only earned him more dirty looks.

The lesson continued, with the students working in small groups. Everyone seemed fascinated by the Bowtruckles. Some, however, suffered the same fate as Draco, but nothing particularly dangerous occurred. As the lesson drew to a close, Hagrid stood before them with his arms crossed, grinning.

"Well done, everyone! See you next week!" he called out to everyone, and the students scurried back into the castle.

Sylas and Daphne gave him another thumbs up as they walked away from his hut. The lesson had gone better than any of them had expected.

 

~~~

 

The rest of the week passed without further incident. However, every teacher kept a close eye on Sylas, as if Black could kill him at any moment. He could barely go out into the hallways without constantly encountering teachers.

Thursday began with a pleasant double Potions lesson. Longbottom once again delivered a brilliant performance. They were learning how to brew a shrinking solution, and instead of the brew being nimble green, Longbottom's was orange. Granger, however, helped him with his potion and even managed to save him. But Snape wouldn't be Snape if he hadn't recognized this misdeed. He deducted 5 points from Gryffindor.

But they were much more excited about the afternoon's classes. They had their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Professor Lupin. He wasn't there yet when they all sat down. There was only an old cupboard at the front of the classroom. It was the exact same cupboard from the staff room where the Gryffindors had locked Sylas in second year.

They unpacked their books, quills, and parchment sheets and chatted animatedly.

Blaise suddenly handed Sylas a Daily Prophet. "Have you read it yet?" he asked. "Black was seen nearby."

"Where?", Theo, Daphne, and Sylas said simultaneously. Theo was the first to grab the newspaper and scan through the article.

"Not too far from here," Blaise shrugged. "A Muggle saw him. Of course, she had no idea what was going on. Muggles think he's a common criminal, don't they? Anyway, she called 911, but by the time the Ministry of Magic showed up, he was gone."

"The village isn't far away," Theo murmured, looking at Sylas worriedly.

"So he's really coming to Hogwarts," Sylas said, exhaling deeply. Would death really strike him this year?

"Don't worry," said Draco. "If there really are Dementors stationed everywhere, then it's impossible for him to get here. My father had to go to Azkaban for a short time and told me that nothing can fool the Dementors. Not even dark magic."

Relief spread among the Slytherins, but Sylas felt something else. He was somehow... disappointed?

Before Sylas could think about it any further, Professor Lupin finally walked in. He smiled vaguely and placed his grubby old briefcase on the teacher's desk. He still looked as shabby as they had first seen him, but healthier than he had on the train. Apparently, he'd had a few decent meals in the meantime.

"Good day," he said. "Would you please pack up all your books. Today we have a practical lesson. You'll need your wands."

A few curious glances were exchanged as they packed away the books. They had never had any practical Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons before, except for the memorable lesson last year when their then-teacher brought in a cage full of pixies and set them loose.

"All clear," said Lupin when everyone was ready, and flicked his wand once. All the tables and chairs flew stacked against the two walls, creating a large open space in front of the wardrobe. The wardrobe began to shake violently and crashed against the wall.

"No need to worry," said Professor Lupin calmly, as a few students had shrunk back in alarm. "There's a Boggart in that cupboard."

Most seemed reluctant to believe that this was really nothing to worry about. Longbottom cast a horrified look at Professor Lupin, and Seamus Finnigan stared transfixed at the rattling doorknob.

"Boggarts like dark, tight spaces," said Professor Lupin. "Cupboards, the gap between beds, toilet cisterns - I even met one once that had made itself comfortable in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff could let my third-form class practice with it. Now, the first question we need to ask ourselves is: What is a boggart?"

Granger raised her hand. "It's a shapeshifter," she said. "It can take the form of whatever it senses we fear most."

"I couldn't have put it better myself," said Professor Lupin, and Granger beamed. Daphne grimaced slightly. "So the boggart is sitting around in the dark, unformed yet. It doesn't yet know what frightens the person on the other side of the door. No one knows what a boggart looks like when it's alone, but if we let it out, it will immediately transform into the thing we fear most. And that means," Professor Lupin continued, ignoring Longbottom's soft gasp of horror, "that we have a huge advantage from the start. Can you guess why, Sylas?" His eyes blazed at the boy.

For a moment, Sylas was taken aback by the fact that the professor was asking him. After all, Granger was already bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet with her hand raised in the air, ready to answer. Incredibly annoying when you have to give the answer yourself. But then an idea came to him.

"Because there are so many of us, he doesn't know what form to take."

"Exactly," said Professor Lupin, and Granger dropped her hand, a little disappointed. "You should never be alone when taking on a Boggart. It confuses him. What do you want him to become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a Boggart make that mistake - trying to scare two people at once, he turned into half a slug. Simply ridiculous. The spell that drives a Boggart away is simple, but it requires mental effort. What really finishes a Boggart off is laughter. You have to try to force him to assume a shape you find funny. We'll practice the spell wandless first. After me, please... Riddikulus !"

"Riddikulus!" the class said as one.

"Good," said Professor Lupin. "Very good. But that was only the easy part, unfortunately. Because the word alone isn't enough. And now it's your turn, Neville."

The cupboard began to shake again, but not as violently as Longbottom, who took a few steps forward as if he were headed for the gallows.

"Fine, Neville," said Professor Lupin. "First things first: What would you say scares you most in the world?"

Longbottom's lips moved, but no words came out.

"Sorry, Neville, I didn't understand you," said Professor Lupin cheerfully. Longbottom looked around frantically, as if asking someone to help him, then said in a barely audible whisper:

"Professor Snape."

Almost everyone laughed. Even Longbottom grinned, embarrassed. Professor Lupin, however, had become thoughtful.

"Professor Snape... hmmm... Neville, is it true that you live with your grandmother?"

"Um - yes," he said nervously. "But I don't want the boggart to turn into her."

"No, no, you misunderstand me," said Professor Lupin, now smiling. "I was wondering - could you tell us what kind of clothes your grandmother usually wears?"

Longbottom looked puzzled, but he replied, "Well... always the same hat. A tall one with a stuffed vulture on it, and a long dress... usually green... and sometimes a fox fur scarf."

"And a handbag?" Professor Lupin prompted.

"A big red one," Longbottom replied.

"Very beautiful," said Professor Lupin. "Can you picture this outfit clearly, Neville? Can you see it in your mind's eye?"

"Yes," he said uncertainly, obviously wondering what would come next.

"When the Boggart comes out of this cupboard and sees you, Neville, he will take on the form of Professor Snape," said Lupin. "And you raise your wand - like this - and call Riddikulus  - and think very hard about your grandmother's clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced to appear in that vulture hat, the green dress, and the big red handbag."

The Gryffindors all laughed out loud, but the Slytherins were anything but pleased that their Head of House was about to be exposed. The cupboard shook even more violently.

"If Neville does well, the Boggart will probably turn his attention to us afterward, one at a time," said Professor Lupin. "I want you all to think for a moment about what scares you most and imagine how you can force it to look funny..."

The room fell silent. Sylas thought... what was he most afraid of? The first thing that came to mind was Lord Voldemort - a Voldemort who had regained his former power. No, he wouldn't be afraid of the Dark Lord. Suddenly, a more terrifying thought invaded his consciousness.

Sylas shuddered and looked around, hoping no one would notice. Many around him had their eyes tightly closed.

"Are you ready?" asked Professor Lupin.

Sylas felt fear tightening in his throat. He wasn't ready yet. How could he possibly make a Dementor look less terrifying? But he wasn't going to ask for time; everyone else nodded and rolled up their sleeves.

"Neville, we'll take a few steps back," said Professor Lupin. "Then you'll have a clear path, okay? I'll call on the next person... everyone step back now so Neville can aim properly."

They went back and leaned against the wall; Neville now stood alone in front of the wardrobe. He looked pale and frightened, but he had rolled up the sleeves of his cloak and held his wand at the ready.

"I'll count to three, Neville," said Professor Lupin, pointing his wand at the cupboard doorknob. "One, two, three, now!"

Stars shot out from the tip of Professor Lupin's wand and hit the doorknob. The cupboard doors flew open. Professor Snape stepped out, hooked and threatening, and fixed his blazing eyes on Neville. Neville stepped back, his wand raised, his mouth moving silently. Snape reached into his robes and advanced threateningly.

"R-r-riddikulus!" Neville squeaked.

There was a crack, like the crack of a whip. Snape stumbled; he was now wearing a long, lace-trimmed gown, a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and an enormous red purse dangling from his wrist.

Roaring laughter erupted; the Boggart froze, hopelessly confused, and Professor Lupin shouted, "Parvati! It's your turn!"

Parvati stepped forward with a determined expression. Snape turned to her threateningly. There was another crash, and where he had been standing, a bloodstained, bandaged mummy appeared. Turning her eyeless face toward Parvati, she began to shuffle lazily toward the girl, raising her arms.

"Riddikulus!" cried Parvati. A bandage on the mummy's foot came loose; the mummy became tangled and fell face down on the ground, its head rolling off.

"Brilliant! Ron, now you!"

Weasley rushed forward.

Bang! Quite a few screamed. A huge spider, two meters tall and hairy, crawled toward Ron, clicking its pincers menacingly. For a moment, Sylas thought Weasley had frozen. Then - "Riddikulus!" Weasley barked, and the spider's legs disappeared; it rolled across the floor.

It rolled over to Theo.

Bang!

She transformed into a tall man wearing a dark cloak. His greasy black hair fell carelessly over his face, and his dull blue eyes stared directly into Theo's bright, light blue ones.

He immediately stiffened at the sight. But not only Theo froze in front of the boggart; Sylas also studied the man before them with wide eyes. His lips repeatedly opened to say something, but no sound came out.

How the hell did Theo know the head of home of the Ashford orphanage?!

Instinctively, he pushed Theo behind him and stood in front of the boggart. Mr. Ashford was the last person Sylas would be afraid of. He saw nothing but an old, bitter man who hadn't accomplished anything decent in his life.

The Boggart transformed once more, but before he could take shape, Lupin stepped in.

Bang!

Mr. Ashford had disappeared. For a moment, everyone looked around excitedly, wondering where it had gone. Then they saw a silvery, glittering white ball hanging in the air in front of Lupin. "Riddikulus!" he said, almost too casually. The glittering ball suddenly lost its air and flew through the air like a whoopee cushion, straight back into the cupboard.

"Excellent!" Lupin exclaimed, and the class began to clap enthusiastically. "Very good. You did very well... let me think for a moment... Five points to everyone who took on the Boggart... and Hermione and Sylas each get an extra five points."

"But... but I didn't do anything," Sylas muttered.

"You and Hermione answered the questions at the beginning of class correctly, Sylas," Lupin said calmly. "You all did very well; it was an excellent lesson. For homework, please read the chapter on Boggarts and write me a summary by next Monday. That's all."

The class left the room, chattering excitedly. Sylas, however, had a bad feeling. Professor Lupin had resolutely prevented him from taking on the Boggart. Because he'd seen Sylas faint on the train and thought he couldn't handle much? Had he been afraid Sylas would collapse again?

Draco nudged him uncertainly from the side. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly. The Gryffindors were excitedly talking about their first lesson with Lupin.

Sylas ran his hand over his face and gave a slight nod. His gaze wandered to Theo, who was walking beside Daphne, his face as white as a sheet.

"Who was his boggart?" Sylas asked quietly and pointed to Theo.

For a moment, Draco hesitated, his mouth opening repeatedly to find the right words.

"His uncle, but apparently he's dead."

Notes:

Alright everyone, thank y'all for showing this work so much work and I hope u continue to love this story! The heat is killing me, uni as well and I dont wanna talk about how exhausting work is. But ain't got the time to slack of with this fic.
Did anyone expect the plottwist in the end? Tell me what you think of it :)
Enjoy!
xoxo

Chapter 28

Notes:

Thank you for all the Kudos, Hits and comments!
Have to announce that the next six weeks or so the chapters will probably be published on saturday and not friday.
Let me know, what you think of this chapters!
Hope y'all had a nice week, enjoy this chapter and till next time!

October, 1993

In no time, Defense Against the Dark Arts had become the favorite subject of all the students. Only Pansy Parkinson and Milicent Bulstrode were spiteful about Professor Lupin.

"Just look at his robes," Pansy would whisper loudly as Lupin passed by. "He dresses like our old house-elf."

But no one else cared that Professor Lupin wore patched and frayed cloaks. The rest of their lessons with him were no less exciting than the first. After the Boggarts, they met the Redcaps, nasty little goblin-like creatures who skulked wherever blood had been shed : They hid in the dungeons of castles and in the blast holes of abandoned battlefields, beating up anyone who wandered there. After the Redcaps came the Kappas, gruesome aquatic creatures who looked like scaly monkeys and had webbed hands that itched to strangle those who waded around in their pools.

No one spoke about the boggart incident anymore. Sylas was itching to ask Theo why he was so afraid of Mr. Ashford, but then he would give himself away. So, for better or for worse, he kept his mouth shut. Sometimes he wondered if Theo knew that his uncle was still alive, but nothing seemed to indicate that.

Sylas would have been happy if he'd enjoyed his other subjects just as much. Potions class was the worst. Snape was in a decidedly vindictive mood these days, and the reason was no secret. The story of the boggart who had taken Snape's form and been stuffed into his grandmother's clothes by Longbottom had spread like wildfire through the castle. The only one who didn't find it funny was Snape and the entire Slytherin House. His eyes flashed menacingly at any mention of Professor Lupin, and he bullied Longbottom worse than ever. Draco couldn't resist either, and hexed the boy a few too many times, forcing Longbottom to hop up the entire length of Gryffindor Tower.

Sylas also felt a growing disgust for the hours he spent in Professor Trelawney's stuffy tower room, interpreting figures and symbols that had to be held at an angle to the light, all the while trying not to be moved by Professor Trelawney's tears, which welled up in her huge eyes every time she looked at Sylas. He simply couldn't stand Professor Trelawney, while many others held her in high regard or even adoration. He and Daphne began to invent crazy ideas, with Daphne always having a blast, and Sylas seeing his death in every symbol in every lesson. Trelawney's outcry made every student flinch. It made her classes a little more bearable. 

People cared way too much about death.

Care of Magical Creatures remained as boring as ever. Every class, they cared for the most harmless animals Daphne could find in the books. During the class, a fight broke out between Daphne and Granger over who knew more about the animals. Not even Draco dared to raise his hand anymore. He was picked once and was almost attacked by the two girls.

At the beginning of October, however, Sylas got persuaded to do something he enjoyed far more than his boring classes. Flint and Draco urged him to join the Quidditch team as a reserve. The real reason they wanted him on the team was to help Draco become an even better Seeker. They both pestered him about it for several weeks, and when Draco even followed him into the bathroom to shower, he angrily agreed.

As long as he was just helping out Draco and was sitting on the bench for the entire game anyway, he'd go along with their stupid plan. But inside, he couldn't wait to fly on a broom again.

So he became part of every practice match and every tactical meeting. Flint wanted to show Wood one last time this year. They were both in their final year at school, and it would be their last Quidditch season.

So they trained two evenings a week. Gradually, it got colder and rainier, and it got dark earlier and earlier, but neither mud, wind, nor rain could sweep Sylas off his broom. He was having so much fun training with the team, and for a brief moment, he regretted not having joined sooner.

One evening after training, Sylas and Draco returned to the castle, frozen stiff but extremely satisfied with the training.

"I almost had you today," Sylas said proudly. "If I'd seen the Snitch better, that would have been it for you." Since Draco already had two years of experience, he played better, but Sylas was not to be underestimated. He quickly got the hang of it and gave the Malfoy boy some tough competition.

Draco laughed and playfully slapped him on the shoulder. "You really should get some glasses," he suggested. "Then you wouldn't always have to copy from Theo and see the Snitch."

"I'll think about it," Sylas laughed. 

There was an excited buzz in the Slytherin common room. Frowning, they walked over to Daphne and Theo, who were sitting on the sofa next to the fireplace, working on their star charts for astronomy.

"What's going on here?" he asked.

"The first weekend in Hogsmeade," Daphne said, pointing to the note that had appeared on the bulletin board. "End of October, on Halloween."

The euphoria Sylas had felt during the training vanished in an instant. He let his shoulders droop, dejected.

Theo seemed to read his thoughts. "Next time, you can definitely come along," he said. "They'll definitely catch Black soon, he's already been spotted."

"Black isn't such a fool as to cause trouble in Hogsmeade," said Draco, wiping his wet hair from his face. "Ask Uncle Sev, maybe he'll let you."

Sylas snorted in amusement. "While he's in such a lousy mood? He'll only limit me even more," he said, to which all three agreed. Snape's bad mood was practically a record.

"At least there's still the party," Daphne said, trying to cheer him up. "You know, the feast on Halloween night."

"Yeah," he grumbled gloomily. "Great."

The Halloween feast was always good, but it would taste even better if he returned from Hogsmeade that evening, hungry and with the others. No one could comfort him.

Sylas yawned. He would have preferred to go straight to sleep, but he had to shower, and he also had to finish drawing his star chart. Quidditch was a lot more tiring than he thought.

"You two better go shower," said Daphne, looking them both up and down. "You stink of sweat and Quidditch, and if you keep standing here, you'll freeze to the floor."

"You can copy our maps later," Theo offered.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you for this, Theo?" Sylas asked with relief.

"No, but feel free to do it more often," he laughed.

Sylas and Draco scurried into their room to get their shower things. They both retreated to a private bathroom. Sylas hummed quietly to himself and peeled off his wet clothes. A hot shower was exactly what he needed at that moment.

Just before he removed his underwear, the bathroom door opened and Draco's voice rang out. "Hey Sylas, I think we mixed up our... shampoos..." His voice grew quieter towards the end.

Sylas turned to him and looked into a chalk-white face. His eyes were almost as large as Trelawney's glasses, his mouth was slightly open, and he couldn't take his eyes off Sylas' body. His gaze wandering over the boys body. Only after a few seconds did Sylas realize what exactly was disturbing the boy so much.

His skin marked by countless burn scars stretching across his chest, arms, and back. Large, irregular patches, some old and faded, others quite deep.

His heart pounded in his scarred chest and his breathing became shallow. With a few long strides, he immediately closed the door behind Draco and looked at him pleadingly. "No words to Theo or Daphne," his voice was barely above a whisper, yet still filled with fear. It was bad enough that Snape and Pomfrey had seen his scars; his friends didn't need to see them too.

Draco exhaled deeply and rubbed his face once. "That…" he began, but shook his head. "Bloody hell, Sylas, what the fuck happened?" His voice wasn't just confused - it was seriously concerned.

Sylas frowned slightly and bit his lip, avoiding Draco's worried gaze.

"Is the... the scar on your forehead also from that?" he asked quietly.

Sylas just shook his head slightly. "No, that's... well... I... look..." He couldn't find the right words to explain himself. He exhaled loudly and ran his hand through his hair. "It's nothing," he finally mumbled, turning to the wall. He crossed his arms. "It's been a long time."

"That doesn't look like nothing..."

Sylas knew Draco wasn't stupid. On the contrary, Draco could recognize patterns, put things together. If Sylas was careless, Draco, or maybe even Theo, could uncover everything he'd tried to hide for so long. He prayed inwardly that the two of them would never talk about him, because if they did... he didn't even want to think about it.

A tense silence ensued. Only the faint dripping of water from the shower could be heard.

"I won't tell anyone, okay?" Draco finally said. "But you owe me an explanation sometime."

Sylas' shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. This was the best he could hope for. He nodded slowly.

Draco snorted softly. "I'm going to get my shampoo now." With that, he grabbed the bottle and pushed past Sylas to the door. But before he left, he gave him a quick, worried look. "You can trust me, you know? Not just me, Daphne and Theo too," he said quietly.

Then he left him alone.

For a moment, Sylas stood motionless. His heart pounded against his ribs. With trembling hands, he turned on the water and stepped into the shower. The hot water burning his ice-cold skin.

 

~~~

 

On Halloween morning, Sylas woke up with the others and went down to breakfast. He felt miserable, but did his best to hide it.

"We're bringing you lots of sweets from the Honeyduke," Daphne said with deep sympathy.

"Yes, a whole truckload!" Theo assured him.

Sylas waved his hand. "Don't worry about me," he murmured in a strained, casual tone. "I'll meet you at dinner."

Draco was the only one who didn't say anything. Since the incident in the shower, he'd been keeping a particularly close eye on Sylas.

He accompanied them to the Entrance Hall, where Filch stood by the entrance, checking off names on a long list, suspiciously scrutinizing each face and making sure no one sneaked out who wasn't allowed in. Professor McGonagall stood beside him, also keeping an eye on the students.

Draco nudged Sylas from the side. "Maybe you'll get lucky with McGonagall and she'll let you go after all. She is the Vice-Headmistress, after all," he murmured.

He considered it for a moment. It was definitely worth a try. After all, he'd be more likely to get permission from her than from Snape. He sighed loudly and walked straight toward her.

"Professor?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, Ashford?"

"Professor, my... guardian... didn't have a chance to sign the form. You know, because of that little accident during the holidays," he explained.

McGonagall looked at him over her square glasses, but said nothing.

"So... do you think it's possible... I mean... would it be okay if I went anyway? To Hogsmeade? After all, I've never been there..." he looked at her with wide, pleading eyes.

Professor McGonagall lowered her gaze and shook her head slightly. "I'm afraid not, Ashford," she said. "You know. No permission, no visiting the village. That's the rule."

"But... Professor, my guardian is a... Muggle, he basically knows nothing about these forms or Hogwarts in general. I was going to ask him, but then this... slip-up came up," Sylas said. "If you, as Vice-Headmistress, would give me permission -"

"But I won't give you that," McGonagall interrupted, looking at him sharply. "The form clearly states that parental or guardian permission must be obtained." She looked at him with a strange expression on her face - pity. "I'm sorry, Ashford, but that's my final word."

Dejectedly, he looked at his friends waiting in line and shook his head slightly. At that moment, Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnigan walked past him.

"You're staying here, Ashford?" Weasley called, joining the queue. "Are you scared of the Dementors outside?"

Sylas ignored him and made his lonely way down the marble stairs and along the deserted corridors back to the Slytherin dungeon. The stone wall opened up to him, and he stepped dejectedly into the common room. It was full of chattering first and second years and a few older students who had apparently visited Hogsmeade so often that it no longer offered them anything.

"Sylas! Sylas!" Ginny waved excitedly to him from a corner. She was beaming from ear to ear and was playing chess with Astoria.

With a somewhat grim expression, he walked over to them.

"Aren't you going to Hogsmeade?" she asked.

Sylas leaned casually against the chair Astoria was sitting in, crossed his arms, and shook his head slightly. "I forgot to get the signature," he muttered, examining the chess set. Playing against Oliver now was exactly what he needed.

"Why don't you join us?" Ginny suggested, pointing to the chair next to her. "We can take turns playing."

Sylas thought for a moment, and his gaze fell on Astoria, who was giving him a warning look. At that moment, the conversation on the train came back to him. Daphne had already warned him that there was a possibility that Ginny still had feelings for him.

He looked down from the chessboard into the warm brown eyes that beamed at him. Her cheeks had a slight pink hue, and she played nervously with her fingers.

…

Ah shit.

She really had feelings for him.

His gaze continued to sweep across the common room. The first and second years were far too intrusive and loud for him to want to stay there even a second longer. He couldn't stand their staring and whispering anyway.

He sighed loudly, his eyes searching hers again, and shook his head. "I'm not in the mood," Sylas murmured, her bright, warm eyes growing duller by the second. "Sorry, I have some school work to do anyway."

"Oh," she said, her shoulders slackening. "Sure, no problem. Maybe another time." She forced a smile.

Sylas turned and walked back out of the common room into the cold and lonely corridors of the dungeon. He shuffled listlessly toward the library, planning to hide in the far corner - as always - but halfway there, he changed his mind; he wasn't in the mood to work.

He wandered absentmindedly through the corridors with the vague intention of visiting Hedwig in the Owlery. As he climbed a staircase and strolled down the corridor, he suddenly heard a voice from one of the rooms.

"Sylas?"

Puzzled, he took a few quick steps back to see who it was and met Professor Lupin leaning out of his office door.

"What are you doing?" Lupin asked, puzzled. "Where are Daphne, Theo, and Draco?"

"Hogsmeade," Sylas grumbled, not even bothering to hide his gloomy expression.

"Ah," said Lupin. He studied Sylas for a moment. "Why don't you come in? A Grindlelow has just been delivered for our next lesson."

"A what?" asked Sylas. He followed Lupin into his office. In the corner stood a very large aquarium. A nasty green creature with sharp little horns pressed its face against the glass, making faces, and spreading its long, spindly fingers.

"Water demon," said Lupin, eyeing the Grindeloh thoughtfully. "We shouldn't have much trouble with him, not after the kappas. The trick is that you have to break his grip. See those unusually long fingers? Strong, but very fragile."

The Grindeloh bared his green teeth and then buried himself in a clump of vines in the corner.

"Cup of tea?" asked Lupin, looking around for the kettle. "I was just about to make myself one."

"Yes, thank you," he murmured. Lupin tapped the cauldron with his wand, and immediately a jet of steam hissed from his beak.

"Sit down," he offered, pointing to an empty chair. Lupin lifted the lid off a dusty tin can. "I'm afraid I only have tea bags - but you've had enough of tea leaves anyway, I suppose?"

Sylas looked at him in surprise. Lupin blinked.

"How do you know that?" asked Sylas.

"Professor McGonagall told me," said Lupin, handing Sylas a slightly chipped teacup. "You're not worried, are you?"

"Not really," he murmured thoughtfully. "I think I'm incredibly lucky when it comes to avoiding death."

At that moment, his encounters with the Grimm came back to him. Perhaps he won't be so lucky this year? For a brief moment, his heart fluttered with excitement. Whatever was going through Sylas' mind seemed to have been betrayed on his face.

"Something weighting on your mind, Sylas?"

"No," Sylas lied without thinking. He took a sip of tea and looked over at the Grindeloh, who was shaking his fist at him. "Yes," he said suddenly. "Do you remember the day we fought the Boggart?"

"Yes," Lupin said slowly, narrowing his eyes.

"Why didn't you let me face it?" Sylas exclaimed, slightly offended.

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "I thought that was obvious," he said, surprised. Sylas was taken aback, because he had expected Lupin to deny everything.

"Why?" he asked again.

"Well," said Lupin, frowning, "I thought if the Boggart attacked you, he would take the form of Lord Voldemort."

Sylas stared at him. That was the last answer he'd expected, and Lupin had even mentioned Voldemort's name. The only person Sylas had ever heard speak that name aloud was Dumbledore.

"Apparently I was wrong," said Lupin, still frowning at Sylas. "But I didn't think it appropriate for Lord Voldemort to appear in the classroom. I thought the students would panic."

For a moment, there was silence between the two. The only sound was the Grindelloh swimming around in the water.

"I wasn't thinking of the dark lord," Sylas murmured sincerely, his gaze fixed on his cup of tea. "I... I was thinking of one of those... Dementors."

"I see," said Lupin thoughtfully. "Well, well... I'm impressed." He smiled a little at Sylas's bewildered expression. "Meaning what you fear most - is fear itself. Very wise."

Sylas didn't know what to say and took another sip of tea.

"So you thought I wouldn't consider you capable of fighting a Boggart?" Lupin inquired.

"Yes," Sylas murmured, embarrassed. This realization made him feel a little better, though. "Professor Lupin, you know these Dementors..."

A knock at the door interrupted him.

"Come in," Lupin called. The door opened, and Snape entered. He was carrying a mug that was slightly steaming; at the sight of Sylas, he froze, his eyes narrowing.

"Ah, Severus," said Lupin, smiling. "Thank you. Could you put it here on the desk?" Snape set down the steaming mug, looking alternately at Sylas and Lupin. "I was just showing Sylas my Grindelo," said Lupin kindly, pointing to the aquarium.

"Fascinating," said Snape without looking. "You should drink it right away, Professor Lupin."

"Yes, yes, I will," said Lupin.

"I've brewed a whole cauldron full," Snape continued. "In case you need more."

"I'll probably have some tomorrow. Thank you, Severus."

Snape didn't reply. With a stiff expression and watchful eyes, he left. Sylas examined the cup curiously. How interesting. Snape called him by his last name, and Lupin by his first name. There must be some backstory. Lupin smiled, at which Sylas raised an eyebrow. It was obvious that Snape absolutely couldn't stand Lupin.

"Professor Snape was kind enough to brew me a potion," he said. "I'm not a great brewer myself, and this one is particularly difficult."

He picked up the cup and sniffed it. "It's a shame sugar makes this stuff ineffective," he continued, sipping the brew and shuddering. I wondered what kind of potion it was?

"Why -?" Sylas began. Lupin looked at him and answered the unfinished question.

"I've been feeling a little under the weather lately," he said. "This potion is the only thing that helps. I'm very lucky to be working with Severus; there aren't many wizards who can make it." Professor Lupin took another sip.

"Did you two know each other before?" Sylas asked bluntly. Lupin immediately choked on his potion and coughed violently.

"What makes you think that?" he croaked.

Sylas just shrugged and swirled the tea in the cup. "Just an observation. Professor Snape has been my Head of House for two years, and even he needs a good reason to glare at someone that angrily," he explained, glaring at him with interest.

A silence fell between the two. Lupin looked at him thoughtfully and took another sip.

"Is he treating you well?" Lupin asked suddenly, his expression unreadable. "Isn't Severus being ... disproportionately unfair to you?"

Sylas frowned. "Not unless I give him a reason," he said uncertainly. "The Gryffindors have it a lot worse."

For a brief moment, Lupin's eyes reflected remorse. What the hell happened between the two of them?

"Why ... do you ask?" Sylas murmured, scrutinizing the professor before him closely, but nothing betrayed him. Lupin sipped his potion, leaning casually against the shelf behind him. He drained the cup to the dregs and grimaced.

"Disgusting stuff," he grumbled. "Well, Sylas, I don't think Severus would appreciate me suddenly revealing details of his private life to a student. Besides, I have a bit of work to do. See you tonight at the feast."

For a moment, Sylas sat stubbornly, scrutinizing Lupin, but the professor remained firm in his decision. Slowly, Sylas stood up and placed the cup on his desk. Steam was still emanating from the empty mug.

"Sure," he murmured. "See you tonight, Professor."

The rest of the day he holed up in the library and randomly picked out whatever literature he could to browse through. He didn't feel like doing homework at all, especially not on his astronomy essay, which was actually due long ago. But he could hardly concentrate on those books. Not when the restricted section was only a few meters away. His fingers itched to just go in.

For a moment he toyed with the idea of going back to the dungeon to continue reading Moste Evile Magick. The book was currently explaining the unforgivable curses. But the thought of all the first and second years - especially Ginny - made him feel an unpleasant ache in his chest. He didn't want to meet her. Not when she was looking at him with such hopeful eyes.

Hopeful eyes that he would eventually make cry. And he wanted to push that moment back as far as possible.

He had no choice but to sink into his usual corner of the library and stare at the old pages with a dull feeling of frustration in his stomach. The silence lingered between the shelves, ready to be shattered at any moment. But today, no student would waste their time in the library - not on the Hogsmeade weekend.

… Hogsmeade …

Sylas sighed loudly. He was sitting here surrounded by dusty old books, while absolutely everyone in his year was having the time of their lives. What he wouldn't give right now to drink a Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, or visit Honeydukes and buy just about any sweets.

But no ... he was stuck here.

His back was starting to hurt. Merlin, he really needed to get into the habit of sitting up straight and not assuming a shrimp position when reading. Slowly, he stood up and stretched his arms above his head. Some bones were starting to crack. A quick stroll through the shelves would do his back some good.

He moved quietly among the tall bookshelves, running his fingers over the old spines and letting his gaze glide over titles he didn't want to read anyway. Another sigh escaped him, and he leaned dejectedly against one of the bookshelves, crossed his arms, and instinctively looked slightly upward, his mind filled with a single name - hoping he would emerge from the ceiling. But the longer he stared at the ceiling, the heavier his heart became.

"Where the hell did he go?!" he grumbled quietly to himself, running his hand through his hair in annoyance. It was precisely at such moments that Oliver always kept him company. Every day that passed, every week, every month that Oliver didn't show up, Sylas sank into believing that the ghost might really just be a figment of his imagination.

The thought made his stomach turn slightly.

Suddenly, he heard a faint rustling at the other end of the library. He frowned. No one else should be here, not even Madame Pince was sitting at her table. With quiet, deliberate steps, he slipped to the end of the corridor and peered slightly around the corner. A dark figure stood amidst the narrow aisles of shelves, half-hidden in shadow. For a split second, Sylas thought he saw yellow eyes gleaming in the darkness.

But the worst thing?

The deathly silence.

Sylas could only feel the racing pulse of his heart. His trembling hand sought support on the shelves.

The figure seemed gaunt and gloomy, as if a shadow from the night itself had crept into the library. And the face... no... that wasn't human. It was a snout. A dog. A huge, black dog stood there.

His eyes widened as realization hit him.

The Grimm.

He swallowed hard, cold creeping into his bones, and for a moment he was frozen. He didn't even dare take a breath.

The omen of death.

This was the fourth time he'd encountered this omen. What were the chances that this was still a coincidence?

But when he blinked, the figure was gone. Nothing stood there in the half-shadow, as if it had been just a figment of his imagination, pure fantasy.

Sylas slowly backed away and rubbed his face. He slowly tried to breathe in and out deeply. Merlin, if he saw such an omen again, he'd completely lose it. But the corners of his mouth twitched slightly upward again. The conversation in Lupin's office came back to him. What had he told him again? He had ridiculous luck when it came to avoid death.

He regretted this arrogant answer a little.

Because maybe he really was unlucky this time.

Or one could see it as luck, that someone might finally come for his neck. 

Or his brain was playing tricks on him and he really does belong in the nuthouse.

Trembling slightly, he slid back into his usual chair, staring down every aisle, just to make sure there really wasn't anything there. He had to calm down and get that damned twitch at the corner of his mouth under control by dinnertime.

Thinking about death shouldn't feel so delightful. 

As the sun slowly began to set and shadows began to creep across the library, it was time for the feast. With a sigh, he placed the book back on the shelf, and with one last glance at the restricted section, he hurried through the corridors toward the Great Hall. His thoughts were still on the black figure between the shelves. He was sure it must be his imagination. How else could a dog have gotten into the library?

Between the stream of students he heard a familiar voice that tore him from his thoughts.

"Sylas!"

He turned around and saw Daphne waving to him from the crowd. To her left and right, Theo and Draco grinned at him. He waited for them to catch up with him.

"Where have you been?" Theo asked. "We looked for you in the dungeon, but you weren't there. For a moment, we thought the Weasley twins had put a spell on you again."

Sylas snorted and looked at him offended. "I was in the library," he said. "Besides, the twins and I made peace... At least I hope they're keeping it. How was Hogsmeade? Where were you?"

Just as it sounded: everywhere. At Dervish and Banges, the magic shop, in Zonko's Shop, in the Three Brooms, to drink steaming mugs of hot butterbeer, and that was by no means all.

"The post office, Sylas! A good two hundred owls, all on perches, all in different colors, depending on how quickly the letter needs to arrive!"

"There's a new syrup in the Honeyduke, they've been giving out samples, here's a little, look—"

"We think we saw an ogre in the Three Broom really does have a lot going on -"

"We would have loved to bring you some Butterbeer, it really warms you up—"

"And what have you been doing?" Daphne asked with a worried expression. "Did you do a little work?"

"No," said Sylas. "Lupin made me a cup of tea in his office. And then Snape came in..." He told them all about Snape's brew. The Slytherins all looked at him with a mixture of awe, confusion, and horror. Because it was no secret how much Snape disliked Lupin.

They entered the Great Hall, decorated with hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering bats, and flaming orange banners floating gently across the stormy sky like glowing water snakes.

"And Lupin really drank it?" Draco asked, his voice filled with disbelief. "He must really have faith in Snape."

"I'm telling you," Sylas began, and they sat down at the table. "The two of them have some kind of history together. When I asked Lupin about it, he dodged my question."

But they didn't get any further with the discussion. The feast was far too distracting. Even though Draco, Theo, and Daphne were still stuffed, they managed to fill their stomachs a second time. Sylas, on the other hand, ate rather hesitantly. The afternoon still weighed heavily on his stomach.

He kept glancing over at the staff table. Professor Lupin looked cheerful and as lively as usual, chatting animatedly with Professor Flitwick. Sylas let his eyes wander along the table to where Snape was sitting. Was it his imagination, or were Snape's eyes flickering over to Lupin unusually often?

The feast ended with a small display of Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables and floated in a wave of formation flight through the hall; then Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor, had a great success with a reenactment of his own botched decapitation.

The evening had been so enjoyable that not even Weasley could spoil Sylas' good mood as he called out over the heads of the crowd, "Greetings from the Dementors, Ashford!"

Theo, Draco, Daphne, and Sylas followed the other Slytherins down the familiar path into the dungeon. One by one, they passed through the stone wall. They said goodbye to Daphne, who went to her room. The boys followed suit.

Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle sat together, their laughter echoing throughout the room.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked curiously. They had a box of Bertie Botts beans between them.

"Thought it would be fun to try our luck," Blaise laughed, offering him one.

Draco looked at the box with horror. "I'm out," he grumbled, grimacing. "I once got one with vomit. I still haven't recovered." A shiver ran down his spine.

Blaise looked at Theo and Sylas expectantly. "Come on," he said with a grin. "Don't be spoilsports."

"Okay," Theo conceded, picking one out. The bean was slightly pink with red spots.

"This can be either strawberry or soap," Blaise read from the package, and the next moment the bean disappeared into Theo's mouth. Everyone looked at him expectantly. His grin said it all.

"Strawberry"

Sylas could only roll his eyes in amusement. Of course he'd get strawberry. Blaise held out the box, and he reached in blindly. A bright orange bean shimmered between his fingers, and just before he could eat it, Ben - the Slytherin prefect - suddenly walked into their room.

"Meeting in the common room and then we'll go back to the Great Hall," was all he said before moving on to the next room.

The boys frowned at each other. Suddenly, Goyle snatched the bean between Sylas' fingers and immediately grimaced.

"Earwax," he croaked, and they burst out laughing.

With a smile, they returned to the common room. Almost the entire Slytherin house was there, and everyone seemed just as confused as they were.

Theo, Draco and Sylas joined Daphne, Astoria and Ginny.

"Did Penny explain to you what's going on?" Theo asked, and all three shook their heads.

"She simply said we should gather here and then go back to the Great Hall," Daphne explained. "I wonder if Dumbledore forgot to mention something important?"

"No", Draco mumbeled, "Than he would have sent Uncle Sev to deliver the message, would be much easier than causing such a scene."

Once everyone was gathered, they climbed the steps back up to the Great Hall together, where the Gryffindors were already waiting. Each of them seemed incredibly tense, and fear was reflected in the faces of the younger ones.

Sylas spotted the twins, who, unsurprisingly, terrified the first years. Fred bent down and whispered something in a tiny boy's ear, causing the little boy to turn pale. George waved his hands theatrically in the air, apparently describing a giant claw. With a nod in their direction, he directed Daphne, Theo, and Draco over.

"Fred! George!" he shouted overhead. "What's going on here?"

Fred turned briskly and placed a hand over his heart. "Ah, the gentlemen and lady of Slytherin, what a pleasure that you deign to speak to us common folk."

"Yes, yes, we are deeply honored," George added, bowing exaggeratedly. "Should we roll out the red carpet for you too? Perhaps sprinkle it with some leprechaun gold coins to make it feel truly royal?"

"Very funny," Sylas said dryly. "Now speak up."

The twins exchanged a glance and took a step closer. "Well, since it's you..." Fred lowered his voice dramatically. "The portrait of the Fat Lady has been completely ripped open. And guess who's supposedly responsible?"

George leaned over and whispered, "The one, the only, the crazy one - Sirius Black."

Daphne sucked in a sharp breath. "He's here? In the castle?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she was trembling slightly. Draco, Theo, and Daphne exchanged warning glances. This could spell absolute disaster.

Fred shrugged. "Well, Peeves swears on his thumb that he saw Black with his own eyes."

"And Peeves has never lied in his life!" George added with mock indignation, before grinning, "Okay, he lies all the time. But this time he seemed pretty enthusiastic - which either means it's true or he's luring us all into a particularly big trap."

Draco grimaced. "And why would Black want to join you Gryffindors?"

Fred and George exchanged a glance. Then Fred shrugged. "Well, either he's a very patriotic mass murderer, or -"

"- he had his sights set on someone specific," George finished, his gaze fixed on Sylas.

Sylas' stomach lurched. It wasn't known that Black was after him, but he wouldn't be surprised if the twins somehow figured it out. "Who do you mean?"

Fred grinned crookedly. "Oh, let me put it this way: Maybe you should think about whether you're really going to be the last one out of the dorm tomorrow morning."

George nodded solemnly. "Or get yourself a nice, sturdy castle for your four-poster bed. They're probably in Diagon Alley, right next to the anti-murderer wards and the self-defense dagger throwers."

Sylas grimaced. "Very reassuring." There was no doubt they both knew Black wanted him.

Fred patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, mate. If Black really is here, he'll probably go to Dumbledore first and ask for a guest bed."

"Perhaps McGonagall has reserved a room for murderous lunatics?" George wondered aloud.

"Besides Snape?" Fred asked hopefully.

"Good idea," said George approvingly.

Sylas sighed deeply, and the quartet moved back toward the Slytherins. The silence between them spoke volumes. But Sylas was thinking about one thing above all else.

The Grimm.

"But why Gryffindor?" Theo murmured thoughtfully. "It's well known that Sylas is a Slytherin. Why isn't he breaking in the dungeon?"

"Maybe he didn't know and was guessing?" Daphne speculated, shrugging. "After all, he's been in Azkaban until now. How would he get the information that Sylas is in Slytherin?"

Draco ran his hand thoughtfully through his hair. "Maybe he just thought only a Gryffindor would stand up to Voldemort."

The remaining Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs finally entered the Great Hall. Everyone looked forward to Dumbledore, eagerly awaiting.

The old man cleared his throat. "It is believed that Sirius Black may have infiltrated Hogwarts," he announced loudly. An uneasy murmur spread among the students. "Together with the other teachers, I will conduct a thorough search of the castle," Dumbledore explained, while McGonagall and Flitwick closed all the doors to the hall. "I'm afraid, for your own safety, you will have to spend tonight here. I ask the prefects to stand guard at the entrances to the hall, and I will hand over responsibility to the Head Boys. Any incident is to be reported to me immediately," he added, addressing the immensely proud and weighty-looking Percy. "Send one of the ghosts to me."

On the way to the exit, Professor Dumbledore paused once more. "Oh yes, you need..."

With a casual flick of his wand, the long tables flew to the corners of the hall and stood upright against the walls; another flick, and the floor was covered with hundreds of cuddly, purple sleeping bags.

"Sleep well!" said Professor Dumbledore, closing the door behind him.

An excited buzz immediately arose in the hall; the Gryffindors told the others what had just happened.

"Everyone into your sleeping bags!" Percy shouted. "Come on, hurry up, no more whispering! Lights out in ten minutes!"

The Slytherins all grabbed sleeping bags and huddled in a corner. Wearing everything they were wearing, they climbed into their sleeping bags and turned toward each other, leaning on their elbows.

"Do you think Black is still in the castle?" Ginny whispered anxiously.

"Dumbledore thinks he is," Daphne said.

"The more important question is how he got in," Astoria mused.

"Maybe he knows how to Apparate," Blaise said. "Just appear out of nowhere, you know."

"He was probably in disguise," said Crabbe.

"He might have flown in," Pansy suggested.

"Hogwarts isn't protected by its walls alone," Sylas explained, slightly indignant. "The castle is surrounded by all sorts of wards and curses to prevent anyone from sneaking in. You can't just Apparate in here. And what kind of disguise is Black using to fool the Dementors? They guard the entrances to the grounds. They would have seen him fly in anyway. And I assume Filch knows all the secret passages and guards them."

After his monologue, everyone around him frowned. "How do you know about Apparating?" Astoria asked.

Sylas sighed loudly. "It's in the book A History of Hogwarts, but none of you seem to have read that," he grumbled.

"Who are you? A second Granger?" Draco said jokingly.

Pansy snorted loudly, but before she could make a stupid comment, Percy interjected. "We're turning off the lights now!" he shouted. "Everyone in your sleeping bags and no more whispering!"

Immediately afterwards, the candles went out. The only light now came from the silvery ghosts hovering around, speaking gravely to the prefects, and from the enchanted ceiling, studded with stars like the sky outside. This, along with the whispering that still filled the hall, made Sylas feel as if he were sleeping under the open sky, with a gentle breeze.

Every hour, a teacher appeared to check that everything was quiet. Around three in the morning, when many students had finally fallen asleep, Professor Dumbledore entered. Sylas watched him search for Percy, who was wandering among the sleeping bags, scolding anyone who was still talking. Percy wasn't far from the Slytherins; now they heard Dumbledore approaching and quickly pretended to be asleep.

"Any sign of him, Professor?" whispered Percy.

"No. Is everything okay here?"

"Everything's under control, sir."

"Good. There's no point in scaring them away now. I've temporarily found another guard for the portrait hole upstairs with the Gryffindors. They can go back up tomorrow."

"And the fat lady, sir?"

"Hiding upstairs on the second floor on a map of Argyllshire. She apparently refused to let Black in without a password, so he attacked her. She's still pretty upset, but once she's calmed down, I'll have Filch restore her."

Sylas heard the door to the hall creak open and someone enter.

"Headmaster?" That was Snape. Sylas held his breath and listened intently. "We've searched the entire third floor. No sign of him. And Filch was in the dungeons; he's not there either."

"What about the Astronomy Tower? Professor Trelawney's room? The Owlery?"

"Everything searched..."

"All right, Severus. I didn't expect Black to linger long anyway."

"Do you have any idea how he got in?" Snape asked. Sylas gently lifted his head from his arm so he could hear with his other ear.

"A few, Severus, and each one more nonsensical than the other."

Sylas opened his eyes a tiny slit and peered up at the three of them; Dumbledore's back was to him, but he could see Percy's breathless expression and Snape's angry profile.

"You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before... the start of the school year?" Snape said through pursed lips, as if to exclude Percy from the conversation.

"Indeed, Severus," said Dumbledore, and there was something warning in his voice.

"It seems - almost impossible - that Black got in from the castle without help. I expressed my reservations about this appointment at the time -"

"I don't think anyone here in the castle helped Black," said Dumbledore, and his tone made it clear that he considered the matter closed, so Snape didn't reply.

"I have to go down to the Dementors," said Dumbledore. "I said I'd report to them when the search was over."

"Didn't they want to help, sir?" said Percy.

"Oh yes," said Dumbledore coolly. "But as long as I'm Headmaster, no Dementor will cross the threshold of this castle."

Percy seemed a little taken aback. Dumbledore left quickly and quietly. Snape stood silently for a moment, staring after the headmaster with an expression of deep distaste, then he too left the hall.

Sylas glanced out of the corner of his eye at Theo, Draco, and Daphne. All three lay there with their eyes open, reflecting the starry sky - all of them considerably more worried than he was.

Chapter 29

Over the next few days, they talked about nothing else at school. The theories about how Sirius Black could have infiltrated the castle became increasingly more absurd. During the next Herbology class, Hannah Abbott of the Hufflepuff told anyone who would listen that Black could transform himself into a flowering bush. Giving the Slytherins a hard time to not break out in great laughter.

The torn-up painting of the Fat Lady was taken down from the wall and replaced with a portrait of Sir Cadogan and his fat gray pony. No one was entirely happy with that. Sir Cadogan constantly challenged the Gryffindors to duels or invented ridiculously complicated passwords that he changed at least twice a day. It was a real highlight for the Slytherins when they happened to pass by the painting and the Gryffindors stood there in despair, unable to get in.

But Sylas had a bigger problem. He was now under constant surveillance. Teachers escorted him through the corridors under various pretexts, and Percy Weasley - on his mother's orders, Sylas suspected - followed him everywhere like an extremely pompous bodyguard. Even during Quidditch practice, Madam Hooch stood down on the pitch, watching them.

Luckily, Snape didn't demand that he stopped training completely. Draco continued to improve, but Sylas also noticed after each training session how well the sport was in his blood.

As the first game approached and the weather worsened, the Slytherins remained undeterred and continued to train under the watchful eye of Madam Hooch. Then, during their final training session before Saturday's game, Flint delivered some unpleasant news to the team.

"We're not playing against Gryffindor," he growled. "Wood has just informed me. We're playing against Hufflepuff."

"Why?!" came the shout from everyone.

"Apparently their Seeker is sick and unable to play," Flint said through gritted teeth. Dean Thomas had barely attended class for a few days, and when he did, he looked so miserable that every teacher immediately sent him back to the hospital wing. Wood must have overdone the training.

"Ugh, Thomas is such a wimp!" Draco exclaimed, annoyed. He'd been so excited to show the Gryffindor what he was made of. "He's probably calling in sick just to avoid playing in such awful weather."

It had been storming and raining heavily all day, and a distant roll of thunder accompanied Draco's words.

"We still can't prove it," Flint grumbled, running a stressed hand through his hair. "And we've been practicing all these moves because we assumed we were playing against Gryffindor, and now Hufflepuffs are coming with their completely different style of play. They have a new captain and Seeker, Cedric Diggory."

"Why are you worried, Flint?" asked Adrian Pucey. "We'll easily take the Hufflepuffs. In the last game against them, Draco caught the Snitch in a matter of minutes."

"Different times," Flint grumbled, folding his arms. "Diggory has put together quite a strong team. He's a very good Seeker. Nott has been slipping me a bit of information about him over the past few weeks, and if things go wrong, it could cost us the Cup."

Sylas raised an eyebrow slightly. So Theo was still spying on the other teams.

Draco poked him lightly in the side. "Theo likes to hide in the towers to get the best possible view. So far, he's never been discovered, and it's only because of him that we've always been able to win so well against the others," he explained quietly.

"Wouldn't it be smart if we let Ashford play?" came the sudden reply from Miles Bletchley. "After all, they don't know his style of play and are at just as much of a disadvantage as we are."

Sylas stared at him with wide eyes and immediately shook his head. "I don't think -"

"Not a bad idea," said Flint, his gaze directed thoughtfully at the boy. "They certainly won't take you to count. After all, it's not well known that you're also part of the team."

"The risk is far too high!" Sylas said, slightly frustrated. "I've never participated in an official match  and I lack the experience Draco has. He's played against Diggory before, after all."

Draco patted him encouragingly on the shoulder. "Don't worry," he said. "Theo and I will tell you all about him so you can make up for the lack of experience. Besides, you're a really good player, so why not test your skills in a real game?"

"But -"

"Well, then it's a done deal," grinned Flint. "Your very first game is coming up."

The day before the game, the wind turned into a howling gale and it poured with rain. Inside the corridors and classrooms, it was so dark that additional torches and lanterns had to be lit.

Sylas couldn't think about anything but the next day's game. Draco and Theo spent all their free time feeding him information so he would be as prepared as possible. But the closer the game got, the more nervous he became.

"Diggory veers sideways very quickly, so you'd better try a loop," whispered Theo, flipping through a small notebook. They were sitting in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, waiting for Professor Lupin to finally arrive.

Sylas' eyes widened. "Looping?!" he blurted out. "I'm glad the wind doesn't blow me off my broom, and then I'm supposed to do a loop?"

"It's easier than it looks," Draco said arrogantly, shrugging.

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "In all the games so far, you haven't done a single loop," she said.

Before he could defend himself, the door burst open and Professor Snape dramatically entered the classroom. He darkened the windows with his wand and walked to the front of the desk. Everyone immediately fell silent and frowned at each other.

"Where is Professor Lupin?" Granger asked bluntly, earning a warning look from Snape.

"Professor Lupin felt unable to teach today, Miss Granger," he said dangerously. He flipped through Lupin's notes and paused on a page. "Since Professor Lupin left no notes on the material you've covered so far -"

"Please, sir, we've treated boggarts, redcaps, kappas, and grindelos," Granger blurted. The Slytherins looked at each other, impressed that Granger would take on Snape like that. "And we were just about to -"

"Silence," Snape said coldly. "I didn't ask for clarification. Today we're covering-"

Sylas saw him flip through the textbook, down to the last chapter, which he must have known they couldn't have covered yet.

"- Werewolves,"  Snape said.

"But, sir," said Granger, who apparently couldn't control herself, "we shouldn't deal with the werewolves just yet. We were supposed to start with Hinkepanks -"

"Miss Granger," Snape said with icy calm. "I assumed, I am teaching the class, not you. Now, everyone, turn to page 394." He looked around again. "Everyone, I said! immediately!"

Amidst many bitter sideways glances and defiant murmurs, they opened their books.

"Which of you can tell me how to tell apart a werewolf from a real wolf?" Snape asked. They all sat motionless and silent; all except Granger, whose hand shot up as it often did.

"None?" Snape said without even looking at Granger. He put on his crooked smile again. "Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even shown you the simple difference between -"

"We told you," Parvati suddenly burst out, "that we haven't been to the werewolves yet, we're still on -"

"Quiet!" Snape barked. "Well, well, well, I never thought I'd come across a third-year class that couldn't even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I'll specifically inform Professor Dumbledore how far behind you are..."

"Please, sir," said Granger, her hand still raised, "the werewolf can be distinguished from the real wolf by several small features. The werewolf's snout -"

"That's the second time you've butted in, Miss Granger," Snape said coldly. "Five points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."

Granger turned bright red, dropped her hand, and stared at the floor with watery eyes. A low chuckle escaped the Slytherins. The Gryffindors simply didn't know when enough was enough. All the Gryffindors glared at Snape angrily. Granger had already been called a know-it-all, but this was something completely different. Even Weasley couldn't let it go.

"You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don't want to know?"

Even as Weasley spoke, the class realized he'd gone too far. Snape slowly approached Weasley, and everyone around them held their breath.

"Detention, Weasley," Snape said in an oily voice, his face close to Weasley. "And if I hear you criticize my teaching methods again, you'll be truly sorry."

For the rest of the lesson, no one made a sound. They sat and copied the chapter on werewolves from the textbook, while Snape patrolled the rows of desks, checking the assignments they had written for Professor Lupin.

"Very poorly explained... that's not true, the kappa is more common in Mongolia... Professor Lupin gave it eight out of ten? You wouldn't have gotten three from me..."

When the bell finally rang, Snape stopped them. "You're writing an essay on how to identify and kill a werewolf. I want two rolls of parchment on it by Monday morning. It's time someone got the class in check. Weasley, you stay a little longer; we need to talk about your detention."

The Slytherins walked out of the classroom with wide grins. They could already hear the Gryffindors cursing Snape, once they were out of earshot of the professor.

"Serves them right," said Draco. "This is punishment for making fun of you're fainting."

"I really wonder what Snape has against Lupin," Daphne murmured. "Normally he never gets so abusive toward another teacher."

They heard Weasley's indignant voice from afar. "Do you know what he's saddled me with? I have to clean bedpans in the hospital wing! Without any spells!"

The Slytherins burst into raucous laughter.

The next morning, Sylas woke up unusually early - so early that it was still dark. For a moment, he thought the howling wind had woken him, then he felt a cold breeze on his neck and sat bolt upright.

Oliver!

He jumped up, tore aside the curtain, and frantically looked around the bedroom for the boy's cheeky grin, but his hopes were dashed by Peeves, the poltergeist. He had floated past him very close and blown violently in his ear.

"Bloody hell?" Sylas hissed angrily. Peeves puffed out his cheeks, blew out hard, and floated backward, cackling, out of the dormitory. Sylas fumbled for his alarm clock and looked at the face. It was half past four. Cursing Peeves, he climbed into bed and tried to go back to sleep, but now that he lay awake, he couldn't ignore the rolling thunder overhead, the whistling wind in the corridors, and the distant groaning of the trees in the Forbidden Forest.

In a few hours, he'd be out on the Quidditch pitch, battling this storm. Finally, he gave up hope of going back to sleep, got out of bed, dressed, grabbed his Nimbus Two Thousand and One, and quietly walked out of the dormitory.

It was darker than ever in the common room. The roar of the storm was muffled by the lake, but it was still clearly audible. Sylas had no hope. They weren't going to cancel the match. Quidditch matches weren't postponed for trivial reasons like thunderstorms. Still, he felt a little uneasy. His first real match, and it had to be in such awful weather.

Theo had pointed out Cedric Diggory to him in passing; he was a fifth-year and much taller than him. Seekers were usually light and nimble, but Diggory's weight was an advantage in this weather because the storm wouldn't blow him off course so easily.

Out of habit, he set up a magical chessboard near the sofas by the fireplace and made his first move. But after a short second, he realized that Oliver wasn't coming to play with him. Just as he was about to pack up the chessboard, he heard footsteps.

"Nervous?" Theo's sleepy voice echoed through the common room.

"In weather like this? Definitely," he grumbled, looking Theo up and down. His hair was a complete mess and he looked like, he wasn't quiet awake yet. "Did I wake you?"

Theo yawned and nodded. "You jumped up so frantically and with the storm? I just couldn't get back to sleep," he said, sitting down on the couch opposite and making his move on the board.

"Sorry...," Sylas mumbled.

Theo simply waved his hand dismissively, and they continued playing peacefully. They whiled away the hours in front of the fireplace until dusk. Finally, it was time for breakfast, and the two of them climbed the stairs to the Great Hall. They were among the first to sit at the table.

Over a large bowl of porridge, his spirits finally revived, and as he started on the toast, the rest of the team, Draco, and Daphne showed up.

The Quidditch players were throwing punches. They were in for a tough match. A small wooden box suddenly appeared next to Sylas' plate. Frowning, he looked at Draco, who was grinning broadly at him.

"You desperately need this," he said, crossing his arms proudly. "I was actually going to give it to you for Christmas, but you need it more now."

Sylas' gaze wandered back to the gift. The box was exquisitely crafted. The logo was embellished with gold lettering. When Sylas opened it, the inside was lined with soft fabric, and inside was a pair of extremely expensive-looking glasses. The glasses were simple, with round lenses that had a slight greenish tint. He put them on, and Draco gave them a quick flick of his wand. The lenses immediately adjusted to his eyes, and he could see everything much more clearly.

"Great," Theo said with a grin. "Now you don't always have to copy my answers in class."

Sylas just snorted in amusement and gave him the middle finger.

"I saw these in Sweden," Draco said enthusiastically. "These lenses are the best. They protect your eyes perfectly from the bright light and are much softer than blue or yellow lenses. Plus, they're enchanted so they never get dirty, and even in a storm, you have perfect vision."

"Then you don't have to worry about the little rain out there," laughed Daphne.

But it was considerably more than just a little rain. Quidditch was so popular that, as always, the whole school turned out to watch the match. However, they had to run across the grass down to the pitch with their heads down, fighting the wind, and the storm ripped their umbrellas out of their hands. Just before Sylas entered the changing room, he saw Weasley, Thomas, and Finnigan laughing and pointing at him from under a giant umbrella on their way to the stadium.

They quickly put on their emerald-green robes. There was no pre-match pep talk. They all looked at each other with eager, confident glances and nodded to one another. Draco was the only one left in the locker room. If push came to shove, they would substitute him.

The wind was so strong that when they ran onto the pitch, they stumbled to the side. The crowd might have hooted and screamed, but they couldn't hear it over the ever-increasing waves of thunder. How the hell was he supposed to spot the Snitch in this rotten weather? The Hufflepuffs, in their canary-yellow robes, were coming from the other side of the pitch. The captains and Diggory frowned at the new Seeker.

"You have a new Seeker?" the Hufflepuff practically shouted at them.

Flint grinned at him wickedly. "Our second Seeker. Thought he needed some experience in the game," he explained loudly. Diggory's face turned completely white. They hadn't expected that, of course.

They shook hands firmly. Sylas saw Madam Hooch's mouth form the words "Mount your brooms." He pulled his right foot out of the mud with a squelching sound and swung himself onto his broom. Madam Hooch put her whistle to her lips and blew; the shrill whistle seemed to come from far away, and off they went.

His first Quidditch match began under the worst conditions.

Sylas climbed quickly, but his Nimbus lurched slightly in the wind. He held it level with all his might, peered through the rain, and then turned around.

In less than five minutes he was soaked to the skin and half frozen. He could barely see his teammates, let alone the tiny Snitch. At first he'd hoped the goggles would help him see better, but even they didn't help much. He flew up and down the pitch, past blurry green and yellow figures, without the slightest clue as to what was going on in the game. He couldn't hear the announcer in the wind. The crowd below had hidden under a sea of cloaks and shredded umbrellas. Twice a Bludger almost knocked Sylas off his broom; only his new goggles allowed him to dodge them.

He lost track of time. It became increasingly difficult to keep the broom straight. The sky darkened, as if night had decided to come early. Twice he almost collided with another player, not knowing whether it was a teammate or an opponent; everyone was now so wet, and the rain was so thick, that he could barely tell them apart...

With the first flash of lightning came the blow of Madam Hooch's whistle. Sylas could just make out the outline of Flint through the heavy rain, gesturing to him. The entire team landed with a splash in the mud.

"I asked for a timeout!" Flint yelled at his team. "Come on, get down here -"

They crowded together at the edge of the pitch under a large umbrella.

"How's it going?"

"We're fifty points ahead," said Flint, "but if we don't catch the Snitch soon, we'll be playing into the night. So hurry up, Ashford."

The team briefly discussed tactics again. Flint became quite abusive, arguing that they should stick to the game plan. But the wind made it difficult for them to stay in formation. They took to the air again, and the game continued.

Everything rested on Sylas' shoulders. If he didn't catch the Snitch soon, the Slytherins would give him hell. Every single one of them was shivering from the cold. He peered in all directions for the Snitch, dodging a Bludger here and diving under the onrushing Diggory there.

He saw a forked flash of lightning, followed immediately by another clap of thunder. This is getting more and more dangerous, thought Sylas. He had to catch the Snitch as soon as possible. How could anyone be allowed to play Quidditch under such conditions?! He turned and started to fly back to the middle of the pitch, but at that moment another flash of light illuminated the stands, and Sylas saw something that completely captivated him - the outline of a huge, shaggy black dog, clearly outlined against the sky. It sat motionless in the top empty row, glaring at him with its yellow eyes.

It was exactly the same black dog as in the library.

Sylas' heart stopped and he barely noticed anything around him. The broomstick slipped from his clammy hands and his Nimbus dropped a few feet. He rubbed his eyelids and looked back at the stands one last time. The dog was gone.

What the hell?!

"Sylas!" Miles Bletchley's horrified cry came from the Slytherin goalposts, "Sylas, behind you!"

Sylas looked around in horror. Cedric Diggory came darting across the pitch, and something small and golden shimmered in the raindrops between them. In sudden panic, Sylas ducked over the broomstick and raced toward the Snitch.

"Go on!" he growled at his Nimbus, as the rain lashed his face, "faster!" He had to prove to himself that he was capable of catching the Snitch under such conditions.

But then something strange happened. An eerie silence descended over the stadium. The wind didn't let up in the slightest, but it forgot to howl. It was as if someone had turned off the sound, as if Sylas had suddenly gone deaf - what was going on?

And then a horribly familiar wave of cold washed over him, penetrating him just as he noticed movement in the field below... At least a hundred Dementors, their hooded faces turned toward him, stood there below him. It was as if icy water were rising in his chest, killing his insides.

And then he heard it again... someone screamed, screamed inside his head... a woman...

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"

"Step aside, you stupid girl... go away now..."

"Not Harry, please don't, take me, kill me instead of him—"

A numbing, swirling white mist filled Sylas' head... what was he doing? Why was he flying? He had to help her... she was going to die... she was being killed... 

Suddenly an utterly uncomfortable heat spread across his skin and he could hear fire cackeling in the distant. 

He fell, fell through the icy mist.

"Not Harry! Please... spare him... spare him..."

A shrill voice laughed, the woman screamed, and Sylas lost consciousness.

The familiar smell of disinfectant, mixed with the scent of freshly washed sheets and dried herbs, filled his nose.

"It's lucky the ground was so soggy."

"I thought he was dead."

"Damn, not even the glasses got ruined."

Sylas could hear whispers, but he didn't understand anything. He could guess where he was, but how did he get here? What was he even doing earlier? All he knew was that every limb ached, as if he'd been beaten.

"That was the most horrible thing I've ever seen in my life."

Horrible... the most horrible thing... hooded black figures... cold... screams... the sudden heat... Sylas' eyes shot open. The Slytherin Quidditch team, covered in mud from head to toe, was gathered around his bed. Daphne, Theo, and Draco were there too, looking as if they'd just stepped out of a swimming pool.

"Ashford!" said Flint, looking pale under all the mud, "how are you?"

It was as if Sylas' memory was being rewound. The lightning - the Grimm - the Snitch - and the Dementors -

"What happened?" he croaked, sitting up so suddenly that their mouths fell open.

"You fell," said Draco. "Must have been - about - fifteen meters."

"We thought you were dead," sobbed Daphne, shaking all over.

"But the game," said Sylas. "What about it? Will it be repeated?" No one said a word. Everyone just looked at each other, unsure who would tell them. The terrible truth sank into Sylas like a stone. "We... We lost?"

"Diggory caught the Snitch," said Adrian Pucey. "Shortly after your fall. He hadn't seen what had happened. When he looked around and saw you lying on the ground, he wanted to disallow his catch and call a replay. But really, they deserved to win... even Flint admits it."

Sylas laid his face on his knees and tore at his hair. He had completely failed in his first game. Adrian Pukey, the second Chaser on the Slytherin team, grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him roughly. "Don't blame yourself," he said. "It was your first game, and under the most terrible conditions, no less. If Diggory hadn't caught the Snitch so quickly, we'd still have had Malfoy to replace you."

"It's not over yet," said Draco. "We've lost a hundred points, so what? If Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw and we beat Ravenclaw and Gryffindor—"

"Hufflepuff has to lose by at least two hundred points," said Adrian. "But if they beat Ravenclaw -"

"Impossible, Ravenclaw is too good. But if Gryffindor loses to Hufflepuff..."

"It all depends on the points account - in any case, it always takes a hundred points behind -"

Sylas lay there and didn't say a word. They had lost - the only thing going through his mind was that they had lost, and it was his fault.

After about ten minutes, Madam Pomfrey came in and told them to leave him alone. The team marched out, leaving only a trail of mud behind them. With a disapproving look, Madam Pomfrey closed the door behind them. Daphne, Draco, and Theo stepped closer to Sylas' bed.

"Dumbledore was really angry," Daphne said, her voice trembling. "I've never seen him like that. As you were falling, he ran onto the pitch, waving his wand, and somehow you slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he waved his wand at the Dementors and shot silvery stuff at them. They ran off immediately... he was furious that they came into the stadium; we heard him ranting -"

"Then he magically put you on a stretcher," Theo said, "and walked up to school with you floating beside him. Everyone thought you were..."

His voice trailed off, but Sylas was barely listening anyway. He thought about what the Dementors had done to him... he thought about the screams. He looked up, and the three of them were staring at him so intently that he quickly thought of something to say.

"Did someone take my Nimbus?" was the first thing that came to his mind.

The three exchanged uncertain glances. "Um -"

"What?" said Sylas, looking at them in turn.

"Well... when you crashed, it blew away," Daphne said hesitantly.

"And?" he asked, frowning.

"And it crashed... into... into the Whomping Willow."

Sylas' insides clenched. He remembered all too well what Weasley's wand looked like last year and their wrecked car. Please, just let him get lucky for once.

"And...?" he murmured slowly, afraid of the answer.

"Well, you know the Whomping Willow," said Draco. "She doesn't like to be bothered."

"Professor Flitwick got it just before you woke up," Theo said, barely audibly. Hesitantly, she reached for a bag at her feet, turned it upside down, and shook a dozen splintered pieces of wood and cracked twigs onto the bed, the last remnants of Sylas' trusty, broken-end broom.

Losing his first Quidditch match and his first broom in pieces. Things really couldn't have gone better.

Madam Pomfrey resolutely decided to keep Sylas in the hospital wing for the weekend. He didn't object or complain, but she couldn't throw away any of the pitiful remains of his Nimbus Two Thousand. This was foolish, and he knew it, because the Nimbus was beyond repair, and yet he simply couldn't help it: He felt like he'd lost a dear friend.

The stream of visitors continued apace, all of them coming to cheer him up. Hagrid sent him a bouquet of marigolds that looked like a yellow cabbage, and Ginny Weasley, turning bright red, appeared with a homemade get-well card that began singing in a shrill voice whenever Sylas didn't silence her under a heavy fruit bowl. Daphne, Theo, and Draco only left Sylas' bed at night. But whatever they said or did, they couldn't cheer Sylas up, because they only knew half of what was really troubling him.

He hadn't told anyone about the Grimm, not even the three of them. He knew they wouldn't react well. Especially considering he'd seen the Grimm twice in a short space of time. But the fact remained that it had appeared three times now, and two of the three had resulted in life-threatening accidents. The first time, he'd almost been run over by the Knight Bus; the second, he'd fallen fifteen meters from his broom. Would the Grimm chase him until he truly died? Should he spend the rest of his life constantly on the lookout for the monster?

And then there were the Dementors. Whenever Sylas thought of them, he felt sick and humiliated. Everyone said the Dementors were terrible, but no one else collapsed at the sight of them every time... and no one else heard the echoing screams of dying relatives in their head... or the burning heat on their skin.

For Sylas now knew whose voice it was he had heard. He had repeated her words to himself, over and over again, in the nightly hours in the hospital wing, when he lay awake, staring at the bright streaks cast by the moonlight on the ceiling. When the Dementors approached, he heard the last moments of his mother's life, her attempts to protect him, Sylas, from the dark Lord, and Voldemort's laughter before he murdered her... Sylas dozed and woke again and again, sinking into dreams of clammy, rotting hands and horrified pleading, he woke and couldn't get his mother's voice out of his head, wanting to recall it again and again.

It was a relief to return to the bustling school on Monday, where he was forced to think about other things, even if he had to endure the teasing from the Gryffindors. They were all delighted with the Slytherins' defeat. They gleefully reenacted Sylas' broomstick crash. They also spent much of their next few Potions lessons impersonating Dementors in the dungeons. Sylas lost his nerve and threw a large, slimy crocodile heart at Weasley, which hit him in the face. Luckily for him, Snape didn't seem to notice.

"I hope Snape's back in Defense Against the Dark Arts," Sylas grumbled on his way to Professor Lupin's classroom after lunch. "They could get a good beating from him.

"Your wishes seem to be going unheard," murmured Theo, pointing into the open classroom.

Professor Lupin was back. He looked distinctly worse for wear. His old cloak hung even looser around his shoulders than usual, and he had dark circles under his eyes. Nevertheless, he smiled at them as they took their seats, and the Gryffindors immediately erupted into a storm of complaints about Snape's behavior during Lupin's illness.

"That's not fair, he's just covering for you, why does he have to give us homework?"

"We don't know anything about werewolves -"

"- two rolls of parchment!"

"Did you tell Professor Snape that we haven't covered werewolves yet?" Lupin asked the group, frowning slightly.

The chatter started again. "Yes, but he said we were way behind -"

"- he didn't want to hear anything about it -"

"- two rolls of parchment!"

Professor Lupin smiled at the indignation on their faces.

"Don't worry, I'll talk to Professor Snape. You don't have to write the essay."

"Oh no," Granger said disappointedly. "Mine's already finished!"

Daphne rolled her eyes in annoyance. "MiNe'S aLrEaDy FiNiShEd," she mimicked. The boys had to suppress a laugh.

But Sylas also got slightly disappointed, as he as well, had already started on the essay and was aready mid through. He had only the killing part left.

They had a rather enjoyable hour. Professor Lupin had brought a glass case containing a Limping Pank, a small, one-legged creature that looked as if it were made of wisps of smoke and was quite weak and harmless.

"The Hinkypank lures travelers into the swamps," said Professor Lupin, and the class eagerly took notes. "Do you see the lantern he's holding? He hops ahead - people follow the light and then -"

The Hinkepank made a horrible squeaking noise on the glass. When the bell rang, everyone packed up their things and went to the door, including Sylas, but -

"Wait a moment, Sylas," Lupin called, "I want to speak to you for a moment."

Sylas returned and watched Professor Lupin cover the glass case of the limping pan with a cloth.

"I've heard about the game," said Lupin, turning to the desk and putting the books into his folder, "and I'm sorry about your broom. Is there any way to fix it?"

"No," Sylas grumbled, hanging his head slightly. "The tree turned him to kindling." Since the game, there had been little to cheer him up.

Lupin sighed. "They planted the Whomping Willow the year I came to Hogwarts. We used to try to get as close to it as possible and touch the trunk for fun. Eventually, a boy named Davey Gudgeon almost lost an eye, and we weren't allowed anywhere near it. It's about time it was uprooted... I'll talk to Professor Dumbledore..."

"Have you heard about the Dementors?" Sylas forced himself to ask. Every time he brought up the subject, they were interrupted. But not today.

Lupin gave him a quick glance. "Yes, I did. I don't think any of us have ever seen Professor Dumbledore so angry. They've been displeased for some time... annoyed because he refuses to let them onto the grounds. I take it that you crashed because of them?"

"Yes," Sylas said. He hesitated, and then the question on the tip of his tongue burst out of him involuntarily. "Why? Why am I so vulnerable to them? Am I simply—?"

"It has nothing to do with weakness," said Professor Lupin sharply, as if reading Sylas's mind. "The Dementors attack you more strongly than the others, as you've probably had to endure more horrific events in your past that others haven't."

A ray of winter sun fell into the classroom, illuminating Lupin's gray hair and the wrinkles on his young face.

"Dementors are among the most evil creatures that walk the Earth. They breed in the darkest, filthiest places, creating decay and despair, sucking peace, hope, and happiness from every person who comes near them. If they can, they feed on them until they become like themselves... soulless and evil. Even Muggles sense their presence, even if they can't see it. If you get too close to a Dementor, it sucks every good feeling, every happy memory, out of you. And you're left with only the worst experiences of your life. I don't know what your worst experiences are, but if you're already reacting like that to the Dementors, it would knock anyone else off their broom as well. You shouldn't be ashamed of that."

"If they come near me, I hear my -" Sylas stared at Lupin's desk, his throat tight, but he couldn't utter another word. He almost gave himself away.

Lupin made a sudden movement with his right arm, as if to grab Sylas by the shoulder, but then he stopped. For a moment, both were silent, then -

"Why did they have to come to the game?" Sylas asked bitterly.

"They're getting hungry," Lupin said coolly, closing his folder with a click. "Dumbledore won't let them into the school, so their supply of human prey is exhausted... I expect they couldn't resist the large crowd around the Quidditch pitch. All that excitement... those stirred emotions... that's what they imagine a feast to be."

"Azkaban must be terrible," Sylas murmured.

Lupin nodded grimly. "The fortress is built on a small island, far out at sea, but they don't need walls or water to prevent the prisoners from escaping, not when they're all trapped in their heads, unable to form a single confident thought. Most go mad after a few weeks."

"But Sirius Black escaped them," Sylas said slowly. "He escaped."

Lupin's folder slid off the table; he had to reach quickly to catch it. "Yes," he said, straightening up. "Black must have found a way to defeat them. I didn't think it was possible... Dementors, they say, drain a wizard of their powers if they're left at their mercy for too long..."

"You managed to get that Dementor to escape on the train," Sylas said suddenly.

"There are... certain defensive arts you can use," said Lupin. "But there was only one Dementor on the train. The more there are, the harder it will be to resist them."

"What kind of defensive arts?" Sylas asked immediately. "Can you teach me those?"

"I don't want to pretend I'm an expert in fighting Dementors, Sylas... quite the opposite..."

"But if I encounter the Dementors again... I must be able to fight them -"

Lupin looked into Sylas's determined face, hesitated for a moment, and sighed loudly. "Well... fine. I'll try to help you. But I'm afraid you'll have to wait until after the Christmas holidays. I have a lot to do before then. This was a rather inconvenient time to get sick."

Chapter 30

Notes:

I apologize for the late upload, I totally forgot about it! Enjoy the chapter and see ya next week!
And thank you so much for all the Kudos, Hits and comments <3 I hope y'all continue to give this story as much love as before

December, 1993

Lupin's promise to teach him the art of defense against Dementors, and the fact that Ravenclaw had simply crushed Hufflepuff in the Quidditch match at the end of November, lifted Sylas' spirits considerably. The Slytherins weren't completely out of the run, but they couldn't afford another defeat. So Flint kept them busy with training. They even trained during the icy rain showers that persisted into December. Sylas saw no sign of a Dementor anywhere. Dumbledore's anger seemed to be keeping them at their posts at the entrances.

Two weeks before the Christmas holidays, the sky suddenly turned a dazzling, opalescent white, and one morning the muddy grounds were shrouded in glittering frost. The castle was already beginning to feel a bit of pre-Christmas cheer. Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, had already decorated his classroom with shimmering lights, which turned out to be real, fluttering fairies. They cheerfully discussed all their plans for the holidays.

Draco and Daphne would be going home to celebrate Christmas with their families. Theo was staying here again this year. He said he wanted to stay because it was far too boring at home, but Sylas suspected he was staying to keep him company.

The next Hogsmeade trip was also scheduled for the last weekend before the holidays. Everyone was excited - except for Sylas. He resigned himself to being the only third-year student not going. To forget his frustration, he borrowed Draco's booklet "Racing Brooms in Test" and decided to learn about the different broom designs. During training, he was now flying a school broom, an old, rather slow, and wobbly Shooting Star; what he needed was a new one. Draco had offered to buy him a one, but Sylas declined. He couldn't accept the fact that his father was giving him another expensive gift.

On Saturday morning, Draco, Theo, and Daphne said goodbye to Sylas and, bundled up in coats and scarves, set off for Hogsmeade. Sylas wandered aimlessly through the empty corridors, crestfallen. It had started to snow outside, and the castle was deeply silent.

"Shhh - Sylas!"

Halfway down one of the corridors, he turned and saw Fred and George peeking out from behind the statue of a hunchbacked, one-eyed witch.

"What are you doing?" Sylas asked, puzzled. "Why aren't you at Hogsmeade?"

"We want to get you in the festive mood a little before we leave," said Fred, winking mysteriously. "Come in here..."

He nodded toward an empty classroom to the left of the one-eyed statue. Sylas followed Fred and George inside. George quietly closed the door and then turned to Sylas, beaming.

"Here's a Christmas present for you, Sylas," he said. Fred pulled something out of his coat with a flourish and placed it on the desk in front of them. It was a large, square, badly worn sheet of parchment. Not a single word was written on it. Sylas assumed it was one of their jokes and stared at the parchment.

"What is that supposed to be?"

"That, Sylas, is the secret to our success," purred George, stroking the parchment lovingly.

"We can hardly bear to part with it," said Fred, "but last night we decided that you need it more than we do."

"Besides, we know it by heart," said George. "We'll pass it on to you. Actually, we don't need it anymore."

"And what am I supposed to do with this rag?" Sylas asked, frowning.

"That rag!" repeated Fred, closing his eyes with a grimace, as if Sylas had mortally insulted him. "Explain it to him, George."

"So... when we were in first grade, Sylas - young, carefree, and innocent -" Sylas snorted. He seriously doubted that Fred and George had ever been innocent. "- well, certainly more innocent than we are now - anyway, we got into trouble with Filch over something trivial back then."

"We set off a stink bomb in the corridor and for some reason it annoyed him -"

"So he dragged us into his office and immediately came with the usual threats -"

"- Punishment -"

"- Belly slitting -"

"- and quite by chance, we noticed a drawer in one of his cupboards labeled "Confiscated and dangerous to the public."

"I see," Sylas said, beginning to grin. He could already guess what the two were doing.

"Well, what would you have done?" Fred asked mischievously. "George distracted him with another stink bomb, I ripped open the drawer and - pulled this out."

"It's not as bad as it sounds," George shrugged. "We don't think Filch ever figured out how to handle it. He probably had a hunch about what it was, or he wouldn't have confiscated it."

"And you know how to deal with it?"

"Oh yes," said Fred, grinning. "This pretty little piece of parchment has taught us more than all the teachers in this school combined."

"You've got to be kidding me," Sylas muttered, looking closely at the frayed old piece of parchment.

"Ah - not us," laughed George. He pulled out his wand, gently touched the parchment, and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

And immediately, from the spot George had touched, thin lines of ink began to spread like a spider's web. They converged, crossed, and spread into the corners of the parchment; then words blossomed on the page, in large, ornate script, proclaiming:

 

Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present:

the Marauder's Map

 

It was a map showing every detail of Hogwarts and the castle grounds. But what was truly astonishing were the small ink dots moving across it, each bearing a name in tiny print. Astonished, Sylas bent over the map. A labeled dot in the upper left showed Professor Dumbledore pacing in his office; Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, was hanging around on the second floor; and Peeves, the poltergeist, was hopping up and down in the Trophy Room. Sylas' eyes wandered down the familiar corridors, and suddenly something else strange caught his eye. This map showed a series of passageways he had never entered. And many of them apparently led -

"- straight to Hogsmeade," said Fred, running his finger along one of the lines. "Seven secret passages in total. Filch knows these four -" he showed them to Sylas, "- but we're certainly the only ones who know these ones. You can forget about the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor. We used it last winter, but it's caved in - completely impassable. And we don't think anyone's ever used this one because the Whomping Willow is planted right above it. But this one leads directly into the Honeydukes cellar. We've used it several times. And as you may have noticed, the entrance is just outside this room, through that one-eyed old woman's hump."

"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs," George sighed, gently stroking the names of the makers. "We owe them so much."

"Noble men who worked tirelessly to help a new generation of lawbreakers get on their feet," Fred said solemnly.

"Fine," said George, now cheerful, "don't forget to delete it when you've used it -"

"- otherwise, anyone can read it," Fred warned. "Just tap it again and say 'Mischief caused!' Then it'll turn white again."

"Well then, young Sylas," said Fred, looking uncannily like Percy, "I hope you behave yourself."

"See you in Honeydukes," George said with a wink. "Oh, and about your little secret, don't worry about it. It's safe with us."

Grinning contentedly, the two left. Sylas just watched them go, frowning. What kind of secret were they talking about? Sylas stopped and stared at the miraculous map. He watched as Mrs. Norris' tiny ink dot moved to the left and then paused, sniffing something on the floor. If Filch really didn't know that... then he wouldn't have to pass the Dementors at all...

For a moment, he was torn... Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers ... Whatever. Sylas only needed them to get to Hogsmeade, not to steal from anyone or attack.

attack.

…

A quiet laugh escaped Sylas.

These bastards.

With the help of this maps, they could always see exactly where he was. That was the only way they could ambush him the entire time last year! Oh, they would regret that one day...

He ran his finger on the map over the secret passage that led into the Honeyduke.

Then, quite suddenly, as if following a command, he rolled up the map, tucked it into his cloak, and hurried to the door. He opened it a crack. There was no one outside. He cautiously slipped out of the room and hid behind the statue of the one-eyed witch.

How did it work? He pulled out the card and was astonished to see that a new, small ink-like figure had appeared on it, labeled Harry Potter. Sylas rubbed his eyes briefly and stared at the inky figure once more. For a moment, he thought his new glasses were playing tricks on him.

Harry Potter.

Harry

...

Potter

This figure was exactly where Sylas himself was standing, roughly in the middle of the third-floor corridor. His heart sank. He took several deep breaths and rubbed his face. He had to read it several times, to belive his eyes. 

A piece of parchment... a miserable, shitty piece of paper had revealed his best-kept secret. The twins seemed convinced he was Harry Potter, and no matter how well he talked himself out of it, they wouldn't believe him.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit!" he cursed quietly to himself and punched the wall behind him. Sylas had to collect himself for a moment, consider what the best next move would be. But absolutely nothing came to mind as to how to fix this. Could this even be fixed?

He frowned. The twins seemed to keep their mouths shut. So far, word hasn't gotten around that Harry Potter is alive. Maybe it was best to just not mention it at all. After all, the twins do not have any evidence of him being Harry Potter - at least not anymore.

Whatever.

His gaze fell back on the map. He shouldn't waste time on trivial thoughts. His little ink self seemed to be tapping the witch with his tiny wand. Quickly, Sylas pulled out his real wand and poked the statue. Nothing happened. He looked at the map again. An even tinier speech bubble had appeared next to his figure. Inside was the word Dissendium .

"Dissendium," he whispered softly, nudging the stone witch once more.

Suddenly, the statue's hump opened wide enough to allow a slender person in. Sylas quickly looked around the corridor, then stowed the map, pulled himself up, inserted his upper body into the hole, and pushed off.

He slid down a whole wave of a kind of stone slide and finally landed on cold, damp earth. He stood up and looked around. It was pitch black. He raised his wand and muttered "Lumos." The light showed that he had a very narrow, low, and muddy tunnel ahead of him. He pulled out the map, tapped it with the tip of his wand, and muttered, "Mischief caused!" The card immediately became blank. He rolled it up carefully, put it in his trouser pocket, and then set off, his heart pounding at the same time.

The tunnel, whose tightly wound twists and turns as he followed, inevitably reminded Sylas of the burrow of a giant rabbit. He ran quickly, stumbling occasionally on the uneven ground. He held his wand outstretched it in front of him.

The tunnel seemed to have no end, but the thought of the Honeyduke made Sylas' legs ache. After what felt like an hour, the tunnel began to climb. Panting, with a hot face and cold feet, Sylas sprinted upwards.

Ten minutes later, he stood at the foot of a worn stone staircase that disappeared into the darkness at the top. Very gently, so as not to make any noise, Sylas took one step at a time. One hundred steps, two hundred steps, at some point he stopped counting and looked only at his shoes... then, without warning, he hit his head on something hard.

It appeared to be a trapdoor. Sylas stopped, rubbed his forehead, and listened. There was no sound from the other side of the trapdoor. Very slowly, he pushed it open a crack and peered out.

He was in a cellar full of wicker baskets and wooden boxes. Sylas climbed up and closed the trapdoor - it blended so perfectly into the dusty floor that it was no longer visible. He then crept slowly toward the wooden stairs leading upstairs. Now he could clearly hear voices, and quite distinctly, the ringing of a bell and the opening and closing of a door.

While he was still wondering what to do, he suddenly heard another door open, much closer to him; someone was on their way downstairs.

"And bring a box of rubber snails, they almost cleared out our store," said a woman's voice.

A pair of feet came down the stairs. Sylas dove behind a huge basket and waited until the footsteps had moved away. He heard the man pushing crates against the opposite wall. He probably wouldn't get another chance like this.

Quickly and quietly, Sylas slipped out of his hiding place and climbed the steps; a quick glance back showed him a powerful back and a gleaming bald head, bent low over a crate. Sylas reached the door at the top of the stairs, slid through, and suddenly found himself behind the counter of the Honeydukes - he ducked, crawled aside, and then stood up.

Inside the Honeydukes that no one took much notice of Sylas. He pushed through them, looked around, and suppressed a laugh. He really made it. 

Shelves reached to the ceiling, filled with the most tempting treats imaginable: creamy nougat bars, shimmering pink coconut ice cream, fat, honey-colored toffee beans; hundreds of different kinds of chocolate, neatly arranged one after the other; a large barrel of beans of every flavor, and another of fizzing Wissbies, the fizzy balls that, as Ron had said, knocked you off your feet. Along another wall were stacks of "special effect" sweets - Druhbel's Bester Bubble Gum (which filled a room with bluebell-colored bubbles that wouldn't pop for days), the oddly splintery teeth-whitening peppermint licorice, tiny peppermint goblins "to really heat things up for your friends!", ice mice "to make your teeth chatter and you squeal!", peppermint chocolates shaped like toads "jump into your stomach like a proverbial squiggle!", breakable, sugar-twisted penholders, and exploding candies.

Sylas pushed through a crowd of sixth-years and saw a sign at the far end of the shop reading "A Very Different Taste." Theo, Draco, and Daphne stood beneath it, examining a bowl of blood-flavored lollipops. Sylas crept up unnoticed from behind.

"Ew, no, Sylas definitely doesn't want those, they're for vampires," Daphne said, grimacing in disgust.

"And these?" Draco asked, holding a jug of dried cockroaches under her nose, whereupon she did a somersault backward, landing full tilt into Sylas' arms.

"Not that either," grinned Sylas.

Draco almost dropped the jug.

"Sylas!" Daphne shrieked. "What are you doing here? How... did you -?"

"Don't tell me your bird brain has learned to apparate," Theo joked. 

Sylas snorted and shook his head, "Of course not." He lowered his voice so none of the sixth years could hear him, and told them all about the Marauder's Map.

"There we have our answer as to how they were able to track you down in second year," grumbled Theo. "Well then, they should be prepared to get exactly the same thing back." A wicked grin crept onto all their lips.

Daphne steered the subject back to the main point. "Still, if anyone finds out you're here, you're in trouble... and what about Sirius Black?" she murmured.

"I'd be surprised if he could even recognize Sylas," said Draco, nodding toward a small, wood-framed window. Outside, a heavy snowstorm raged.

"Come on," Draco said, looking at Theo and Daphne who shared unsure gazes. "It's Christmas. Sylas deserves his little trip, and as long as no one notices, everything's fine."

Nevertheless, Theo and Daphne seemed worried.

"Are you two gonna tell on me?" Sylas asked, grinning.

"Of course not, but -"

Draco had already grabbed his arm and was leading him over to a barrel. "Have you seen the hissing Wissbies, Sylas? And the rubber slugs and acid drops? Maybe we can sell the twins a cockroach as a peanut."

Sylas laughed. "As if they'd fall for that," he said.

When Daphne, Theo and Draco had paid for all their sweets, they left the Honeyduke and rushed outside into the blizzard.

Hogsmeade looked like something out of a Christmas card; the small village houses and shops, huddled together, lay under a blanket of powdery snow; bundles of holly hung from the doorways, and cords of magic candles snaked through the trees.

Sylas shivered; he hadn't thought to wrap up warmer in such a hurry. They walked down the street, heads tilted against the wind. Draco and Daphne called through their scarves.

"This is the post office –"

"Up there is Zonko –"

"We can go up to the Shrieking Shack -"

"You know what?" said Theo, his teeth chattering, "we could go to the Three Broomsticks for a Butterbeer!"

Sylas was absolutely down for it; the wind was blowing fiercely and his hands were freezing cold. They crossed the street and a few minutes later entered the tiny inn.

It was packed, loud, warm, and smoky. A rather well-proportioned woman with a pretty face was tending to a gang of rough-hewn sorcerers at the bar.

"This is Madam Rosmerta," said Theo. "I'll get us something to drink."

Draco, Daphne, and Sylas made their way to the back corner, where a table was free between the windows and a beautiful Christmas tree stood next to the fireplace. Five minutes later, Theo returned with three steaming mugs of Butterbeer.

"Merry Christmas!" he said happily, raising his mug.

Sylas drank in mighty gulps. It was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted, and it seemed to warm him from within, right down to his very last pore.

A sudden gust of wind ruffled his hair. The door of the Three broom had opened. Sylas looked over the rim of his mug and choked.

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub under a flurry of snowflakes, and shortly after they were followed by Hagrid, engrossed in conversation with a chubby man in a lime-green bowler hat and pinstriped cloak - Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic.

Theo, sitting next to him, didn't hesitate for a second, placing his hands on Sylas' head and pushing him from his chair under the table. Covered in Butterbeer, he clutched the empty mug and peered out from under the table at the feet of the teachers and the minister, who walked to the bar, paused for a moment, and then walked straight toward him.

Above him, Daphne whispered "Mobiliarbus!"

The Christmas tree next to their table rose a hand's breadth from the ground, floated to the side, and landed with a gentle rustle directly in front of their table. Hidden from view, Sylas peered through the dense lower branches. Four-by-four chair legs at the adjacent table were moved across the floor, then he heard the teachers and the minister sit down with groans and sighs.

Now another pair of feet approached in sparkling turquoise high heels, and he heard a woman's voice.

"A little wallflower"

"This is for me," replied Professor McGonagall's voice.

"Four half-liters are called honey mead."

"Here, Rosmerta," said Hagrid. "Cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrellas—"

"Mmm!" said Professor Flitwick, clicking his tongue.

"Then the currant rum is for you, Minister."

"Thank you, Rosmerta, my dear," said Fudge. "It's good to see you again. Why don't you sit down and have a drink with us?"

"Oh, thank you very much, Minister."

Sylas watched the glittering pumps move away and then return. His heart pounded painfully in his throat. Why hadn't he thought that this was also the teachers' last weekend? And how long would they be stuck here? He needed time to sneak back into Honeydukes if he wanted to go back to school tonight... Theo's leg twitched nervously next to him.

"Well, what brings you to this place, Minister?" That was Madam Rosmerta's voice. Sylas saw the minister's abdomen squirm left and right in his chair, as if making sure no one was listening.

Then he said in a subdued voice, "Who else, my dear, but Sirius Black? You must have heard what happened up at the school on Halloween?"

"Rumor has it," Madam Rosmerta admitted.

"Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?" grumbled Professor McGonagall angrily.

"Do you think Black is still in the area, Minister?" whispered Madam Rosmerta.

"I'm sure of it," Fudge grumbled curtly.

"You do know that the Dementors searched the entire village twice?" Madam Rosmerta asked with a hint of anger in her voice. "They scared away all my customers... not good for business, Minister."

"Rosmerta, my dear, I dislike these creatures as much as you do," Fudge assured her, embarrassed. "It's an essential precaution... annoying, but what can you do... I've just spoken to a few of them. They're angry with Dumbledore - he won't let them onto the school grounds."

"I can only support that," said Professor McGonagall sharply. "How are we supposed to teach with these horrors hovering around us?"

"Hark, hark," squeaked little Professor Flitwick, his feet dangling a hand's breadth above the ground.

"Anyway," said Fudge hesitantly, "they're here to protect you all from something much worse... we all know what Black is capable of..."

"Honestly, I still can't believe it," Madam Rosmerta murmured thoughtfully. "All sorts of people went over to the dark side back then, but I never would have thought that Sirius Black... I mean, I knew him as a boy at Hogwarts. If you'd told me back then what he would become, I would have said you'd had a few meads too many."

"You don't even know half the story," Fudge said grumpily. "Hardly anyone knows about his worst deed."

"What deed?" Madam Rosmerta asked curiously. "Worse than the murder of all those people, you mean?"

"Indeed," said Fudge.

"I can't believe this. What could be worse?"

"You say you know him from his time at Hogwarts, Rosmerta," murmured Professor McGonagall. "Do you remember who his best friend was?"

"Of course," said Madam Rosmerta, laughing briefly. "Hanging together like Siamese twins, weren't they? I don't remember how many times they were here with me - oh, they always made me laugh. They were a real duet, Sirius Black and James Potter!"

Sylas' mug fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Draco gave him a shove.

"Exactly," said Professor McGonagall. "Black and Potter. Leaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course - unusually clever, if you ask me - but we've probably never had two mischief-makers like them -"

"Well, I don't know," chuckled Hagrid, "Fred and George Weasley would have given them some serious competition."

"You'd think Black and Potter were brothers," chirped Professor Flitwick. "Inseparable!"

"Of course they were," said Fudge. "Potter trusted Black more than any of his other friends. And that didn't change when they left school. Black was best man when James and Lily got married. Then they asked him to be Harry's godfather. Little Harry, of course, didn't know about that and, thankfully, never has to. Poor little boy. You can imagine how the thought would have tormented him. May he rest in peace and be reunited with his family"

"Because one day it turned out that Black was on the side of You-Know-Who?" whispered Madam Rosmerta.

"Worse, my dear..." Fudge lowered his voice and continued in a subdued growl. "Few people know the fact that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who, of course, worked tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he immediately warned James and Lily. He advised them to hide. Now, of course, hiding from You-Know-Who wasn't so easy. Dumbledore told them they'd best use the Fidelius Charm."

"What's that?" asked Madam Rosmerta, breathless with tension.

Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. "An extremely complicated spell," he squeaked, "involving magically concealing a secret inside a living soul. The information is hidden within the chosen person, the Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth untraceable - unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper decides to reveal it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could have searched the village where Lily and James lived for years without finding them, not even if he pressed his nose against their living room window!"

"So Sirius Black was the Secret Keeper?" whispered Madam Rosmerta.

"Of course," said Professor McGonagall. "James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would rather die than reveal where they were, that Black himself intended to hide... and yet Dumbledore continued to worry. I remember him offering to become Potter's Secret-Keeper himself."

"Did he suspect Black?" whispered Madam Rosmerta. "He was sure that someone close to the Potters had informed You-Know-Who of their moves," said McGonagall glumly. "In fact, he had long suspected that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who."

"But James Potter insisted on taking Black?"

"Yes, indeed," said Fudge heavily. "And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm was cast—"

"- did Black betray him?" gasped Madam Rosmerta.

"Yes, that's how it was. Black was tired of his role as a double agent, he was ready to openly declare his support for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the day of Potter's death. But as we all know, You-Know-Who found a deadly match in little Harry Potter. Stripped of his powers and terribly injured, he went on the run. And so Black found himself in a very bad situation. His master had fallen at the very moment that he, Black, had laid his cards on the table as a traitor. He had no choice but to flee as well—"

"Dirty, smelly changeling!" Hagrid shouted so loudly that half the inn fell silent.

"Shh!" said Professor McGonagall.

"I met him!" said Hagrid indignantly. "I must have been the last person to see him before he killed all those people! I was the one who rescued Harry Potter from Lily and James' house after they were killed! I only managed to pull him from the ruins, poor little thing, with a big gash across his forehead and both his parents dead... and then suddenly Sirius Black appears on that flying motorcycle he had back then. No idea what he was doing there. I didn't know he was Lily and James' Secret Keeper. I thought he'd heard about the raid and wanted to see if he could help. He was all pale and shaking. And you know what I did? I comforted the murderous traitor, too!" blustered Hagrid.

Sylas froze. The more he heard, the less he felt himself.

"Hagrid, please!" said Professor McGonagall, "don't shout like that!"

"How was I supposed to know he wasn't so upset about Lily and James? He was only concerned about You-Know-Who! And he tells me , 'Give Harry to me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather, I'll look after him - ha!' But I had my instructions from Dumbledore, and no, Black, Dumbledore wants Harry to go to his relatives. Take my motorcycle and take Harry there, I don't need it anymore. I should have known something was fishy. He was besotted with his motorcycle. Why did he give it to me? Why didn't he need it anymore? The fact was, it was too conspicuous. Dumbledore knew he was Potter's Secret-Keeper. Black knew he had to get out of here that night; it was only a matter of hours before the Ministry would be on his tail. But what if I'd given him Harry, eh? I bet he would have thrown him off the motorcycle out over the sea. The son of his best friend Friend! But when a wizard turns to the Dark Side, there's nothing and no one left to care about..." Hagrid's story was followed by a long silence.

Then Madam Rosmerta said with some satisfaction in her voice, "But he didn't manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught him the next day!"

"Oh, if only it had been so," Fudge sighed bitterly. "It wasn't us who found him, it was little Peter Pettigrew - also one of Potter's friends. I'm sure he was beside himself with grief, knowing that Black had kept Potter's secret, and so he went looking for Black on his own."

"Pettigrew... that fat little boy who was always following them around at Hogwarts?" asked Madam Rosmerta.

"He worshipped Black and Potter like heroes," said Professor McGonagall. "But he was never in their same league, talent-wise. I used to give him a bit of a hard time. You can imagine how ... how much I regret that now..."

She sounded like she suddenly had a cold. "Don't take it to heart, Minerva," Fudge said encouragingly. "Pettigrew died a hero. The eyewitnesses - they were Muggles, of course; we erased their memories later - told us that Pettigrew had cornered Black. They said he was sobbing. Lily and James, Sirius! How could you do that! And then he reached for his wand. Well, of course, Black was faster. Torn Pettigrew to bits... only one finger remained."

Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said in a husky voice, "Stupid boy... simple-minded boy... he was always hopeless at dueling... should have left it to the Ministry..."

"I tell you," Hagrid growled, "if I'd gotten my hands on Black before Pettigrew, I wouldn't have hesitated with my wand - I'd have ripped out all his ribs."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Hagrid," said Fudge sharply. "No one but the specially trained intervention wizards from the Magical Police Brigade would have stood a chance against Black when he was cornered. I was one of the first on the scene, as Deputy Minister for Magical Disasters, after Black had murdered all those people. I... I'll never forget the sight. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep the drainpipes had burst open in the ground. Bodies everywhere. Screaming Muggles. And Black was standing there laughing, with the remains of Pettigrew in front of him... a blood-soaked cloak and some - some scraps -" Fudge broke off. Sylas heard noses being blown.

"Well, now you know, Rosmerta," Fudge grumbled dully. "Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Police Brigade, and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think comforted his mother a little. Black has been in Azkaban ever since."

Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh. "Is it true he's crazy, Minister?"

"I wish I could say that," said Fudge slowly. "What I do know is that his master's defeat threw him off for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the act of a cornered and desperate man - cruel... senseless. But on my last inspection of Azkaban, I met Black. You know, most of the prisoners there sit in the dark, muttering to themselves, they've lost their minds... but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke to me quite reasonably. It was uncanny. You'd have thought he was just bored - asked me quite calmly if I'd finished my newspaper, because he'd like to do the crossword. Yes, I was amazed at how little effect the Dementors seemed to have on him - and he was one of the most closely guarded prisoners, you see. They stood outside his cell day and night."

"But what do you think he's going to do now that he's escaped?" asked Madam Rosmerta. "Goodness, Minister, he doesn't want to join You-Know-Who again, does he?"

"I'd say that... may be Black's intention," Fudge said evasively. "But we're hoping to catch him soon enough. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing... but if he wins back his most loyal follower, I shudder to think how quickly he could rise to power again..."

There was a faint clinking sound. Someone had placed their glass on the table. "You know, Cornelius, if you're having dinner with the Headmaster, we'd better get back to the castle now," said Professor McGonagall.

One pair of feet after another began to move; cloak hems swung past Sylas' eyes, and Madam Rosmerta's glittering high heels disappeared behind the bar. The door to the Three Broomsticks opened, snowflakes swirled in again, and the teachers vanished.

"Sylas?" The faces of Draco, Daphne, and Theo appeared under the edge of the table. They stared at Sylas, unable to speak.

Chapter 31

Sylas stormed out of the Three Broomsticks. He simply had to get away from there; his chest was so tight he could barely breathe. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to get down to the Honeydukes cellar, then through the tunnel, and back into the castle. In any case, it seemed as if he'd made the return journey in a flash, and he hadn't really paid attention to what he was doing, because the words of the conversation he'd just overheard were still buzzing in his head.

He ran through the entire castle as if electrocuted. He couldn't think clearly. His feet carried him from the library, to the owlery, to the hospital wing (where he immediately left again), and all the way to the astronomy tower. Somewhere on the seventh floor, he trudged down a corridor. His mind was filled with only one thing: He wanted a place to hide. Just somewhere where he could think clearly without being observed.

He trudged past the seventh-floor corridor one more time. The tapestry of Barnabas the Mad was trying to teach trolls ballet, but he was failing miserably. And although Sylas loved observing the paintings in the castle, he couldn't pay attention to this one. He kept running his hands through his hair in a frenzy. If he didn't find some kind of solution, he would soon crash the fuck out.

Just before he descended the stairs, he suddenly heard voices coming his way. He immediately took to his heels and ran down the corridor a third time. This time, however, a large, ornate door suddenly appeared opposite the tapestry.

He frowned and hesitated, but as the voices drew closer, he grabbed the handle and hurried inside. With one ear to the door, breathing heavily, he listened. Footsteps came closer and closer.

"As if he's up here," he heard Draco's voice. "There's absolutely nothing."

"He has to be somewhere," Daphne muttered. "And you're sure he's not in the library?"

"Yeah, the back corner was completely empty," Theo grumbled.

"Merlin, I hope he doesn't do anything stupid," Daphne's voice sounded worried. "Black is even crazier than we thought. What happened to the Potters ... horrific."

"Sylas seemed pretty disturbed," Theo said, but there was something in his voice that Sylas couldn't quite interpret.

Draco snorted. "Of course," he said, his voice trailing off. "He just found out that the mass murderer that's after him is a hundred times worse than we first thought. It's a wonder they haven't locked Sylas away."

"Should we report him missing to Snape?" Daphne suggested.

"Bad idea," Theo replied. "If they don't find Sylas either, there'll be a huge outcry when he returns. Then they'll definitely lock him up. He'll probably be somewhere in the castle."

He couldn't hear the rest of the conversation. They were already too far away for him to hear anything through the thick walls.

A sigh of relief escaped him; he hadn't even noticed he was holding his breath. At this very moment, he didn't want to be surrounded by his friends. If he were, he would have outed his lies one hundred percent. They had no idea how much worse this situation actually was. They couldn't even imagine to begin with, why this was triggering him much more. 

Tired from all the running, his gaze swept over the room behind him. It was huge, and almost empty. Only in the middle lay a frayed rug, on which two green sofas stood facing each other. Between them lay a small table with a leather-bound book on it.

What kind of place was that? He knew every room at Hogwarts. After all, he'd read the book about it, but nothing like this seemed familiar. Okay, there were also several secret passages and the Chamber of Secrets, which wasn't mentioned either. Perhaps it's not surprising that there was more to Hogwarts than people actually knew.

With slow steps, he approached the sofas. On one of them lay a thick woolen blanket, neatly folded, and next to it a silky-soft pillow. Sylas stood uncertainly between the sofa and the table. His fingers glided over the leather-bound book. It read "Potter Family Album" in gold letters. His heart skipped a beat.

He hesitantly opened the first page, freezing in mid-motion. The first picture was similar to the one from the Trophy Room. Lily and James Potter were standing there, grinning broadly, holding him as a baby in their arms. Sylas' eyes began to well up, and he bit his lip to keep from crying. Merlin, when was the last time he cried?

He slowly sat down and flipped through the remaining pages of the album. The more pictures he saw of them, the less he could hold back the tears. They rolled down his cheeks as if there were no tomorrow. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop them.

This whole double life he'd had to build for himself. This responsibility of keeping his true identity secret - it was all too much for him at that moment. Merlin, he was only a thirteen-year-old boy! Tissues suddenly appeared on the table, which he gratefully accepted.

He paused at a picture of his parents' wedding. There stood his father, with the unruly, dark hair that Sylas had inherited, waving to him beamingly. And there was his mother, arm in arm with his father, almost floating with happiness. And there... that had to be him. His parents' best friend...

If he hadn't known it was Black, he would never have guessed from this old photo. His face wasn't sunken and waxy, but handsome, and he was laughing heartily. Was he already working for Voldemort when this picture was taken? Was he already planning the deaths of the two people at his side? Did he realize that he faced twelve years in Azkaban, twelve years that would disfigure him beyond recognition?

The infinite sadness he had felt until just now disappeared and an uncontrollable anger grew in his heart.

The handsome laughing face... a slap in Sylas' face. Anger like he'd never felt before surged through him like poison. He pictured Black in front of him, laughing at him in the darkness, as if someone had superimposed the picture from the album over his eyes. And as if someone were showing him a film clip, he saw Sirius Black blowing Peter Pettigrew to pieces. He heard - even though he had no idea what Black's voice might sound like - a low, delighted murmur. "It's done, my master... the Potters have made me their Secret Keeper..." And then another voice sounded, laughing shrilly, and it was that laughter that ran through Sylas's mind when the Dementors approached...

But something in his heart grew heavy. The anger that was eating through him was unstoppable. Everything pointed to Black being responsible for all his misery, but something kept his anger in check.

A feeling of familiarity made him doubt.

He didn't fall asleep until dawn. When he awoke, he was still in that strange room, which looked exactly the same as before. Sylas felt absolutely miserable. As if he'd been playing Quidditch for five hours in the bitter cold - nonstop!

Sighing, Sylas sat for a moment, his gaze wandering outside. There was an incredibly beautiful view of the Black Lake, which was completely frozen over. The land was all covered in snow.

It was time to go back down to the dungeon. He wouldn't put it past Daphne to go to Snape after all. Then everyone would raise alarm. He stood up with difficulty, his eyes fixed on the album. Should he take it with him? But what would his explanation be if he were asked why he had the Potter family album with him? Sylas thought hard, but when his head started to throb, he let it go.

As long as no one found the album, no one could pin anything on him. So he grabbed it and trotted to the door. As soon as he was back in the seventh-floor corridor, the door disappeared behind him, leaving only a long, bare wall.

How did the mechanism behind it work?

He slowly descended the marble stairs, but was struck by how empty the castle was. Where was everyone? In the common room, he saw Theo in front of the fireplace with his homework spread out on the table. Otherwise, everything was empty.

"Where has everyone gone?" he asked.

Theo looked up, relief reflected in his eyes. "Merlin, you're okay," he murmured with relief, running his hand through his hair. "They went home. It is the first day of vacation, after all." Theo looked him up and down, his eyes lingering on the album. "Where have you been all night? Daphne's been worried."

"In the castle, I wanted to be ... alone," he murmured. "I'll be right back. I just need to put the book away for a moment." Without further comment, he went into the room and tucked the album deep into his infinity trunk. It must not be found under any circumstances.

Back in the common room, he plopped down on the sofa opposite. It was almost impossible to see anything from the windows. The lack of sunlight plunged the lake into eternal darkness.

"You look worn out," Theo said casually, his eyes fixed on his homework.

"I'm fine," Sylas murmured, but he still felt the anger toward Black.

Theo looked up for a moment to study him. "You seem a little sour," he continued.

"I'm not."

"You look like you're about to throw my homework into the fire."

"Bullshit."

Theo raised an eyebrow. "After yesterday, I actually expected you to be a lot more scared. After all, Black is a lot more cruel than we thought."

Poison green met sky blue.

For a moment, both fell silent. Theo waited for an answer, and Sylas was just thinking of one, but nothing came to mind. How could he possibly explain that he was angry because Black killed his parents? That he had actually lied to them all and that he was actually Harry Potter? And that was the reason, why he actually stormed off?

He sighed loudly in frustration. "Can we just change the subject? I don't feel like discussing Black," he grumbled.

Theo studied him for a brief moment before continuing with his homework. Sylas let his head sink against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes for a moment. The burning anger in his chest just wouldn't go away.

"Why didn't you go home?" Sylas asked, changing the subject. "I vaguely remember you saying your father was going to France for Christmas."

Theo shrugged, his eyes never leaving his notes. "Chatting with wine merchants all day isn't really my thing. Besides, you'd be all alone in this huge dungeon. Someone has to make sure you don't mess around," he explained.

The corners of Sylas' mouth twitched slightly upward. Of course he'd keep an eye on him. "And the first thing that comes to mind is homework?"

"Someone has to stay smart enough to get us through the exams."

A quiet laugh escaped Sylas' throat, but it didn't last long. His gaze wandered back to the windows. Could he perhaps avoid the exams by using Black as an excuse? The picture of his parents' wedding came back to him, and Black's contented smile.

"Are you just going to sit there the whole time and do nothing?" Theo asked casually, but Sylas knew him well enough to know there was a hidden worry behind it.

"And what if?" he asked defiantly, running his fingertips over the black leather of the sofa.

Theo put his quill aside and leaned forward. "Because otherwise you'll get lost in your thoughts without anyone distracting you."

Sylas' stomach clenched. In an uncanny way, Theo knew him better than he had thought. Especially now, with so many unspoken words lingering in his mind.

He forced a tired smile. "Don't worry, Theo. I'm not made of glass."

Theo looked at him for a moment, as if about to object, but then he just sighed quietly and leaned back. "If you say so."

A pleasant silence fell over the room, broken only by the occasional scratching of quill on parchment. Sylas let his gaze wander over the flames in the fireplace and tried to organize his thoughts.

There was a lot to digest.

 

~~~

 

Meanwhile, the castle, as always, was beautifully decorated for Christmas, although there were hardly any students left to enjoy it. Thick bunches of holly and mistletoe hung along the corridors, mysterious lights glowed from the suits of armor, and the Great Hall boasted the usual twelve Christmas trees, glittering with golden stars. An overwhelming and delicious smell from the kitchens wafted through the corridors, and it was at its strongest on Christmas Eve.

On Christmas morning, Theo woke Sylas by throwing a pillow at his head.

"Hello! Presents!"

Sylas fumbled for his glasses and put them on, then looked through the gloom to the end of the bed, where a small pile of packages lay. Theo was already tearing the wrapping paper off his presents. He took out a hand-knitted green sweater.

"Oh, looks like Mrs. Greengrass was in the mood to knit. Look if you have one too."

Sylas had one in there too. Mrs. Greengrass sent him the exact same one. The only difference was that his had a small S engraved on it. The other gifts contained sweets and his beloved dark chocolate, which Cissy sent him. When he pushed all of that aside, he saw a long, narrow package lying underneath. Sylas ripped open the package and froze, open-mouthed, as a shimmering broom rolled onto his bedspread. Theo dropped his sweater and jumped off the bed to take a closer look.

"No way!" he whispered.

It was a Firebolt, the same as the Dream Broom Sylas had stared at day after day in Diagon Alley. The handle gleamed as he held it up. He felt it vibrate and let go; it hovered in midair, unsupported, at just the right height for him to climb onto. Sylas' eyes traveled from the golden serial number at the tip of the handle to the perfectly smooth, streamlined birch branches that formed the tail.

"Who sent this to you?" Theo asked in a reverent voice.

"Look if there's a card lying around somewhere," said Sylas. Theo ripped open the Firebolt's wrapper, and Sylas searched the floor around his bed for a card.

"Nothing!" Theo grumbled in frustration. "Goodness, who would spend that much gold on you?"

"Well," Sylas murmured, puzzled, "definitely not my grandparents." He gently ran his hand over the Firebolt while Theo sank onto Sylas' bed, wondering who it could have come from.

"Perhaps from Lupin?" Sylas suggested. The professor seemed very fond of him and seemed equally sad about the wreckage of his old broom.

"What?" Theo started laughing. "Lupin? Look, if he had that much money, he'd better buy himself a new cloak. Besides, I don't think a teacher should give a student such expensive gifts. Otherwise, he could be accused of favoring you."

"But who else would give away such an expensive broom and not even reveal its name?" he asked him.

"It's suspicious, but no one would give you a broom like that and put a spell on it. It definitely wouldn't be worth the money. Especially since a cheaper one would have done the job as well," Theo speculated.

They admired the broom from all angles. Sylas considered pulling out the broom care kit Draco had given him a few weeks ago to polish it. However, there were no hidden branches to snip off, and the handle was so shiny that polishing it seemed pointless.

"Merlin," Theo murmured. "I'm telling you, the whole school will be incredibly jealous of you. You'll definitely win the next game with this."

But the thought of the next game made Sylas' stomach churn. If it were to take place under the same conditions, he'd rather just quit.

They went up to the Great Hall for lunch. The tables of the four houses had been pushed back against the walls again, and a single table, set for twelve, stood in the middle. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick were sitting there, along with Filch, the housemaster, who had discarded his usual brown jacket and was wearing a very old and rather moth-eaten tailcoat. There were only three other students there: two extremely agitated-looking first-years and a pouty-faced fifth-year Ravenclaw.

"Merry Christmas!" Dumbledore said as Sylas and Theo approached the table. "Since there are so few of us, it seemed silly to use the house tables... sit down, sit down!"

Theo and Sylas sat next to each other at the end of the table.

"Crackers!" Dumbledore exclaimed enthusiastically, offering Snape the string of a large silver candy. Snape hesitantly grabbed it and pulled. With a noise like a gunshot, the cracker burst open, revealing a large, pointed witch's hat, topped by a stuffed vulture. Snape pressed his lips together and pushed the hat toward Dumbledore, who immediately put it on instead of his wizard's hat.

"Dig in!" he instructed the table, beaming around them. As Sylas opened her roast potatoes, the doors of the Great Hall opened again. It was Professor Trelawney, gliding toward them as if on wheels. For the festive occasion, she had donned a green, silver-embroidered dress that made her look more than ever like a glittering, oversized dragonfly.

"Sibyll, what a pleasant surprise!" said Dumbledore, rising.

"I gazed into the crystal ball, Headmaster," said Professor Trelawney in her huskiest, most unearthly voice, "and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary meal and joining you. Was I to disregard the cues of fate? I left my tower immediately, and I beg your pardon for the delay..."

Theo gave Sylas a disturbed look. Of course, he's never actually met the fortune-telling teacher before.

"Of course, of course," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "Let me draw a chair for you -" And indeed, with his wand, he drew a chair in the air, which spun for a few seconds and then fell with a dull thud between Professors Snape and McGonagall. Professor Trelawney, however, didn't sit down; her huge eyes had scanned the table, and suddenly she let out a muffled scream.

"I dare not, Director! If I sit down, there will be thirteen of us! Nothing brings more bad luck! Never forget, when thirteen are sitting at the table, the first to rise will die!"

"We'll risk it, Sibyl," said Professor McGonagall impatiently. "Please sit down, the turkey is getting cold."

Professor Trelawney hesitated, then sat down on the empty chair, her eyes closed and her mouth pursed, as if she feared lightning would strike the table. Professor McGonagall stirred a tureen with a large spoon. "Tripe, Sibyl?"

Professor Trelawney paid no attention to her. She opened her eyes and looked around again. "But where is dear Professor Lupin?"

"I'm afraid the poor fellow is sick again," said Dumbledore, gesturing for everyone to help themselves. "It's unfortunate that it happens at Christmas."

Sylas frowned. Lupin seemed to have a quiet weak immunsystem.

"But surely you knew that, Sibyll?" said Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. Professor Trelawney gave Professor McGonagall a very cold look.

"Of course I knew, Minerva," she said quietly. "But you don't flaunt the fact that you're omniscient. I often pretend I don't possess the Inner Eye to avoid making others nervous."

"That explains a lot," said Professor McGonagall sourly.

Professor Trelawney's voice was suddenly considerably less husky. "So if you must know, Minerva, I've seen that Professor Lupin won't be staying with us long. He himself seems to know that his time is short. He literally fled when I offered to look into the crystal ball for him -"

"Unbelievable," said Professor McGonagall dryly.

Theo nudged Sylas gently from the side. "Is she always like this?" he asked quietly.

"If you only knew," he murmured.

"I don't think Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger," Dumbledore said cheerfully, but with a hint of emphasis, ending the conversation between the two teachers. "Severus, you brewed that potion for him again, didn't you?"

"Yes, Headmaster," said Snape.

"Good," said Dumbledore. "Then he should be back on his feet in no time... Derek, have you tried these grilled sausages? They're delicious."

The first-year boy, addressed so directly by Dumbledore, blushed to the tips of his hair and reached for the platter of sausages with trembling hands. Professor Trelawney behaved almost normally for the next two hours until the end of the Christmas feast. Bursting with food and wearing Christmas cracker hats, Theo and Sylas were the first to rise from the table. And then she shrieked loudly.

"My dears! Which of you got up first? Who?"

"I ... don't know," said Sylas, looking at Theo embarrassed.

"I don't think it matters," said Professor McGonagall coolly, "unless there's a madman with an axe waiting outside the door, ready to assassinate the first person who comes into the Entrance Hall."

Theo laughed out loud. Even Professor Trelawney looked extremely offended. They entered the entrance hall, where there was no mad axe murderer in sight. On the way down to the dungeon, they saw the paintings having a massive Christmas party among themselves. Quite a few of them were drunk.

"I need to lie down right now," Theo grumbled, rubbing his stomach. "I ate too much." He fell straight into bed and snuggled into his blanket. "Good night, Sylas."

Sylas smiled slightly. "Good night."

He sat down in his bed and took Moste Evile Magick out from under his pillow. He drew the curtains tightly as a precaution. It had become one of his favorite reading materials. Whenever he read it, he imagined himself using the spells on people he disliked or performing the rituals described.

Unfortunately, some of them are extremely difficult to master. Not only because of the ingredients, but also because many require prior knowledge. Perhaps once he graduates from Hogwarts, he might be able to attempt one or two of the rituals.

When it came to the curses, he could only think of one person at the moment: Sirius Black. Everything in him screamed to search for the murderer, to hunt him down, to get answers. But where should he start? He had no leads. No clues. Nothing.

Sighing, he continued to leaf through the pages. The pages had long since yellowed, the edges were brittle, and some of the words were faded. Sometimes he felt like a rip-off for having paid Lysandra fifty galleons for such a nearly broken piece of junk. Some pages hung so loosely from the book that he almost ripped them out. Still, he was grateful to own such a book at all.

His fingers moved over the next chapter and a shiver ran down his spine as his eyes slid over the title.

 

Horcruxes:
Among the darkest practices of magic exist those that defy mortality itself.
There are spells that prolong life - and those that cheat the end. But the price is unspeakable.
It is said that a few magicians have shared their essence to avoid death.
But those who have taken this path have irrevocably lost a part of themselves.
Those who embraced this magic were no longer considered human.
Their souls... mutilated, broken, irreparably altered. Some claim there is no way back.

 

Sylas frowned and tapped thoughtfully against the rough parchment. Was that all? He flipped to the table of contents, searching for further information, feverishly pored through the entire book - but it remained just these vague hints. Strange. Normally, the book would provide instructions, but there was nothing here.

He read the paragraph again. It seemed as if the author himself hadn't dared to write further about it, as if he were afraid of it - a dark premonition.

Magic that conquered death... the thought made his heart beat faster. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea if the book only wrote vaguely about it. Otherwise, this knowledge could still be misused...

But Sylas's fingers twitched. He wanted - no - he had to find out exactly what Horcruxes meant. Prolonging death... sounded incredibly lucrative. There was a possibility - a place where this knowledge might lie hidden.

The forbidden section.

He remembered his last trip there. Back then, he'd been unprepared, recklessly putting himself in danger. But this time, he was wiser. He now had the Marauder's Map. If someone was nearby, he could easily hide.

His gaze wandered over to Theo. He slowly pushed the curtain aside. The boy was fast asleep. By tomorrow morning, he would surely be back in the dungeon. No one would ever know he was gone...

Sylas bit his lip, his eyes wandering once more over the text about Horcruxes. It was a risk - and what a risk. But the knowledge would be worth it.

He sighed loudly. "Whatever," he muttered quietly to himself, closed the book, and got out of bed. He quietly opened his infinity trunk, stepped inside, and pulled out the invisibility cloak. With one last glance at Theo, he left the dormitory and headed toward the library.

The dimly lit corridors were as eerie as ever. Only his footsteps echoed softly in the passageways. His gaze remained fixed on the map, while he held Lumos with his other hand. Dumbledore was in his office, pacing back and forth; Filch was checking the corridors on the fifth floor; Mrs. Norris remained stationary, remaining outside the Great Hall.

Sylas had free access to the library.

As he entered, a cold shiver ran down his spine. The library was much more eerie at night, and it was easy to hide behind all those long shadows. Hopefully, the Grimm wouldn't encounter him again. Slowly, with watchful eyes, he walked between the shelves until he reached the back row. He quietly stepped over the chain and entered the restricted section.

His heart fluttered with excitement. He retreated to a corner and began to scan the book titles. Many of them he didn't even understand because they were in another language, and others completely missed the point he was looking for. After what felt like an eternity, he finally had a suitable, fat book between his fingers.

Dark magic and its masters.

"Silencio"

He looked at the Marauders' Map once more. No one was nearby if he needed to escape. He carefully opened the book, ready to flee at a moment's notice, but nothing happened; no scream echoed between the ancient walls. He breathed a sigh of relief, sat down on the floor, leaning against the shelves, and pored through the book. He skimmed through it page by page, searching for any useful information - but nothing.

There was no mention of Horcruxes or anything like that. Disappointment spread through him as he put the book back into the shelf. Frustrated, he scanned the shelves until a familiar title stopped him. He pulled out the book and stared at the cover, wide-eyed.

Moste Evile Magick

His eye twitched. Fifty Galleons... Fifty Galleons ... He had paid for his own copy, only to find it in the library.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and fought the urge to slam the book against the shelf. "She can't be serious..." he growled softly.

Complete own goal.

He'd been duped like a little child, but could he blame her? After all, he'd been hanging around Knockturn Alley, the perfect victim for tricks. He exhaled deeply - that wasn't important right now; he was here for something else.

With a disgruntled look, Sylas put Moste Evile Magick back on the shelf and once again scanned the rows of books. There had to be something here somewhere. Such a powerful concept had to be implemented somewhere. It can't be that there were only a few vague sentences and then it disappeared into nothingness.

Sylas searched.

And searched.

And searched.

And searched.

But nothing. No mention of Horcruxes. No detailed rituals. No explanations. Only vague hints, sentences that led nowhere.

Sylas gritted his teeth. There had to be something somewhere!

After what felt like an eternity, he gave up in frustration. He packed the books back on the shelf and left the library before the first rays of sunlight touched the castle.

But that was only the first night.

The second night came and again he sneaked into the forbidden section.

And again he found nothing.

The third night. The same game.

The fourth.

The fifth.

The sixth.

The seventh.

By now, his dark circles were deepening. His head was pounding with fatigue, his patience was exhausted. He sifted through every book that even remotely seemed relevant. Old parchments, dusty tomes, dark magic works whose titles alone made one's hair stand on end. But not a single word about Horcruxes.

Why? Why was there nothing anywhere? Why did all traces seem to have been deliberately erased?

Since then, he always skipped breakfast, and only when Theo shook him awake for lunch did he finally get up. But even then, he just dragged himself through the day. The nighttime excursions were quite draining.

Today they were sitting in the common room again. Theo with a book in his hand, Sylas stretched out on the sofa, his arm over his eyes. Merlin, if only he could find that damned information about Horcruxes.

"You look like the walking dead," Theo stated dryly.

Sylas just grunted, sat up, and rubbed his eyes. "I don't just look like it, I feel like it too," he admitted.

Theo continued to study him, put down his book, and crossed his arms. "Okay, come on, tell me, what do you do at night?"

Sylas' body instantly stiffened. His gaze flickered to Theo, his mouth opened, but no words came out. He really hadn't expected to be asked so directly.

Theo raised his eyebrow, slightly offended. "You really think I wouldn't notice when your bed is empty at night?"

Holy shit.

Sylas couldn't utter a single word. Not even a lie rolled off his tongue. He frantically thought of a way to wriggle out of it, but nothing came to mind.

Theo leaned back, his blue eyes piercing. "You're sneaking into the restricted section, aren't you?" he asked, his gaze fixed intensely on the boy. When no answer came, he shook his head slightly. "Of course you're doing just that. What are you looking for, anyway?"

Sylas briefly rubbed his face. How could he be so stupid as to think Theo wouldn't notice.

A tense silence arose between them.

Theo studied him for a while, then sighed. "Listen. I know you're probably looking for something specific. And I also know you haven't found it - "

"How do you know?" Sylas asked, frowning.

Theo shrugged. "Because if you'd been successful, you wouldn't be sitting here with that grumpy ass face."

Sylas gritted his teeth. Of course Theo noticed. Of course he saw through him.

"The point I'm trying to make is..." Theo's voice turned grave. "Sirius Black is still out there."

Sylas' heart beat hard.

"He's an escaped mass murderer. He killed twelve Muggles and one wizard. He's responsible for the deaths of the Potters. And you're his prime target."

Sylas's jaw tensed.

"He's been in the castle," Theo continued. "You know that. Everyone knows that. He tried to break into the Gryffindor dormitory and attacked the Fat Lady, probably to get to you, and yet you're still walking through the corridors at night like nothing's happened."

He let the words hang in the air for a moment. Then he leaned forward even further, his sky-blue eyes boring into Sylas' poisonous green ones. As if he were looking directly behind Sylas Ashford's facade, as if Theo could immediately recognize Harry Potter in those poisonous green eyes. He frowned.

Finally, after minutes of dead silence, Theo broke it.

"You're not afraid," he murmured, more to himself, as if he just realised something. "Why aren't you afraid?"

Sylas' stomach twisted uncomfortably. He could have spit out a lie, distracted him with a sarcastic comment. Instead... he remained silent. Without thinking he slowley started scratching his neck. 

And Theo watched him closely. Then, very slowly, his expression changed. His gaze became sharper. He tilted his head slightly, as if he were solving a particularly tricky riddle.

And suddenly his eyes narrowed.

Realization dawned on him.

"...You know something."

Sylas frowned at him and snorted. "What should I know?"

"That Black won't hurt you."

"How the hell am I supposed to know that?"

Theo frowned in confusion, staring at the boy. "Because ... you just ... know things, Sylas," he explained, but was met with only confusion. His gaze softened as Theo realized it. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"If you wouldn't speak in riddles like Trelawney, then maybe I would," Sylas grumbled snippily.

Theo ran his hand through his hair thoughtfully, thinking hard. He seemed to be lacking the right words for his explanation.

"Okay - do you remember the very first night at Hogwarts?" he began. "When we were waiting outside the Great Hall to go in?"

"Yes?"

"At that time, a toad suddenly appeared on the stairs –"

"Longbottom's Toad. And?"

"That's it!" he shouted, his hands open. "How did you know it was Longbottom's?"

Sylas's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He thought hard, but there was... nothing. No memory of hearing or seeing the name. He shook his head in disbelief. "Maybe... I overheard it... somehow on the train. Who knows."

"The very first broomstick lesson," Theo continued, not letting him get away with any excuses. "You told Daphne and me that Draco would have thrown the Remembrall, but there was no evidence to support it. I asked Draco, and he really wanted to throw it."

Sylas' heart beat faster. He had no explanation for that. "That... that was just a feeling at the time. I didn't really know, it was more of a premonition. I have no idea, probably just a coincidence," he dismissed the whole thing.

"Just a feeling? Like that time you suddenly thought of Nicolas Flamel? Or when you knew what was under the trapdoor on the third floor? How did you know Weasley and Thomas would fly straight into the Whomping Willow? How did you know where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was?"

Sylas' chest tightened and a sharp pain ran through his scars.

"Why did you care so much about little Weasley last year? Funnily enough, she was kidnapped at the end of last school year. As if you had known, that would happen."

Sylas' hands clenched around the sofa cushion.

"And now there's Black, something you should be scared shitless of ... but you're not."

Sylas opened it, but he just shook his head vigorously. "No, Oliver helped me a few times. Through him -"

"Where is he?" Theo's voice cut through the tense silence, suddenly changing the subject. "Where is Oliver?"

Sylas frowned. "What... what do you mean?" he asked, confused.

Theo didn't take his eyes off him. "I mean, you haven't mentioned Oliver in months," his voice was calm. "You usually mention him in conversations or talk to him while Draco, Daphne, or I are around. But now? Nothing. And whenever his name is mentioned, your mood plummets so much you'd think Gryffindor won the House Cup."

Sylas ran a hand across his face with a nervous movement. He felt caught out, as if Theo had just completely exposed him.

"Oliver is... he's..." His shoulders slumped and he sighed loudly. "He's gone, okay? He hasn't appeared since June. But still, it was Oliver who told me what was under the trapdoor or where the Chamber of Secrets was."

Theo frowned, studying him for a second, as if he tried to make sense of Sylas explanations. "But you told us back then that Oliver had no idea either," he murmured, examining the boy in front of him even more closely.

Shit.

Sylas had let something slip.

"Whatever, that's not the point", Sylas continued hastily. "The fact is, Oliver helped me. He told me things no one else could have told me."

"You know what I think?" Theo asked. "I think Oliver never existed."

A cold shiver ran down Sylas's spine. A thought he hadn't dared to voice until now.

"His existence never really made sense anyway," Theo continued. "He was a ghost that only you could see and hear. There's no such thing. And then there's this other thing - you know things, Sylas. Things you shouldn't know. Things you can't know. Oliver is probably just a figment of your imagination -"

"Oliver is no figment of his imagination!" Sylas snarled, his voice sharper than he had intended.

Theo's eyes widened slightly, but he remained calm. "Then explain something to me," he said gently. "Do you really think Oliver knew Draco would have thrown the Remembrall? Or that little Weasley would be kidnapped?"

Sylas said nothing. He couldn't say anything. His gaze fell on his own hands, as if they might provide him with an answer.

Oliver was real. He had to be real.

All those nights he played chess with Oliver, all those nights Oliver talked to him about the wizarding world. Were those all just hallucinations?

"And what about the cold draft that blew through the common room while I was giving my speech?" he finally asked, as if to prove to himself that Theo was wrong. "It was Oliver who caused the cold.

Theo just shook his head gently. "That was you," he murmured. "Wandless magic can happen."

The silence between them was almost tangible. Theo continued to stare intently at Sylas, while everything swirled in Sylas' head. His heart pounded in his ears, his breathing was shallow.

Oliver existed. He had to exist.

Sylas knew that. He had to know.

And yet... the doubts gnawed at him now, drilling deeper into his consciousness the longer he thought about Theo's words.

"This is... ridiculous," Sylas finally said, laughing briefly but sounding forced. "You're acting like I'm... crazy."

"Maybe not exactly crazy..."

"Theo, let it go."

But Theo did not let it go.

"Oliver was just gone, wasn't he?" his voice was calmer. "I bet you didn't even see him disappear. He was just... gone."

Sylas swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. "Maybe he's moved on," he murmured. "Ghosts do that. Come and go as they please."

"I'm sorry, but when exactly did ghosts ever cease to exist ?" Theo asked, raising an eyebrow. "Have you ever heard of a ghost simply disappearing?"

Sylas' fingernails dug into his palm. He didn't want to deal with it - didn't want to think about it. But Theo kept pushing him further into the corner.

"You usually had an explanation for your knowledge. Namely Oliver. But if Oliver actually doesn't exist—"

"He does exists," Sylas's voice trembled slightly, and that made him even angrier.

"Then explain one thing to me, Sylas."

Sylas forced himself to look at him.

"If Oliver told you all these things ... did he never tell you why he is here? What his purpose is?"

Sylas' lips parted, but no sound came out. A queasy feeling spread through his body. Theo had just pushed open a door he himself had never dared to open.

Sylas stared at Theo, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for words that wouldn't come. The question hung heavy in the air. Theo watched him with a look that was both curious and concerned. He said nothing more, letting the silence grow between them while Sylas wrestled with his thoughts.

"I... I don't know why he's here," Sylas finally murmured. "I haven't really had the time to think about that question until now. He's just always been there when I needed him." A feeling of helplessness spread through him.

Theo leaned back, his blue eyes fixed on Sylas with an intense gaze. "And now he's gone. Just when you need him most."

The words hit him like a blow, because he was right. Oliver disappeared just before the Chamber of Secrets, just when things were getting more complicated.

"Maybe he thought I could manage on my own," Sylas said, more to himself than to Theo.

Theo raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe he was never really there."

Sylas shook his head, but doubts continued to gnaw at him. "No, that can't be. I've seen him. I've spoken to him. I've played chess with him. He's real ."

Theo sighed and leaned forward, his hands folded on his knees. "Sylas, I don't want to hurt you. But you have to ask yourself why you know all these things. Why you see things others don't. Why you feel things others don't. And as an explanation, your subconscious created Oliver."

"What do you mean by that?"

Theo hesitated for a moment, as if considering how to phrase it. "I'm saying that maybe you're... different. That maybe you have a gift you don't understand. Something that allows you to know things others can't."

Sylas raised his head and looked Theo straight in the eyes. "You think I'm ... what? A seer? Like Trelawney?"

Theo shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe something else. Something no one understands yet."

"This is crazy. I'm not a seer. I'm not ... whatever the hell you think I am. I'm just me."

"Maybe. But you have to admit there's something that's not normal. Something you can't explain."

Sylas remained silent. He wanted to contradict Theo, wanted to tell him he was wrong. But the words stuck in his throat. Because there was truly something he could never explain. Something he didn't understand. Something that haunted him.

Notes:

I am sooo excited to read your comments and theories about this chapters, because it finally adresses Sylas random knowledge about things. Have you noticed all those things Theo mentioned before? Maybe Oliver really is a figment of his imagination who knows ;)

Chapter 32

Notes:

Thank y'all so so much for over 10k Hits, the Kudos and all the interesting comments!
Enjoy the chapter and see ya next week!
xoxo

January, 1994

Since his conversation with Theo, Sylas stayed away from the Restricted Section. For the simple reason that he now had something other than Horcruxes to deal with. They spoke sparingly for the rest of the week. The conversation left a bitter taste in Sylas' mouth.

His thoughts were focused solely on Oliver. He replayed their conversations, their encounters, even the moments of silence in his mind. He retrospectively searched for clues in every detail. But the longer he reminisced, the more reality seemed to change.

Sylas began writing down everything he knew about Oliver in a black leather-bound journal. He filled page after page with memories and information about Oliver - his words, his laughter, his mannerisms. But as he wrote, a faint doubt crept inside him. Were his memories truly as he wrote them? Or was he subconsciously distorting them? The more he focused on them, the more fleeting they seemed.

Sometimes he would stare at a sentence for minutes, trying to make sense out of it, before closing the book in desperation. The following night, he would look at the same memory from a new perspective and notice that details had changed. Had Oliver's voice been deeper? Had he really said those exact words? Had he ever really been there at all?

The idea was absurd.

Oliver had been there.

He was always there.

And yet...

An uneasy feeling settled in his chest. If he was wrong - if Theo was right - what did that mean for him? Did it mean he'd been lying to himself all these years?

He pressed his lips together and pushed the diary away. The only sounds in the dormitory were the crackling of the fire and the snoring of Crabbe and Goyle. Part of him wanted to throw the diary into the fire, pretend he'd never started it. But he couldn't; it felt like erasing Oliver forever.

He barely slept that night. When he finally lay down, the diary was still lying beside him, open on a half-filled page. The last line he had written flickered like a ghostly warning:

Am I going crazy?

The night before the first day of classes, Flint took Sylas aside.

"Had a good Christmas?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued in a subdued voice. "I've been thinking a bit over the holidays, Ashford. A little bird told me you got a Firebolt. Very good stuff, and we could definitely beat the Ravenclaws with it, and you play very well too. It wouldn't hurt if you got more experience, but if the Dementors come to the next game, we can't afford it. How about Malfoy using the Firebolt—"

"I'm doing something about it," Sylas said quickly. "Professor Lupin promised to give me lessons on how to keep the Dementors away. We were supposed to start this week."

"Ah," said Flint, his face brightening, "well, if that's the case, then you'll definitely be playing next game." He winked and left.

A bad feeling spread in Sylas' stomach. What if, despite his training, he wasn't up to the task of defeating the Dementors?

The next day, classes began again. Sylas was relieved to finally have a distraction. The Hogwarts routine helped him push away the tormenting thoughts of Oliver, at least for a while. Especially to finally have something to distract himself with. He was especially looking forward to the return of Daphne and Draco - their presence would ease the tense atmosphere between him and Theo. Not that they had ever fighted, but every time Theo looked at him, Sylas felt as if his gaze was looking right through, as if he were trying to figure out what was going on with him.

During breakfast in the Great Hall, Sylas found it difficult to concentrate on the conversation at the Slytherin table. Draco was talking about his relatives' visit and how he accompanied his father to the Ministry, while Daphne enthusiastically talked about her Christmas presents. Theo listened in silence, but his gaze kept glancing discreetly at Sylas.

Sylas stirred his porridge, not really feeling much of an appetite. He thought of the black diary in his infinity trunk, filled with notes about Oliver.

"Sylas, are you even listening?" Draco's voice pulled him from his thoughts. Sylas blinked and looked into the expectant faces of his friends.

"What?"

Daphne sighed dramatically. "Draco asked if we could come with him to the library after class. We need to go through the Potions list, Snape hinted that he has a surprise for us right in the first lesson."

"Or do you want to look like a complete idiot when he picks you?" Draco asked, grinning.

Sylas twisted his mouth into a crooked smile. "As if I'd ever look like an idiot."

Daphne laughed and the tension that had been haunting him for days eased for a moment.

The last thing they wanted on this harsh January morning was two hours out on the grounds. To cheer them up, Hagrid had prepared a large fire with salamanders, and they eagerly gathered dry wood to make the fire roar, while the flame-loving salamanders scampered across the white-hot, crumbling logs. The first Divination lesson of the new year was far less fun; Professor Trelawney taught them palmistry and bluntly revealed to Sylas that he had the shortest lifelines she had ever seen.

Sylas was really excited about Defense Against the Dark Arts. After his conversation with Flint, he wanted to start learning how to fight the Dementors as soon as possible.

"Ah yes," said Lupin, when Sylas reminded him of his promise at the end of the lesson. "Let's think... how about Thursday evening at eight o'clock? The History of Magic classroom will be big enough... I'll have to think carefully about how we approach this... after all, we can't bring a full-blown Dementor into the castle for practice..."

"Still looks sick, doesn't he?" said Daphne as they walked down the corridor toward dinner. "What do you think is wrong with him?"

"Maybe he has a weak body," Sylas murmured, but he noticed Lupins weird behaviour as well. 

"Well, hopefully we'll have another class with Snape as a substitute soon. The Gryffindors will be happy about that," Draco laughed.

As they walked down the corridor, still talking about Lupin's lessons and his planned tutoring session, Sylas, Daphne, Theo, and Draco suddenly heard loud voices coming from the direction of the Great Hall.

"That sounds like Weasley and Granger," Draco noted.

Daphne snorted, "They're probably arguing again."

Sylas laughed quietly. "That's nothing new."

As they turned the corner, they could now clearly hear the heated conversation. Weasley stood in the middle of the hallway, his face bright red, his fists clenched, while Granger faced him with her arms crossed. Her face was also flushed, but not with anger - rather with frustration.

"Maybe Scabbers should just learn to defend himself instead of hiding all the time!" Granger said sharply, raising her chin.

Weasley gasped indignantly. "Oh, and this is Scabbers' fault now?! The poor fellow hardly eats anymore because he's constantly afraid your carpet will swallow him up!"

"Crookshanks isn't a rug!" Granger snapped back. "And maybe Scabbers isn't eating because he's old and sick! It's not Crookshanks' fault if your rat is about to pass out."

Weasley's ears turned dark red. "You take that back! Scabbers is perfectly healthy - or would be, if your monster didn't chase him all the time!"

Granger threw her arms in the air. "You're exaggerating! And by the way - perhaps you should think about why Crookshanks is so interested in Scabbers. Cats have an instinct for strange things!"

Weasley stared at her for a moment, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Then he threw his arms apart. "Oh, now you're telling me Crookshanks is some kind of magical early warning system?! Why don't you just tell me you like him better than me!"

Granger's eyes widened, and for a moment she looked almost hurt. Then her mouth twisted into a thin line.

"You know what, Ron? I'm sick of justifying myself all the time. If you'd rather be offended, then fine!" She turned abruptly and marched away at a brisk pace.

Ron stood there with a frown on his face, his shoulders still shaking with suppressed anger.

Draco laughed mockingly. "Weasley and Granger - that never gets old."

Daphne shook her head. "Such a fuss over a rat and a cat."

Sylas said nothing. His thoughts were still on Lupin and what they had learned about the Dementors. But when he thought of Hermione's last words, a cold feeling ran through him.

Cats have an instinct for strange things.

He wasn't sure why, but that remark stuck in his mind longer than it should have.

At eight o'clock on Thursday evening, Sylas left the Slytherin dungeons and made his way to the History classroom. It was dark and empty when he arrived, but he lit the lamps with his wand and only had to wait five minutes before Professor Lupin appeared, carrying a large box, which he hoisted onto Professor Binns' desk.

"What is this?" asked Sylas.

"Another Boggart," said Lupin, taking off his cloak. "I've been scouring the castle since Tuesday, and luckily, it was still lurking in Mr. Filch's filing cabinet. We couldn't do a better job of replicating a real Dementor. The Boggart will transform into a Dementor when it sees you, and then we can practice with it. I can keep it in my office when we're not using it; there's a cupboard under my desk, so it'll be comfortable there."

"Good," said Sylas, trying to sound relaxed and simply happy that Lupin had found such a good replacement for a real Dementor.

"So then..." Professor Lupin had drawn his wand and gestured for Sylas to follow suit. "The spell I'm about to teach you is a higher kind of magic, Sylas - it goes far beyond ordinary sorcery. It's the Patronus Charm."

"How does it work?" Sylas said nervously.

"Well, if it's done well, it conjures a Patronus," said Lupin, "and that's a kind of counter - Dementor - a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the Dementor." Sylas had a sudden mental image of crouching behind a Hagrid-sized figure with a giant baton. Professor Lupin continued, "The Patronus is like a force for good, a reflection of the very things the Dementor feeds on - hope, happiness, the desire to survive - but it can't experience despair like real people can, and so the Dementor can't harm it. But I must warn you, Sylas, the spell might still be too difficult for you. Many well-trained wizards struggle with it."

"What does a Patronus look like?" Sylas asked curiously.

"Every wizard creates his own."

"And how do you summon them?"

"With a magic formula that only works if you concentrate with all your strength on a single, very happy memory."

Sylas searched his memory for a happy experience. Of course, nothing from his childhood was a possibility. Finally, he settled on the moment he flew on a broom for the first time.

"Good," he said, trying to recall the wonderful, flowing feeling in his stomach as clearly as possible.

"The incantation is -", Lupin cleared his throat, "Expecto patronum."

"Expecto patronum," Sylas whispered, "Expecto patronum."

"Are you thinking hard about your happy experience?"

"Oh, yes" said Sylas, quickly turning his thoughts back to that first broomstick flight. "Expecto patrono—no, patroni—nonsense, expecto patronum, expecto patronum— "

Suddenly, something hissed from the tip of his wand; it looked like a jet of silvery gas.

"Did you see that?" Sylas said excitedly, "something happened!"

"Very good," said Lupin, smiling. "Well then, are you ready to try it on a Dementor?"

"Yes," said Sylas, gripping his wand tightly. He stepped into the middle of the classroom. He tried to keep his mind firmly on the broomstick, but now something else was forcing its way into his mind... he might be about to hear his mother again... but he couldn't think about that, because then he would actually hear her again, and he didn't want that... or did he?

He always wanted a mother... 

His mothers loving voice...

Lupin grabbed the lid of the box and pulled it up. Slowly, a Dementor floated out, its hooded face turned toward Sylas; with a glistening, scab-covered hand, it clutched its cloak to its body. The classroom lights flickered and went out. The Dementor stepped out of the box and floated toward Sylas, breathing deeply and raggedly. A wave of stinging cold washed over it.

"Expecto patronum!" Sylas shouted. "Expecto patronum! Expecto-"

But the classroom and the Dementor blurred before his eyes... Again Sylas fell through thick white fog, and his mother's voice, louder than ever, echoed in his head -

"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please - I'll do anything -" Loud, shrill laughter - he enjoyed her horror.

"Sylas!" Sylas suddenly came back to life. He lay stretched out on the floor. The lights in the classroom were back on. He didn't have to ask what had happened.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, sitting up. Cold sweat trickled down behind his glasses.

"Are you okay?" asked Lupin.

"Yes..." Sylas pulled himself up on a desk and leaned against it.

"Here," Lupin handed him a chocolate frog. "Eat this before we try again. I didn't expect you to succeed the first time; in fact, I would have been very surprised."

"I heard him now too," Sylas murmured absently and bit off the frog's head.

"Who did you hear?"

"Vo - " Sylas interrupted himself and just shook his head.

Lupin frowned. "What do you hear when the Dementors get too close?"

He looked at his professor with wide eyes. He couldn't utter a word.

Lupin's lips curved into a sad smile. "It's okay, you don't have to tell me," he replied. "If you don't want to continue, I understand only too well -"

"Yes!" Sylas said firmly, stuffing the rest of the chocolate frog into his mouth. "I have to! What if the Dementors show up at our match against Ravenclaw? Flint wants me back in, and I can't crash. If we lose this match, we can forget about the Quidditch Cup!"

"Very well..." said Lupin. "Perhaps you could choose another memory, a happier experience, I should say, to focus on... The last one apparently wasn't strong enough..."

Sylas thought hard and finally found a new memory: When he won the House Championship last year, he must have been extremely happy. He clutched his wand again and took his place in the middle of the classroom.

"Ready?" asked Lupin, grabbing the lid of the box.

"Ready," said Sylas, trying hard to fill his head with happy thoughts of Slytherin's victory and not with gloomy thoughts of what would happen when the box opened.

"Go!" said Lupin, lifting the lid. Once again, the room became freezing cold and dark. The Dementor glided toward him, breathing deeply; a rotting hand reached for Sylas.

"Expecto patronum," cried Sylas, "Expecto patronum! Expecto pat— " White fog smothered his senses... large, blurry figures moved around him... then he heard a new voice, the voice of a man screaming, overcome by fear.

"Lily, take Harry and run! It's him! Get out of here, I'll stop him."

Someone stumbled hastily out of a room - a door burst with a crash - a shrill laugh -

"Sylas! Sylas... come to..." Lupin gave Sylas a hard slap. This time it took a while for Sylas to realize why he was lying on a dusty floor.

He'd heard his dad, he'd heard James take on Voldemort all by himself so Lily could escape with him. Suddenly, Sylas felt a tear on his face, mingling with sweat. He quickly lowered his head as if tying his shoe, and wiped his face on his cloak.

"Perhaps we should leave it at that for tonight. This spell is incredibly difficult... I shouldn't have suggested you take all this on yourself..."

"No!" said Sylas, straightening up. "I want another try! I just haven't thought about my happiest experience yet, that's why... wait..."

He racked his brains. A truly, truly happy experience... one he could turn into a good, strong Patronus...

The moment he learned he was a wizard and would be leaving the orphanage and going to Hogwarts! If that wasn't a happy memory, he didn't know what was... He thought hard about how he'd felt when he realized he was leaving the town of Ashford, stood up, and stood in front of the box again.

"Ready?" Lupin asked, his expression as if he were doing something against his better judgment. "Are you thinking hard about your experience? Well then, let's go!"

For the third time he lifted the lid of the box and the Dementor stepped out; the room became cold and dark.

"Expecto patronum!" blustered Sylas, "expecto patronum! Expecto patronum!" The screaming in Sylas's head began again. Only this time it sounded as if it were coming from a badly tuned radio - quieter and louder and then quieter again - and Sylas could still see the Dementor. It stopped - and then a powerful silver shadow rushed out from the tip of Sylas's wand and hovered between him and the Dementor, and although Sylas's legs felt wobbly, he was still standing - though he wasn't sure for how much longer.

"Riddikulus," thundered Lupin, leaping forward. With a loud crash, Sylas' misty Patronus vanished along with the Dementor. Sylas sank into a chair, so exhausted and his legs shaking as if he'd just run a mile. From the corner of his eye, he saw Professor Lupin use his wand to drive the boggart back into the box; it had transformed back into a silver sphere. "Brilliant!" said Lupin, striding toward Sylas.

"Excellent, Sylas! That's a good start!"

"Can we try again? Just one more time?"

"Not now," Lupin said firmly. "You've had enough for one evening. Here," He handed Sylas a large bar of the finest chocolate from Honeydukes. "Eat this, or Madam Pomfrey will suck the blood out of my veins. Next week, same time?"

"Okay," said Sylas, biting into a piece of chocolate. His gaze followed Lupin as he extinguished the lamps that had flickered back on when the Dementor disappeared.

"It's getting late, you'd better go now, Sylas," said Lupin, smiling proudly.

Sylas went out, ran down the corridor and turned the corner, then quickly hid behind a suit of armor and sank down onto its pedestal to finish his chocolates.

He felt drained and strangely empty, even though his belly was full of chocolate. As horrible as it was to have the last moments of his parents' lives replaying in his head, it was the first time he'd heard their voices since he was a small child. But he'd never be able to conjure a proper Patronus if he secretly wanted to hear his parents again...

"They're dead," he said sternly to himself. "They're dead, and listening to the echo of their voices won't bring them back. You'd better pull yourself together if you want to win the Quidditch Cup."

He stood up, stuffed the last piece of chocolate into his mouth, and returned to the Slytherin dungeon.

A week later, Ravenclaw played against Gryffindor. Gryffindor won, albeit narrowly. According to Flint, it would be good for the Slytherins if they also defeated Ravenclaw. So he scheduled four training sessions a week. Sylas had to demonstrate the Firebolt in great detail to everyone he passed on his new broomstick. It was quite annoying, as he was always late for training.

Sylas also continued to be taught by Lupin the art of defense against Dementors, which alone exhausted him more than four Quidditch lessons combined, and now only had two evenings a week to complete all of his homework. Nevertheless, the tension was written all over his face.

He was sitting in his usual corner of the library, tinkering with his Transfiguration homework. McGonagall had assigned them an essay on the limitations of Transfiguration. A meter of parchment on why food can't be created from nothing - Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. Daphne kept him company, as she hadn't finished her essay either.

Shared suffering was half the suffering.

Daphne sighed loudly again and pouted. "Let's beg Draco and Theo to give us their essays," she muttered.

Sylas snorted in amusement. "Then we'd better ask Draco, Theo will only give it to us reluctantly," he muttered.

"What actually happened between you and Theo?"

"What do you mean?" asked Sylas, still looking at his parchment.

"It seems like you had a fight," she explained. "You barely talk to each other anymore."

The scratching of his quill stopped in its tracks. Sylas thought hard about what to say to her. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean," he finally grumbled, but he felt her disgruntled gaze on him. "Nothing happened between Theo and me."

Daphne was just about to speak when a familiar redhead entered her field of vision. Her bright, shining eyes dimmed slightly when she spotted Daphne with Sylas.

"Sylas!" she called happily.

He looked up. "Oh, hey Ginny, what's up?" he asked.

She clutched the books in her hands tightly to her chest and shifted from one foot to the other. "I... I heard you're being used as Seeker again at the next Quidditch match," she stammered slightly.

"Yes, Flint said with the Firebolt we should be able to beat Ravenclaw easily," Sylas explained, nodding.

"Sure!" Ginny said quickly, smiling brightly. "You're a great Seeker. I saw you last time at training - your reflexes are incredible!"

"Thanks," he said, smiling slightly at her.

For a moment, no one spoke. Ginny seemed to be searching for words while Sylas turned back to his parchment. But she didn't give up.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you something..." she began hesitantly, taking a small step closer to the table.

Daphne briefly looked up from her parchment and watched the scene with a calm expression.

"What is it?" Sylas sounded distracted as he crossed out a phrase and started again.

"Um... I was wondering if you could maybe give me some flying tips? I mean, I train with my brothers every now and then, of course, but... you're so much better and... I thought if you had time..."

Sylas paused and looked at her. "You really need help? I thought you were pretty good."

Ginny bit her lower lip, as if unsure whether to continue. "Yes, but... I want ... to get better. And you'd be the best person I could learn from."

Sylas leaned back slightly and studied her briefly. He knew Ginny was ambitious, but something about her request felt different. His gaze drifted briefly over to Daphne, who was giving him a warning look. Her eyes sparkled with indignation.

At that moment, the penny dropped. Ginny didn't ask because she wasn't good at flying a broom, but because she wanted to spend time with him. He had almost forgotten about her feelings for him!

"I'm quite... busy at the moment," he managed, tapping his quill on the parchment in front of him. "McGonagall expects this essay the day after tomorrow at the latest."

"Oh... of course," Ginny murmured quickly, taking a half-step back. "I don't want to distract you." She paused for a moment, as if about to say something else, but then decided against it. With a slight nod, she turned and disappeared among the bookshelves.

There was silence for a few seconds until Sylas suddenly got a headbutt from Daphne's rolled-up essay.

"You haven't talked to her? Sylas!" she admonished him. "That girl is head over heels in love with you! She won't give up if you don't say anything!"

"Yeah, well, I just ... missed it," he grumbled. "What am I supposed to do? I've got so much on my plate, I just haven't gotten around to it!"

"Didn't get around to it," she repeated indignantly. "Merlin, the longer you wait, the worse it gets!"

Sylas groaned softly and rubbed the spot on his head where Daphne's essay had hit him. "Yes, yes, I know. I should tell her, but -"

"No but!" Daphne threw the parchment roll onto the table and crossed her arms. "She's totally infatuated with you, Sylas. Everyone in our year notices! And you keep giving her these little hopes because you just can't bring yourself to speak plainly."

"Hopes? What kind of hopes?" Sylas grumbled, looking at her irritably. "I never promised or hinted at anything."

Daphne sighed and fell back into her chair, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're nice to her. And believe me, that's enough. For someone in love, a simple smile or a little attention can mean the world." 

Sylas rubbed his face and sighed. "I don't ... want to hurt her, okay? She's nice, and she's in Slytherin. If I turn her down, the twins will definitely come after me and curse me again."

"Then tell her carefully!" Daphne urged. "Make it clear to her that you only see her as a friend. But don't let her keep hoping..."

Sylas pressed his lips together and stared at his parchment, as if the answer lay somewhere between the lines of the essay. It was true, he should have talked to Ginny long ago. But when? How? It was much easier to ignore the problem and hope that she would eventually stop looking at him as if he'd personally plucked the stars from the sky for her.

"Do you know what your problem is?" she asked, arms crossed. "You're too good-natured. That's not a bad thing in itself, but if you're not careful, you'll only get yourself into trouble."

"Thanks for the encouraging words," Sylas growled, grimacing, but Daphne glared at him.

Sylas sighed heavily again and finally nodded. "Okay, I'll talk to her."

"Soon?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Soon."

"Swear it."

He rolled his eyes. "I solemnly swear to Salazar Slytherin, or whoever."

Daphne nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Then we can continue working on this terrible terrible essay."

Sylas picked up his quill again, but the words on the parchment blurred before his eyes. The thought of talking to Ginny weighed heavily on his heart. When the hell was he supposed to talk to her?

 

~~~

 

February

Imperceptibly, without any change in the bitterly cold weather, January slipped into February. The match against Ravenclaw was approaching far too quickly. The lessons against the Dementors weren't going nearly as well as he'd hoped. After a few lessons, he managed to create a blurry silver shadow whenever the Boggart Dementor approached, but his Patronus was too weak to scare it away. The Dementor just hovered in place, like a semi-transparent cloud, draining the strength out of Sylas that it needed to keep it in check. Sylas was angry with himself and felt guilty for wanting to hear his parents' voices over and over again.

"You expect too much of yourself," Professor Lupin said seriously, already in their fourth week. "For a thirteen-year-old wizard, even a blurred Patronus is a major achievement. And you don't faint anymore, you must remember."

"I thought a Patronus would ... knock down the Dementors or something," Sylas said discouraged. "Make them disappear..."

"The right Patronus does that," said Lupin. "But you've already accomplished a lot in a short time. If the Dementors make an appearance at your next Quidditch match, you can keep them at bay until you're back on your feet."

"But you said it's harder when there are a lot of people there," Sylas said.

"I have complete confidence in you," Lupin said, smiling. "Here, you deserve a drink. Something from the Three Broomsticks, I'm sure you haven't heard of it." He pulled two bottles from his briefcase.

"Butterbeer!" Sylas exclaimed thoughtlessly. "Yeah, I really like that stuff!"

Lupin raised an eyebrow.

"Oh ... Draco, Daphne and Theo brought me something from Hogsmeade," Sylas lied quickly.

"I see," said Lupin, though he still looked a little suspicious. "Well, let's drink to a Gryffindor victory against Ravenclaw! Although, as a teacher, I can't be biased, of course," he added hastily. They drank the Butterbeer in silence until Sylas brought up something he'd been thinking about for a while.

"What's under the hood of these Dementors?"

Professor Lupin lowered his bottle thoughtfully. "Hmm... yes, the only ones who really know can't tell us anymore. The Dementor only removes its hood to use its final and most terrible weapon."

"Which one is that?"

"They call it the Dementor's Kiss," Lupin explained with a slightly pained smile. "They do it to those they wish to utterly destroy. I suppose it's some kind of mouth under the hood; they press their jaws down on the victim's mouth and suck out their soul."

Sylas involuntarily spat out a little Butterbeer. "What, kill them?"

"Oh no," said Lupin. "Much worse than that. You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still functioning. But you'll have no sense of self, no memories, no... nothing. There's no chance of recovery. You'll just eke out your miserable existence. An empty shell. And you'll have lost your soul... forever." Lupin took a sip of Butterbeer, then continued, "That's the fate that awaits Sirius Black. It was in the Daily Prophet this morning. The Ministry has given the Dementors permission to carry out that sentence on him, should they find him."

Sylas was silent for a moment, oppressed by the thought of someone's soul being sucked out through their mouth. But then he thought of Black.

"He deserves it," he murmured suddenly.

"Do you think so?" Lupin answered in a toneless voice. "Do you really think anyone deserves this?"

Sylas hesitated. He wanted to tell Lupin about the conversation he had overheard at the Three Broomsticks about Black betraying his parents, but then he would have had to admit that he had gone to Hogsmeade without permission, and he knew Lupin wouldn't be too pleased. So he finished his Butterbeer, thanked Lupin, and left the classroom. He almost regretted having asked what was under a Dementor's hood. The answer had been so horrific that he spent the whole walk to the dungeons drowning in the unpleasant thought of what it would feel like to have your soul sucked out.

 

~~~

 

The last training session before the match against Ravenclaw was about to begin. He and Draco headed to the Quidditch pitch. After training, Draco would be allowed to take the Firebolt for a spin.

Madam Hooch, who continued to oversee the Slytherin training, and Sylas in particular, was always impressed by the broom, as were everyone else who saw it. Before takeoff, she picked it up and examined it with an experienced eye.

"Look at how beautifully balanced it is! If the Nimbus series has one flaw, it's a slight list toward the tail. After a few years, they usually become quite crooked. They've also redesigned the handle; it's a bit slimmer than the Sauberwisch's and reminds me of the old Silver Arrow. A shame they don't make it anymore; I learned to fly on that one; a really solid broom..."

She continued like this for quite a while until Flint interrupted her. "Madam Hooch, we still have to train, so please return the Firebolt.

"Oh, of course, here it is, Ashford," said Madam Hooch, handing it back. She ran across the pitch and climbed into the stands while the Slytherin team gathered around Flint, who gave them the final instructions for tomorrow's match.

"Sylas, I just found out from Nott who's the Ravenclaw Seeker. Cho Chang, a fourth-year, and she's pretty good. I was actually hoping she wouldn't be fully recovered yet; she's had a few injury problems..." Flint's expression darkened with unease over Cho Chang's recovery, then he continued. "On the other hand, she's flying a Comet Two-Sixty, which will look like a joke next to the Firebolt." He glanced at Sylas' broom with feverish admiration. "Okay, guys, let's go."

With mixed feelings, Sylas mounted his Firebolt and pushed off the ground. Theo could have told him in person who the Ravenclaw Seeker was, but he still decided to go to Flint. But once he was finally in the air, he pushed the thoughts away. Flying the Firebolt was the best feeling there was. The Firebolt banked at the slightest touch, seeming to follow his thoughts rather than his hand; it raced across the pitch so fast that Draco couldn't even keep up. All he could see were blurs of green and gray; he turned it so sharply that Adrian Pucey screamed, then it went into a perfectly safe dive, skimming the grass below with its toes and rising, then again, 10, 20, 30 meters into the air.

"Ashford, Malfoy, I'm letting the Snitch out!" shouted Flint.

Sylas turned and chased a Bludger toward the goalpost; he easily left it behind, saw the Snitch dart out from behind Flint, and had it safely in his hands within ten seconds. Draco had no chance against him.

The team cheered until their ears rang. Sylas released the Snitch, giving him and Draco a one-minute head start, then chased after it, weaving between the others. He saw it lurking near Miles Bletchley's knee, casually looped around them, and caught the Snitch.

They had never trained so well; the team, spurred on by the Firebolt in their midst, practiced the most difficult moves flawlessly, and when they all landed again, Flint had not a word of criticism to offer.

"We're in top form, nothing can stop us now," said Flint. "Except... Ashford, you've got your Dementor problem under control, right?"

"Yeah," said Sylas, thinking of his weak Patronus, which he wished were much stronger.

"The Dementors won't show up again, Marcus, Dumbledore would go completely berserk," Adrian said confidently.

"I hope so too," Flint grumbled. "Anyway, that was good work by all of you. Let's go back to the dungeon; we should get to bed early today."

"Draco and I are staying outside, he wants to try out the Firebolt," said Sylas.

"Hmm, not a bad idea. Woe betide you if you're not fit tomorrow. Both of you," grumbled Flint, and headed for the locker rooms with the others.

"There you go," said Sylas, handing the Firebolt to Draco, who grinned broadly.

Draco swung himself onto his broom with a look of devotion and soared high into the darkening sky. Sylas walked along the sidelines, watching him, and when Madam Hooch woke with a sudden start, night had already fallen. She reprimanded the two for not waking her and angrily sent them back to the castle.

The next morning, Sylas went upstairs with the others to breakfast. As he entered the Great Hall, all eyes turned to the Firebolt, and excited whispers began. Sylas saw with immense satisfaction that the Slytherin team looked thunderstruck. Wood looked as if he would rather meet a Dementor himself.

"Did you see his face?" Draco asked gleefully, looking over his shoulder at Ron Weasley. "He can't believe it! Great!"

Even Flint bathed in the glow that the Firebolt cast upon him.

"Here with the broom, Ashford," he said, placing the Firebolt in the middle of the table, careful to make sure the name was legible. Soon, one after another, people from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables came over to take a closer look. Cedric Diggory also came to the table to congratulate Sylas on getting such a great replacement for his Nimbus, and Percy's Ravenclaw girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater, asked if she could touch the Firebolt.

"Are you sure you can handle that broom, Ashford?" said a cold, raspy voice. Ron Weasley, with Finnigan and Thomas in tow, had come over to take a closer look.

"Yes, I think so," Sylas said casually.

"It's got a lot of bells and whistles built in, doesn't it?" Thomas asked, his eyes twinkling evilly. "It's just too bad it doesn't come with a parachute. In case you get too close to a Dementor."

Weasley and Finnigan giggled.

"It's a shame you'll never be able to handle a Firebolt," Daphne said, slightly angrily. "You can't even take care of your rat. I heard he's missing?"

The Slytherins laughed loudly. Weasley clenched his hands, his face bright red, and stalked away. They watched as he sat down with his brothers. The twins continued to mock him.

"Is the rat really gone?" Draco asked, laughing.

Daphne nodded, grinning. "Apparently, Granger's cat is to blame. He found Crookshanks's fur, a small spot of blood and now he blames her. The two are at loggerheads," she said.

"Pff, from the looks of that rat, he wouldn't have lived much longer anyway," said Draco.

At a quarter to eleven, the Slytherins headed for the changing rooms. The weather was worlds better than it had been for their match against Hufflepuff, much to Sylas's relief. It was a clear, cool day with a gentle breeze; this time Sylas would have no trouble, and as nervous as he was, he was beginning to feel the excitement that only a Quidditch match could bring. This time, he would show them all how well he could play.

They heard the other students entering the stadium from across the hall. Sylas took off his black school robes, pulled his wand from his pocket, and tucked it into the T-shirt he planned to wear under his Quidditch robes. Hopefully, he wouldn't need it.

"You know what we have to do," said Flint as they headed outside. "If we lose this game, we're done for good. Just fly like we did in training yesterday, and we'll rock this thing. And if you get a chance, knock that stupid Ravenclaw thing off her broom. Then we can score some serious points."

A nasty grin crept onto every lip of the Slytherin team.

They marched out onto the pitch to thunderous applause. The Ravenclaw team, all in blue, had already lined up in the middle. Their Seeker, Cho Chang, was the only girl on the team. She was almost a head shorter than Sylas, and despite his nervousness, he found her particularly pretty. She smiled at Sylas as the teams lined up behind their captains, facing each other. Sylas felt a little queasy, though he didn't think it had anything to do with his frayed nerves.

"Flint, Davies, greetings," said Madam Hooch cheerfully, and Flint and the Ravenclaw captain shook hands.

"Mount your brooms... on my whistle, we'll go – one, two, three."

Sylas pushed off, and the Firebolt soared into the air faster than any other broomstick; it raced around the stadium and began searching for the Snitch, listening constantly to the words of the Weasley twins' friend, who was providing commentary.

"Now they're up there, and the big sensation of this game is the Firebolt, which Sylas Ashford is flying for the Slytherins. According to racing brooms in testing, the national teams at this year's World Cup will all be flying the Firebolt -"

"Jordan, would you please tell us how the game is going?" Professor McGonagall's voice interrupted.

"You're absolutely right, Professor... I just wanted to provide some background information - by the way, the Firebolt has a built-in automatic brake and -"

"Jordan!"

"All right, all right, Slytherin in possession, Adrian Pucey on his way to goal..."

Sylas passed Adrian in the opposite direction, searching for a golden glimmer, and noticed Cho Chang flying close behind him. She was undoubtedly a good flyer - constantly flying in his path, forcing him to change direction.

"Show her how you can accelerate, Ashford!" shouted Miles Bletchley, chasing a Bludger.

Sylas revved up the Firebolt, circled the goalposts a few times, and Cho fell back. Just as Adrian managed to score the first goal, and the Slytherin section down at the stadium started to go crazy, he saw it - the Snitch scampering along one of the barriers, a hand's breadth above the ground.

Sylas went into a dive; Cho didn't miss this and dove after him - Sylas was getting faster and faster, incredible joy flooded through him; dives were his specialty, now he was only four meters away.

A Bludger, beaten by a Ravenclaw Beater, came darting out of nowhere; Sylas swerved sharply and narrowly missed it, and in those few crucial seconds, the Snitch vanished.

A long, disappointed "oooh" followed from the Slytherin fans, but there was plenty of applause from the Ravenclaw fans for their Beater. Flint let off steam and smashed the second Bludger at the other side's thug, who had to turn his back in midair to avoid the ball.

"Slytherin is leading 80 to 0, and look at how that Firebolt is going. Ashford is really giving him hell now, he's cornering sharply, and Chang's Comet just can't keep up. The Firebolt's auto-balance is truly amazing on these long -"

"Jordan! Are you paid to advertise Firebolts? Stick to the game!"

The Ravenclaws were now catching up; they had scored three goals, and Slytherin was only fifty points ahead. If Cho caught the Snitch before Sylas, they would win.

Sylas sank lower, narrowly avoiding a collision with a Ravenclaw Chaser, and frantically scanned the pitch - a golden shimmer, a flutter of tiny wings - the Snitch buzzing around a Gryffindor goal post - Sylas accelerated, his eyes fixed on the golden one - but Cho had already appeared out of nowhere, blocking his path.

"Sylas, you can't play the gentleman now!" Flint grumbled as Sylas banked into the curve to avoid a collision. "Knock her off her broom if necessary!"

Sylas turned and saw Cho; she was grinning. Once again, the Snitch was gone. Sylas pulled the Firebolt upwards and was quickly ten meters above the game. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cho doggedly following him... she'd apparently decided to keep an eye on him instead of looking for the Snitch... well, if she was going to follow him, she'd have to face the consequences... Time to try the Wronsky bluff.

Again he plunged into the depths, and Cho, believing he had spotted the Snitch, tried to follow him; Sylas plunged further and further to the ground, his hand outstretched as if to catch the Snitch.

"Merlin, what's Ashford doing?" came from the loudspeakers. "If he doesn't pull up right now, he'll crash into the ground!"

20 meters from the ground.

Not yet, Cho would pull up too early.

15 meters.

10 meters.

And then, in the final few meters, Sylas pulled himself sharply out of his dive and heard a loud thud behind him. A loud "Ooooh" went through the ranks, and the Slytherins cheered like never before. Cho Chang crashed into the ground, her body twisted unnaturally.

"Cho Chang was cruelly deceived by Ashford. Ravenclaw won't stand a chance!"

Sylas' mouth twitched upwards in satisfaction, which served her right, given how strongly Cho clung to his coattails.

"Good work, Ashford!" Flint called out to him with satisfaction.

Now Sylas let the team do their work. They scored as many points as possible to build up the gap. The longer the game went on, the more indignant the Ravenclaws looked.

After an hour, Sylas saw it for the third time – the Snitch glittering high above the field over on the Ravenclaw side. It raced across like a bullet. Now they would win... but then he got distracted. Two Dementors suddenly appeared below him, two large, black, hooded Dementors, still looking at him.

Without even thinking, he put his hand into the collar of his cloak, pulled out his wand, and roared.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Something silvery-white, something enormous, erupted from the tip of his wand. He knew it was hurtling straight toward the Dementors, but he didn't wait to see what happened. His head still miraculously clear, he looked ahead - he was almost there - he reached out with the hand that still held his wand and just managed to close his fist over the small, stubbornly fluttering Snitch.

Madam Hooch's whistle sounded, Sylas spun in the air and saw six emerald green veils hurtling toward him, and the other players immediately wrapped their arms around him so fiercely that they almost pulled him off his broom. From deep below, the Slytherins' cheers echoed in the audience.

"Well done!" Flint shouted over and over again. Every player kept clapping his back, so much so that Sylas feared his back would be covered in bruises. In the chaos, the team barely managed to land. He stepped off his broom and saw a flurry of Slytherins running onto the pitch. Before he could escape, he was surrounded by a cheering crowd.

"You won!" Daphne screamed, yanking Sylas into the air. "You showed everyone!"

"Well done, Sylas!" Penny said happily. "I made a bet with Ben, now he owes me ten galleons! I have to go find him right away!"

"Nice job, Sylas!" Blaise yelled.

"Great, damn it!" Hagrid shouted, beaming, over the heads of the surging crowd.

"Your Patronus wasn't bad," someone whispered in Sylas' ear.

Sylas turned around and recognized Professor Lupin, who looked both shocked and pleased.

"The Dementors didn't bother me at all!" Sylas said excitedly. "I didn't feel anything!"

"That's... because they weren't real Dementors," said Lupin. "Come and look at this—"

He led Sylas out of the crowd until they could see the edge of the field.

Sylas stood there with his mouth open. Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom lay in a tangled heap on the floor, desperately struggling to free themselves from their long, black hooded cloaks. They appeared to be standing on each other's shoulders. Someone had towered over them and was staring down at them with a terribly angry look - Professor Snape.

"An absolutely despicable trick," he hissed dangerously. "A lousy and cowardly attempt to hamper the Slytherin Seeker. Detentions for all of you, and fifty points off Gryffindor! I'll speak to Professor Dumbledore about this matter, don't get the wrong idea! Ah, here he comes."

If anything sealed the Slytherins' victory, it was this. Draco, who had fought his way to Sylas, was doubled over with laughter as they watched Weasley struggle to free himself from his cloak, which still contained Thomas's head.

"Come on, Sylas!" Adrian called, who had also pushed his way through. "It's time to celebrate! Right now in the common room!"

Sylas hadn't felt this happy in ages. Everything seemed so perfect. He led the way with the other players, still wearing their emerald-green cloaks, out of the stadium and back into the castle.

Chapter 33

It was as if they had already won the Quidditch Cup. The party raged all day long, well into the night. The music blared all the way up to Gryffindor Tower, so everyone could hear who had won the Quidditch match. The younger students were sent to their rooms by the older ones in the early evening, because at that moment, the seventh years emerged with plenty of butterbeer, pumpkin soda, wizard's wine, firewhiskey, and sweets they had bought during Hogsmeade weekend.

Way into the night, many of the older ones already seemed tipsy. Empty bottles littered the common room. Some were dancing exuberantly to the music, while in a dark corner, a couple was shamelessly making out. Flint was pouring everyone on the Slytherin team a shot of Firewhiskey.

"To Ashford, who did a brilliant job today!" he said, grinning broadly at the group. They were sitting on sofas in front of the fireplace. Daphne had made herself comfortable in an armchair, which she placed near them.

Adrian Pukey patted Sylas proudly on the back. "For a moment, I thought you wouldn't be able to do the dive. Great job," he said, winking. "I don't want to know what the Ravenclaw Seeker looks like now."

Draco and Daphne also nodded at him in recognition. His gaze continued to sweep through the common room. Many had already left, and he couldn't spot Theo among those remaining.

"Was Theo at the game today?" Sylas asked his two friends.

"Of course," Daphne assured him, sipping her Butterbeer. "He was really happy when we won, but he still has some Ancient Runes homework to finish."

The Slytherin team raised their shot glasses in the air. "To Slytherin, may Slytherin House continue to win every Quidditch match," Flint proclaimed proudly.

"To Slytherin," came the shout from everyone, and everyone drank their shot in one gulp.

Some of them grimaced, Draco coughed violently, and Miles Bletchley even blew steam out of his ears. Only Sylas and Flint weren't bothered by the Firewhiskey. It literally burned their tongues, but Sylas noted that it tasted very similar to Mr. Ashford's whiskey.

"That burns like dragon fire!" Draco croaked, coughing again. Sylas patted him hard on the back to help him, and as he exhaled deeply, small puffs of flame spewed from his mouth.

The team started laughing. "Little magical side effect of firewhiskey," laughed Adrian Pukey. It continued like this for some time. They clinked glasses repeatedly, surprised by the side effects, and when the firewhiskey was gone, they switched to magic wine.

After a long yawn, Daphne said goodbye to them and unsteadily climbed the stairs to the girls' quarters. Draco took the chair from her and fell asleep shortly after. Sylas' head was pounding, but he wanted to prove himself to the older ones. They were all already impressed by how much he could handle.

"You can take a beating, Ashford," Flint grumbled, fumbling in his trouser pocket.

"If you only knew," Sylas babbled, trying to stay awake. At least all those evenings in Mr. Ashford's office finally had a purpose.

From Flint's trouser pocket emerged a bag full of dried leaves and a stone. Sylas watched the situation with interest. What in Merlin's beard was he up to? Flint flicked his wand once, and the stone transformed into a mortar and pestle. He placed a few leaves inside, and the pestle began to grind them on its own. With another flick of his wand, thin, shining golden leaves floated forward.

"What's that for?" Sylas asked casually.

"That, Ashford, is the best thing Professor Sprout - accidentally - taught us in second year," said Flint with a crooked grin. "Mandrake leaves. Dry them, grind them, smoke them - and everything feels like you're lying on a cloud of unicorn hair."

"So like weed"

"weed?" Miles asked, frowning.

"Muggles do it too, just with weed."

"Muggles smoke weed?" Adrian asked, laughing. "What are you? Cows?"

Sylas snorted in amusement. "No," he managed between laughs. "Colloquially, it's called weed, but it's actually cannabis. It's extracted from certain flowers, also dried, and has similar effects."

Miles looked surprised. "I never thought Mudbloods would invent something clever."

The pestle ground the grass into tiny pieces, and Flint gave his wand another flick. The thin, golden papers flew in and automatically wrapped themselves around the ground mandrake leaves. Two rolled cigarettes floated in the air.

"Come on, we're unlikely to run into anyone this late at night," Flint grumbled, standing up, slightly unsteady.

For a moment, Sylas hesitated, but Flint's gaze brooked no argument, so he scrambled to his feet and followed the three out into the cold corridor. The torches on the walls cast flickering shadows as the group crept quietly - and a little unsteadily - through the halls. The night was deep and silent, except for the distant echo of a snoring portrait.

"Where are we going?" whispered Sylas.

"To the Astronomy Tower. We'll have peace and quiet there," Flint explained with a crooked grin. "Apart from Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater, no one wanders there at night."

The four Slytherins giggled quietly. When they reached the tower, the place was deserted. The sky above them shivered with starlight, and the fresh breeze made the boys shiver. With a contented sigh, Flint plopped down on the cold stone floor, followed by the others. He drew his wand and lit a small flame at the tip.

"We deserve this," he whispered solemnly, holding the first hand-rolled mandrake cigarette to the magical fire. The smoke curled gently in the cold air, and Flint took a deep drag before passing the glowing end to Adrian.

Sylas watched curiously as his classmates inhaled the smoke. Adrian leaned back and slowly let out a small cloud of smoke, his eyes glazed over. "Damn, this stuff packs a punch," he muttered with an amused grin.

When the cigarette reached Sylas, he didn't hesitate and took a deep drag. A warm feeling spread through his body. Far more pleasant than the firewhiskey. The cool night breeze was far more pleasant, the stars seemed to shine brighter, and the soft rustling of the leaves sounded almost like music. He couldn't help but grin.

Merlin, today he felt simply great.

They sat there for a while, talking about the game, the school year, and their plans for the future. Meanwhile, they lit their second cigarette. Sylas felt more deeply relaxed than ever before, almost weightless.

As the cold seeped into their bones and tiredness began to creep in, they quietly crept back into the dungeon. They tried not to make any noise. The older Slytherins scurried down the stairs as usual, but Sylas struggled not to trip. His brain was completely wrapped in cotton wool and everything seemed to happen so incredibly slowly. He kept falling backward. He must have overdone it with the alcohol and the mandrakes. His tied-back hair felt far too tight, so he quickly pulled out the hair tie and let it fall carelessly over his shoulders. He exhaled contentedly, feeling considerably freer.

Just before taking the stairs down to the dungeon, Sylas stopped abruptly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something. His heart beat a little faster, though he wasn't sure if it was from the dried mandrakes or the alcohol. He blinked several times and adjusted his glasses. A little further down the corridor, in the faint light of a torch, he thought he saw a familiar figure.

…

Oliver?

His legs moved in that direction on their own.

He knew it.

He knew it!

Oliver really existed!

Now he just had to confront him, and then he could prove to Theo that the ghost still existed! That he wasn't a figment of his imagination!

The figure moved away, and without thinking, Sylas followed the apparition through the gloomy corridors. His head pounded and he felt slightly dizzy.

"Oliver!" he whispered softly, but loud enough for him to hear. "Stop! Oliver!", in his voice a hint of desperation. 

The figure turned a corner, and Sylas followed, swaying slightly, his fingers brushing the cold stone walls for balance. He caught brief glimpses of the figure every now and then, following its every move, but eventually lost the trail. Instead, he saw only the dark hallway, barely lit by the dim torches. His breath was ragged and he frowned.

It was deadly silent. Sylas felt a strange sense of unease and decided to quickly return to the dungeon. Gently blown by the wind, he slipped past the statue of the hunchbacked witch, along the corridors, down the stairs, and into the dungeon, where he slipped through the entrance to the Slytherin chambers.

The common room was almost empty. Only Theo and Draco stood together by the fireplace, talking quietly. They seemed tense.

Without thinking, Sylas said, still agitated, "I saw him!" The words burst out of him, much louder than he intended. His heart pounded erratically in his chest. The room swayed slightly around him; that damned heat of the fire must be to blame.

Theo and Draco looked at him in surprise. "Who are you talking about?" Theo asked slowly, eyeing him suspiciously. "And where have you been?"

Sylas staggered a step forward and braced himself with one hand on the nearest chair. His head felt like it was wrapped in cotton.

"I saw Oliver!" he said, as if he needed to convince himself. "He was flying around the corridors. He was there! It was Oliver! Oliver exists!"

Draco frowned in confusion, but Theo crossed his arms. "And where is he now?"

"I don't know, somewhere in the castle."

"Have you talked to him?"

"No... but it was Oliver!"

Theo sighed in annoyance and took a step closer. Then he suddenly wrinkled his nose and narrowed his eyes. "Have you been ... smoking?"

Sylas rolled his eyes, lost his balance for a moment, and had to hold on a chair for a second. "It doesn't matter at all now!" He shook his head vigorously – big mistake. The movement caused the room to tilt for a moment. He had to concentrate hard not to fall over.

"Yes, it does!" grumbled Theo, running his hand through his hair. "I know Flint, Pukey, and Bletchley like to smoke mandrakes, and if you joined in, maybe you were just imagining Oliver."

"I didn't imagine him. I -"

"So you're telling me that you recognized Oliver in the pitch-black corridors while you were snot-faced? And you didn't talk to each other?"

Sylas opened his mouth to say something, but no sound escaped his lips. Theo raised his eyebrows challengingly, waiting for a response.

Draco looked between the two and rubbed his temples. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, confused. "What about Oliver?"

Theo answered without hesitation. "There is no Oliver."

"There is!" Sylas insisted. His head was pounding, his body felt strange. Had his legs always been this heavy?

"Aha, okay, I see. That's why you are at odds with each other," Draco murmured, rubbing the bridge of his nose thoughtfully.

Theo frowned at Sylas, his expression wavering between skepticism and concern. He sighed heavily. "Listen, Sylas, you're drunk and probably also stunned by those damned mandrakes. What if your brain is just playing tricks on you?"

"No!" Sylas replied sharply. The fire in the fireplace flickered a touch too brightly, casting shadows on the walls. For a moment, it looked as if the shadows were taking on a certain shape... Oliver? He blinked several times, trying to keep his composure, but his mind was a jumble of images, memories, and fragments of thoughts. "I know what I saw. It was Oliver! I ran after him; I recognized him perfectly!"

"And yet he just... disappeared?" Theo asked, as if Sylas were a little stupid.

"Ghosts do that sometimes, in case you missed it."

"Sylas..." Theo sighed, shaking his head slowly. "How many times do I have to say it? There's no Oliver ."

"Stop telling me that!" Sylas snapped. Anger boiled inside him, and maybe it was the alcohol, maybe the mandrakes, maybe the tiredness, but he felt his control slipping away. "He exists, damn it! I saw him, I ran after him, I called him!"

Theo held his gaze, but his eyes sparkled coolly. "Then prove it."

"What?"

"Prove. It." Theo took a step closer, his face now only inches from Sylas'. He just now realized that the boy grew quiet taller then him. "If Oliver exists, then bring me the proof. Talk to him. Bring him here. Prove me wrong."

Sylas' hands clenched into fists. "I will."

The atmosphere was tense; no one wanted to break eye contact first. Sylas' heart was racing, his head was pounding, but one thing was clear to him.

He would prove it.

He would find Oliver, and then Theo would finally see that he was wrong.

At that moment, they heard someone enter through the stone wall. Sylas looked into those bright, sky-blue eyes one last time before slowly turning away and seeing someone unexpected.

Professor Snape was standing in their common room, his gaze as sharp as ever. When he saw Sylas, his shoulders relaxed and... relief flickered across his face again?

That wasn't a good sign.

"Ashford," his voice as cold as ever. "Under no circumstances should you leave the common room alone."

Sylas frowned. "Why?"

"Sirius Black is back in the castle," Snape explained crisply, watching all three faces drain of color. Sylas' blood ran cold. "He's broken into Gryffindor Tower and attacked a student -"

The rest of Snape's sentence was drowned out by a muffled roar. Suddenly, his stomach was in knots. Everything was too loud, too bright, too much. Without thinking, he staggered past Snape, stumbled toward the bathroom, pushed open the door, and fell to his knees in front of one of the toilets.

Then he vomited his guts out.

He barely registered the other's voice. He only felt someone holding his hair back. He gagged again. His chest rose and fell violently, as he struggled for any air he could get. His only thought was that he hadn't been chasing Oliver..., but Sirius Black. He had been chasing the mass murderer responsible for his parents' deaths.

He began to gag again, vomiting only liquid mixed with bile into the bowl. His stomach kept contracting painfully, even though nothing was coming out. His body trembled slightly, exhausted and emaciated by alcohol, mandrakes, and the sudden realization of what had really just happened.

He felt someone soothingly run their fingers through his hair, just like Cissy always did with a brush. For a while, he sat in front of the bowl, breathing heavily, ready to vomit up more bile, but nothing came.

"Breathe, Sylas," Draco murmured with uncharacteristic gentleness. "It's over."

It felt as if the ground beneath Sylas continued to spin. His head throbbed dully, his throat burned with bile, and the images from just now raced on an endless loop in his mind.

He really had been following Black.

Sirius Black – the mass murderer.

A gasped laugh escaped him. He'd even run after him like a stupid child, intoxicated and dazed - the perfect victim. An ice-cold shiver ran down Sylas' spine, settling deep in his bones. He'd called out to him, he'd certainly drawn his attention to him, and yet... Black didn't turn around and ran away from him.

…

How come?

Maybe he didn't recognize him?

Sylas pulled his face out of the bowl, and Draco let go of his hair as he did so, leaning against the cold stone wall. The chill on his back reminded him strongly of Oliver. It was the only way he could calm himself, over and over again. The room was finally slowing down, but his body still felt heavy. As if he'd just run a marathon. He let out a deep sigh.

Oliver…

"Here," Draco held out a toilet paper roll. With shaky hands, Sylas took it and wiped his mouth. It remained quiet between the two for a moment. Sylas ran his hands through his hair over and over again. He tried to make some sense of it all.

His gaze fell on his friend, who was staring at him with wide, pale eyes, his face drained of all color. Draco crouched there, motionless, his expression rigid, as if he were completely lost in his thoughts. His gaze was as if he had come to an unpleasant realization.

No wonder, he must have realized it too.

"I didn't think you'd hold my hair," Sylas croaked, his voice rough and brittle. "Not exactly the manners of a pureblood."

An arrogant smirk appeared on Draco's pale face. "You looked like you were about to drown in your own vomit. Mother would have given me hell if I'd let that happen."

A defeated smile appeared on Sylas' lips. Draco also leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. His gaze was neither mocking nor accusing, but thoughtful.

"It was Black, wasn't it?" he finally asked. "You didn't see Oliver, you saw Black."

Sylas pressed his lips together and finally nodded. "Yes..., I suppose" he whispered brittlely.

"Then you were one damn lucky Bastard," he sighed loudly, running his hand through his blond hair, letting the silence linger between them. "What's this whole Oliver thing about?", he finally asked confused. 

Sylas rubbed his face. "Oliver ... is... no longer here," he began quietly. "Since the incident in the Chamber of Secrets... he has disappeared, and Theo now believes that... that Oliver never existed, that he was... a figment of my imagination."

Draco said nothing for a few minutes, just stared thoughtfully at the tiles. Sylas closed his eyes for a few minutes, only the dripping of the faucet echoing in the bathroom.

"And how sure are you that Oliver exists?" Draco broke the silence.

Sylas opened his mouth, about to say that he had to exist, but then... he hesitated. He thought about all the nights he'd spent writing down his memories of Oliver and the growing doubt that had been gnawing at him since the Christmas holidays.

"I don't know," he finally breathed. "The more I think about it, the greater my doubts become."

For a moment, there was silence between them. Draco seemed to be searching for the right words.

"Oliver was a mystery in his own right, starting with his dubious existence as your personal house ghost," Draco began. "Perhaps it's better... if you forget him."

Sylas gasped. "What?! But -"

"What are you going to do, Sylas?" Draco asked sharply, looking into his eyes. "Oliver's gone, you have no idea where he is, and now you're worrying about it needlessly." He paused for a moment and sighed heavily. "Sylas... you ran after Sirius Black because you thought he was Oliver. Are you going to chase every dark figure hoping it might be Oliver?" Draco looked at him intently. "What if it's Lord Voldemort next time?"

Poison green met silver gray.

A hint of despair flickered in Sylas' eyes. He should forget him? Erase him from his life as if he'd never existed? Memories shimmered before his inner eyes. How many times had Oliver guided him onto the right path? Sylas remembered all those hours in his second year when he had to listen to Oliver's hopeless ranting, when he was cursed by the twins. His first year, when Oliver was the only one who talked to him and kept him company. The three years in the orphanage that he had only survived because of Oliver.

That one night when they brewed the boil potion. Merlin, how much fun he had.

He was always there when Sylas needed him.

His heart ached at the thought of forgetting Oliver. Every time blood pounded through his body and reminded him he was alive, he wanted to rip his heart out.

Oliver belonged to Sylas.

There was no Sylas without Oliver.

A deep emptiness spread through his body. Tears silently streamed down his cheeks. He instinctively clutched his heart, which was almost beginning to rot with desperate hope.

"But he's mine," he breathed so softly that Draco could barely hear him. "He's a part of me. If I had to explain my life to someone, I have to tell them about Oliver. I can't just forget him."

Draco frowned in concern, biting his lip as if unsure how to respond. Sylas couldn't quite interpret his expression. Surprise? Concern? Or complete uncertainty?

"If Oliver -" he barely had the heart to say his name, "- never existed, does that mean I was always alone?"

Draco shook his head vigorously. "You're not alone. Not anymore. You won't be getting rid of Daphne, Theo, and me so easily, but -" he hesitated for a moment. "Stop waiting for someone who'll probably never come back. Otherwise, you'll suffocate on the very hope that's supposed to keep you alive."

 

~~~

 

February, 1994

Sylas couldn't sleep a minute that night. He knew the castle was being searched again. Penny and Ben kept a vigilant watch outside the common room entrance, informing everyone what was going on. The entire house waited for the news that they had finally caught Black. At dawn, Professor Snape returned and informed them that he had escaped again.

The atmosphere at breakfast in the Great Hall was tense. Everyone was talking about the incident in Gryffindor Tower, and the teachers were watching them closely.

Sylas intercepted Fred and George, wanting to know what exactly had happened to them last night.

"Ron screamed like an old mandrake," said Fred, laughing.

"You should have seen his bedclothes. Completely ripped off and torn to shreds," George added, barely able to suppress his laughter. "He claimed Black attacked him with a knife. Such a drama queen. The poor guy must have peed his pants."

"Of course Percy didn't believe him," Fred shrugged. "Said it could have been a nightmare."

"Then old McGonagall came in," George continued with a gleeful smile. "She was furious when she learned that a Gryffindor himself - Neville precisley - was responsible for Black getting into the common room because he'd written down the password."

The twins continued to boast, each with an anecdote about their brother's panic, but Sylas was anything but laughing. Something wasn't right. Why did Black want to go to Gryffindor Tower so badly? He should have known long ago that Sylas wasn't there. What was he looking for?

Wherever they went over the next few days, they noticed the tight security measures. Professor Flitwick taught the castle entrance to recognize Sirius Black using a large picture; Filch bustled along the corridors, plastering everything he could find, from small cracks in the wall to mouse holes. The Fat Lady was placed under increased surveillance at her request. A squad of gruff security trolls was hired to guard her. The menacing figures now patrolling the corridors communicated with each other through grunts and, to pass the time, compared the size of their clubs.

Sylas noticed that the statue of the one-eyed witch on the third floor remained unguarded, and her hump hadn't been plastered over. Apparently, Fred and George were right; they - along with Sylas, Theo, Draco, and Daphne - were the only ones who knew about the entrance to the secret passage.

None of them suggested reporting it. Why should they? Black would have to break into Honeydukes, and the owners would have noticed long ago. That way, he could keep the Marauder's Map, too; otherwise, he'd never get back to Hogsmeade if Filch also plastered the one-eyed witch.

The incident made Ron Weasley a celebrity overnight. For the first time in his life, the other students paid him more attention than he was used to - and he enjoyed it. The night's events still haunted him, but he eagerly described what had happened to anyone who would listen, sparing no details. Much to the chagrin of the Slytherins, who had to listen to the story over and over again. Morning, noon, and night.

"...so, in the middle of my sleep, I suddenly hear this noise, like something is tearing, and I think I'm dreaming, you know? But then I feel this rush of air... I wake up and the curtain on one side of the bed is ripped down... I turn over... and there he is standing over me... like a skeleton with long, dirty hair... he's holding a knife in his hand, at least a foot long and he's staring at me and I stare back and then I scream and he takes off," he told his story to two second-grade girls who had been listening to his spooky tale and were now walking away.

"But why?" Daphne asked the group. "Why did he run away?"

"Probably knew how difficult it would be to escape the castle after Weasley screamed," Draco speculated thoughtfully. "He would have had to kill the entire house if he wanted to get back through the portrait hole... and then he'd have had to deal with the teachers."

A bad feeling spread in Sylas' stomach. It still didn't explain why Black had run away from him. He felt Theo's piercing gaze on him. He couldn't help thinking the same thing, but he didn't mention it. Only he and Draco knew about that night; they didn't want to burden Daphne unnecessarily.

Longbottom, on the other hand, had fallen into disgrace. Professor McGonagall was so furious with him that she banned him from visiting Hogsmeade, gave him a detention, and forbade anyone from telling him the tower password. Longbottom now had to wait outside the common room every night, where the security trolls eyed him suspiciously, until someone came to let him in. None of these punishments, however, came close to the one his grandmother had in store for him. Two days after Black's break-in, she sent him the worst thing a Hogwarts student could eat for breakfast - a Howler.

The school owls floated into the Great Hall with the mail, as they did every morning. Longbottom choked as a large barn owl landed in front of him, clutching a scarlet envelope in its beak. The Slytherins recognized the howler from afar and watched the situation with anticipation.

Longbottom immediately grabbed the envelope, held it out at arm's length like a bomb, and ran out of the hall, a sight that sent the Slytherin table into roaring laughter. They heard the Howler go off in the Entrance Hall. His grandmother's voice, magically amplified to a hundred times its usual volume, screaming and raving about the shame he had brought on the entire family.

Sylas didn't even notice that he, too, had received a letter. Hedwig now demanded his attention and pecked him painfully on the wrist.

"Ouch! Ah, thanks, Hedwig." While Hedwig tucked into Daphne's cornflakes, Sylas tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter.

 

Dear Sylas
How about a cup of tea this afternoon around five? I'll pick you up from the castle.
Wait for me in the lobby. You're not allowed to go out alone.
Best regards
Hagrid

 

"Hagrid invited me for tea," Sylas remarked, refolding the letter. "Want to come? We haven't been to his place in a long time."

"I pass, I still have to do my Herbology homework," Theo replied, and Daphne immediately joined him. "Same, I haven't even started."

"I'll come with you. I could use a distraction from Arithmancy and Ancient Runes," Draco muttered, rubbing his eyes. His tiredness was evident on his face. Quidditch practice and extra classes were clearly wearing him out. Sylas felt for him, although he was still getting off lightly with Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. Arithmancy sounded like an endless nightmare of numbers and formulas.

And so, at five o'clock that afternoon, Sylas and Draco left the Slytherin dungeon and went up to the Entrance Hall. Hagrid was already waiting for them. When the half-giant saw Draco, his eyes widened - not hostilely, but definitely surprised. Sylas raised an eyebrow, slightly puzzled. As far as he knew, the two actually got along well.

"Hey Hagrid," Sylas greeted, "Draco wanted to come too, hope that's okay."

The half-giant nodded a little too quickly. "Oh, of course, sure, no problem. I'm always happy when y'all visit me." He opened the portal and escorted them outside.

The first thing they saw at Hagrid's hut was a hippogriff. Its massive wings curled against its body, it was stretched out on its bed, gleefully devouring a large plate of dead ferrets. Sylas looked uncertainly at Draco. They were actually studying Nifflers in class.

"Why do you have a hippogriff in front of your hut?" Sylas asks cautiously.

Hagrid's face lit up at the question. "Beautiful animals, aren't they?" he said happily. "That's Buckbeak. I'll introduce her to the sixth-years next week. I'm looking forward to the lesson. Don't go near her - very proud creatures."

Draco and Sylas stayed close to Hagrid. Neither wanted to incur the creature's displeasure. Nevertheless, Sylas gazed at Buckbeak with captivating eyes, and suddenly a feeling of freedom came over him.

But when they finally entered the hut, the feeling immediately vanished. Apparently, they weren't the only ones visiting Hagrid.

Ginny Weasley already sat upright at the table with a steaming cup of tea, waiting impatiently. When she spotted Sylas, her eyes sparkled, but when Draco appeared behind him, her expression suddenly darkened. Somehow, Sylas could already guess why Hagrid was feeling nervous in the Entrance Hall.

Merlin, he really needed to talk to her.

Of course, he didn't miss Hagrid's apologetic look at Ginny. This could be something if others started trying to set them up. In the meantime, they too had sat down and had a cup of tea placed in front of them. Hagrid pushed a plate of thick, misshapen biscuits toward them. Draco grimaced slightly, looked at the pastries skeptically, but didn't touch them. Ginny sipped her tea coolly, legs crossed, her gaze fixed on Draco - not exactly delighted.

"Ginny also spontaneously decided to come and visit me," Hagrid said awkwardly as he sat down. "I'm sure you don't mind."

"Nope, with the other Weasley though, I might have minded," Draco grumbled, sipping his tea.

"You mean Ron and his story with Sirius Black?" Ginny asked, frowning. She was leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed. "Why? Is he annoying you?"

Sylas sensed that she was not at all pleased with Draco's presence. He sighed softly.

"I really can't stand hearing his story anymore," Draco grumbled.

Hagrid laughed. "Let the boy have his five minutes of fame. It's not often you get to escape Sirius Black."

Draco then gave Sylas a noncommittal look. They were both thinking exactly the same thing.

"Maybe he just made the whole thing up to get attention," Draco murmured, grinning slightly. His gaze was fixed on Ginny - provocatively. He had long since realized that she didn't want him there and because he wasn't a fan of the Weasleys in general, he won't let this situation go by on it's own.

"Still, the danger is real," Hagrid muttered, becoming more serious. "Black has done terrible things in the past."

Sylas swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the cup of tea. He'll never forget that conversation at the Three Broomsticks. He was itching to question Hagrid. Not about the incident, but about his parents, what they were like, what they'd experienced. But giving himself away here and now was the stupidest thing he could do. So he swallowed all the burning questions and remained calm.

"Let's forget about Black for a moment," said Hagrid. "You hear enough about him. How are your studies going?"

"Except that Trelawney predicts my death every week?" Sylas joked, trying to ease the tension between Draco and Ginny. Hagrid laughed out loud when he heard that.

"Don't worry about it," he grumbled contentedly. "Every year, one student hears of their death, but so far, none of it has happened."

"That's exactly why Divination is complete goblin nonsense. You don't learn anything useful from it," Draco shrugged.

"Aha, and which subjects do you think are useful?" Ginny asked sharply.

The corners of Draco's mouth twitched slightly upward. "Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Care of Magical Creatures. Not only challenging, but also useful."

"I bet Hermione will excel in all five subjects again this year," Ginny said pointedly. "Don't you always want to be top of the year?"

Draco snorted briefly. "With that stress Granger is running around all day, she won't make it this year. And even if she did, what's it to you whether I'm top of the year or not?"

Ginny just shrugged. "Just wanted to mention it," she said slowly.

Sylas had to suppress a grin. It was the first time the two had spoken so openly. It was a different kind of argument than the one between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

They both glared at each other angrily.

Sylas cleared his throat. "Hagrid's hut isn't a dueling club, so calm down.

"He's right," Hagrid grumbled, rubbing his forehead nervously. "I'm glad you came to visit me, but I don't want a house fight at the table."

"No war... not yet," Ginny said dryly.

Draco snorted, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "It would be a shame to waste the tea."

The tea steamed softly, the crackling of the fireplace and the quiet rustling of Fang, curled up in a corner, filled the hut with an almost peaceful atmosphere.

Hagrid stood up to take the teakettle off the fire. "Another cup?" he asked, without looking directly at anyone.

"Gladly," Sylas replied, holding out his cup. Draco declined. Ginny said nothing, but after a brief hesitation, Hagrid refilled it anyway. She let it happen without a word.

A few seconds passed without anyone speaking. Then it was Sylas who pulled himself together.

"What's it like to take care of a hippogriff?" he asked curiously. His gaze was fixed on Buckbeak, who was rolling around in the flowerbed.

Hagrid's expression brightened noticeably. "Oh, that's something very special. It takes respect a lot of respect. They notice when you're nervous, or arrogant. When you bow and they return the bow - it's like... well, like a knighthood."

Sylas nodded. "How long have you had Buckbeak?"

"Since she was a little girl. I took care of her when she was injured - broken wing. It took forever, but we managed. Since then, the little rascal has trusted me."

Ginny, who had been silent until now, looked up briefly. "So that's why he's so tame. I thought hippogriffs were harder."

"They are," said Hagrid with a slight smile. "But animals are like people - if you treat them with respect, you'll gain their trust in return."

A strange silence followed. Perhaps because everyone in the room knew this didn't just apply to hippogriffs.

"Do you want to work with animals later?" Ginny asked, this time addressing Sylas.

He shrugged, surprised by the question. "Maybe. I like Care of Magical Creatures. But I'm not sure yet. I haven't really thought about it," he murmured. "I just know I don't want to end up in an office."

Draco snorted softly. "I can understand that. I think my father would have a meltdown if I did anything with animal care."

"You don't always have to do what your father wants," Ginny replied sharply.

Draco looked at her calmly. "And you don't always have to think you've seen through me."

Silence.

Ginny sighed and stood up. "I still have homework to do," she grumbled irritably. "Thanks for the tea, Hagrid. I'll come visit you again soon."

With one last - slightly hurt - look at Sylas, she left the hut. Draco just sighed loudly and rolled his eyes.

Hagrid cleared his throat noticeably loudly. "Well, if you want, we can get a closer look at Buckbeak. But you have to keep quiet."

Draco leans back. "I'll watch this from a safe distance. One more look like that from that beast and I'll be ready for a night in the hospital wing.

Sylas laughed quietly. "I'll come with you."

They both downed the rest of their tea before heading out. Outside, the air was fresh, the evening smelling of damp grass and wood. The sky shimmered in an orange hue that bathed everything in warm light. Draco sat down on the steps in front of Hagrid's hut and watched suspiciously from a safe distance, arms crossed.

Buckbeak was still stretched out on the flowerbed next to the hut. The dead ferrets were gone, presumably already eaten, and the hippogriff was dozing with half-closed eyes in the fading light. But as Hagrid approached, the creature immediately raised its head. Its amber eyes flashed, its massive wings moving lightly in the grass.

"So, there she is," said Hagrid with a pride in his voice that sounded almost awed. "The most beautiful hippogriff I've ever raised."

Sylas stopped a few meters away and studied the majestic animal. The front part resembled a giant eagle - sharp beak, powerful talons, and feathered face. The rear part was horse-like, with muscular hindlegs and a glossy gray coat. Buckbeak was impressive and terrifying at the same time.

"Do I have to bow?" Sylas asked quietly.

"Right," Hagrid nodded. "Don't blink. Breathe calmly. And when she bows, you may approach."

Sylas stepped forward slowly, his knees suddenly feeling strangely weak. The hippogriff had her eyes fixed on him. Everything about that look said: Show me if you're worth it.

With a deep breath, Sylas bowed. And waited.

Buckbeak tilted her head to the side. Motionless.

Sylas felt the seconds stretch. Then a short but clear nod. The hippogriff bowed.

"Ha!" Hagrid cried quietly, almost euphorically. "She likes you!"

Heart pounding, Sylas cautiously approached the animal, which now watched him with a watchful but not hostile gaze. He reached out and gently touched the smooth feathers on its neck.

Buckbeak let it happen.

"Do you... do you want to fly?" Hagrid asked quietly from behind him.

Sylas blinked. "What? Now?"

"Why not?" Hagrid's eyes lit up. "I'll hold her while you climb up. He's in a good mood today."

Sylas' heart raced, but at the same time, a childlike excitement flared within him, something he hadn't felt in years. Without further thought, he carefully swung himself onto Buckbeak's back. The animal barely moved, fluttering its wings only once.

"Hold on tight, okay?" Hagrid shouted.

Then he let go.

Buckbeak launched herself from the ground with a powerful leap. Sylas was catapulted into the air, clinging to the smooth feathers with both hands. The wind whistled around his ears, his cloak fluttered wildly behind him – and then he was above the ground. Above the treetops. Above the castle.

A scream tore from his throat - first shock, then laughter from the depths. The sky was vast, the light golden, and the ground so far away that worries and thoughts suddenly felt tiny. Buckbeak flew low over the dark lake.

Merlin, not even during his first broomstick flying lesson had he felt so liberated.

He would love to fly all over England.

Buckbeak glided through the air like an arrow, making a wide loop over the fields before gently losing altitude again. The landing was rough but safe – and as Sylas stepped off the hippogriff's back with shaky legs, he was grinning like a madman. Adrenaline and dopamine were coursing through every vein in his body.

"That... that was the best thing I've ever done!" he gasped excitedly.

Draco was still standing by the stairs with his mouth open, his gaze a mixture of envy and fascination.

Hagrid patted him firmly on the shoulder. "Not bad, Sylas. Buckbeak doesn't like many people, but she seems to have taken a shine to you."

Sylas grinned broadly. His gaze fell upon the castle, where he had just seen fiery red hair disappearing behind a wall. But at that moment, he didn't think about Ginny for a second.

Chapter 34

Notes:

Thanky y'all so much for over 11k hits, all the Kudos and comments!
Enjoy this chapter and see ya next week!

A few days later, the Slytherins huddled around the noticeboard in the common room. Sylas and Draco had just returned from Quidditch practice when they spotted the group of students. Confused, they went over to Theo and Daphne, who were playing chess - Theo losing.

"What's on the board?" Sylas asked , his eyes still fixed on the group of students.

"Next weekend is Hogsmeade weekend!" Daphne said euphorically. "You coming too?" she added in a subdued voice to Sylas as she made her next move.

"Filch hasn't noticed the secret passage to Honeydukes ..." Sylas murmured even more quietly, thinking.

"Perfect, because last time, you barely saw anything of Hogsmeade!" Daphne tried to convince him. "You haven't even been to Zonko's yet !"

Sylas was just about to speak when someone interrupted him. "Perhaps you should skip this one," Draco suddenly said, his face completely rigid. All three of them looked at him in surprise.

Sylas frowned. "But... why?" he asked. "Last time, it was you who insisted I come along."

Draco ran his hand through his sweaty hair and exhaled loudly. "They still haven't found Black, and in this weather, he'll definitely recognize you in Hogsmeade," he explained, but there was something in his gaze that Sylas couldn't interpret.

"He can stay under the Invisibility Cloak, no one's gonna see him," Daphne murmured.

"She has a good point, Draco," Sylas said, ignoring the fact that he had this gut feeling that Black wouldn't hurt him anyway.

He ignored Theo's knowing look as well.

Draco kept looking between the two and finally shrugged. "You have to figure it out yourself, Sylas," he said. "You've been lucky, maybe you shouldn't push that too far."

And with that the conversation ended. 

On Saturday morning, Sylas packed his Invisibility Cloak into his school bag, tucked the Marauder's Map into his trousers, and went downstairs to breakfast with the others. Draco said nothing more about the matter and just let Sylas get on with it. Draco and Theo wouldn't be going this time; they still had to finish their Ancient Runes homework. While the others gathered at the entrance, Sylas remained standing on the marble steps.

He waved goodbye to Daphne until he ran up to the third floor and pulled out the map. He crouched down on the floor behind the one-eyed witch and spread it out. A small dot moved toward him. Sylas followed it intently. Neville Longbottom was written in tiny letters next to the dot.

Merlin, he'd completely forgotten that that idiot wasn't allowed in Hogsmeade either. He quickly whipped out his wand, muttered "Dissendium," and shoved his school bag into the statue. He managed to climb inside just in the nick of time before Neville came around the corner. He slid down to his bag at the end of the stone slide, erased the Marauder's Map, and sprinted off.

Sylas, completely hidden under the invisibility cloak, stepped into the sunlight in front of the Honeyduke and patted Daphne on the back.

"It's me," he murmured.

"Finally!" she turned around, confused. She didn't know where he was. "Where are you? It's kind of weird talking to the air."

They first went to the post office. Daphne pretended to want to know how much an owl would cost to France so Sylas could look around in peace. The owls, at least 300 of them, sat on perches and hooted softly to him; everything was represented, from the large eagle owls to the little screech owls "delivery only within town," which were so tiny they could have fit in Sylas's hand.

Then they visited Zonko's, where so many students were crammed together that Sylas had to be careful not to step on anyone's toes and cause a panic. Here, there were jokes and novelty items that would have made even Fred and George's wildest dreams pale; Sylas whispered to Daphne what to do and handed him some gold coins under his cloak. They left Zonko's with their wallets much lighter, but their pockets bursting with stink bombs, hiccup drops, frogspawn soap, and a nose-biting teacup each.

It was a beautiful day with a light breeze, and neither of them felt like sitting down. So they strolled past the Three Broomsticks and up a hill. Up there, a little way from the village, stood the most haunted house in all of Britain, the Shrieking Shack. With its boarded-up windows and muddy, overgrown garden, it was a little spooky even in daylight.

"Even the ghosts of Hogwarts are avoiding the hut," said Daphne, leaning over the fence and looking up at her. "I asked Nearly Headless Nick... he said a pretty rough bunch lived there. No one gets in; all the entrances are sealed..."

Sylas, flushed from the climb, was just considering whether to take off his cloak for a while when they heard voices nearby. Someone was climbing up the other side of the hill toward the hut; seconds later, Weasley came into view, closely followed by Finnigan and Thomas.

"...Black must have noticed my potential. Otherwise he wouldn't have broken into our tower twice!" they heard Weasley say.

Finnigan and Thomas chuckled.

"Soon I'll be known as the Hero of Hogwarts, and then Ashford can say goodbye to his Dumbledore privileges -" Weasley's gaze fell on Daphne. His freckled face twisted into a wicked grin.

"What are you doing here all alone, Greengrass?"

Sylas noticed Daphne instinctively straighten up, her eyes nervously scanning her surroundings. Meanwhile, Weasley looked past her to the dilapidated house behind her.

"Are you looking for a new place for Ashford? So he can hide from those evil, evil Dementors?" Weasley asked, mockingly. They took a few steps closer to her, but she couldn't escape backward because a fence was in the way.

"Leave him to me," Sylas hissed in her ear.

For one thing, the opportunity was too good, and for another, he wouldn't let anything happen to Daphne if he could prevent it. Sylas quietly crept behind the trio, bent down, and dug a large handful of mud out of the footpath.

"We were just talking about how Black considers Ron a greater threat than Ashford," Thomas said. "So that means he must be a better wizard than Ashford," he took another dangerous step closer to her. "Maybe you should -"

Splat.

Thomas' head jerked forward as the mud hit him from behind; mud dripped down his brown hair. He slowly touched the back of his head and looked at his dirty hand.

"What the -?"

Daphne suppressed a loud laugh and covered her mouth. Thomas, Finnigan, and Weasley staggered around in a circle, staring in disbelief. Thomas laboriously wiped the dirt from his hair.

"What was that? Who was that?"

"It's pretty spooky up here," Daphne called to him, as if she were talking about the weather.

Weasley and Finnigan were clearly starting to get scared. Thomas stared wildly at the deserted area. Sylas crept along the footpath to a particularly dirty puddle and boldly grabbed a handful of foul-smelling greenish ooze.

Splat.

This time, Weasley and Finnigan got their share. Finnigan staggered around angrily, desperately wiping the ooze from his small, dull eyes.

"It's coming from over there!" said Weasley, pointing to a spot about two meters to Sylas' left, still wiping his face. Thomas stumbled forward, his long arms outstretched like a zombie. Sylas ducked sideways, picked up a branch from the ground, and hurled it at Thomas' back. Thomas, startled, lifted off the ground and pirouetted in the air; Sylas doubled over with silent laughter.

Since Daphne was the only one Weasley could see, he charged at her, but Sylas tripped him – and Weasley's enormous flat foot caught in the hem of Sylas' cloak. Sylas felt a powerful tug, then the Invisibility Cloak was ripped from his face. For a split second, Weasley stared at him.

"AAAARH!" he roared, pointing at Sylas' head. Then he turned on his heel and ran down the hill at breakneck speed, with Thomas and Finnigan hot on his heels.

Sylas pulled the cloak back over his head, but now it had happened.

"Sylas!" Daphne shoutednervously, stumbling in his direction and staring hopelessly at the spot where Sylas had disappeared, "you get out of here right now! If Weasley tells on us - you have to get back to the castle, but quickly -!"

"See you later," Sylas said quickly, and without another word, he ran down the footpath to Hogsmeade.

Would Weasley trust his own eyes? Would anyone even believe him? He had no proof. No one knew about the Invisibility Cloak - not even Dumbledore. He just had to get back to the castle in time, and then no one would believe Weasley's story.

Back to the Honeyduke, down the cellar stairs, across the stone floor, through the trapdoor - Sylas ran down the secret passage without thinking. He couldn't estimate how long it would take the Gryffindors to find a teacher. Inwardly, he began to pray that it wouldn't be McGonagall or Snape.

He gasped and felt a sharp pain in his side, but he continued running, breathless, until he reached the stone slide. His sweaty hands slid down the sides again and again. He reached the inside of the witch's hump, tapped it with his wand, poked his head out, and climbed out; the hump closed.

There was no one to be seen in the corridor. Still under the Invisibility Cloak, he leaned against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. Now all he had to do was get into the dungeons and he would be safe. With quick steps, he almost flew down the stairs, but just before he could take the stairs to the dungeons, he heard Lupin's voice.

"...then he'll definitely be in the library, Severus. I can't imagine Ron's story being true. Sylas wouldn't break the rules at such a dangerous time." The two teachers were just climbing the stairs when Sylas took to his heels. Panting, he ran up the stairs to the library. Luckily, Madam Pince was nowhere to be seen.

The library was – fortunately for him – as empty as ever on Hogsmeade weekends. He immediately rushed to his usual spot in the far corner, randomly grabbed a book from the shelf, ripped off his Invisibility Cloak, and sat down on it. He breathed deeply, his heart still beating far too fast, and he had to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

Merlin, he had never run as much in his life as he was at that moment.

It wasn't long before he heard heavy footsteps entering the library. He immediately buried his head in the book and pretended to be reading with intense concentration.

"Ah, Sylas," he heard Lupin's voice. "I've been looking for you."

Feigning surprise, he looked up and saw the professor's friendly face. "Hello, Professor Lupin," he greeted. "What's up?"

A shadow loomed behind Lupin — Snape, robes billowing slightly, his face carved in grim lines. "Mr. Weasley," he said coldly, "claims he saw you today at the Shrieking Shack. Or rather," his mouth curled faintly, "your floating head. Care to explain that?"

Sylas frowned in confusion, or at least made a good show of it.

"Apparently," Snape continued, "you took it upon yourself to assault him with mud while you were - for lack of a better term - invisible."

Sylas fought the urge to squirm under the heavy gaze. "Perhaps he needs a visit to Madam Pomfrey if he sees things like this," he said. "How is that even possible, with only my head visible?" He tried to sound as clueless as possible.

Snape's nostrils flared slightly. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. Sylas knew his head of house didn't believe him, but he had no proof.

"How convenient," he said softly. "And yet, not altogether beyond the realm of possibility." His gaze looking the boy up and down - not in suspicious, but with a quiet, intense scrutiny

"And why," he added sharply, "do you think Mr. Weasley would say such a thing?"

"Maybe for the same reason he kidnapped and gagged me last year?" Sylas countered bluntly. "Weasley hates me, that's why."

A long pause stretched between them. Snape's eyes flicked briefly to the book Sylas held, then back to the boy’s face, as if weighing something in his mind.

"Well, given the circumstances," Lupin said, stepping in gently, "perhaps Ron really did see a ghost or something. Probably still a bit shaken from the incident."

Snape gave an exaggerated sniff of disdain. "Ghosts, hallucinations - the Gryffindors are always so easily addled," he said silkily. "But if your head is seen floating about Hogsmeade again, Ashford," he hissed, voice low, "I will personally ensure to escort you back and make sure, you will never see Hogsmeade ever again."

Lupin watched him leave, smiling slightly. "Always the subtle one," he said, then turned back to Sylas. "You're lucky Draco and Theo vouched for you. Severus doesn't like being made a fool of - especially not when it comes to his own House."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Professor," said Sylas, blinking at him with wide eyes.

Lupin's mouth twitched slightly upward, his eyes shining with nostalgia. "Well, then, enjoy your guide to falling in love."

Confused, he looked at his professor, who pointed to the book in his lap. Sylas' gaze dropped.

Chapter 12 – What to Do When Your Crush Is a Werewolf?

Frowning, he closed the book and read the title.

Enchanting Tenderness – A Guide to Falling in Love Among Wizards.

Sylas' cheeks turned a light pink, and all he could hear was Lupin's laughter as he moved away from him. When it became completely quiet, he slumped in his chair. That was too much excitement for one day. He massaged his temple.

With the Invisibility Cloak in hand, he crept back down to the dungeon. He entered the common room and saw his friends sitting on the sofa by the fireplace. Daphne had apparently been running after the Gryffindors, when she was already here again. 

Draco was the first to see him and his look said it all: I told you so.

Relieved, he strolled over to them and plopped down next to Daphne. He was met with questioning glances from all sides.

"And?" Daphne asked.

"Got out of it," he panted, tilting his head back. Merlin, so much more could have gone wrong.

"Your luck is truly incredible," Draco snorted, shaking his head in amusement. "You owe us one. I wouldn't normally lie to Uncle Sev."

"Well, even if Sylas hadn't been in the library, I don't think Snape would have made much of a difference. After all, the story came from Weasley," Theo muttered, but didn't look up from his book.

Daphne ran a hand through her golden hair and studied Sylas. "For a moment, I really thought you were going to attack Weasley."

Sylas grinned wearily. "I almost did. Luckily for him, there was more mud than courage around.

Draco shook his head, unenthusiastic. "Don't think you'll get away with this, Sylas. Next time someone sees a floating head, it won't go so smoothly."

"Yeah, yeah," Sylas waved, sinking a little deeper into the sofa and closing his eyes briefly. It felt like he'd just run a marathon.

Daphne nudged him gently with her elbow. "Next time, be more careful before someone rips the hood off your invisibility cloak. Then we could have avoided all this."

Theo slowly looked up from his book. "Or you could just use your common sense."

And Sylas knew exactly what he meant.

"Or listen to me," Draco added dryly. "I told you it was a stupid idea."

"And yet you both had my back," Sylas said with a grin. "So, I can't be that bad."

The three just rolled their eyes and snorted quietly. For a moment, the common room was quiet. The fire crackled, books rustled, and the muffled splashing from the depths of the castle was barely audible. But then Draco broke the silence.

"Question," he began, narrowing his eyes, "how many stink bombs did you actually buy?"

Sylas blinked lazily. "Six? Maybe seven?"

"And... and where are they?"

Daphne, confused, pulled her bag toward her, peeked inside, and froze. "Sylas."

"Hm?"

"Your stinking pieces of shit... they've RIPPED UP!"

"WHAT?!"

A foul, pungent stench spread - musty, sulfurous, with a hint of rotten pumpkin pie.

"MERLIN, DAMN IT, SYLAS!" Draco yelled, jumping up.

Theo slammed the book shut. "I'll kill you," he whispered in a dangerous voice.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Sylas defended himself, as the entire common room suddenly erupted. Students held their noses, some fled, others cursed loudly.

"This is worse than dragon poop," cried a fourth-grader in horror.

"I'm sleeping with the Ravenclaws tonight!" shouted another, darting out of the room.

Daphne looked at Sylas, a laugh fighting its way through her nose. She was pretty much the only one amused by the situation. "You know what? Maybe you are Black's target after all. Because I'm starting to understand."

"Don't say that," Sylas gasped, trying to clean the bag with a spell. "Merlin, they really smell awful."

Daphne could barely contain herself as she watched Sylas frantically cast spells. He muttered one cleansing spell after another, but the stench persisted.

"Next time ," she said, laughing as she opened the door, "don't buy any more stink bombs. I don't want to be able to smell your galleons."

"Deal," Sylas coughed, tucking the bag under his arm. "Now I have to get rid of this for the first time."

"Close the door behind you," said Draco, holding his sleeve over his nose. "Take yourself and all the mud out with you."

Sylas fled the room, careful to keep the bag as locked as possible. He ran through the corridors and down the stairs until he reached fresh air and haphazardly threw the bag away.

Sylas flopped onto the meadow, panting. "Merlin, is this running really not going to stop today?"

 

~~~

 

The dungeon had to be cleared and aired out for the weekend. In the meantime, the Slytherins had to sleep in the Great Hall, which some of them didn't exactly appreciate. It took all of Sunday before they were finally allowed back into their rooms. And even then, there was still a whiff of something rotten in the air.

Meanwhile, rumors were rife. Some claimed it was a harmless prank by the Weasley twins. Others whispered that Sirius Black was behind it - and that he was now systematically targeting every house to gain access.

Luckily for Sylas, no one had noticed that he and Daphne had smuggled the stink bombs in. Professor Snape's angry cursing echoed all the way to the topmost towers of the castle, leaving no doubt that the incident had thoroughly spoiled his mood.

The dungeon was finally habitable again on Sunday evening, at least according to Snape. Most of the Slytherins had long since retreated to their beds, relieved to finally be back in their own common room.

Sylas sat alone on one of the wide, cool windowsills, his back against the wall. The shiver that came over him brought relief. It felt incredibly familiar, and that was exactly what he needed. Outside, the black lake pressed against the glass windows, and an occasional shadow slipped by - perhaps a giant squid, perhaps just his imagination.

On his lap lay a black, leather-bound diary filled with all sorts of notes about Oliver. He hadn't written anything in it for weeks. Instead, he just read through the memories - hoping it would bring him back. On some pages, he'd tried to draw the ghost, just so he wouldn't forget what he looked like. The portraits looked... funky. A smile crept onto his lips. Oliver would be offended if he saw these drawings of him.

"What are you doing?" he suddenly heard Draco's voice. Sylas' head snapped toward him and immediately closed the diary. Draco walked toward him, his tired eyes clearly visible.

"Nothing, I just can't sleep," he mumbled.

Draco yawned and, with a soft groan, plopped down on the windowsill opposite. He stretched out his legs and leaned his head against the cold wall. For a moment, the only sound was the steady bubbling of the lake.

Draco's eyes fell on the diary. "That's Riddle's Diary," he noted, raising an eyebrow. "Why do you still have that?"

Sylas' heart pounded wildly. "I thought it would be a waste if I just threw it away. It's not magical anymore anyway, so why not use it?" he explained a bit too quickly. His grip on the diary tightened even more.

Draco examined him scrutinizingly. "Okay…" he muttered slowly. "Did Dumbledore ever figure out that this diary was behind the attacks?"

Sylas just shrugged. "I don't know, he certainly doesn't know it from me," he said. "But with Dumbledore, you can never be sure what he knows and what he doesn't."

"Hmm, that's true. Father never knows how to deal with that old geezer," Draco muttered, yawning again and wrinkling his nose. "Merlin, it still stinks of rotten toads in here."

"Better than the Great Hall. Flint, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pukey snore like dying hippogriffs, I don't need to put myself through that again," Sylas said dryly. "I can understand why Pansy and Millicent were so bitchy."

Draco snorted in amusement, and for a moment there was a hint of normality.

For a moment, a comfortable silence lingered around the two boys. Draco's eyes were fixed on the lake, as if searching for an answer. Sylas kept looking back and forth between him and the diary.

Suddenly, Draco began to smile again. "Filch is probably patrolling the entire castle again, looking for the stink bombers. Last night, he kept walking past the Great Hall cursing," he said.

Sylas took a parchment from the inside pocket of his cloak and placed it between the two. "Let's take a look," he said. Watching the map had become one of his favorite pastimes. It satisfied his curiosity in a way, knowing who was doing what where.

"The Marauder's Map?"

"Mhm"

A whisper was enough. "I solemnly swear that I am a good for nothing."

Draco examined the parchment with interest. The lines closed over the map, winding their way to corridors and rooms that stretched throughout the castle. The tiny, wandering dots with names flickered in the darkness of the map like fireflies.

Sylas' gaze wandered absentmindedly through the dungeon corridors. Peeves was on the fifth floor, prowling the halls; Snape was pacing in his office; Mrs. Norris was in the entrance hall; a sixth-year Hufflepuff was lurking in the kitchen.

Draco pointed at Filch's name. "There, look!" he said, amused. "He's running all over the castle."

Filch's name snaked from corridor to corridor, from floor to floor. But Sylas' eyes were fixed on a completely different name. He was staring at a dot moving slowly through a narrow side passage - one that ran directly behind the old storeroom.

"What is it?" asked Draco, noticing the sudden tension.

"Nothing," Sylas muttered, but he didn't close the map immediately. Instead, he followed the wandering dot for a few more seconds. This couldn't be happening. That name couldn't be on the map. He slowly closed the map and muttered, "Mischief caused."

The lines disappeared, and the map looked like just ordinary parchment. But suddenly everything felt much more oppressive, as if the lake outside had encroached upon the space.

Draco yawned again and muttered, "It's getting late. We shouldn't stay up too late."

"I'll stay here a little longer. Too comfortable to get up," he said, forcing a slight smile.

Draco hesitated for a moment, looking at him scrutinizingly. "Well then," he finally said, standing up. "If you fall asleep in history tomorrow, I certainly won't wake you up."

Sylas snorted in amusement and watched his friend disappear into their room. His smile immediately disappeared, and he opened the card again. His heart pounded as he read the name.

Peter Pettigrew

Was that a map error? Or is his ghost haunting the castle? For several minutes, he simply stared at that name. This name, which shouldn't actually exist if the minister's story was true.

Sylas bit his lip thoughtfully. What were the chances that Pettigrew was still alive? He had this feeling he couldn't explain. There must be something about this man. He watched the dot wander for a few minutes until he exhaled loudly.

"Fuck it," he muttered.

His curiosity was far too strong.

He packed his things and crept into his room. Everyone was already in their beds, either asleep or seemingly otherwise occupied. Sylas stowed the diary in his infinity trunk and fished out his invisibility cloak. Just to be on the safe side. He tiptoed back into the common room and out into the corridor.

He simply had to check if Peter Pettigrew was really still there. He could really tell him what happened 12 years ago. The door to the common room closed behind him. A cool breeze blew through the corridor, and the torches on the wall flickered dimly. Sylas walked crouched, his cloak pulled tightly around him, the parchment clutched tightly in his hand.

"I solemnly swear, I am a good for nothing."

The map unfolded again. He didn't search for long - the dot was still moving. He was on the fourth floor, creeping slowly through the corridors. With quick steps, he almost flew up the stairs. He didn't want to lose Pettigrew at all costs. The more floors he crossed, the more shaky his hands became. The only sounds were his quiet footsteps and the distant snoring of several portraits.

He looked at the map once more. Only a corner separated him from finally seeing Pettigrew. On the walls hung countless sleeping portraits, all dressed in their sleeping clothes. It was so dark in the corridors, Sylas could barely see his own hand.

Sylas narrowed his eyes to see, took out his wand, and whispered, "Lumos." He illuminated the entire corridor, awakening several portraits.

"Turn off the lights!" came from a grumpy old man.

"I just fell asleep!" squeaked a woman wearing a nightcap.

Sylas ignored her and continued down the corridor. His gaze kept shifting to the map. Pettigrew was walking straight toward him.

Fifteen more steps.

He could almost feel it, the moment he would meet the man.

Ten steps.

His heart threatened to explode. The walls seemed to be closing in ever tighter, and the feeling of being watched gnawed at him.

Five steps.

His hands were ice cold, his throat dry. The trembling in his limbs increased, but he stepped resolutely around the next corner.

And then there was... nothing.

Sylas' heart skipped a beat. His eyes narrowed as he stared into the empty hallway. No Pettigrew, no movement. Only the gentle flicker of torches and the quiet murmur of sleeping portraits.

Confused and slightly panicked, he pulled the map closer, staring at the empty room, trying to comprehend what had happened. Had he taken a wrong turn? Perhaps Pettigrew had disappeared into one of the rooms?

"What an impudence!" cursed a portrait.

Sylas ignored her and continued walking, his gaze back and forth between the empty corridor and the map. Pettigrew should have been standing right in front of him. He turned around several times, hoping to spot an elderly man or some kind of ghost, but there was simply nothing.

His gaze fell back on the map, and when he no longer saw the name Peter Pettigrew on it, his hands clenched. A feeling of coldness and disappointment rose within him. Was it a mistake on the map after all?

Suddenly, he heard footsteps and immediately whispered, "Nox." He clutched his invisibility cloak and pressed himself against a wall. The footsteps came closer, right into his hallway. He slowly glanced at the map.

Remus Lupin.

Sylas didn't take his eyes off Lupin. As soon as the professor walked past him, he would disappear right behind his back. Suddenly, the corridor lit up again, and the portraits complained once more.

"Now turn off the lights!" someone cursed.

"Sorry, I'll be right back," Lupin apologized, walking very slowly - too slowly - down the corridor. His eyes were far too alert, as if they could still see every tiny detail. Lupin came closer and closer, and when he was a few steps away from Sylas, he unconsciously held his breath. Just as Lupin passed him, Sylas was about to bolt. But then Lupin suddenly turned toward him.

Sylas immediately pressed himself back against the wall. There was no way Lupin could recognize him. He was hiding under the Invisibility Cloak. He was invisible! And yet Lupin was staring directly in his direction. Suddenly, the professor reached out and ripped off his cloak. Sylas stared at his teacher with wide eyes.

How did he…?

"Sylas? What are you doing here?" Lupin asked sharply, looking anything but pleased to see the boy. The darkness made his eyes seem almost dangerous.

Sylas' pulse was racing. How could he talk his way out of this? There was absolutely no reason for him to be lurking around here in the middle of the night.

Lupin's gaze fell on the map. "What do you have there?" he asked, pointing at the parchment.

Sylas immediately tried to hide them behind his back. "Nothing, sir," he lied, hoping Lupin would leave it at that.

"Sylas," he said dangerously. "Show me the parchment." His gaze tolerated his remonstrances.

Sylas sighed in defeat and handed him the map. Lupin gasped as he realized everything the map showed.

"It's either sleep or nothing!" came a furious shout from a portrait. "Stop making all the noise!

"We're going to my office," said Lupin, leading the way with the map and cloak in his hand. Sighing, Sylas followed him. Great.

In his office, Sylas reluctantly sat down, leaving Lupin disappointed, standing in front of him, leaning against his desk, the map loosely in his hand, his cloak on the table, his gaze stern

"I want an explanation," Lupin said coldly. "I happen to know that Filch confiscated this map years ago. I don't want to know how it came into your possession. However, I'm amazed you didn't pass it on to me. Especially after what happened last time, when a student left information about the castle lying around. My goodness, Sylas, that in the hands of Sirius Black would be a disaster!"

Sylas remained silent in his chair, not making a sound or flinching. This time he had really messed up. He was lucky that it was Lupin who caught him and not another professor.

"Now please explain to me what you were doing on the fourth floor in the middle of the night," Lupin demanded, speaking to him so sternly for the first time. How could he possibly explain that he'd been searching for a ghost out of pure curiosity, a ghost supposedly dead for over ten years?

"I..." he began haltingly, but he didn't know how to continue. Everything he could think of sounded like a miserable lie. "...Saw a name on the card that I know should be... dead," he finally muttered, unable to bear Lupin's piercing gaze any longer.

Lupin frowned and remained motionless. He seemed to be thinking hard about the answer. "Whose name?"

Sylas scratched his neck and avoided eye contact. "Peter... Pettigrew," he said between his lips. "But I know he's dead. That's why I wanted to see why the map was showing him in the first place."

But Lupin didn't seem surprised, more...horrified? "And...and you're really sure you saw his name?"

Sylas nodded.

Lupin sighed loudly and rubbed his face. "You should never have used that map. And especially not alone, in the middle of the night. Sirius Black is still at large - and you're wandering the corridors with an Invisibility Cloak on like a sleight of hand."

Sylas scratched his neck even more. "How could you even recognize me? After all, I was invisible," he grumbled, eyeing his invisibility cloak critically. He couldn't risk losing that, too. It was bad enough that a teacher had found out about it.

Lupin chuckled slightly. "I had a friend back in school who had one very similar to this. He also used to sneak through the corridors at night with it. But with enough experience... you notice more than you should," he explained, but then steered the subject back to the real problem. "But why are you so interested in Pettigrew?"

"Curiosity," he pressed. Merlin, he wanted nothing more than to get out of here. "But I didn't see him, the map must be wrong."

Lupin didn't reply. But something in his gaze made Sylas sense that the professor didn't quite believe him.

Or he knew more than he admitted.

"This is the last time I'll let you off the hook so easily, Sylas. There will be consequences for you on the third offense. I can't force you to take Sirius Black more seriously, but I would have thought the things you hear when the Dementors come near would have had a greater impact on you. Whatever it is you hear. Think of your family, who would mourn you if Sirius Black -"

"I don't have a family," Sylas blurted out.

Lupin looked at him frowning.

"I grew up in an orphanage, sir. And those people are certainly not people I'd call family. So no, except for my friends, no one would mourn me," he explained dryly. He saw the pity in Lupin's eyes, but Sylas didn't need that. It was fine with him. After all, he didn't know any different.

"I'm sorry, I thought -"

"It's okay, you couldn't have known that."

Lupin sighed loudly again. "It's late. You should go to bed. I'll walk you downstairs," he said.

Sylas looked at the map and the cloak. "Sir, can I have my things back?"

Lupin realized what he was getting at and shook his head. "For your own safety, I can't give them back, and I'm not discussing this with you. Be thankful I'm keeping the incident to myself and not reporting it to Severus or even Professor Dumbleore. Now go, off to bed," he said.

For a moment, Sylas sat stubbornly, but Lupin's glare brooked no argument. Defeated, he made his way back to the castle with the professor as his chaperone. He truly hadn't had any luck this time.

In silence, they trudged down the stairs and along the corridors until they reached the entrance to the common room. Sylas mumbled the password and entered. All he heard was Lupin wishing him goodnight.

For a moment, Sylas stood at the entrance, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Too many thoughts, too many questions were swirling in his head. Pettigrew, the map, Lupin's reaction, the Invisibility Cloak. Sylas wasn't sure what shocked him more: that the map had shown a dead man or that Lupin hadn't seemed particularly surprised.

He was on the way to his bedroom, his hand already on the doorknob - when a thought struck him that almost made him vomit.

The map.

His name was on the map.

Not Sylas, as everyone called him.

Not the name under which he was registered.

His real name.

Harry Potter

Chapter 35

March, 1994

Sylas' mood over the next few weeks was... hot-tempered, unruly, and... sharp. Within one night, within 30 minutes, he had lost the map, his cloak, and his entire identity. Every day, he just waited for someone to call him Harry, or for him to be summoned to Dumbledore and explain himself.

He was completely beside himself.

He tried his best to pay attention in class, but he regularly wandered off track; he failed miserably at Quidditch practice; and during Lupin's Dementor lesson, he paid far too much attention to the professor instead of practicing. Sylas wasn't sure if Lupin was just playing it off or if he really had no clue. In any case, he didn't let on at all.

He also repeatedly received angry glares from Weasley. Apparently, he wasn't happy that Sylas was getting off scot-free, even though he had seen him in Hogsmeade. The redhead repeatedly tried to confront him, but Sylas had so far successfully avoided him. This didn't go down well with Weasley at all.

"All right, dear students,"  Hagrid said, grinning, holding a sack in his hand. "We'll pick up where we left off last week. Quick recap: How could you stop a Niffler from stealing your jewelry?"

Granger's and Daphne's hands shot up. Before Hagrid could even choose one, Granger had already begun to speak. "I would place a magical protection spell on my jewelry, making it invisible or uninteresting to the Niffler."

"Very good, Hermione. 5 points for Gryffindor."

"Alternatively, the jewelry could be stored in an enchanted safe that the Niffler can't open," suggested Daphne. She had, of course, prepared for this topic. After all, she was helping Hagrid with his lesson planning, which gave her a huge advantage.

She literally enjoyed Granger's accusatory looks. The know-it-all absolutely hated it when someone knew more than she did. Especially when it came from a Slytherin.

Hagrid nodded proudly. "That's a very good idea, too. Five points for Slytherin," he said, while Granger gave Daphne a slightly sour look. "Any other suggestions?"

Draco raised his hand slightly. "Or you could just give him a harmless, shiny distraction so you have enough time to hide your things," he explained.

Granger crossed her arms in annoyance. She could be as good as she wanted at Care of Magical Creatures, but if two Slytherins could answer just as well, the points she earned were useless.

"All very good answers. Another five points for Slytherin," said Hagrid, beginning to open the bag in front of him. "Well, then try your best to keep those little rascals from stealing your shiny things!"

Six Nifflers jumped out of the sack and ran toward the students. They immediately searched every pocket and coat for anything shiny. Longbottom burst out laughing because he was too ticklish. They stole every shiny thing he had with him.

Crabbe and Goyle were completely fooled by the little beasts. Granger had no problems with the Nifflers and successfully prevented her bracelets from being stolen. Some Hufflepuffs befriended the Nifflers, or at least tried to. They didn't even notice a second one of the little beasts emptying their pockets.

Sylas was leaning motionless against a tree, his hands behind his back, his gaze fixed on the ground. His thoughts were everywhere, but simply not on the lesson. He didn't feel the small claws scanning his entire body.

"Sylas!" Daphne scolded, "you let the Niffler escape with the Galleon again!"

…

Sylas looked up and saw her annoyed face. "Sorry, what?" he asked, confused. He hadn't been listening to her at all. The Galleon he had in his jacket pocket had long since disappeared, along with the Niffler.

Daphne had just opened her mouth to scold him when the lesson was already over. Hagrid let them go back into the castle with a broad grin, while he tried to catch the little rascals again. So they packed their things and headed back up the hill. Theo and Draco walked ahead of Daphne and Sylas.

"Sylas, is everything - " Daphne was interrupted by a shrill, annoying voice.

"Hey, Ashford!" Weasley came dangerously close. "How much did you suck up to Lupin that you didn't get any punishment?"

Sylas didn't even turn around and just kept walking up the hill. How many times was this idiot going to annoy him? His patience was slowly running out. Daphne gave the redhead a withering look.

"Just ignore him," she muttered, trying to keep up with his quick pace. But Sylas said nothing. His jaw was so tense it looked as if it might burst at any moment. His hands were clenched into fists, buried deep in the pockets of his cloak.

"Hey! I'm talking to you, Ashford!" Weasley called after him. His voice was loud enough that even Theo and Draco turned around.

"Ron, I don't think that -" he heard Granger mutter.

"I know what I'm doing," he grumbled.

Normally he gave up when Sylas ignored him, but today he really wanted to know.

Sylas stopped.

Daphne sucked in a sharp breath. "Sylas, stop it, he's not worth it."

He turned around anyway.

There stood Weasley, just a few feet away with his arms crossed and that unmistakable, self-righteous Gryffindor stance.

"You're just as bad as Malfoy. You ingratiate yourself everywhere, probably have your fingers deep in dark magic like every other Slytherin - and you always get away with anything."

A few students stopped curiously, but quickly moved on when they saw Sylas' look.

"It's quite striking that you always get away with it. Or maybe you just bend over for certain teachers to get this privilege -"

Sylas switched off. For a millisecond, he heard Michael's voice, constantly claiming that he was letting Cissy physically exploit him. This statement destroyed what little patience he had left.

His neck twitched, every muscle in his body tensed, and his poisonous green eyes flashed dangerously. His expression reflected no emotion, and that was precisely what made it creepy, but the Gryffindor didn't seem to notice.

The air around Sylas shimmered slightly – barely visible, but anyone who knew magic could feel the flickering.

Then it all happened in an instant. Sylas closed the distance between him and the Weasley, his fist perfectly matching the Gryffindor's stupid grin. Immediately, Sylas slammed him down and continued beating him. He was oblivious to the screaming voices around him.

He continued hitting.

And continued.

And continued.

And continued.

And continued.

He felt one person trying to stop him, then two, three, until finally four people managed to drag him away from the Weasley. Sylas tried to fight them off, but he was no longer able to resist.

Draco had grabbed him from behind, along with Theo, while Daphne and Blaise each held him by the side. Granger, Finnigan, and Thomas desperately tried to put some distance between the two quarrelers.

"Damn it, Sylas!" Theo cursed. "Pull yourself together!"

But Sylas heard nothing. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes wide open, almost black with rage. He had poured all the tension of the last few moments into each of those punches. But his frustration and anger were still not completely calmed.

Weasley's face was covered in blood, his nose clearly broken, and one eye was already swelling shut. Nevertheless, he raised his head, gasping, and spat blood onto the floor. His smug grin made Sylas angrier by the second.

"Well…" he said hoarsely. "…I knew there was something to it…"

"SHUT UP!" Sylas' voice was barely human. It was a growl, raw, strained, full of pain. He bucked against the others' arms one last time – but Draco, Theo, and now Blaise held him back with their combined strength.

"That's enough!" barked a sharp voice. Professor McGonagall approached the group, her cloak billowing, her wand already raised. "What in Merlin's name is going on here?!"

No one said anything. Only Weasley's quiet groans and Sylas' panting breath could be heard.

McGonagall knelt beside Weasley and cast a quick healing spell on him before straightening up and fixing her gaze on Sylas. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes blazing with anger.

"Mr. Ashford, follow me - immediately. And you, Mr. Weasley - as soon as you are able."

"But he started it!" Daphne protested suddenly, her voice filled with concern. "Weasley... he provoked, he -"

"That doesn't matter, Miss Greengrass," McGonagall interrupted sternly. "Not with such an... outburst."

Sylas remained silent. His hands were still shaking and his skin felt far too tight. The rage building up inside him made it difficult to breathe. He pulled himself away slightly from Theo, Draco, and Blaise and, without a word, stepped next to McGonagall.

The professor looked at him - a moment too long. Then she turned around, grabbed Weasley, who had struggled to stand up, and marched them both toward the castle. What remained behind them was a mixture of awkward silence and nervous murmuring.

"He completely lost it," whispered a Hufflepuff.

"What's wrong with him?" someone else asked.

Sylas heard them.

He heard them all, and he also felt all the eyes on him. He wanted to curse them all.

His footsteps echoed dully across the stone pavement of the courtyard as he followed McGonagall and the limping Weasleys toward the castle. His fingers, still clenched into fists, twitched uncontrollably. The rage continued to simmer within him.

McGonagall's office was cold and austere, just like she was. With a sharp wave of her hand, she closed the door behind them and fixed her gaze on the two students.

"Explain to me immediately what that was about, Mr. Ashford!" she snapped at him, her voice sharp as a blade.

Sylas remained silent. His gaze was fixed on a spot on the wall behind her, as if he could simply block her out. He couldn't afford to lose his composure again. He straightened his posture, his hands disappearing behind his back. In his mind, he was in Mr. Ashford's office.

Weasley snorted, wiping his blood-stained face with his sleeve. "He just attacked me! For no reason! I just -"

"For no reason?! " Sylas jerked his head toward the Weasley in disbelief. "You accused me -!"

"Enough!" McGonagall's wand slammed onto the table, a loud crack that silenced them both. "I will tolerate no further fights in my office!" She took a deep breath, as if restraining herself. "Mr. Weasley, you go to Madam Pomfrey. She will deal with you. Mr. Ashford stays here, while I go and get Professor Snape."

Weasley gave Sylas a triumphant look before walking out with slightly unsteady steps. Sylas felt like slapping himself. Weasley was provoking him for exactly that reason.

The door closed with a quiet click.

Silence.

Sylas stood all alone in this far too bare office. He felt like tearing everything down. As if by itself, he started scratching his neck. If Oliver were here, he wouldn't have freaked out. He breathed in and out several times. Merlin, he needed something cool against his back.

For a moment, his eyes lingered on the stone floor. How psychotic would it seem if he just lay down on the cool ground? That would probably only cause more anxiety.

It wasn't long before he heard the door behind him open without warning. Sylas didn't turn around and stubbornly remained standing where he was, facing towards McGonagalls way to neat desk.

McGonagall sat behind her desk, her hands clasped. Her gaze was sterner than ever. Snape slid in behind her, his cloak flapping dramatically as always. His face was a mask of cold contempt. Snape stood directly beside her desk, his gaze filled with anger, yet a hint of concern flickering in his eyes.

"What have you done, Ashford?" Snape demanded in a dangerously low voice, pronouncing every single word.

"I had a fight with Weasley," Sylas said briefly, not meeting either of them in the eye. His fingers curled into his palms behind his back.

Snape raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Don't be ridiculous. You completely lost control - infront of half Hogwarts. I hope you're proud of your masterful performance. Mr. Weasley looks like he's been attacked by a troll."

"Sylas," McGonagall finally began, the unfamiliar use of his first name making him straighten up and take notice. "That wasn't just an argument. That was a breakdown."

He shrugged his shoulders and pressed his lips together.

"Don't think we're not watching you. All the teachers have noticed that your performance has declined. You seem distracted and irritable," she leaned forward slightly. "What's wrong?"

He would have loved to laugh out loud, but he couldn't. What was wrong?

Everything.

Nothing.

He didn't know.

Instead, he just shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"It does," Snape said sharply. "You seriously injured a fellow student today. This is no small offense, Ashford. We must inform Dumbledore, and there will be consequences."

Sylas' throat dried out. Exactly what he wanted to avoid.

Snape stepped closer until his long figure cast a shadow over Sylas. "Four weeks of detention. With me. Every night." He paused dramatically to let his words sink in. "You'll dissect toads until your hands stop shaking - or until you learn that emotions aren't a license for weakness in this house ."

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Severus, additionally I think a month's Quidditch ban -"

"Two weeks," Snape corrected sharply, without looking at her. "He's our best Seeker. The team needs him." A tiny, almost imperceptible undertone

Sylas raised his head in surprise.

"Don't mistake this for leniency, Mr. Ashford. You will formally apologize to Weasley - in words I provide," Snape continued.

A silence, but Sylas couldn't shake the feeling that he could hear a hint of worry in Snape's voice.

Then the moment was over. Snape turned abruptly. "Tonight. 8 p.m. In my classroom. On time. " His cloak swirled as he strode to the door. But just before he left, he paused. Without turning around, he added:

"...And bring your mind. In case you've lost it somewhere ."

The door closed.

McGonagall sighed. "You may go, Mr. Ashford."

His legs felt like lead. He certainly hadn't expected so many consequences. Still, in his opinion, Weasley deserved it, even if he'd fallen right into his trap.

As he reached the door, McGonagall held him back once more.

"Mr. Ashford," her voice had dropped. "Talk to someone - before it is too late."

He didn't answer. His feet automatically headed for the Charms classroom. Classes had already started, and he would be late. He walked slowly up the marble stairs and entered the classroom. Everyone gasped when they saw him.

"You're late, Mr. Ashford!" Professor Flitwick reprimanded. "Wands out, we're practicing Cheering Charms today, pair up -"

Sylas silently sat down at a table in the back next to Daphne, who looked at him worriedly. "And?"

"Dumbledore will be informed of the incident, four weeks of detention with Snape, two weeks of Quidditch ban, and I'll have to ... apologize ... to Weasley," he barely managed to get the last words out.

Not only Daphne took a sharp breath, but also Theo and Draco. Hardly anyone had ever had to face such strict consequences.

"You really messed up this time, Sylas," Draco whispered to him. "You're not usually this irritable. I mean, Weasley certainly deserved it, but that was way too direct for a Slytherin, and you know it. What's wrong?"

Sylas hesitated for a moment and twitched his neck. "Just... stressed," he muttered quietly. He caught Flitwick's eye. "We should practice the spell. I don't want to get myself into any more detention."

So they practiced the cheering spell until noon. It was exactly what Sylas needed. The spell gave him a feeling of deep contentment, and for a moment, he felt as if he could breathe again.

At lunch, Sylas noticed the stares on him. His outburst of anger seemed to have already made the rounds. His gaze fell on the Gryffindor table. Weasley still hadn't returned from the hospital wing. A slight grin crossed his lips.

Yet he had no appetite and just absentmindedly poked at his food. He barely noticed his friends' glances. Everything was simply going downhill.

After lunch, Daphne dragged him along to Divination. One after the other, they climbed the ladder to the dim, stuffy tower room. On each of the small tables stood a crystal ball filled with pearly white mist. All eyes were fixed on Sylas. The murmuring and whispering were far too noticeable.

In one of the middle rows, he spotted Ron Weasley with a patched-up face, his triumphant smile sickening him. Next to him sat Granger, who just rolled her eyes. She seemed to be uncomfortable with the whole thing.

Daphne grabbed his arm firmly and dragged him to a rickety table at the very edge. "Looks like it's time for crystal balls. I thought we weren't going to cover it for a few weeks," she murmured, checking suspiciously that Professor Trelawney wasn't nearby.

"Don't complain, at least that means we're done with palmistry," Sylas grumbled. "It made me sick, almost fainting every time she looked at my hands."

"Have a nice day!" said the familiar, smoky voice, and with his usual dramatic gesture, Professor Trelawney stepped out of the shadows. Parvati and Lavender, their faces illuminated by the milky glow of their crystal ball, trembled with excitement.

"I've decided to start the crystal ball a little earlier than planned," said Professor Trelawney, sitting with his back to the fire and looking around. "The Goddess of Fate tells me that the exam in June will revolve entirely around the ball, and I'll endeavor to give you enough experience."

Granger snorted. "Listen to this, the Goddess of Fate tells me who determines the exam questions? Herself! A truly astonishing prophecy!" She didn't even bother to lower her voice. Daphne chuckled softly. Divination had become one of her favorite classes, witnessing Granger's despair and outrage every week.

They couldn't tell if Professor Trelawney had heard her, because her face was hidden in the darkness. In any case, she continued as if nothing had happened.

"Crystal ball reading is a particularly refined art," she said dreamily. "I don't expect you to be able to see the first time you gaze into the infinite depths of the sphere. We'll first practice relaxing our conscious mind and the outer eyes."

Weasley now began to giggle uncontrollably and had to put his fist in his mouth to stifle his laughter.

"With this, we cleanse the inner eye and the superconscious. If we're lucky, some of you might be able to see by the end of the class."

And so it began. Sylas, at least, felt pretty stupid as he stared into the sphere, trying hard not to think, when the constant thought "this is nonsense" was going through his head. The fact that Weasley kept breaking into stifled chuckles and Granger sighed in annoyance didn't help either.

He sighed softly, sank further into the chair, and crossed his arms. "See anything yet?" he asked after half an hour of silent crystal ball gazing.

"Yep, there's a burn mark on the table," Daphne said, pointing. "Someone knocked over their candle."

A smile crept onto Sylas's lips. Neither of them had any talent for this subject, but it was still fun. Sometimes, when Trelawney came by, they would make up special stories. You could tell this woman was fascinated by the young talent of the two Slytherins.

"This is a complete waste of time," they heard Granger snarl. "I could practice something useful in the meantime, like catching up on Cheering Charms -"

Professor Trelawney rustled by. "Would anyone like me to help them interpret the shadowy figures in their sphere?" she murmured through the jingle of her bracelets.

"I don't need help," Daphne whispered amusedly. "It's obvious what that means. It's going to be pretty foggy tonight." Sylas giggled and had to restrain himself from raising his voice. At that moment, he realized that he had needed exactly that nonsense to calm down.

"Please!" said Professor Trelawney, and all heads turned to her. She stood in front of the table with Weasley and Granger, looking as grumpy as she could. "You're disturbing the purity of the vibrations!"

When they turned their backs, Granger rolled her eyes in annoyance and mocked her quietly. Professor Trelawney then approached the Slytherin table and peered into the crystal ball. Sylas' heart sank. He was sure of what was coming, and his good mood was already gone.

"There's something here!" whispered Professor Trelawney, her nose almost touching the sphere, so that her face was reflected in both giant lenses. "Something's moving... but what is it?"

Sylas would have bet everything he owned, including the Firebolt, that this something boded ill. And indeed -

"My dear..." whispered Professor Trelawney, looking up at Sylas. "It's here, more clearly than ever... my goodness, it's creeping toward you, getting closer and closer... the Gr..."

"Oh, to hell with it!" Granger said loudly. "Not that ridiculous Grimm again!"

Professor Trelawney's huge eyes fixed on Granger's face. Parvati whispered something in Lavender's ear, and they stared at Granger indignantly. Professor Trelawney straightened and looked at her with undisguised anger.

"I'm afraid to say, my dear, that it was clear to me at first glance that you lacked the talent required for the noble art of fortune-telling. In fact, I can't remember a single student whose mind was so hopelessly turned to earthly things." There was a moment of silence.

Then -

"Fine!" Granger said suddenly, standing up and stuffing Unfogging the Future into her school bag. "Fine!" she said again and slung the bag over her shoulder, nearly knocking Weasley off his chair. "I give up! I'm leaving!"

And to the astonishment of the entire class, Granger stomped over to the trapdoor, kicked it open, climbed down the ladder, and disappeared. It took the others a few minutes to realize what had happened. Professor Trelawney seemed to have completely forgotten about the Grimm. She turned abruptly away from Sylas and Daphne and, panting, pulled the flimsy scarf tighter around her neck.

"Oh wow, what's going on today?" Daphne murmured in surprise. "Is everyone having a nervous breakdown today?"

"At least that collapse was inevitable. It's a miracle she even lasted this long," Sylas murmured, but somehow there was a sour taste in his mouth.

So the others thought he had had a nervous breakdown ...

"Ooooooh!" Lavender suddenly said, making everyone jump. "Oooooh, Professor Trelawney, I've just thought of something! You saw her leave, didn't you? Remember, Professor? Around Easter, one of us will leave us forever ! You said that ages ago, Professor!"

Professor Trelawney gave her a cheerful smile. "Yes, my dear, I did indeed know that Miss Granger would leave us. But one always hopes one has misread the signs... the Inner Eye can be a burden, you know..."

Sylas just rolled with his eyes, while Daphne let out a heavy sigh. This class was just exhausting. 

That evening, shortly before 8 p.m., Sylas reluctantly made his way to the Potions classroom. Draco had tried to cheer him up, saying that dissecting toads was at least better than cleaning cauldrons. Sylas seriously doubted, that it was much better. Besides, he had to miss his Dementor lesson with Lupin because of it, much to Sylas' regret.

The smell of shrink leaves hung pungently in the air, with a musty and fishy undertone of crushed Doxy eggs. Snape stood behind his staff table, brewing a potion that looked complicated. Just one table in front of the Potions Master, everything was ready to dissect toads.

"Mr. Ashford," Snape's voice was as cold as ever. "You should consider yourself lucky not to have been expelled. But don't think this is an acquittal."

Sylas didn't reply and went to the work table. On it was a flat metal plate with five slimy, bulging toads lying there like leathery rubber balls, a scalpel, and several small glasses.

Snape approached silently. "Remove the eyes, liver, heart, and tongue - unharmed. And if I find even one mistake... you repeat the whole process. With fresh toads."

He turned away, but let his black eyes rest on Sylas for a moment. "And don't take your anger out on the toads - or I'll make you eat some."

With a gentle sweep of his cloak, Snape disappeared into the depths of his desk area, where he quietly continued brewing his potion.

Sylas stared at the slimy, pale object before him. The smell was repulsive - something between old mud, cold blood, and dried pus. For a moment, he just stared at the little creatures before him. Everything in him rebelled against this task. Why did he have to do such crap? They would have been much better off sending him to Filch. He reached for the scalpel and began cutting.

The first heart trembled under the blade, the liver was fat and smooth, almost slipping through his fingers. The eyes were the most difficult to remove and required an incredibly steady hand. By the time he got to the tongue, he had achieved a strange calmness - mechanical, empty, almost satisfying.

Snape didn't say a word, but Sylas could sense that he was watching him.

The clock ticked quietly. Only the occasional metallic scrape of Sylas' scalpel broke the silence and the bubbling of Snape's cauldron. The fifth toad lay open before him - precisely dissected, as if he'd done it a hundred times before.

Snape hadn't said a word the entire time. He seemed engrossed in his notes, but Sylas knew better. As he placed the last tongue into the small glass container and cleaned his hands with a cloth, Snape approached silently.

"Finished?" The question seemed almost casual.

Sylas nodded without looking up. "Yes, sir."

Snape reached for the jar, squinted at the entrails inside, and then slowly put it back and crossed his arms.

"You're working precisely," he said finally. "And surprisingly calm for someone who hospitalized a classmate just this morning."

Sylas remained silent. He could hear the mocking undertone - and yet Snape didn't seem completely annoyed as he would be with the Gryffindors. 

He took a step closer. "Whatever caused you to do this - this anger - it's powerful. But it's useless if you don't control it. You should know that in Slytherin, you learn to resolve things more discreetly."

Sylas remained standing where he was, not daring to look at the professor. A silence fell over the classroom. Snape returned to his desk and rummaged through his papers until he pulled out a piece of parchment. He handed it to Sylas, which he hesitantly accepted.

"The apology for Weasley. Tomorrow morning at breakfast. You're dismissed."

"Yes, sir," Sylas mumbled, and left the classroom. The parchment crumpled in his hand. That damn apology was all he needed. This was the worst part of the entire punishment.

Annoyed, he scurried into the common room. A few students were still awake, chatting quietly among themselves. Sylas had only one place in mind. He sat back down on the windowsill and pressed his back against the cold stone wall.

He took several deep breaths, imagining Oliver's hand on his back. He automatically closed his eyes and listened to the muffled sounds of the black lake. The murmuring of the other students and the crackling of the fire finally allowed him to rest for the day.

At dinner before detention with Snape, Flint had scolded him for his actions. It was a mixture of praise, but he wasn't happy that he wouldn't be allowed to participate in training for the next two weeks. After all, the final match against Gryffindor was coming up soon, and they couldn't afford to lose. Flint was doing everything he could to get one over on Wood, and with Draco as Seeker - as good as he was - things were looking critical. Sylas, with his Firebolt and his skill, was simply far better than Dean Thomas, the Gryffindor Seeker.

"Sylas?" he suddenly heard Ginny's voice.

He slowly turned his head toward her. She seemed worried and slightly nervous.

"What?" he asked, slightly harshly. The last thing he needed was Ginny's advances.

She took a hurt step back and rubbed her arm. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I heard what happened today and I wanted to ask if you're okay."

Sylas had to force himself not to roll his eyes. "Everything's fine."

"Oh, okay," she mumbled, fidgeting. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I wanted to…" she began again. "…to apologize for Ron's behavior. He's a jerk sometimes. Just ... ignore him."

Sylas studied her and noticed how she avoided his eyes. "Leave it," he grumbled, slightly annoyed. "You're not responsible for your brother, so don't apologize. This is a problem between me and him."

"But -"

"Ginny," he pronounced her name extra sternly. "Don't, please. I just want to be left alone right now."

She looked at Sylas, surprised and hurt, and for a moment, he felt a pang in his heart as well. Regret washed over him, and just as he was about to apologize for his harsh tone, she interrupted him.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," she grumbled, her voice a mixture of anger and hurt. Ginny stood there for a moment, as if she were about to say something – then she bit her lip and disappeared into the girls' dormitory.

Sylas stared at his hands. Why now...?

Sylas watched her for a long time before sighing loudly and sliding further into the windowsill. On any other day, he would have been a lot friendlier to her, but not today. Today was an absolutely terrible day.

And the next morning turned out to be even worse. Sylas stood stiffly in front of the Gryffindor table, his hands clenched behind his back. His gaze was fixed on a point over Weasley's shoulder. Somewhere behind, somewhere where he wouldn't have to see his stupid grin.

Snape stood beside him like a dark pillar, his arms crossed. A slight twitch of his eyebrow was the only encouragement Sylas received. He should hurry and then get out of here.

Sylas took a sharp breath.

"Weasley." His voice sounded wooden, as if he were reciting a potion. "I apologize for my... inappropriate outburst. It was not the act of a worthy Hogwarts student." And certainly not a Slytherin, he could have added, but that would have been too honest.

Ron grinned mockingly, his still slightly swollen eye twitching. "Oh, that's gonna be hilarious."

"Weasley," Snape growled warningly.

Sylas ignored him. "I should have ignored your provocations." Because you're a little bastard. "It won't happen again." Maybe it will, just more discreetly.

Some Gryffindors giggled. Granger looked skeptical, as if she were analyzing every syllable. Percy looked as if he was perfectly fine with it all, and the twins just shook their heads in disappointment. They had already told him how utterly funny they found it that he had attacked Ron. In their opinion, he more than deserved it.

Snape nodded curtly. "Enough. Go, Ashford."

Sylas turned on his heel – but not before hearing Weasley whisper, "Next time he'll do even more."

His fingers clenched into his palms. He couldn't afford to lose his composure again, especially not in front of Snape's hooked nose.

Daphne, Theo, and Draco were already waiting for him at the Slytherin table, their gazes a silent question. Is everything okay? Sylas' only response was a single, shallow smile. He ate his breakfast in silence, and a short time later, countless owls flew in overhead, laden with letters or small packages.

Suddenly, a small, chubby owl with black feathers landed at the Slytherin table with a small package in its talons and a letter in its beak.

"Whose owl is that?" Theo asked, frowning.

"I've never seen it before," said Draco.

Sylas studied the animal for a moment before suddenly choking on his cornflakes. "She belongs to ... me," he croaked between coughs.

Draco also choked on his cornflakes, Daphne looked at him with shocked eyes, and Theo raised his eyebrow suspiciously. It was the first time Sylas had ever received an owl from home.

"Your grandparents sent you an owl?!" Daphne asked, confused.

"Actually not surprising after what happened," said Theo, eyeing the package suspiciously.

"I don't even want to know what they sent me," Sylas grumbled as he fed the owl some cornflakes and took the letter. He slowly opened it. There was only one sentence inside.

 

You will need this
T.A.

 

Sylas frowned in confusion and folded the paper back together. He had a bad feeling about this. He slowly opened the package and peeked just a tiny bit inside. When he realized what was inside, he immediately closed the box.

"So?" Daphne asked curiously, trying to peek inside the package. "What's in there?"

Sylas just shook his head and ran his hand across his face. "Nothing. Just ... garbage." With that, he was the first to get up from the table, clutched the package to his side, and disappeared into the dungeon. In an empty corridor, he leaned against a cold wall and rubbed his temple.

That was exactly what he was missing now.

A bottle of whiskey – from Mr Ashford, of all people.

Was it a reward? A provocation? Or because the old bastard thought Sylas could use a drink after a public meltdown?

Notes:

This was one of my favourite chapters to write! Did you expect Sylas to have such a reaction?
Hope y'all enjoyed the chapter and see ya next week! :)

Chapter 36

April, 1994

The Easter holidays weren't exactly relaxing. The third years had never had so much homework to do. Even Crabbe and Goyle seemed close to a nervous breakdown, and they weren't the only ones.

"And they call this a holiday!" Blaise grumbled one afternoon in the common room. "There's still ages until the exams, so what do they actually want from us?"

But no one could keep up with Draco's studying. Even without Divination and Muggle Studies, he had more subjects than anyone else. He was usually the last one out of the common room at night and the first one in the library the next morning. Everyone could see the dark circles under his eyes. The fact that he managed to do everything while also practicing Quidditch impressed them even more. Draco had confided in him that he was betting on Sylas during the Quidditch match so he wouldn't have to play and could focus on his studies. Sylas assured him he would. He knew it would take at least some of the burden off him.

He himself wasn't sure, if he could keep that promise. 

Meanwhile, Sylas was still serving his evening detention with Snape. Every night, he was allowed to dissect so many toads that he'd long since lost track, but in a morbid way, it was actually quite comforting to take the toads apart.

A week ago, he was finally allowed to participate in Quidditch matches again. Since then, everyone on the team had been besieging him, and he'd have endless discussions about game tactics. If Flint didn't run into him between lessons, Pukey would suddenly appear around the corner, and if Pukey didn't show up, it would be Bletchley who would explain the game tactics to him again.

The Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match was scheduled for the first Saturday after the Easter holidays. Gryffindor led the tournament by exactly 200 points. This meant that their victory would have to be even greater if they were to win the Cup. And it also meant that the burden of this task rested largely on Sylas, as the Snitch was worth 150 points.

"You're not allowed to catch it until we're leading by more than fifty points," Flint explained to him day in, day out. "Only if we're ahead by fifty points, Sylas, or we win the game and lose the Cup. You understand that, right? You're not allowed to catch the Snitch until we -"

Sylas hissed at him every time when it became too much for him. He wasn't stupid!

All the Slytherins had nothing else on their minds but the upcoming match. No one could remember ever anticipating a match in such a charged atmosphere. By the end of the holidays, the tension between the two teams and their houses reached a fever pitch. Minor scuffles broke out in the corridors, and ultimately, an ugly incident resulted in a fourth-year Gryffindor and a sixth-year Slytherin ending up in the hospital wing because vigorous leek plants were growing out of their ears.

Sylas had a particularly tough time during this time. He couldn't go to class without being tripped up by a Gryffindor somewhere in the corridors. Wherever he went, Weasley, Thomas, and Finnigan would appear and leave with disappointed expressions when they saw him surrounded by students. The little fight a few weeks ago seemed to have no interest in them anymore.

Flint had ordered that the Slytherins accompany Sylas everywhere, so they wouldn't lose their best Seeker. Much to Sylas' dismay. He was now regularly late for classes, as he was constantly surrounded by a large, chattering crowd. The first and second years, in particular, seemed to take a particular liking to follow him around.

He was having real flashbacks to last year, when everyone saw him as the heir of Slytherin and therefore had to be protected. Never in a million years would he have thought a situation like this would arise again. Sylas was less worried about his own safety than about that of the Firebolt. When he wasn't flying it, he locked it in his trunk and often darted down to the dungeons during breaks to check if it was still there. Daphne and Theo had already declared him mad for his paranoia. Draco, however, felt for Sylas.

The Firebolt was their key to victory.

As the day of the game approached, Sylas became more and more tense. He could barely sit still and would bounce one leg up and down. During class, he drove Daphne crazy with it. Each time, she slapped him on the leg to make him stop fidgeting. During Divination, their crystal ball fell to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces and startling Professor Trelawney. Who immediatly shouted that it must have been the Grimm.

Not even dissecting toads could calm him down anymore. The entire table was shaking slightly, as was his hand. He simply couldn't hold the scalpel steady. The liver was almost out, just a small incision and it would be removed. Sylas blinked hard to focus his eyes and made the cut ... in the wrong place. The liver burst open messily, a jelly-like fluid seeping onto the table.

He angrily threw down the scalpel and groaned in annoyance. This was the fifth liver he hadn't managed to dissect. Snape had been giving him questionable looks all evening, which made Sylas even more nervous. He knew Snape was also keen on the Quidditch Cup. So if Sylas failed on match day, Snape would hate him even more than before.

"Focus, Ashford," came a dangerous cry from the teacher's desk. "You're wasting important ingredients."

Sylas had to take a deep breath to keep his composure. "Yes, Professor Snape, sir," he pressed through his lips, annoyed. Less than a week left and he'd finally be done with detention, and less than a week until the game.

Reluctantly, he picked up the bloody scalpel again and looked at the next toad. Its slippery skin shimmered slightly in the candlelight. With trembling hands, he brought the scalpel to the skin and hesitated for a moment. The scene blurred before his eyes. Not only from fatigue, but also from overexertion.

No sleep, barely any concentration, and the constant murmuring in the common room about the game that would decide everything. At the same time, the ulterior motive of Lupin, who could reveal everything.

He wanted to start screaming, but instead he cut the toad open far too quickly. The skin burst, the tissue warm from the room air. For a moment, he thought about how soothing this had been three weeks ago - the repetitive, precise work, the distraction.

Now it was just a reminder that he was failing at everything.

His mind raced. Tactics, numbers, movement patterns. Should he have trained more? Less? Was the Firebolt still safe in its trunk? What if someone had tampered with it? Is Pettigrew still in the castle? Did Lupin see his name on the card? Does Dumbledore already know?

One more step and he would fall into a precipice.

Snape stepped past his table and glanced at the half-carved animal before Sylas. "That's enough for today. You're dismissed."

Relief spread. He immediately wiped his bloody and slippery hands on a cloth and packed his things. As he stepped through the door into the dark corridors, he paused briefly and enjoyed the cool breeze. For a moment, he could finally breathe again.

But only briefly.

Halfway to the common room, he heard quick footsteps behind him. Two second-years Flint had assigned to him caught up with him.

"There you are! We thought Snape would never let you leave!" one of them gasped.

"Flint said you should show up for extra training at six tomorrow morning," the other informed him with a nervous smile.

Sylas looked at them with a blank expression before continuing on his way. He didn't say a word to them. Nothing. Being besieged all day by annoying first and second years was enough work. Merlin, how he missed being alone.

As they reached the common room, a babble of voices broke out.

"He's here!"

"Thomas apparently trained like a madman today!"

"You just have to take him out, then we win!"

"If the score is more than fifty, then you have to catch the snitch!"

He just nodded silently and made his way to his dormitory. He didn't notice the worried glances of his friends in the hustle and bustle.

Somewhere a voice shouted, "Finish them off!"

Another shouted, "You can do it!"

It wasn't encouragement. No, those were expectations. He couldn't lose this game. If he didn't want to lose the reputation he'd painstakingly built here, he had no other choice. Since the incident in the Chamber of Secrets, some people had started to see him differently. Even the older ones treated him with respect. He couldn't afford to lose that under any circumstances.

He has to win.

He must win.  

In the room, he closed the door behind him and finally escaped the annoying crowd. Luckily, no one was there. He slowly walked over to his suitcase, opened it, and climbed inside. He had started locking the suitcase from the inside for a while, so he had complete peace and quiet. Even though it was cramped in this small storage room, it was still better than being besieged.

His gaze slid around the small chamber, and relief washed over him when he saw the Firebolt. Untouched and flawless.

His heart pounded as his fingers glided over the polished wood. This broom was more than just a piece of sports equipment; it was his anchor.

"Just a few more days," he muttered, gripping the broom tighter.

His gaze fell on a small, cluttered shelf on which Ashford's whiskey bottle and a glass sat inconspicuously. Without thinking, Sylas poured himself a small amount of the liquid and drank it in one gulp.

 

~~~

 

The cool spring breeze tickled the back of his neck. He stood at the top of the hill, looking down at Hagrid's hut. Buckbeak lay in bed, preening her feathers. An empty, slightly bloody plate sat in front of the beautiful creature. Hagrid must have just fed her.

In front of the hut, however, stood the Minister, Dumbledore, Hagrid, and a masked man with a giant axe. Yet somehow, this image felt incredibly oppressive. His stomach filled with a heaviness that seemed all too familiar.

A sob echoed in his ears. He immediately turned his head to the left, his eyes widened. Next to him stood Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, who was sobbing in Weasley's arms. For a moment, he was speechless: what the hell was going on?

"This is all Malfoy's fault!" Granger blurted out. "It's only because of him that she has to die now!"

Sylas frowned. What, exactly, was Draco's fault? And who will die because of him?

"He'll pay for this," Weasley growled, rubbing her shoulder soothingly. "Right, Harry?"

Sylas thought he'd misheard. "W-What?" he barely managed to say. "What ... is going on?"

Granger and Weasley looked at him in confusion. "We're talking about Malfoy's fault for executing Buckbeak. After all, he had to prove to everyone that he could ride them too, which backfired", Granger sniffed. "You were also there, Harry."

Sylas didn't know what to say. That wasn't true. Hagrid never introduced Buckbeak to them in class. Draco never went near Buckbeak either; he tended to keep his distance.

"Oh no!" Granger jumped. "They're going to execute Buckbeak now!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Sylas saw the man's large axe being swung and heard a dull thud.

At that moment, he jumped up, panting. His eyes looked around frantically, searching for Buckbeak's severed head and the pool of blood. But all he saw was the inside of his overstuffed suitcase.

His heart was still racing and beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. It was way too hot in here. Why the hell was it so hot? The air must have been so stuffy, too. He stood up far too quickly, and everything spun for a moment. He braced himself against the wall and, still out of breath, climbed the ladder. He quickly opened the lock and poked his head out of the suitcase.

For a moment, he remained in place, only his head visible, surveying his surroundings. He found himself in the Slytherin dormitory. Crabbe and Goyle were snoring softly, Theo tossed and turned in his sleep, Blaise remained silent as a mouse, and Draco mumbled to himself.

There was no Granger or Weasley to be seen anywhere.

Sylas frowned. Was this a dream? It must have been. There was no way he would associate with those two Gryffindors.

…

Right?

His thoughts flitted away when he suddenly spotted a plate in front of his suitcase. It was a simple sandwich covered with clear plastic wrap. On it lay a small note.

 

You didn't come to dinner again.
Draco and I sneaked into the kitchen to get this for you.
You'll need all the energy you can get for the game tomorrow.
Please, eat.
D.G.

 

But the only thing Sylas could think about was Buckbeak's severed head. He quietly stepped out of the trunk and set the plate aside. He wasn't even thinking about eating. He was much more worried about Buckbeak. For his own good, he simply had to make sure she was okay.

On silent feet and completely out of breath, he slipped out of the room, into the common room, and out into the corridor. Without a map and invisibility cloak, it would be a challenge, but it was so late at night that hardly anyone would be there.

Or so he hoped.

He avoided using Lumos so the light wouldn't betray him. He lurked around every corner for a brief moment, pricking up his ears. When in doubt, he hid behind suits of armor or scurried into empty classrooms.

He made it out of the castle without incident and stood on the hill overlooking Hagrid's hut. The castle grounds lay quiet and peaceful in the moonlight. Not a breath of wind ruffled the treetops of the Forbidden Forest; the Whomping Willow, standing so still, seemed quite innocent. The conditions were perfect for tomorrow's game. However, they weren't enough to spot the hippogriff.

He swallowed hard as he scurried down the hill.

Please let Buckbeak be alive.

Please.

Please.

When he got close enough to the hut to finally get a better look at the flowerbed, he spotted the hippogriff, fast asleep. He paused for a moment to make sure the animal's chest was actually moving.

Then relief washed over him. So it was just a dream after all.

Just as he was about to turn around, he saw a figure scurrying around in the corner of his eye. His gaze immediately darted there, searching for the figure. In his mind, he heard Trelawney's voice saying, "It's the Grimm!" He automatically grabbed his wand.

He stared out at the area, frantically scanning it with his eyes. And there it was again. It was creeping along the edge of the forest... it certainly wasn't the Grimm... it was a cat... Sylas recognized the bushy tail now and loosened his grip on his staff.

Merlin. His nerves were really getting the better of him.

Sylas took another closer look at the cat and adjusted his glasses. That had to be... Crookshanks, Granger's cat. Crookshanks had obviously stopped. But something else was moving in the shadows of the trees, Sylas was pretty sure of that.

And then it appeared - a huge, shaggy black dog trotted across the lawn, Crookshanks at its side. Sylas gaped. What did this mean? If even Crookshanks could see the dog, how could it be a omen of death for Sylas?

A nervous laugh slipped out of him. This had to be another dream. It was a dream within a dream, clearly. He rubbed his eyes nervously. Surely just a hallucination from all the stress. When he looked back at the edge of the forest, Crookshanks and the black dog were gone.

Exactly, just a hallucination.

 

~~~

 

The next morning, Sylas was the very first one on the pitch. Partly because he wouldn't be able to eat anything at breakfast anyway, and he couldn't stand everyone staring at him with hopefull eyes. He couldn't sleep the rest of the night and decided to prepare mentally for the game. Fully dressed, he lay on the meadow and watched the clouds drift across the sky. There was practically no wind, the sun was shining brightly, and the ground was hard enough for them to push off quickly.

Perfect weather for Quidditch.

Suddenly a shadow obscured his vision and he looked into silver-grey eyes that contained a mixture of relief and anger.

"Damn it, Sylas!" Draco cursed. "We thought you were abandoning us!"

Flint came trotting up. "Good for you, Ashford," he grumbled. "If you hadn't been here, I would have had the entire castle searched." He looked anything but pleased.

"Shit, and I, the idiot I am, bet you wouldn't come at all," Miles grumbled as he handed Adrian three galleons.

"Anytime, dear," grinned Adrian and winked at his comrade.

In the distance the castle gate opened and soon the whole crowd of students poured onto the lawn.

"Locker room," Flint said dryly.

No one said a word as they slipped into their emerald-green cloaks. Sylas wondered if the others felt the same way he did; as if he had eaten something horribly squirmy for breakfast. Barely a minute seemed to have passed when Flint spoke.

"Let's go, it's time to bring the trophy home."

They marched out onto the pitch, and a tidal wave of noise greeted them. Three-quarters of the spectators wore scarlet ribbons, waved scarlet flags bearing the Gryffindor lion, or held banners aloft. VICTORY FOR GRYFFINDOR and LIONS FOR THE CUP , it read.

Sylas' fingers began to tremble slightly. Of course, everyone was rooting for Gryffindor. No one wanted to see the Slytherins win. Anxiety silenty crept through his whole body. Here and now, he had to prove his mettle to everyone.

Behind the Slytherin goalposts, however, sat two hundred spectators dressed all in green; the Slytherin silver snake glittered on its flags, and Professor Snape, also dressed in green, sat in the front row, smiling grimly.

"And here come the Slytherins!" shouted Lee Jordan, who was commentating the game as always. "The team is still the same, and today we see Ashford with the Firebolt!" A wave of boos greeted them. No one wanted to see the Slytherins win.

"And here come the Gryffindors!" announced Lee Jordan. "Thomas, Bell, Johnson, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley, and Wood. One of the best teams Hogwarts has produced in years—"

Lee's remark was drowned out by a wave of boos from the Slytherins.

"Greetings, Captains!" said Madam Hooch. Flint and Wood approached and grabbed each other's hands so tightly, they nearly broke their fingers.

"Mount your brooms!" said Madam Hooch. "Three... two... one..."

The shrill whistle was drowned out by the roar of the crowd, and the fourteen broomsticks rose into the air. Now that he was flying, his nerves began to fray. He looked around and saw that Thomas was following him. He accelerated sharply and set off in search of the Snitch.

"And now Gryffindor has possession, Alicia Spinnet with the Quaffle, she's flying straight towards the Slytherin goalposts, looking good, Alicia! Aaarh, no - Quaffle intercepted by Pukey, Slytherin's Pukey is now racing in the opposite direction - ouch! - George Weasley did a nice job with the Bludger there, Pukey drops the Quaffle, it's caught by - Johnson, Gryffindor have possession again, come on, Angelina - nice flick around Flint - duck, Angelina, there's a Bludger coming! - She scores! Ten to nil to Gryffindor!"

Johnson pumped her fist in the air and flew over the stands; the scarlet sea below roared with excitement.

"Ouch!" Marcus Flint collided with her, nearly knocking Johnson off her broom. Sylas couldn't suppress a grin. That's just how Slytherin plays.

"Sorry," said Flint as the crowd below started booing. "Sorry, didn't see her!"

But Fred Weasley had already hit him on the back of the head with his bat - Flint's nose hit the broom handle and began to bleed.

"That's enough!" said Madam Hooch, interjecting. "Penalty to Gryffindor for a random attack on their Chaser! Penalty to Slytherin for deliberately injuring their Chaser!"

"That's nonsense, Miss!" howled Fred, but Madam Hooch blew her whistle and Spinnet flew forward to take the penalty.

"Do it, Alicia!" Lee shouted into the silence that had descended upon the crowd. "Yes! She beat the goalkeeper! 20 to 0 for Gryffindor!"

Sylas swung the Firebolt sharply around and saw Flint, still bleeding heavily from his nose, flying forward to take the penalty for Slytherin. Wood hovered in front of the Gryffindor goalposts, his teeth gritted.

"Of course Wood is an excellent goalkeeper!" Lee Jordan announced to the crowd, while Flint waited for Madam Hooch's whistle. "Great! Very difficult to get that ball past - really, really difficult - Yeeees! I can't believe it! He saved it!"

Relieved, Sylas flew away and once again looked for the Snitch, listening to Lee's every word. Crucially, he kept Thomas away from the Snitch until Slytherin was leading by more than fifty points.

"Gryffindor in possession again, no, Slytherin - no! - Gryffindor again, and this time with Katie Bell, Katie Bell for Gryffindor with the Quaffle, she's rushing up the pitch - that was intentional!"

Miles had flown into Bell's path, and instead of grabbing the Quaffle, he had grabbed her head. Bell did a few flips and managed to stay on the broom, but dropped the Quaffle.

Madam Hooch's whistle sounded again. She flew over to Miles and began to scold him loudly. A short time later, Bell scored another penalty against the Slytherin Keeper.

"30 to 0! What do you say now, you dirty, cheating -"

"Jordan, if you can't commentate on the game impartially, then -!"

"I'm just telling the truth, Professor!"

Sylas was now overcome by a feverish excitement. He had seen the Snitch - it was shimmering at the base of one of the Gryffindor goalposts - but he wasn't allowed to catch it yet. And when Thomas saw it, Sylas pretended to have suddenly become aware of something, swung his Firebolt around, and raced toward the Slytherin goal - and it worked.

Thomas chased after him, apparently believing Sylas had seen the Snitch there... Whoosh. One of the Bludgers, hit by Fred, whizzed past Sylas' right ear.

And the next moment - whoosh. The second Bludger had grazed Sylas' elbow. The other beater, George, had aimed at him.

"Sorry, Sylas, but this is serious," Fred called out to him with a smug grin.

George nodded with a cheeky grin. "Otherwise, Wood's gonna kill us!"

Sylas saw them briefly out of the corner of his eye: the twins were racing towards him like pincers, bats raised. At the last second, he raised the Firebolt and Fred and George crashed into each other with a sound that made Sylas want to vomit.

"Hahaaaa!" raged Lee Jordan, as the two Gryffindor Beaters, hands on their heads, untangled themselves from their tangle. "Such bad luck, boys! You'll have to get up earlier if you want to hit a Firebolt! And Gryffindor again with Johnson in possession of the Quaffle - Flint next to her - poke him in the eye, Angelina! - I was only kidding, Professor, I was only kidding - oh no - it's Flint's turn now, Flint's racing towards the Gryffindor goalposts - come on, Wood, stop -!"

But Flint had scored; cheers erupted in the Slytherin corner, and Lee began to swear so loudly that Professor McGonagall made a move to snatch the magic megaphone from him.

"Sorry, Professor, sorry! Won't happen again! Gryffindor in the lead, 30 to 10, and Gryffindor in possession -"

This was quickly becoming the dirtiest game Sylas had ever witnessed. Because Gryffindor had taken such an early lead, the Slytherins quickly resorted to any means necessary to secure the Quaffle. Miles smacked Spinnet with his bat, trying to excuse himself by saying he thought she was a Bludger. George Weasley retaliated by elbowing Miles in the face. Madam Hooch awarded penalties to both teams. The final score was 30 to 20 in Gryffindor's favor.

The snitch had long since disappeared.

Thomas continued to cling to Sylas, who was flying above the others, looking for the small ball - because as soon as Gryffindor was fifty points ahead - Adrian had scored, thirty to thirty.

Miles and Flint took advantage of this to smash both Bludgers at Wood; they hit him in the stomach in quick succession, and Wood, completely groggy, toppled over, barely managing to cling to his broom.

Madam Hooch was furious. "You are not to attack the goalkeeper unless the Quaffle is in the goal area!" she shouted at Miles and Flint. "Penalty for Gryffindor!"

And Johnson failed. Seconds later, Fred Weasley smashed a Bludger at Miles, knocking the Quaffle out of his hands; Adrian snatched it and drove it into the Gryffindor goal – forty to thirty.

Two more goals and he had to catch the Snitch. Just a tiny bit more was missing and this nightmare would be completely over.

Sylas could almost physically feel hundreds of eyes following him as he raced around the field, high above the other players, with only Thomas on his heels. He watched for the golden glint, and in the background, he heard Slytherin scoring another goal.

Now his moment had come.

He looked around nervously. He felt like throwing up from excitement.

And then he saw it. Seven meters above him, the Snitch glittered. Sylas now demanded everything from his Firebolt; the wind roared in his ears; he reached out, but suddenly the broom went limp. Horrified, he turned around. Thomas had thrown himself forward, grabbed the Firebolt's tail, and was dragging it back.

"You -" Sylas was so angry he would have hit Thomas if he could have reached him. Thomas was panting with exertion, holding on tenaciously, but his eyes blazing with malice. He had achieved what he wanted - the Snitch was gone again.

"Penalty! Penalty for Slytherin! I've never seen such a nasty foul!" screamed Madam Hooch, jumping up as Thomas slid back onto his broom.

She shook her fists angrily at Thomas, her hat fell off her head, and now she was screaming in rage. Flint took the penalty kick and put all his strength into the shot. Wood had no chance against him. The Gryffindors were becoming increasingly nervous, and the Slytherins were pushing themselves to their limits.

"Slytherin in the game, Slytherin on the way to the goal - Adrian scores," Lee groaned. "70 to 30 for Slytherin..."

Sylas was now flying so close to Thomas that their knees were touching. He wouldn't let him near the Snitch again...

"Stop it, Ashford!" Thomas shouted irritably as he attempted to turn and Sylas blocked him.

"Angelina Johnson is getting the Quaffle for Gryffindor, go on, Angelina, go on!"

Sylas turned around. All the Slytherin players except him were flying at Johnson, even the goalkeeper - they were trying to block them. Sylas swung the Firebolt around, bent down so he was lying flat on the broomstick, and launched himself. He shot toward the Slytherins like a bullet.

Johnson was so startled by Sylas' sudden appearance that she missed.

Sylas, who had nearly tumbled headfirst into the stands, braked midair, turned around, and shot back to the middle of the field. And then he saw something that made his heart stop. Thomas was diving, his face filled with the certainty of victory. Down there, a few meters above the grass, a small, shimmering golden spot. Sylas whipped the Firebolt into the depths, but Thomas had a massive lead.

"Go! Go! Go!" Sylas urged his broom. He was getting closer to Thomas now - Sylas lay flat on the broomstick and thus escaped a Bludger from Fred. How he was on Thomas's heels. Sylas threw himself forward, took both hands off the broom - pushed Thomas' arm aside.

Sylas yanked his broom out of its dive, his hand holding the Snitch in the air, and the stadium exploded. He whizzed over the crowd, a strange ringing in his ears, clutching the golden ball tightly, its tiny wings flapping hopelessly against his fingers.

A relief like he'd never experienced before washed over him.

He really had caught him.

He really had made Slytherin win the Quidditch Cup!

Then Draco rushed towards him and collapsed into his arms, screaming with joy. Adrian and Miles slapped his back until it really hurt, and the rest of the team just screamed, "We have the cup! We have the cup!"

With their many arms entwined in a single ball, the Slytherin team sank back to earth with hoarse screams. Wave after wave of emerald-green supporters poured over the barriers onto the field. Hands rained down on their backs. Sylas was vaguely aware of the noise rising and the bodies pressing in on him. Then he and the other players were on the shoulders of the crowd. Now that he could see again, he recognized Hagrid, plastered with emerald-green ribbon bows.

"You beat them, Sylas, you beat them! Just wait until I tell Buckbeak!"

Penny and Ben jumped like crazy, all dignified restraint thrown off. Professor Snape just nodded proudly at the whole team, but he too couldn't help but grin mischievously.

And there, Theo and Daphne fought their way to him. They couldn't utter a word. They just beamed as Sylas was carried to the stands, where Dumbledore was waiting for them with the mighty Quidditch Cup.

However, he felt more relief than joy when Flint handed him the trophy.

The celebration was moved to the Slytherin dungeons. Just like last time, they played loud music that could be heard all the way to Gryffindor Tower. Snape sent some house-elves with all sorts of snacks and drinks. Today was a great day for Slytherin. Once again, they had shown all the other houses what they could do.

Sylas plopped down on one of the sofas next to the fireplace. In his hand, he still held the Golden Snitch he had caught. It was silent, only occasionally turning between his fingers. For some reason, Sylas just couldn't let go of it. It was proof that he could hold his own against the Gryffindors.

"That was amazing!" Theo exclaimed. "That was the craziest Quidditch final I've seen in a long time!" It was the first time since their fight that he'd spoken to him with such joy.

"Absolutely!" said Draco, sitting down next to him. "You should have seen Thomas' face, he almost started crying!"

"And Wood!" Daphne chimed in. "He won't be able to leave the tower for the rest of the school year. They have failed miserably."

Butterbeers were passed around, and they toasted today's victory. "To Sylas!" they shouted, raising their glasses. Sylas could only smile crookedly under all the attention. As best he could, he tried to look as happy as the others. The joy they felt must have been incredible.

"If I'd flown, I wouldn't have been able to flatten Gryffindor nearly as much," Draco laughed. "Merlin, I'd love to be with them in the tower right now. The atmosphere there must be horrible!"

"But they deserve it," Sylas said dryly, taking a sip of Butterbeer.

"Fuck yeah!" Miles and Adrian came by laughing, one of them carrying a cake that had somehow found its way into the party, bearing the words "Slytherin rules!" – obviously magically inscribed by one of the house-elves.

The longer the night wore on, the more exuberant the mood became. Someone brought out a magic harp that played strange songs, while several students tried to shoot each other with floating pillows. At one point, a green firework landed in the middle of the common room and exploded in the air into the shape of a giant, sparkling snake. They were so loud that it was a miracle no one complained.

Well past midnight, only Sylas, Flint, and Adrian remained in the common room. Naturally, the older Slytherins couldn't resist bringing back firewhiskey and wizard's wine. But this time, Flint and Adrian had drunk too much.

Flint was stretched out on the sofa, laughing his head off, while Adrian sat on the floor, leaning against his sofa. All Sylas could hear was inane chatter. He sat across from them, quietly watching the spectacle.

Adrian rummaged around in his shoulder bag with lanky movements and, with a triumphant grin, pulled out a homemade cigarette that Sylas was pretty sure contained ground mandrake leaves.

"This has to be smoked today!" he slurred with a crooked grin.

Flint just grumbled, "I'm out. The Firewhiskey is upsetting my stomach, and you look like you're about to pass out, if you walk any stairs, Adrian."

Adrian just sighed loudly and his gaze slid to Sylas, then back to the cigarette. "Well then, this is yours, Sylas," he grinned, holding it out to him. "For you, as a reward for today's victory. You deserve it."

Sylas hesitated for a moment, but then he remembered how light he'd felt the last time. "I won't say no," he grumbled, taking the cigarette.

"The Astronomy Tower should be empty. Percy definitely won't be up there with Clearwater after today's defeat," Flint grumbled, yawning. "And we're going to bed, Adrian."

They wished him good night and returned to their rooms. Sylas sat for a moment, gazing around the room. It was absolute chaos: crumbs and pillows were everywhere, and the harp was still lying in some corner. After hours, there was finally peace. Not a sound could be heard anywhere except the crackling of the fire.

Sylas took a deep breath and played with the cigarette. He was already pretty tipsy and should be going to bed, but the thought of the view from the Astronomy Tower combined with the feeling of freedom made him hesitate.

Sylas ran his hand through his hair. "Whatever," he muttered to himself, and walked, slightly unsteady, to the entrance of the common room. With silent steps, he scurried along the dimly lit corridors and climbed the stairs to the tower. When he reached the top, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the fresh morning air. He stood for a moment, enjoying the view.

From up here, there was a good view of the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest. It was one of the most beautiful views of Hogwarts Sylas had seen so far. And for the first time in weeks, he finally felt like he could breathe again. He had won the Quidditch Cup, his detention with Snape was officially over, and only the Lupin thing was still bothering him. However, it remained unusually quiet, which led Sylas to assume Lupin had never looked for his name on the map.

Like last time, he sat down on the cold stone floor, took out his wand, lit the cigarette, and took a deep drag. The smoke burned his lungs, but the feeling of weightlessness emerged a few seconds later.

All the tension of the past week literally fell from his shoulders, and his body automatically relaxed. He leaned back, braced himself with his hands behind his him, and let his head fall back. Above him, the sky stretched in velvety darkness, dotted with hundreds of thousands of stars that seemed to gaze down at him like cold sparks. He took another drag. With his eyes closed, Sylas listened to the rustling of the wind as it swept through the tower's battlements and the distant gurgling of the black lake.

Suddenly he heard quiet footsteps. He immediately opened his eyes and looked around. His heart rate rose; after all, he couldn't afford to get caught again. Very quietly, he slid along the floor behind a pillar so he was out of sight. He peered out from behind the pillar and for a moment he thought he saw a figure at the entrance. Sylas blinked and rubbed his eyes. The second time he looked, he saw nothing. The brief tension vanished. Perhaps he had only imagined he had seen something. Perhaps tiredness was simply playing tricks on him. The Astronomy Tower was empty, as he had expected. It remained far too quiet for a Professor or Filch to be up here anyway. He shrugged, took another drag, and let the greenish smoke rise into the air, leaning against the pillar.

And yet the feeling remained that he was not alone.

He finished smoking and threw the filter down from the tower. Sylas sat for a moment, enjoying the cool air that completely surrounded him.

But then –

"ACHOO!"

Sylas turned around - a fraction too quickly - and examined the Astronomy Tower once more. That was definitely a female sneeze. He slowly took out his wand and cautiously stood up. Fighting now would be incredibly unfortunate. His head was completely wrapped in cotton wool, and he couldn't think straight.

"Lumos," he whispered softly, and the tip of his wand began to glow. His eyes scanned vigilantly for someone, but he couldn't focus on anything. He rubbed his eyes repeatedly, trying to find someone, but to no avail.

"Who's there?" he asked, a little louder. "Come out while I still play nice."

For a moment, everything remained completely silent, until suddenly someone stepped out of the shadows. He would always recognize her fiery red hair - even in the mids of darkness.

"It's me," she said softly, approaching him. Her cheeks were slightly pink, and Sylas recognized the goosebumps on her arms. Without thinking, he clumsily removed his cloak and wrapped it around her.

"Why are you up here?" he asked, rather laboriously zipping up his cloak. It took quite a bit of concentration to get the buttons done when he was mentally wrapped in cotton. "Especially without a jacket. It's cold."

"I -" she interrupted herself, biting her lip briefly. "I saw you leaving the common room... and I was curious where you were going in the middle of the night." Ginny looked into his eyes and then immediately looked away again.

"You shouldn't sneak around at night," Sylas warned her.

"Neither should you," Ginny countered.

A smile crept onto his lips. "You're right."

A brief silence fell over the two of them. Ginny avoided eye contact, while Sylas studied her with sad eyes. Deep inside him, a feeling rose that he had been trying to ignore for months.

Hesitantly, he took a strand of her beautiful hair between his fingers. It was incredibly soft. Nostalgia surged through him, as if he'd done this countless times before.

"You have such beautiful hair," whispered into the darkness, more to himself than to her.

Ginny turned crimson. "T-thanks," she stammered.

With trembling fingers, he let go of her hair. His vision blurred slightly, and he blinked several times to focus. At that moment, Ginny looked at him. Her brown eyes seemed even larger in the darkness - almost luminous.

He felt an oppressive warmth rising in his chest - a feeling he 'd been ignoring for months. He should say something, anything, but his head felt dull, his thoughts slipping through his fingers like smoke.

He cleared his throat and stepped back a little, allowing the distance between them to grow.

"You should go -"

"Why do you always look at me like that?" she suddenly asked.

Surprised by her hurt tone, he looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"You always have this ... sad, nostalgic look in your eyes when you talk to me," she explained softly, wrapping her cloak more tightly around herself. "One moment you're distancing yourself from me, and the next you're giving me your cloak so I don't freeze."

Sylas tried to explain himself, but the words stuck in his throat. He just stared at her with wide eyes.

"I just don't understand you, Sylas," she whispered softly. "Why are you acting so... so... conflicted around me?"

Sylas breathed slowly, as if that would buy him more time. The chill of the night bit into his skin, but the warmth radiating from Ginny seemed even stronger. He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to push away the rising pressure in his chest.

"I..." his voice broke, so he tried again, more quietly this time. "I don't want to ... hurt you."

Ginny frowned in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

He let out a harsh, almost desperate laugh that was immediately lost in the wind. It simply couldn't be happening.

"I'm no good for you, Ginny," he said finally, each word weighing heavily on his tongue. "You ... deserve better."

She took a step toward him, hesitant, as if afraid of pushing him away even further. "But maybe I don't want better," she said quietly.

He took another step back, almost tripping over his own feet in his daze.

The world spun slowly, as if in slow motion, and yet he could feel the warmth of her presence, as if it had become part of his own skin.

"You ... don't understand, Ginny," he murmured, more to himself than to her. He searched for the right words, but couldn't find them. It simply couldn't be. No matter how much his body told him what he felt for Ginny, at the same time, there was this overwhelming feeling of rejection at the mere thought of it.

"Then... explain it to me,... please ," she said quietly, her voice filled with desperation, but Sylas could not comply with her request.

"You should go," he muttered, his voice rough and broken. "Otherwise you'll get caught."

Sylas' heart pounded against his chest. He desperately needed to put some distance between them so she would finally break away from him. With a jerky movement, he extinguished the light on his wand. Darkness immediately enveloped them again, only the stars cast a faint, cold light on the tower.

He turned, forced his gaze away from her, and stepped back into the shadow of the tower, his heart aching with every step.

Ginny stood there for a moment, motionless, her silhouette delicate and lost in the darkness.

Then he heard her slowly turn and walk down the stairs and with her, all the warmth from that night vanished.

Chapter 37

June, 1994

For at least a week, all of Slytherin reveled in happiness. Even the heavens seemed to be celebrating their Cup victory. Only Sylas seemed to have fallen short of his happiness. He kept thinking about his conversation with Ginny. Since then, she'd avoided him like the plague. No words, he deserved it, that's exactly what he wanted. Still, he felt like throwing up. He was actually prepared for the nastiest looks Astoria would give him, but apparently Ginny kept the conversation to herself - for now.

June dawned, the clouds cleared, and it became humid, and everyone just wanted to stroll through the meadows and lounge in the grass with a few pitchers of ice-cold pumpkin juice. Every now and then, you might be able to play a game of Goblin Stone or watch the giant octopus drifting dreamily through the lake.

But it didn't work – the exams were approaching, and instead of lazing around outside, the students had to stay in the castle, racking their brains while the summer breezes wafted in enticingly through the open windows. Even Fred and George Weasley had been seen working; soon they would achieve their first O.W.L. (Wizarding Degree). Percy was preparing for the N.E.W.T. (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test), the highest degree Hogwarts had to offer. Since Percy wanted to apply to the Ministry of Magic, he needed the best grades. He became increasingly spiteful, he issued severe punishments to anyone who disturbed the peace in the library.

Exam week began, and an unnatural silence spread through the castle. On Monday at lunchtime, the third-year students returned from Transfiguration. Exhausted and pale-faced, they compared their results and complained about how difficult the tasks had been this time. For example, they had to transfigure a teapot into a turtle. Sylas had a bad feeling after the exam. His turtle had looked more like a toad. Theo's turtle puffed out steam, while Daphne's still had the pattern of Chinese porcelain painting as its shield. Of the three of them, only Draco managed to conjure a solid turtle. Everyone else in the class had similar problems, including Granger.

Then, after a hasty lunch, they went straight back upstairs for the Charms exam. Professor Flitwick tested them on Cheering Spells. Sylas, nervous as he was, took it a little too far. Daphne, his partner, started laughing uncontrollably and couldn't control herself, so she eventually had to be taken to a quiet room to cool down before taking the exam herself. After dinner, they quickly returned to their common room, not to relax, but to study Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, and Astronomy.

The next morning, Hagrid administered their exam with a grin on his face. He had prepared a large tub of fresh Flubberworms for the class and explained that if they wanted to pass, the worms would have to still be alive after an hour. Since Flubberworms thrived when left completely alone, this was the easiest exam of their lives. Theo, Draco, and Sylas eyed Daphne very critically, feeling that the girl might have had a hand in these simple tests. But the Greengrass didn't let on.

That same afternoon, they had Potions class, and Sylas had to admit, it was going pretty well by his standards. They had to make an Elixir of Confusion, and from all those hours of detention, he knew all he needed to do was add a toad's liver to thicken it.

At midnight it was Astronomy, up on the highest tower. But Sylas could hardly concentrate and was sure he'd misinterpreted some of the constellations. All he could think about was that fiery red hair. Wednesday mornings were History of Magic classes, and Sylas scribbled down everything he could think of, everything he'd written down on the subject during last summer's holidays. He wanted nothing more than to have a tub of Fortescue's coconut ice cream in front of him. Wednesday afternoon was the Herbology exam, in the greenhouses under the blazing sun; then, with sunburned necks, they went straight back to the common room, where they longed for Friday afternoon, when it would all be over.

The penultimate exam on Thursday morning was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin had prepared the most unusual task of all, a sort of obstacle course out in the sun. They had to trudge through a deep pool lurking with a Grindlefrog, cross a series of foxholes full of redcaps, wade through a boggy field, ignoring the misleading directions of a limping scoundrel, and finally climb into an old trunk and wrestle with a new boggart.

"Excellent, Sylas," murmured Lupin as Sylas climbed out of the trunk. "Full marks."

With a slight smile, Sylas stayed a while longer to watch Theo, Daphne, and Draco. Daphne was making good progress until she encountered the limping scumbag, who managed to confuse her so much that she sank waist-deep in the mud. Draco also made it through without a hitch. Theo also managed everything perfectly until he reached the trunk containing the boggart. After a minute inside, he burst out, completely distraught.

"Theo," said Lupin, astonished, "what's going on?"

"Nothing, Professor," he croaked, wiping away his sweat. "The boggart was just too much."

Sylas had a bad feeling about this. He hadn't forgotten what Theo's Boggart was, and he could understand why Mr. Ashford, of all people, might be a Boggart. Yet he simply didn't understand the connection between the two.

Sylas and Daphne had their final Divination exam, Draco had his Arithmancy exam at the same time, and on Friday morning, he and Theo finished with Ancient Runes. They climbed the marble stairs, said their goodbyes at the top, and Sylas and Daphne continued up to the seventh floor, where several members of their class were already sitting on the spiral staircase to Professor Trelawney's room, quizzing each other at the last minute.

"She wants to pick us all off one by one," they heard Longbottom say. A Book of Unclouded Future lay on his lap, open to the chapter on crystal balls. "Have any of you ever seen anything in a crystal ball?" he asked worriedly.

"Your anger, surely," Daphne whispered to him, whereupon Sylas began to smile.

The queue in front of the classroom only gradually shortened. Everyone who descended the silver ladder was peppered with hissed questions:

"What did she want to know? Was it difficult?"

But nobody wanted to say anything.

"She says she knows from her crystal ball that something terrible will happen to me if I tell!" squeaked Longbottom as he climbed down the ladder.

"She does it cleverly," Daphne snorted.

"And yet no one notices that she's a fraud," Sylas murmured amusedly.

"Granger did, but that's because her Inner Eye is clouded," laughed Daphne.

Parvati came down the ladder, glowing with pride. "She says I have everything a true seer needs," she announced proudly. "I've seen so much!"

And she climbed down the spiral staircase where Lavender was waiting for her.

"Daphne Greengrass," said the familiar, smoky voice above their heads. Daphne grimaced, climbed the silver ladder, and disappeared. Now only Sylas remained. He sat on the floor with his back against the wall and listened to the buzzing of a fly at the sunlit window. He was already thinking about what kind of story he wanted to tell the old woman.

Finally, after twenty minutes, Daphne's golden mane appeared.

"How did it go?" asked Sylas, standing up.

Daphne just laughed and shook her head. "I looked really deep into the globe and said something amazing was going to happen this summer, something that also terrified me," she said with a grin. "She totally believed it. See you at Hagrid's; I'll have to tell him the story."

"See you later," said Sylas. They had agreed to meet at Hagrid's to tell him about their remaining exams. Except for Theo, who had to study for Ancient Runes one last time. Draco, on the other hand, was sure he'd studied enough for the subject and wanted to come to Hagrid's as well.

Then Professor Trelawney called out, "Sylas Ashford!"

The tower room was stuffier than ever; the curtains were drawn, the fire blazed, and the sweet fumes made Sylas cough. He stumbled through the tangle of chairs and tables to where Professor Trelawney sat in front of a large crystal ball.

"Good day, my dear," she said gently. "If you would be so kind as to look into the sphere... take your time... and then tell me what you see..."

Sylas leaned over the crystal ball and stared into it, searching with all his might for something other than the white mist, but nothing happened.

"Well?" Professor Trelawney asked gently. "What do you see?"

The heat overwhelmed him and the perfumed smoke wafting from the fire stung his nose.

"A dark figure..." said Sylas.

"Who does she resemble?" whispered Professor Trelawney. "Think about it..."

Sylas let his thoughts wander and they landed on the Grimm and Sirius Black.

"A shaggy, black dog..." he murmured slowly, pretending to look deeper into the sphere.

"Indeed!" whispered Trelawney, busily scribbling notes on the sheet of parchment on her knees.

"My dear -"

But Sylas interrupted her with a loud inhalation. "No!" he shouted loudly, drawing her full attention.

"What do you see? What do you see!" she asked tensely.

"That shaggy black dog is... he is... the mass murderer Sirius Black!" he said, doing his best to make his fingers tremble credibly.

"Are you sure?" Professor Trelawney pressed. "Are you absolutely sure, my dear? Do you perhaps see anything else? How he threatens someone?"

"No..." said Sylas, the stuffy air making him feel sick.

"No new victim?"

"No…" Sylas said again, wishing for nothing more than to finally be back in the dungeon. "He… it wasn't him. He smiles at me wistfully and apologizes…"

Professor Trelawney scribbled down the notes with a sigh. "Well, my dear, I think we'll leave it at that. You've certainly done your best."

Relieved, Sylas stood up, grabbed his bag and turned to leave, but suddenly a loud, rude voice sounded behind him.

"It will happen tonight."

Sylas whirled around and looked at his professor. She was frozen in her armchair, cross-eyed and open-mouthed.

"Pardon?" Sylas asked. For a moment, he hoped he'd simply misheard.

But Professor Trelawney didn't seem to hear him. Her eyes began to roll. Sylas was gripped by fear. She looked as if she were about to have a seizure. He considered running to the hospital wing, hesitated - and then Professor Trelawney spoke again, in the same rude voice, quite unfamiliar from her mouth:

"The Dark Lord is lonely, abandoned by friends and followers. His servant has been in chains for twelve years. Tonight, before the twelfth hour, the servant will throw off his chains and make his way to his master. With his help, the Dark Lord will seize power once more and rule more terribly than ever. Tonight... before the twelfth hour... the servant will set out... back to his master ..."

Professor Trelawney's head slumped onto her chest. She made a grunting noise. Sylas stood there staring at her. Then, quite suddenly, her head jerked up.

"I'm so sorry, my boy," she said dreamily, "the heat, you know... I must have dozed off for a moment..."

Sylas stared at her intently.

"Is something wrong, my dear?"

"You ... you just told me that ... the Dark Lord will return... that his servant will return to him..."

Professor Trelawney seemed genuinely perplexed. "The Dark Lord? He Who Must Not Be Named? My dear boy, that's not something to joke about... coming back, so listen - "

"But you just said it! You said the Dark Lord—"

"I think you too dozed off for a moment, my dear!" said Professor Trelawney. "Of course, I would never presume to predict something so absurd!"

Lost in thought, Sylas climbed the ladder and down the spiral staircase... Had he heard a genuine prediction from Professor Trelawney? Or was she just trying to end the exam on her own terms, with something that would make a powerful impression?

On his way back to the dungeon, he encountered many people, laughing, joking, liberated, on their way out of the castle to lie in the sun for a while. When he passed through the stone wall to the common room, almost no one was there. Over in a corner, only Theo was crouching, engrossed in his book on Ancient Runes. Sylas brought his things back into the room and went over to him.

"So?" he asked. "Are you prepared?"

Theo looked up. "Yeah... yeah, something like that. I hope so," he murmured, running his hand through his hair, seemingly tense. "How did Divination go?"

"Well..., not as good as I hoped," Sylas sighed. "I guess she didn't quite buy my story -" He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether he should tell him what Trelawney had told him.

Poison green met sky blue.

"Everything okay?" Theo asked after a brief moment of silence.

"Yeah..., sorry, everythings ... fine," Sylas assured him. "I'm going to Hagrid's, I don't want to keep you from studying."

He was just turning around when Theo suddenly grabbed his wrist. Confused, Sylas turned to him and looked at him questioningly. An uncomfortable silence spread between them until Theo let go again.

"I... I wanted to ... apologize," Theo mumbled, looking away.

Sylas raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

Theo sighed heavily. "About the whole thing with... Oliver. I've been way too hard on you about it. Ever since he left, you've just looked permanently depressed. Until a few weeks ago, I didn't realize how much he actually meant to you..."

Sylas rubbed the back of his neck. "It's okay," he murmured. "You had your reasons, and I mean, your approach is fundamentally based on logical deduction. I'm not mad at you for doubting... Oliver's... existence."

Theo shook his head, as if trying to dismiss Syla's words. "Logic or not, I shouldn't have attacked you like that," he said quietly. His gaze slid back to his book, but his fingers gripped the pages as if he was forcing himself to keep the thread of the story.

"Let's just forget it," Sylas said. "You only meant well and were worried about me. The fact that you even noticed is both impressive and creepy."

Theo twisted his mouth into a crooked smile. "Have to. You're one of my closest friends."

For a moment they just sat there while the lake bubbled.

Sylas sighed again. "I really need to get to Hagrid. Otherwise he'll think Black took me."

Theo nodded. "Have fun."

When Sylas was almost at the door, Theo called after him, "Hey, Sylas?"

He turned around.

"Just... just take care of yourself, okay?"

Sylas grinned weakly and nodded before the stone wall closed behind him and he made his way to Hagrid.

Outside, the air was mild, and the sky was bathed in a golden light, reflecting in the castle windows. Sylas tucked his hands into the pockets of his cloak and made his way toward Hagrid's hut at the edge of the forest.

Trelawney's prophecy, which had been haunting his mind until a few minutes ago, was completely gone. His thoughts revolved only around Theo's apology. There was something about the way he had said it that struck him as odd. Sylas had the feeling there was another reason why Theo had behaved that way back then.

He shook his head slightly, as if trying to banish the words. If that were true, Theo would surely have told him; he was just worried about him - nothing more.

Almost imperceptibly, his steps had slowed. The path to Hagrid's was empty; most of the students were still out in the sun or by the Black Lake. He stood on the hill and paused briefly. The dream from a few weeks ago came to the forefront. He had stood right here with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger when Buckbeak was beheaded.

A strange feeling spread that he couldn't quite interpret. He let his gaze wander and in the distance, he recognized a figure. At the very edge of the forbidden forest stood someone wrapped in a long dark cloak that fluttered gently in the wind, the hood pulled low over his face.

And even though Sylas had no idea who that was, he felt a cold sting run right through the scar on his forehead. An unpleasant tingling sensation spread down the back of his neck.

Was that Sirius Black?

He stopped, undecided, and looked behind him for a second, hoping to alert a student or teacher. But when he turned his gaze back to the figure, it was gone.

With a queasy feeling, he walked down the hill to the cabin, but his eyes were always fixed on the forbidden forest.

Outside the door, he could already hear Hagrid's deep laugh and Daphne's voice, who was talking about Divination. He knocked, and Fang immediately started barking.

"Catch! Sit!" he heard Hagrid's voice until his broad stature filled the doorway. "Ah, Sylas! Good thing you made it. Come in, we're talking about your exams."

Sylas smiled weakly at him, trying not to let his tension show. Daphne and Draco were already sitting at the table with a fresh cup of pumpkin juice and a slice of lemon cake.

Daphne beamed at him, already smiling. "So? How did fortune-telling go?" she asked.

Sylas sat down with them and shook his head slightly. "I think she didn't quite buy it," he sighed, taking a bite of the lemon cake. His face immediately twisted; it was extremely sour.

"What did you tell her?" Draco asks, stifling a laugh.

"I said I saw the Grimm, who then transformed into Sirius Black, and in the end it turns out he never actually wanted to hurt me," Sylas said with his mouth full.

Draco could only shake his head, and Daphne looked at him hopelessly. "Of course she doesn't believe that," Daphne said. "The entire Ministry and every teacher has been informed that Black has his sights set on you. After all, you foiled Voldemort's plan two years ago."

Hagrid sucked in a sharp breath as he placed a cup of pumpkin juice in front of Sylas. "Don't say the name!" he growled at her.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Hagrid!" she apologized immediately, but turned her attention back to Sylas. "Anyway, it's as clear as day that he's after you."

"Yet he hasn't attacked me personally once," Sylas interjected. "He broke into Gryffindor Tower twice. Why?" It was a discussion they'd had several times before, and several times they couldn't come up with a logical answer. "Maybe because he's not after me." Deep down, he was pretty sure, but how could he convince his friends with a stupid feeling?

Draco snorted. "And maybe Uncle Sev will be a professor of Muggle Studies tomorrow."

Hagrid laughed raucously, his whole body shaking. "Snape and Muggle Studies... that would be something." Then he became serious again and scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Still... with Black's past, I wouldn't gamble on it, Sylas. Dangerous man, has many lives on his conscience."

Sylas sipped his pumpkin juice, which made his lips curl, and nodded slowly. "I know, Hagrid," he murmured. "But somehow nothing about Black's behavior makes sense."

They talked for a while about the exams they had taken, their plans for the summer, and all the little stories that had accumulated over the past few weeks.

Daphne laughed as she recounted how she 'd almost set her cauldron on fire in Potions by accidentally using dragon's blood instead of burlap. Draco boasted - as always - about getting a straight A in Defense Against the Dark Arts, even though Sylas and Daphne exchanged glances; they'd experienced the exam themselves and knew Draco had been sweating quite a bit by the end.

"And what are you doing during the holidays?" Sylas finally asked, leaning back in a relaxed manner while Fang leaned heavily against his legs.

Daphne rolled her eyes slightly. "My mother is planning another dozen boring social evenings. I'll probably spend half the summer smiling politely in some stuffy parlor and hoping no one notices me playing cards with Astoria under the table."

Draco grinned. "At least you have good food. Things are going to be terrible here this year—my father is planning an 'important trip.' And I'm allowed to come along." His tone made it clear he wasn't enthusiastic about it.

"Travel? Where to?" Sylas asked curiously.

Draco shrugged. "Something business-related. Maybe France or Bulgaria. I think Father wants to renew old contacts. But we're going to the Quidditch World Cup!" His eyes lit up. "Father got front-row tickets!"

Daphne also began to glow. "That's right! I almost forgot. We wanted to go too, but I don't know if my parents even have time," she groaned dejectedly.

"I'll talk to my parents," Draco assured her. "Maybe they'll let us go together. You too, Sylas. As Slytherin's top Seeker, you certainly can't miss the World Cup!"

Hagrid, who was just placing a new jug of steaming pumpkin juice on the table, laughed. "The World Cup, eh? It's going to be a huge spectacle. Ireland versus Bulgaria, I hear. It's going to be a tough fight if Krum plays."

"Krum is a phenomenon," Sylas said approvingly. "Have you ever seen him fly? He moves on his broom like a vulture on prey." The Slytherin team only ever talked about Krum; he was the Seeker of the entire wizarding world.

"Well, you're very busy. And you, Sylas?" asked Hagrid. "Apart from the World Cup, of course."

Sylas hesitated briefly. "I'm just spending time at home with my grandparents. Nothing special. Maybe I'll visit one or two old friends in the area... We'll see." He spared himself the details. After all, he'll probably have to tend the garden all summer again. But there was a glimmer of hope; Michael and Sebastian had probably left the orphanage long ago.

"Maybe we can get you away from home for a few weeks," Daphne murmured, looking over at Draco. "Ask your parents if they can take him in for a week or two, and I'll ask mine too. Just to be on the safe side," Daphne said.

Sylas smiled weakly. Merlin, how grateful he would be if he really didn't have to spend all those weeks in the orphanage.

Suddenly they heard a faint scratching sound in a teapot. Everyone looked at each other in confusion.

"You heard that too, right?" asked Sylas.

"That scratching? Definitely," Draco replied.

They remained completely silent and looked around the hut, trying to detect the scratching. A faint squeak sounded, and even Fang pricked up his ears.

"Ah! That's right!" came Hagrid's sudden cry, standing up and walking over to a teapot on his shelf. "The little rascal turned up at my place a few days ago. He helped himself to my cheese stash." He fumbled around in the pot until he pulled out an incredibly ugly rat. "Ginny told me Ron was missing his rat, Scabbers. I was actually going to give it back, but so much happened that I forgot and just let him live here."

"Scabbers?" asked Daphne. "I'd have bet Granger's cat ate him. Well, at least Weasley won't be crying so much anymore."

Hagrid handed him to Daphne, who carefully picked him up. Scabbers looked horrible. He was thinner than ever, and thick clumps of hair had fallen out, leaving large bald patches. He wriggled in Ron's hand as if desperately trying to escape.

"It's okay, Scabbers," said Daphne, stroking him. "There's no cat here. No one will hurt you."

Hagrid looked out the window and gasped in horror. "Merlin, it's getting dark!" he said. "You'd better go back to the castle right now and give Ginny her love. I've been keeping an eye on that little rascal like a hawk."

Daphne stuffed Scabbers into her bag, and Draco and Sylas put on their robes. Hagrid opened the door for them, and they said their goodbyes. They walked up the grassy slope toward the castle. The sun was now sinking quickly over the horizon; the sky had turned a clear gray, tinged with purple, but in the west, it glowed ruby red.

Daphne stood rooted to the spot.

"Daphne?" asked Draco.

"It's Scabbers—it just won't give you any peace—" She had bent down and tried to hold Scabbers in her pocket, but the rat was seized with raging fear; squealing madly, writhing and scratching, it tried to sink its teeth into Daphne's hand.

"Oh, Scabbers! I won't hurt you!" she hissed at the animal.

"We should move on, Daphne. If McGonagall catches us out here in the dark, she'll definitely deduct a lot of house points," Sylas muttered.

"I'm coming – Scabbers, stay here –"

They continued on, Draco and Sylas in front, Daphne behind them. Daylight was quickly fading. When they reached open ground, darkness descended upon them like a curse. Now they could not afford to be caught.

"Calm down, Scabbers," Daphne hissed, pressing her hand to her breast pocket. The rat kicked and scratched frantically. Daphne stopped and tried to force Scabbers deeper into the pocket. "What the hell is wrong with that rat? Just as cheeky as Weasley—ouch! He bit me!"

"Not so loud, Daphne!" Draco warned her.

"He - just - doesn't - want - to - stay - there -"

Scabbers was obviously terrified. He struggled with all his might, trying to escape Ron's grasp.

"What's wrong with him -?"

But Sylas had already seen it—something creeping toward them, its body pressed to the ground, its wide-open yellow eyes glowing eerily in the darkness—Crookshanks. Whether he could see it or was just following Scabbers's squeaks, Harry couldn't tell.

"Crookshanks?" Daphne muttered, confused. "No, Crookshanks, get out of here!"

But the cat came closer.

"Scabbers—no!" Too late—the rat slipped from Daphne's fingers, fell to the ground, and rustled away. With a mighty leap, Crookshanks took off after her, and before Sylas or Draco could even move a hand, Daphne ran after the two animals.

"Daphne!" Draco sighed. Sylas and Draco glanced at each other briefly, then they too dashed forward. Ahead of them, they heard the rapid drumming of Daphne's feet.

"Leave him alone - go away - Scabbers, come here -"

There was a dull thud.

"Got you! Get out of here, Crookshanks—"

Sylas and Draco almost tripped over Daphne. She was lying on her back on the floor, but Scabbers was back in her hands.

"Merlin, you should have just let Crookshanks eat him. Weasley thinks Scabbers is dead anyway," Draco muttered, helping Daphne to her feet.

"Absolutely not. I can't leave the poor rat to his fate," she said. Sylas could only shake his head. Daphne's love of animals was unbeatable.

But before they could continue on their way, before they could even catch their breath, they heard the faint drumming of giant paws... something came bounding towards them, silent as a shadow - a huge, pale-eyed, jet-black dog.

Sylas reached for his wand, but too late – the dog had made a mighty leap and struck his chest with its front paws; he fell to the ground in a swirl of hair; he felt the dog's hot breath above him, saw its finger-length teeth –

But the force of his leap caused the dog to roll over Sylas; he felt as if all his ribs had been broken; numb, he tried to stand up, but he heard the dog growling and preparing for another attack.

In her shock, Daphne dropped the rat, which ran straight towards Draco.

"Draco! Catch him!" she called to him.

With a disgusted expression, Draco grabbed the rat and held it tightly in his hand. "Damn, he feels disgusting."

The dog lunged again, but this time it only pushed Sylas aside—and its jaws clamped around Draco's outstretched arm, causing him to cry out loudly and fall to the ground. Sylas threw himself at the dog, grabbing a handful of fur, but the monster dragged Draco away as effortlessly as if he were a rag doll.

Then, out of nowhere, something hit Sylas so hard in the face that he lost his footing again. Daphne screamed in pain, too, and he heard her fall. Sylas fumbled for his wand—

" Lumos !" he whispered.

The wandlight fell on the thick trunk of a tree; they had tracked Scabbers in the shadows of the Whomping Willow, whose branches creaked as if in a storm, lashing out and barring any further progress toward them.

And there, down at the base of the tree trunk, was the dog. He was dragging Draco away, into a large crevice between the roots. Draco struggled desperately, but his head was already gone.

"Draco!" Sylas shouted, trying to follow him, but a strong branch whipped him deadly and he was forced to retreat.

"Sylas, we need to get help," Daphne gasped; she, too, was bleeding; the Whomping Willow had torn open her shoulder.

"This mutt is big enough to eat him, we don't have the time!" Sylas would have loved to rush after him, but another thick branch buzzed through the air, and he managed to duck just in time.

"Sylas, without help we'll never get through—"

Again a branch struck at them, the small twigs clenched like fists.

"If that mutt gets in, we'll get in too," Sylas panted. "You get help, Daphne. The first professor you see, ask for help immediately. I'll find a way in here."

"But -"

"Daphne!"

Sylas looked at her determinedly. She bit her lip briefly and nodded. "Fine, but if you don't come back alive, I'll bet you don't!" she said, taking to her heels.

Sylas focused on the Whomping Willow again. He repeatedly tried to push under the tree, but he couldn't get any closer to the roots without exposing himself to the blows of its branches.

Suddenly, Crookshanks shot past him like an arrow. He dodged the willow's blows like a snake and then placed his front paw on a knot in the tree trunk. Instantly, the entire tree froze, as if it had turned to stone. Not a single branch moved, not a single leaf trembled.

At that moment, Sylas realized he hadn't been hallucinating that night after all. Crookshanks and the hound were friends after all. He immediately readied his wand and approached the tree.

In a flash, he was at the tree trunk, but before they reached the gap between the roots, Crookshanks had already jumped in. All he could see was his tail, strong as a bottlebrush, waving in front of them. Sylas followed him; he crawled in headfirst, slid down a landslide, and landed at the bottom of a very low tunnel. A few meters ahead, Crookshanks' eyes flashed in the light of his wand.

He recognized this tunnel. It was marked on the Marauders' map, but until now, Fred and George thought no one could get in there because of the Whomping Willow. Besides, the map didn't show where the tunnel ended.

He ran as fast as he could, hunched over, catching glimpses of Crookshanks's tail every now and then. The secret passage seemed endless; to Sylas, it seemed as long as the one to Honeydukes. All he could think about was Draco and what the giant dog could do to him... he kept running, his hands almost on the ground, exhausted, gasping for breath...

Finally, the tunnel began to climb; shortly afterward, it turned a corner and Crookshanks disappeared.

But now Sylas could see a faint spot of light coming through a small opening.

He paused, catching his breath, then pushed forward. He raised his wand to see what lay beyond the opening.

It was a desolate and dusty room. The wallpaper was peeling from the walls; the entire floor was covered in stains; all the furniture was broken, as if someone had smashed it. The windows were boarded up.

Sylas frowned. Where the hell had he ended up? He pulled himself up out of the hole and looked around. No one was in the room, but to the right, a door stood open, leading into a dark hallway. His gaze wandered further; the windows were completely boarded up, a completely demolished chair stood next to him, and then he realized where he could be.

In the Shrieking Shack.

The most haunted house in all of Britain.

But no ghost could be responsible for the hut's condition. At that moment, a creaking sound came over his head. Something had moved upstairs. Sylas's heart pounded against his chest, and he gripped his wand even tighter.

As quietly as he could, he crept out into the hallway and up the rickety stairs. A thick layer of dust lay everywhere, but on the steps, something heavy that had been dragged upstairs had left a bright, shiny streak. At the top, he found himself in a dark corridor.

"Nox," he whispered, and the light on his wand went out. Only one door stood open. As he groped closer, he heard something move behind it: a soft moan and then a deep, loud purr.

Sylas swallowed hard, clutched his wand, and raised it, then kicked open the door.

Crookshanks was sprawled on a magnificent four-poster bed with dusty curtains, and at the sight of Sylas, he began to purr loudly. Draco lay on the floor next to the bed, his hands pressed to his head. He was barely able to stay conscious.

Sylas immediately pounced on him.

"Draco!" he said, horrified. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"Sylas," Draco groaned in pain, gritting his teeth. "This is a trap!"

"What?"

"He's the dog... He's an Animagus."

Draco stared over Sylas's shoulder before he was completely taken over and slid to the ground. Sylas whirled around.

The man in the shadows let the door slam shut. His dirty, matted hair reached down to his elbows. If it weren't for the eyes glowing from the deep, dark sockets in his face, he might as well have been a corpse. The waxy skin was stretched so tightly over his bones that his head looked like a skull. A grin revealed his yellow teeth.

Sirius Black.

Chapter 38

"Expelliarmus!" he croaked, pointing Draco's wand at them. Sylas snatched the wand from his hand and it twirled through the air, catching it in the process. Then he took a step closer. His eyes were fixed on Sylas.

"I knew you'd come to help your friend," Black said hoarsely. His voice sounded as if he hadn't needed it for a long time. "Your father would have done the same for me. Brave of you not to get a teacher first. I'm grateful; it will make everything much easier..."

Sylas frowned. The remark about his father echoed in his ears, as if Black had shouted at him. "My ... father?" he asked uncertainly. 

Black looked at him in confusion before his features cleared. "Right, you go to school here under a different name." Sylas' heart began to pound wildly in his chest. "There are rumors that ... Harry Potter ... survived the fire," Black said.

"Rumors that never got confirmed," Syla growled, his gaze flickering to Draco, who lay unconscious on the floor.

Black laughed briefly, a harsh, joyless sound. "Rumors have started swirling again... two years ago, when I saw you in the newspaper... with that sleazy Lockhart, I could hardly believe my eyes," he said, laughing helplessly. "At first, I thought I'd gone mad, that the Dementors had come for me after all, but when I finally managed to escape from Azkaban and saw you with my own eyes — I knew..."

Sylas' throat was as dry as the Sahara Desert. "Knew what?" he croaked, almost afraid to ask the question.

"That Harry Potter ... survived."

Sylas looked at him, astonished.

He knew.

Sirius Black knew his best-kept secret ...

His thoughts raced through his head. Every emotion blazed in his chest. For the first time in his life, he wanted his wand back ... not to defend himself, but to attack ... to kill.

Black knew.

He knew it.

He. knew. it.

"Is that why you want to kill me?" Sylas sneered. "Is that why you escaped, because you realized I'm still alive and a potential enemy for the Dark Lord?!" He clenched his hands into fists. Suddenly, a hatred he'd never experienced before surged through him.

"There will only be one murder today and you are not the victim, Harry," said Black, his grin widening.

Sylas' expression slipped for a moment. Black spoke his name with such... relief and hope that he didn't know how to interpret it. 

"You didn't care last time, did you?" Sylas hissed at him. "Slaughtering all those Muggles to get to Pettigrew didn't bother you... what's wrong? Did you go soft in Azkaban?"

And then he remembered what he thought he believed from the beginning.

Black wasn't after him.

For a moment, he studied the man before him, and in that moment, he realized his situation. He was small, skinny, and only thirteen. Black, on the other hand, was a large, fully grown man, and yet he felt the urge to inflict as much pain on Black as possible, and he didn't care if Black hurt him back.

He clenched his fists, memories flashing his minds from his miserable childhood. The picture in the Trophy room flashed before his eyes and Sylas bit his lip. 

He could have had a normal life ...

Something in him just snapped at that moment and all reasoning left his body, ignoring every weird intuition he ever had.

"You're supposedly responsible for my parents' deaths!" Sylas snarled. He didn't care whether it was really Black or not. In that particular moment he just wanted to punish someone, make someone pay for having to grow up without parents, without family. He wanted someone to feel the exact same pain he had felt all these years. 

And Black was the one everyone blamed for the incident.

Black was the ultimate scapegoat. 

Sylas would do everyone a favour.

Perhaps Black was momentarily stunned by Sylas doing something so stupid, but he didn't raise his wands in time. Sylas grabbed Black's emaciated wrist and pushed the wands away from him; with his other hand, he struck Black's temple so hard his knuckles ached, and they both crashed against the wall.

Blinding flashes of light shot from the wands in Black's hand, and a spark missed Sylas' head by a hair's breadth. Sylas felt Black desperately trying to tear the emaciated arm Sylas was clutching free, but he gripped it even tighter and lashed out madly at Black with his other hand.

Sylas managed to hook the man, causing him to stagger and lose his balance. In that moment of inattention, Sylas grabbed the wands and shoved Black to the ground.

Black lay stretched out against the wall, his flat chest rising and falling rapidly as he followed Sylas slowly approaching him, his wand pointed directly at Black's heart.

"Are you going to kill me, Harry?", again he spoke his name with such softness, it made Sylas doubt his anger.

Sylas stood over him, his wand pointed steadily at Black's chest, and looked down at him. A burning gash etched around his left eye, and his nose was bleeding.

"Death ... is too peaceful for you," Sylas breathed, his hand holding his wand perfectly still.

A tense silence fell between the two, only Black's gasp could be heard. Just as the man began to speak, Sylas unleashed the first curse on him, because if he said his name once again, Sylas wouldn't be able to finally get some sort of revenge.

"Crucio!"

A red beam of light struck Black directly in the chest. A bloodcurdling scream ripped through the eerie emptiness of the Shrieking Shack. Black writhed in pain, his eyes wide open.

The corners of Sylas' mouth twitched slightly upward. This feeling of power was ... incredible. Never had he felt so good or so easy to cast spells. The words of the curse came as naturally to his lips as drinking Butterbeer.

The beam of light disappeared, and Black lay breathing heavily on the creaking wooden floor. "I didn't mean to!" he said suddenly.

Sylas frowned. "You didn't mean for it?" he repeated, hearing the blood rushing in his ears. "You told the Dark Lord where to find them, and you didn't know he would kill them?!"

Black opened his lips once more –

"Crucio!"

Another bloodcurdling scream echoed through the Shrieking Shack. Once again, that sweet sweet satisfaction. Those aching screams were pure euphoria to Sylas' ears. This was exactly what he needed. This was exactly what he had always imagined when reading Evile Moste Magick. The three forbidden curses were the very first thing the book covered.

Never could he imagined, that practicing the dark arts felt so ... thrilling.

"Listen to me!" Black croaked, a pleading note in his voice. "Kill me if you want, but first listen to me... if not, you'll regret it... you don't understand..."

"You can save your lame excuses!" Sylas said, his voice trembling. "Crucio! " Once again, he cast the forbidden curse, and once again he screamed his head off. Sylas just couldn't stop grinning. Finally, someone would feel the pain he'd been carrying all this time.

That quiet voice deep inside him, trying to somehow remind him of reason, was drowned out by utter hatred and euphoria.

Merlin, he felt great!

The curse faded once more, and before either of them could say another word, something rusty-brown scurried past Sylas, and Crookshanks jumped onto Black's chest and curled up right over Black's heart.

Black blinked and looked at the cat. "Get out of here," he grumbled, painfully trying to push Crookshanks away. But Crookshanks dug his claws into Black's cloak and didn't move. The cat turned his ugly, dented face toward Sylas and looked up at him with his large yellow eyes.

Sylas stared at Black and Crookshanks, gripping his wand even tighter. He raised his wand. The time had come. This was the moment to take revenge.

He would kill Black.

He had to kill Black.

This was his chance...

And the seconds dragged on, and still Sylas stood rooted to the spot, clutching his wand. Black, with Crookshanks on his chest, stared up at him. That damned ball of fur staring at him with those glowing yellow eyes made him hesitate, because he remembered what Granger once said.

Cats have an instinct for strange things. 

Or was it the feeling of doubt about Black that he'd been carrying around with him for months that made him hesitate?

He heard Draco's rattling breathing from the bed.

Sylas ignored Crookshanks and focused only on Black's empty, wide-open eyes. He took a deep breath and exhaled, then suddenly the stairs beneath him rumbled, rising dangerously fast, and Sylas still hadn't acted.

He gripped his wand tightly.

Do it now! said a quiet voice in his head.

"Avada –"

The door crashed open with a shower of red sparks, and Sylas whirled around. Professor Lupin burst into the room, his face bloodless, his wand raised threateningly. His eyes flickered over to Draco, crouching unconscious beside the bed, to Sylas, who stood threatening Black with his wand, and then to Black himself, crumpled and bleeding at Sylas' feet.

"Expelliarmus!" cried Lupin.

Once again, the wands flew from Sylas' hand. Lupin deftly caught them, then stepped closer and stared at Black, on whose chest Crookshanks still lay protectively.

Sylas stood there, feeling an uncontrollable rage within him. One damned second longer ... one damned second ... and Black would no longer be among them! Now the Dementors would do his work. For a second, he regretted sending Daphne to fetch a teacher.

Then Lupin spoke, his voice strained to the breaking point.

"Where is he, Sirius?"

Sylas looked at Lupin in surprise. He didn't understand what he meant. Where was who? He looked at Black again. Black's face was completely expressionless. For a few seconds, he didn't move at all. Then, very slowly, he raised his empty hand and pointed at Draco. Astonished, Sylas turned to Draco, who was still lying there unconscious.

"But then..." Lupin murmured, staring at Black so intently as if trying to read his thoughts, "why has he never revealed himself? Unless" - and Lupin's eyes suddenly opened wide, as if he saw something else behind Black, something none of the others could see— "unless it was him... when you swapped... without telling me?"

Very slowly, with his sunken eyes fixed on Lupin's face, Black nodded his head.

"Professor," Sylas began, "what—?"

But he never finished his question, because what he saw choked him. Lupin lowered his wand and stared fixedly at Black. And then he leaped to Black's side, grabbed him by the hand, pulled him up so Crookshanks fell to the ground, and hugged Black like a brother.

Sylas felt as if his stomach had turned.

A laugh escaped his throat. Quiet at first, then it grew louder and louder. He could hardly contain himself any longer; he found the situation so funny and surreal.

"I ... I can't believe it," Sylas' voice was only whispered and flickered with tons of accusations.

Lupin broke away from Black and turned to him, scrutinizing his student with a worried look.

"And I, the idiot, still trusted you!" Sylas continued to laugh.

"Sylas, please listen to me," Lupin cried. "I can explain."

"And you were his friend the whole time! And I never told anyone your secret!" His laughter died down, and he looked at him with such a blank expression that the two grown men began to feel uncomfortable.

"You helped him get into the castle. Now I know why Snape was so suspicious of you! Not just because you're a werewolf, but because you bloody well helped a mass murderer!" he growled, clenching his hands into fists.

An eerie silence fell. Sirius Black continued to stare at Lupin; it was impossible to tell what he thought of all this. Lupin, too, seemed surprisingly calm, albeit rather pale.

"I won't deny that I'm a werewolf, but I didn't help Sirius get into the castle," a strange tremor flitted across his face. "Since when do you know?"

"For a while," whispered Sylas. "At first, I thought you just had a weak immune system, but those potions Snape always brewed for you didn't seem designed for that. Snape's essay also made me aware of werewolves, and I subconsciously remembered when they were sick."

"He'll be pleased," said Lupin coldly. "He had you write the essay in the hope that someone would recognize what my symptoms meant... Did you check the lunar chart and see that I was ill during a full moon? Or did you notice that the Boggart turned into a moon when he saw me?"

"Both," Sylas said dangerously quietly. "The boggart only came to mind a few weeks ago, when you took the Marauder's Map from me. I needed something against - " he interrupted himself, biting his lips.

Lupin smiled painedly. "You needed something against me ... because I found out your secret too."

Sylas' heart sank once more. So he had seen it after all. His real name on the map, and he acted like he didn't know anything the whole time! Another laugh escape his throat, sounding more desperate than pleased. 

"I must say, you're the most cunning wizard your age I've ever met ... Harry," his name was barely a whisper, yet it crushed Sylas like a ton of concrete. "At first, I thought the map lies -"

"The map never lies!" interrupted Black, who suddenly hobbled over to the bed and collapsed onto it as if his legs could no longer support him. Crookshanks jumped up to him and crawled onto his lap, purring.

Sylas kept a close eye on him, as Draco was lying not far away.

"I never could accept the fact that Harry Potter supposedly died in that housefire that day", Lupin explained, with a pained expression on his face. "I couldn't come to terms, that the only son of one of my best friends ... died and I always searched for clues." For a second he paused, his eyes filled with nostalgia when he looked ad Sylas. "I had that feeling from the first moment I saw you, but I couldn't quite interpret it. The fact that you ended up in Slytherin made me doubt. I didn't want to stir up old stories ... but when I saw your name on the map ... I started to investigate."

Sylas bit his lip.

"Funny coincidence that you came to Ashford's Orphanage just a short time after the Dursleys' fire", his voice filled with irony. "But the ultimate proof came during our Dementor training. That's when I saw it," Lupin said, sounding impressed. "You're hiding it pretty well."

Sylas frowned. "Hiding ... what?"

"The scar."

Sylas just looked at him in confusion.

"The scar on your forehead," Lupin explained. Sylas automatically touched his forehead. "I've always been paying special attention to your forehead because it's the proof that you're Harry Potter."

"What are you talking about?" Sylas asked, frustrated.

"He doesn't know, Remus. How could he?" Black croaked. Sylas turned to the starving man and waited for an explanation.

"When Voldemort attacked your house and killed your parents, he meant to kill you too, Harry. He cast the deadliest curse on you, but ... you survived. You became a legend." Black gasped for air and then continued. "Every child knew of your story and your name. Harry Potter, who defeated the darkest wizard as an infant and escaped with only a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead."

Sylas felt as if the ground had been pulled out from under him. That scar… that single damned scar was the reason he'd given himself away… and he hadn't even realized it. How could he? Mr. Ashford had burned and hidden it, the only trace of his true identity.

...

Mr. Ashford ... had hidden them ...

Sylas staggered back, steadying himself against the wall, a hand over his eyes. The realization threatened to overwhelm him, but he couldn't collapse.

Not here.

Not now.

Two adults with wands stood against a child.

"Harry..." Lupin began, but Sylas raised a hand. The way they pronounced this name, shook his core to an extend, where he wanted to rip his ears off.

"Harry Potter ... is ... dead," Sylas breathed heavely, almost mechanically. "Harry Potter died ... in the Dursleys' house fire. Harry Potter is no longer with us."

He tried to take a controlled, deep breath. "And now someone explain to me what the hell this is all about?!" he raised his voice, causing Lupin to flinch briefly. He didn't wanna talk about the whole Harry Potter incident. They were there, because of other matters!

"Did you help Black or not?!", his voice filled with an anger he couldn't describe.

"I never helped Sirius," Lupin said slowly. "Ever since you told me you saw Pettigrew on the map, I've been carefully consulting the map again and again and have seen it."

"Pettigrew is dead," Sylas growled impatiently. "Black killed him! The map is wrong!"

"The. map. is. never. wrong!" Black said again, emphasizing each word.

"I saw your names at Hagrid's hut," Lupin continued. "When you came out, there were four names next to you."

"There were three of us!"

"I didn't want to believe it either," muttered Lupin. "Then when I saw Sirius' name racing toward you and dragging two of you under the Whomping Willow, I just had to see for myself."

"He just dragged Draco down," hissed Sylas

"No, Harry," said Lupin, his gaze wandering over to Draco. "Two of you. Could I take a look at the rat?"

Sylas stood tensely, studying Draco. Something in his jacket pocket began to squeak in panic. He slowly approached Draco, stuck a hand into Draco's robes, and pulled out Scabbers, who was thrashing around desperately. He almost escaped, but Sylas hadn't just caught him by his long, bald tail. Crookshanks raised his head and was snarling.

Lupin took a step closer and seemed to hold his breath as he studied Scabbers carefully.

"What does Weasley's rat have to do with all this?" growled Sylas.

"That's not a rat," Sirius Black suddenly croaked.

"What do you mean - of course it's a rat -"

"No, it's not," said Lupin calmly. "It's a wizard."

"An Animagus," said Black, "named Peter Pettigrew."

Sylas frantically searched their faces for any sign of deception. But there was nothing.

Only conviction.

Suddenly, a stabbing pain shot through his forehead. He groaned and pressed his hand against the scar.

Hadn't he once found it strange that a rat could live to be twelve years old?

The pain got worse.

That's why Black broke into Gryffindor Tower because he wanted to kill Pettigrew.

Pain exploded behind his eyes. He sank to his knees, gasping, the scar burning hot.

He stared at the rat desperately. There ... a missing claw?

Pettigrew. Only one of his fingers had been found.

"So it wasn't Black who betrayed my parents, but Pettigrew?" he asked croakily.

He looked at Black, who nodded thoughtfully; his sunken eyes suddenly lit up. "Harry... it was practically my fault," he murmured. "I persuaded Lily and James at the last moment to take Peter as Secret-Keeper instead of me... I'm to blame, I know it... the night they died... I went to visit Peter, but he wasn't home and it didn't look like a struggle. I went straight to your parents... and when I saw their destroyed house and their bodies... I realized what Peter must have done... what I had done..."

His voice failed and he turned away. "Just before he transformed," said Black. "When I caught him, he screamed so loudly that the whole street heard that I had betrayed James and Lily. Then, before I could cast my curse, he swept his wand behind his back and blew up the entire street, killing everyone within a ten-meter radius ... he disappeared down the drain with the other rats."

Lupin took a step toward Sylas. "Harry, is everything -"

"I'm fine," he growled, getting back to his feet, leaning against the wall behind him. "If that damn rat really is Pettigrew... then prove it." Sylas' eyes flashed dangerously. He would make that rat pay for what he'd done to him, what he'd done to his parents.

Sylas held Scabbers out to Lupin, and he grabbed him. Scabbers began to squeal desperately and struggled against Lupin's grip, biting and scratching.

"Ready, Sirius?" asked Lupin.

He approached Lupin and the writhing rat, and his moist eyes suddenly seemed to burn in their sockets.

"Together?" he said quietly.

"I think so," said Lupin, gripping Scabbers firmly in one hand and his wand in the other. "I'll count to three. One, two, three!"

Blue-white flashes crackled from both wands; for a moment Scabbers remained suspended in the air, the small black figure twitching convulsively, then the rat fell to the ground; another blindingly bright beam of light and then ...

It was as if they were watching a tree grow in fast motion. A head sprouted from the floor, then a body, sprouting limbs, and suddenly, where Scabbers had been lying, writhing and wringing his hands, stood a man. Crookshanks, over on the bed, hissed and growled, his back hair standing on end.

He was a very small man, barely taller than Sylas. A small patch of thin, colorless hair surrounded a large bald patch on his head. He gave the slight impression of a chubby man who had lost a lot of weight in a short time. His skin looked dirty, almost like Scabbers' fur, and his pointed nose and very small, watery eyes were reminiscent of a rat.

He looked around, panting. And Sylas knew... deep down, he knew.

This man was responsible for everything that had happened.

The pain in his forehead disappeared instantly. And all his anger he felt towards Black, shifted to this ugly ass motherfucker. It took everything in him to not launch at that man and kill him with his bare hands. 

"Oh, hello, Peter," Lupin said jokingly, as if it were nothing unusual for rats around him to turn out to be old school friends. "Long time no see."

"S-Sirius... R-Remus..." Even Pettigrew squeaked. His eyes darted toward the door again. "My friends... my old friends..."

Black raised his wand, but Lupin grabbed his wrist and gave him a warning look, then turned back to Pettigrew, his voice deliberately casual and inviting.

"We had a little chat, Peter, about the night Lily and James died. You may have missed the details while you were squealing on the bed."

"Remus," Pettigrew gasped, and Sylas saw beads of sweat break out on his pasty face, "He tried to kill me, Remus..."

"Allegedly," said Lupin, now a touch cooler. "Peter, I'd like to clear up one or two small questions with you, if you're - "

"He's here to try again!" Pettigrew suddenly squeaked, pointing at Black. Sylas saw that he was using his middle finger because his index finger was missing. Utter Wrath arose inside his heart. "He killed Lily and James, and now he's going to kill me too... you have to help me, Remus..." His gaze now fell on Sylas. "Harry, my dear boy. You look just like your father. Believe me, I would never have betrayed him, I would have—"

But he got no further. Sylas pulled Pettigrew to the ground and beat him, unrestrained, blind with rage. He didn't hear Lupin or Black calling.

He only felt the fists raining down on the doughy face, felt the raw rage that finally erupted.

It was this man's fault! He ruined not only his life, but Sirius' as well!

Hands grabbed him, pulling him back. Blood dripped from Pettigrew's swollen face.

"Let me go!" he cried angrily. "It's his fault! Everything is his fault! That damned bastard hid for twelve years just because he was afraid of the Dark Lord's followers. I bet some of them are still mad at you, Pettigrew."

"I don't know... what you're talking about," Pettigrew said again, more shrilly than ever. He wiped his blood-stained face with his sleeve. "If Voldemort's followers are after me, it's only because I brought one of their best men to Azkaban - the spy, Sirius Black!"

Sylas tried to wriggle out of the two men's grasp. "Give me my wand, Lupin! I'll end this! I'll end it once and for all!" he growled, his eyes murderously fixed on Pettigrew, who writhed beneath his gaze.

"Harry, calm down," said Black. "Your parents wouldn't have wanted you to become a murderer because of them."

"I don't care what my parents would have wanted. They're dead!" Sylas cried, fighting back tears. "They're dead because of him! Because of that damned bastard! I'll kill you, you damned rat!"

"Leave it!" Lupin growled, gripping him tighter. "We'll leave him to the Dementors. That's much worse than death. I've already explained that to you."

"Remus is right," said Black. "You said it yourself. Death is too peaceful for him."

Sylas was still seething inside. Just as he was about to tear himself away once more, something suddenly cracked behind them. A door swung open.

"What an... interesting gathering," a cold, cutting voice said.

Sylas turned around and saw Snape standing in the doorway, his wand raised, his lips pressed into a thin line, his black eyes flashing with disgust.

Snape entered slowly, his black cloak swishing behind him as he scanned the scene - Black, Lupin, Sylas, Draco unconscious on the floor, Pettigrew on the ground, covered in blood, whimpering. His gaze lingered on Sylas for a moment longer, his black eyes narrowing slightly.

"I never thought," he said with icy satisfaction, "that I'd find Black alive ... and Peter Pettigrew, who was supposed to be ... dead." His eyes flashed dangerously as he looked at Pettigrew.

He waved his wand at Black and Lupin.

"Back!" he hissed. "Away from the boy."

Lupin and Black immediately let go of Sylas, gave him his wand, and he immediately ran to Draco.

"Ashford, you go back to the castle with Malfoy immediately. You must not allow yourself to be drawn into this any further," Snape said calmly but unequivocally.

Snape stood in front of him – not obviously, but in such a way that, in case of emergency, he stood between him and the threat.

Snape turned to Black and Lupin, his face contorted in disgust. "Sirius Black," he hissed. "And Remus Lupin. Traitor and monster. Together as ever."

Black growled deep in his throat, but Snape ignored him. With an elegant movement, he bound him and Lupin with magical chains that snapped around their bodies.

Pettigrew whimpered on the ground, but Snape barely glanced at him.

Instead, he turned back to Sylas. His voice softened a little, almost fatherly—the way he sometimes spoke to Draco. "You have no more business here, Ashford. Go back to the castle. I'll take care of the rest."

Sylas pressed his lips together, his heart racing. Everything in him screamed to stay, to fight - to finally bring Pettigrew to justice.

Snape saw the hesitation and took half a step closer, his black figure dominating the room.

"You've already shown enough courage," he said quietly. "Courage is a virtue for Gryffindors. We, in Slytherin, know when to fight - and when we're wiser to survive."

He raised his wand slightly, a silent warning, not a command.

Sylas swallowed hard, anger still burning in his chest, but Snape left him no choice. "Professor Snape?"

"What else?"

"As much as I can hardly believe it, Black is ... innocent. Pettigrew betrayed the Potters and is responsible for their deaths. If they're going to punish anyone... it's that damned rat," he growled, trying to keep his anger as low as possible.

Snape examined him, his brow furrowed. "Go, immediately," he hissed.

Sylas grabbed Draco, put his arm over his shoulder, and left the room without a word. Crookshanks ran after him, tiptoeing down the stairs ahead. Down the tunnel, it became difficult to carry Draco and keep Lumos active at the same time. He stumbled forward more than he could walk. After what felt like an eternity, they reached the end of the tunnel.

Crookshanks shot up like an arrow and placed his paws on the knot in the tree trunk, allowing Sylas to easily climb up with Draco in tow.

Night had fallen over the grounds, the only light coming from the distant windows of the castle. Breathing heavily, Sylas hoisted himself and Draco a little farther from the pasture until he sat down in the grass. Dragging Draco all the way there consumed an untold amount of energy.

"Sylas? Sylas!" he heard Daphne's relieved voice.

He whirled around and saw her jump out from behind a tree. Her eyes flickered with concern. "Merlin, I thought he'd killed you!" Her gaze fell on Draco and she sucked in a sharp breath. "What happened? And where's Snape? I was looking for him!"

At that very moment, Draco groaned in pain and opened his eyes. "Fucking hell," he cursed. "That damned bastard has given me a good beating."

"Did Snape get Black?" Daphne asked worriedly, looking at Sylas, who had escaped without major injuries. "You're okay, aren't you? He didn't hurt you."

"He wasn't after me," Sylas gasped.

Draco frowned and Daphne just gave him questioning looks.

"I'm serious, Black really isn't after me. He was after Scabbers the whole time."

"Weasley's rat? Bloody hell, why?" Draco asked, horrified.

"Because Scabbers isn't a rat, he's an Animagus. He's ... Peter Pettigrew."

"What? What nonsense, Pettigrew is dead. Black killed him - " At that very moment, four men climbed out of the Whomping Willow. Lupin was at the front, while Black and Pettigrew were both tied to Snape.

"Not a single wrong move, Peter," Lupin said threateningly, still pointing his wand at Pettigrew's chest.

"That's not possible," Daphne breathed in horror.

Snape noticed his three students on the lawn. "Greengrass, Ashford, Malfoy, back to the castle with you. None of you should be here!"

Sylas immediately stood up and held out a hand to Draco. "Can you stand up?" he asked.

Draco hoisted himself up and staggered slightly. "I can't walk alone. Everything's spinning," he gasped. Daphne immediately helped as well, stabilizing him from the other side.

A hole opened in the clouds in the sky. Suddenly, they cast dark shadows on the grass. The moon bathed them in its light. Snape, Black, and Pettigrew collided with Lupin, who had stopped dead in his tracks. Black froze, as did Snape and Pettigrew.

Sylas could see Lupin's outline. He had become stiff. Then his arms and legs began to shake violently.

Black's gaze turned pleadingly toward the children. "Run!" he shouted. "Run as fast as you can!"

But given Draco's condition, they couldn't just run. "What's going on?" Draco croaked as he tried to keep up.

A horrific growl. Lupin's head stretched, then his body. His shoulders shrank. Hair was clearly visible sprouting from his face and hands, and his hands clenched into claw-like paws. Crookshanks's hair stood on end, and he backed away.

"Lupin is a werewolf!" gasped Sylas. "And apparently forgot to take his potion!"

"What?!" his two friends cried in shock, but there was no time for explanations.

As the werewolf reared up and opened its long maw, Black disappeared from Snape's side. He, too, had transformed - the massive, bear-like dog leaped forward with a mighty leap. When the werewolf freed himself from his bonds, the dog grabbed him by the neck and dragged him away, away from everyone. They lay entangled in each other's flesh, tearing at each other's fur with their claws.

Sylas froze, mesmerized by the sight, seeing and hearing nothing but the fighting animals. Only Daphne's scream tore him from his trance –

Pettigrew had thrown himself onto Lupin's wand in the grass. There was a crack, a flash of light—and Snape didn't move. Another crack—Crookshanks whirled through the air, flew into the grass, and lay curled up.

"Expelliarmus!" Sylas shouted, pointing his wand at Pettigrew. Lupin's wand flew into the night sky and disappeared. "Stay where you are!" Sylas cried, rushing forward.

But it was too late. Pettigrew had transformed.

Sylas saw the bald rat's tail slide effortlessly through the shackle, and then something rustled away in the grass. Behind him, he heard a howl and a thunderous rumble; Sylas turned and saw the werewolf fleeing, bounding toward the forest.

"Sirius, he's gone, Pettigrew has transformed!" cried Sylas.

Black was bleeding; there were deep cuts on his mouth and back, but at Sylas' words he got to his feet and soon ran across the grounds until the drumming of his paws slowly faded and died away.

"Uncle Sev! Is he still alive?!" Draco asked desperately.

They sat him down so he could lean against a tree and scurried over to their Head of House. His eyes were half-closed, his mouth slightly open. He was still alive, that much was certain; they could hear him breathing, but he didn't seem to recognize them.

"He's still alive, Draco, don't worry," Daphne called to him.

Sylas looked around desperately. Black and Lupin were gone... and now Snape was incapacitated as well.

"We'd better go up to the castle and get help," suggested Daphne.

Sylas brushed his hair from his eyes and tried to think clearly. But then a whimpering came from the darkness; a dog in agony...

"Sirius," Sylas murmured, staring into the night. He hesitated for a moment, but there was nothing they could do for Snape at the moment, and from the sound of it, Black was in trouble.

Without thinking, Sylas started running. Daphne's and Draco's shouts barely reached his ears. The yelping seemed to be coming from the shore of the lake. They raced toward it, and in mid-run, Sylas felt the wall of cold, but he paid no attention.

Suddenly the howling stopped. Reaching the lakeshore, they saw why: Sirius had transformed back into a man; he was crouching on all fours, his hands clasped above his head.

"Nooooo," he moaned, "nooooo... please..."

And then Sylas saw the Dementors. At least a hundred figures moved toward them like a black mass around the lake. He spun around, and the familiar icy cold penetrated his insides, and fog obscured his vision. Even more figures appeared from the darkness on both sides; they were surrounded...

Daphne stepped up next to him, gasping, shock at the scenario written all over her face.

"Daphne, think of a happy experience!" Sylas cried, raising his wand. He blinked desperately to see and shook his head to clear the faint screaming in his ears, which was gradually growing louder.

He thought about winning the Quidditch Cup, being with his friends in Hogsmeade.

He forced himself to think only of those two things. "Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum! "

Black shuddered, toppled over, and lay motionless and pale as death on the ground.

"Expo patronum! Daphne, help me! Expecto patronum!"

"Expecto— " whispered Daphne, " expecto — expecto— " But she couldn't. The Dementors closed the circle and were now only three meters away from them. They formed an impenetrable ring around Sylas and Daphne, pulling it tighter and tighter...

"Expecto patronum!" Sylas cried, trying to drown out the screaming in his ears. "Expecto patronum!" A thin silver thread shot from his wand and hovered before him like a veil of mist. At the same moment, Sylas felt Daphne collapse beside him.

He was alone... completely alone.

"Expecto - expecto patronum." Sylas felt his knees fall into the cold grass. A fog swirled around him. He racked his brain with one thought:

Sirius was innocent - innocent.

"Expecto patronum!" he gasped. In the dim light of his formless Patronus, he saw a Dementor pause, very close to him. It couldn't penetrate the silvery light Sylas had conjured. A dead, slimy hand slid out from under the cloak. It made a gesture as if to brush the Patronus aside.

"No ... no - " gasped Sylas. "He's innocent ... Expecto - Expecto Patronum."

He felt them watching him, their rattling breath like a raging storm. This Dementor seemed to have it in for him. It raised its rotting hands and pulled the hood from its face. Where its eyes should have been, there was only thin, scabby skin stretched smoothly over the empty sockets. But it had a mouth... a deep, misshapen maw, and its breathing sounded like a death rattle. Paralyzing horror overcame Sylas; he could neither move nor speak. His Patronus flickered and died. White mist blinded him. He had to fight... expecto patronum... he could no longer see... and in the distance, he heard the familiar scream.

"Expecto Patronum!"

He groped through the fog for Sirius and found his arm... he wouldn't let them take him away... But a pair of strong, cold, clammy hands suddenly clamped around Sylas' neck. The Dementor forced his chin upward... Sylas felt his breath... they wanted to finish him off first... he smelled his foul breath... his mother screamed in his ears ... the burning heat all over his body. 

And then, through the fog that drowned him, he thought he saw a silver light, growing brighter and brighter... he felt himself fall onto the grass. His face in the grass, too weak to move, trembling with nausea, he opened his eyes. The Dementor must have let go of him - a blindingly bright light fell on the grass around him - the screaming had stopped, the cold was fading...

Something drove the Dementors away...

It circled around him, Black, and Daphne... the Dementors floated away... the air warmed... With the last of his strength, Sylas lifted his head a little higher and saw, amidst the light, an animal galloping away across the lake... with sweat-drenched eyes, Sylas tried to make out what it was... it was as bright as a unicorn...

Sylas, desperately fighting against faintness, saw it arrive on the other bank and rear up. The creature was so bright that he could still see someone warmly greeting it... raising a hand and patting it...

He could no longer think. His remaining strength drained away, and his head hit the ground.

He fainted.