December 3, 1992.
Ravenclaw Tower didn't wake up with a shout; it stirred like a library being opened after a long winter. The morning light filtered through the tall, circular windows, its radiance softened by the thick Scottish mist that clung to the castle's exterior. The silver-threaded curtains of our four-poster beds turned a pale, ethereal blue, catching the frost that had begun to bloom in the corners of the glass. Beyond the windows, the world was a void of white and grey, the other towers of Hogwarts rising through the fog like the masts of ghost ships.
I was already awake. I had been for hours.
I sat on the edge of my bed, the silk of my robes cool against my skin. My fingers were loosely clasped, my mind wandering through the celestial architecture Asterion had helped me build. Beneath my feet, tucked safely in the velvet-lined compartment of my trunk, the Golden Egg was silent. It wasn't humming, but it felt... heavy. As if it, too, was aware of the shift in the castle's equilibrium.
The dormitory was quiet, save for the rhythmic, fussy sounds of Elliot Moor sorting through his trunk—likely checking his ink bottles for the third time—and the muffled, indignant groans of Tobias Finch.
"Why," Tobias muttered, his voice half-buried in his pillow, "is the pursuit of wisdom so aggressively scheduled for the morning? Why can't we pursue wisdom at, say, two in the afternoon?"
Cassian Rowle was already at the mirror, tying the silver-and-blue silk of his tie with the practiced, effortless precision of a boy raised in a manor house. "Because the world, Tobias, does not pause its rotation to accommodate your lethargy. Move. Your breath smells like sleep and failure."
"It smells like potential," Tobias shot back, finally kicking his legs out from under the blankets.
Adrian Shah was closing a heavy volume on Arithmancy and Atmospheric Vibrations. He had been reading since the first light hit the ceiling. "You said the same thing yesterday, Tobias. And the day before. The statistical probability of you becoming a 'morning person' is currently hovering at zero percent."
"And I stood by my conviction then, as I do now," Tobias grunted, finally sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
Elliot glanced nervously between them, his hands trembling slightly as he straightened his robes. He looked like he hadn't slept well. None of us really had. The shadow of the "Heir of Slytherin" was a physical weight in the room.
I stood up, the movement silent and fluid. "Breakfast," I said.
That single word acted like a kinetic charm. The promise of coffee and sustenance motivated them more effectively than any lecture on discipline. Within ten minutes, the five of us were descending the winding spiral staircases of the tower.
The castle felt... different.
Usually, the morning corridors were a riot of sound—shouted greetings, the clatter of bags, the frantic race to beat the first bell. Today, the voices were low, hushed to a conspiratorial murmur. Students moved in tight, nervous clusters, their eyes darting toward the shadows behind suits of armor or the dark recesses of the stone archways. Some looked over their shoulders every few steps. Others moved with a brisk, frantic pace toward the Great Hall, as if gathering in numbers provided a magical shield the castle could not.
Tobias noticed the shift first. He stopped talking about toast and narrowed his eyes. "Why is everyone whispering? It's like we're walking through a wake."
Cassian scanned the corridor, his hand resting near the pocket where his wand sat. "Something happened. The air is too sharp."
Elliot went pale, his voice dropping to a squeak. "…Again? But it's only been a month since Colin!"
I said nothing. I felt the "current" of the castle. The stone felt cold—not the cold of winter, but the stale, stagnant cold of an Ending. The Thestral part of my blood was humming, a low-frequency warning that mortality had recently brushed against these walls.
We entered the Great Hall, and the atmosphere hit us like a physical blow. The usual roar of conversation was gone, replaced by a tight, vibrating hum of collective anxiety. Above us, the enchanted ceiling was a dark, brooding grey, heavy with the promise of snow that refused to fall.
Students were leaning across the tables, their heads touching as they shared rumors in frantic whispers. At the staff table, the professors weren't eating. They were speaking in low, urgent tones, McGonagall's face a mask of iron, Snape looking even more sallow than usual.
Something was fundamentally broken.
We reached the Ravenclaw table, but before we could even sit, a fourth-year named Roger Davies leaned over, his face grim.
"Did you hear?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the hum of the hall.
Adrian set his bag down with a clinical calm. "Hear what, Roger? Be specific."
The older student looked around to ensure no teachers were listening. "There were more attacks. Last night. Near the library."
Elliot froze, his hand halfway to a plate of muffins. "Attacks? Plural?"
"Yes."
Tobias straightened his posture, his playful demeanor vanishing. "Who?"
Roger hesitated, glancing toward the Hufflepuff table. "Justin Finch-Fletchley."
Elliot's face drained of color. "The Hufflepuff? The one who was in our Herbology group?"
"Yes," Roger said. "Found him outside the Charms corridor. Stone cold."
Cassian frowned, his strategic mind already working. "What happened to him? Was there blood?"
"No blood," Roger whispered. "Just... petrified. Like the others."
A heavy silence dropped over our group. I felt my fingers tighten slightly around the silver goblet on the table. My mind flashed back to the black book in the Restricted Section—the spells that terminated life force. This wasn't termination; it was Suspension.
Tobias exhaled slowly, a jagged sound. "…That's the second student. This isn't a fluke anymore. This is a hunt."
"Not just him," Roger added, his voice trembling slightly.
Adrian's eyes sharpened behind his glasses. "Who else? Don't make us drag the data out of you, Davies."
The boy leaned in closer. "Nearly Headless Nick."
Tobias blinked, looking confused. "…The ghost? Sir Nicholas?"
"Yes."
Elliot stared, his mouth hanging open. "But... ghosts are already dead. You can't petrify a ghost! They're made of smoke and memory!"
"That's what everyone thought," Roger said, shaking his head. "But he's there. Floating in the hospital wing, black and stiff as a board. Dumbledore had to move him with a fan."
Cassian leaned forward, his dark eyes searching the room. "How? To affect a spectral entity, the magic would have to be... trans-dimensional. It would have to hit the soul directly."
Whispers rippled across the hall like a wind through dry grass. The Chamber of Secrets... The Heir... Harry Potter...
Elliot gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. "Justin was in our Defense class last week... he was joking about Lockhart's hair. And now he's... he's a statue."
Tobias rubbed his forehead, his appetite gone. "First Mrs. Norris. Then Colin Creevey. Now Justin. And a ghost. It's escalating."
Adrian folded his hands on the table, his expression one of deep, analytical concern. "This changes the entire risk assessment. A ghost being petrified suggests that whatever is attacking doesn't just target biological systems. It targets Magical Essence. It's a multi-phasic threat."
Elliot swallowed hard. "…That's worse. That's so much worse.
Across the hall, the Hufflepuff table was a scene of devastation. Several younger students were openly weeping. They were looking toward the doors as if expecting the monster to slither in and claim them next.
At the Gryffindor table, the mood was equally grim. Harry Potter sat stiffly between Harper, Ron, and Hermione. They looked exhausted—dark circles under their eyes, their movements sluggish. They looked like they hadn't slept in days. And people were staring at them. Not with the usual awe, but with a cold, sharp suspicion.
Tobias noticed the looks. "Why is everyone glaring at Potter? He looks like he's about to collapse."
Cassian answered quietly, his voice devoid of his usual snark. "Because Justin was last seen having a row with Harry in the Great Hall. And because of the Dueling Club. The Parseltongue."
Elliot winced. "Oh no... they think it's him. They think Harry is the Heir."
Adrian watched the whispers spread. "Rumors travel faster than light in this castle. And fear is a terrible filter for facts."
I kept my eyes on Harry. I saw the way Harper was holding his hand under the table—a twin's silent support. I thought about the Basilisk. I thought about the "indirect sight."
Nearly Headless Nick. In my memory of the stories, Nick had been the shield for Justin. Justin had seen the snake through the ghost. The ghost had taken the full brunt of the gaze, and because he was already dead, he couldn't die again. He just... stopped.
The pieces of the story were aligning perfectly. The "Canon" was a heavy, lumbering beast, and it was moving exactly where I expected it to. But knowing the path didn't make the air any warmer.
Tobias broke the silence by grabbing a piece of dry toast and tearing it apart. "Well," he said, his voice regaining a bit of its edge. "That officially makes Hogwarts the least relaxing educational institution in the known world. I should have gone to Durmstrang. At least there the monsters are outside the walls."
Cassian snorted faintly. "In Durmstrang, Tobias, you would be the monster. Don't flatter yourself."
Elliot looked up, his eyes wide. "Do you think they'll close the school? My mum's already sent two owls this morning."
"Not yet," Adrian said calmly.
"Why not?"
"Because closing Hogwarts is an admission that the Board of Governors has lost control," Adrian explained. "And because Dumbledore is here. As long as the Headmaster is in the castle, the Ministry will pretend everything is fine. It's a political necessity."
I finally sat back, my voice quiet but carrying through our small circle. "But the attacks won't stop. Not yet."
The others looked at me. Tobias raised an eyebrow, his toast forgotten. "That sounded very certain, Orion. Even for you."
I lifted my goblet, the silver cold against my lips. "Patterns rarely stop halfway through a sequence, Tobias. The pressure hasn't reached its peak yet. The Heir is still enjoying the hunt."
Elliot stared down at his empty plate. "…Great. Fantastic. I'm going to go live in a trunk."
Across the hall, the Golden Owl on the podium glittered as Albus Dumbledore rose slowly to his feet. The entire room went silent instantly—a vacuum of sound that made my ears pop.
Dumbledore looked every bit the legend he was, but today, the "benevolent grandfather" was gone. His expression was grave, his blue eyes lacking their usual twinkle. His voice carried through the hall without the need for a Sonorus charm.
"Students," he said, his voice a gentle but firm anchor. "It is true that two more members of our community were found petrified last night. Justin Finch-Fletchley, and our own Nearly Headless Nick."
A fresh ripple of fear spread across the room. A Hufflepuff girl let out a small sob.
"They are receiving the best care possible in the hospital wing," Dumbledore continued. "And Professor Sprout is working tirelessly on a restorative draught. However, until the perpetrator is found, new safety protocols are in effect."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the tables. "Students are advised—and required—not to wander the corridors alone. You will move in groups of three or more. Curfew is moved to eight o'clock sharp. Prefects will escort first- and second-years to all classes."
Tobias whispered under his breath, "Oh, wonderful. Now we have to walk in a parade."
Dumbledore finished with a line that sounded like a challenge to the stone itself. "Classes will continue as scheduled. We will not be moved by fear."
The Great Hall erupted into anxious conversation the moment he sat down. The "Alliance" leaned closer together, our shoulders touching. Fear was spreading through the castle like frost on a windowpane, numbing the curiosity that Ravenclaw usually thrived on.
But I simply ate my porridge in silence. I was listening. I was calculating.
Somewhere deep within the castle walls, behind the lead pipes and the ancient masonry, I could still feel that rhythmic, heavy shuffling. The King of Serpents was still there. And I knew that soon, I would have to decide if my "Star-blessed" current was strong enough to face a gaze that could turn a ghost into stone.
"Orion?" Elliot whispered.
"Yes?"
"You're doing that thing again. With your eyes."
I blinked, and the silver glow in my left eye faded back into the dark. "Just observing the patterns, Elliot. Go to Charms. Stay with the group."
The game was entering its second act. And the "Deers of Death" were finally starting to see the shape of the ending.