Within the Slytherin common room, silence did not mean peace.
The green-lit chamber beneath the lake remained outwardly the same—low murmurs, flickering firelight, the occasional glimmer of movement from the dark water beyond the windows—the mood had shifted. Helios felt it the moment he entered each evening.
Conversations did not quite stop, but they bent around him. Eyes followed him and then slid away. Some of the younger students stared openly until a prefect glanced their way. Others pretended indifference and failed at it.
Slytherin House had accepted his presence in the practical sense. No one had tried to force him out. No one had openly challenged his right to occupy the space.
That did not mean they trusted him.
And Slytherin, more than any other house, did not simply accept what it did not understand.
It observed first.
Helios had expected that from the start. In some ways, he would have respected them less if they had done otherwise.
The challenge came on the fourth night.
He had just returned from the library, a stack of books tucked beneath one arm, when a second-year boy he vaguely recognised from the dormitory corridor approached him with visible reluctance.
"Black," the boy muttered, not quite meeting his eyes. "Message."
Helios stopped near one of the stone pillars and looked at him.
The boy swallowed. "Tonight. Beneath the lower dungeons. Eleventh bell."
A short pause.
"Private."
Helios held his gaze until the younger student looked even more uncomfortable.
"Who sent you?"
The boy shifted on his feet. "I wasn't told to say names."
Helios gave a slight nod. "You've delivered it. Go."
The boy left at once, almost grateful for the dismissal.
Helios resumed walking as though nothing of importance had occurred, but he was not surprised. If anything, he had begun to wonder what was taking so long.
A challenge was inevitable.
That was how Slytherin settled uncertainties.
By the time the castle was deep in night and most students were either asleep or pretending to be, Helios made his way downward through the less-used passages of the dungeons. The corridor grew colder as he descended, the air older, tinged with damp stone and something faintly metallic. Torches burned lower here, their light thinner, leaving wide stretches of shadow between islands of amber flame.
The chamber beneath the dungeons was exactly the sort of place Slytherins would choose for such a thing.
Old stone arched overhead. The walls were bare, scarred by age and marked here and there by old spell burns. The floor had been cleared, leaving a broad open space at the centre. Torches had been set into iron brackets around the room, enough to give light without warmth. Sound moved strangely there, every footstep and breath returning in faint echoes.
A crowd had already gathered.
They stood in loose formation around the duelling space, sixth years and seventh years mostly, with a few younger students lingering at the edges where they could watch without being noticed too much. Two prefects stood off to one side, present not to stop the event, but to ensure it remained contained. Several students Helios recognised from his classes watched him with narrowed, assessing eyes.
An audience that understood the value of reputation and intended to see who deserved one.
At the centre of the chamber stood two boys.
Adrian Savage.
David Flint.
One sixth year. One seventh.
Both familiar by name before Helios had ever exchanged a word with them. Savage had the sort of sharp, polished confidence that came from success and practice. Flint was broader, rougher around the edges, but no less certain of himself. Between the two of them, they had chosen their message well. One older. One physically imposing.
This was not a reckless attempt to humiliate a newcomer.
This was a formal test.
Flint stepped forward first, wand already in hand.
"You've made an impression, Black," he said.
Helios set his books aside on an abandoned stone bench and drew his wand with unhurried ease. "Have I?"
A few quiet reactions moved through the gathered crowd, gone almost as soon as they appeared.
Adrian smiled, though there was little warmth in it. "Enough of one."
David continued, "Slytherin have it's own way of doing things."
Helios looked at him without expression. "Does it?"
A flicker of irritation crossed David's face. "You don't get to walk in here, stir everything up, and act like you're above them."
Helios glanced briefly around the chamber, taking in the attentive silence, the expectation in every face, the way no one intervened.
"You want me obey," he said.
Adrian's smirk sharpened. "We want decorum."
"And if I'm not in the mood to provide it?"
A few students shifted at that. Flint's mouth hardened.
"Then," Adrian said softly, "we make sure you understand your place."
Helios regarded him for a long moment. Then he stepped fully into the centre of the chamber, the torchlight catching the pale length of his wand.
"I don't have time for speeches," he said.
His voice was not loud, yet it carried to every corner.
"So let's skip them."
That landed exactly as intended.
David's jaw tightened. Adrian's smile vanished.
One of the prefects moved forward half a step, enough to establish order without pretending authority he had no intention of using.
"Standard duelling rules," he announced. "No curses designed to kill, maim, or cause lasting damage. Disarming, incapacitation, surrender. Once the duel is decided, it ends."
No one objected.
The prefect glanced between them. "Ready?"
David lifted his wand.
Helios merely inclined his head once.
The prefect stepped back.
"On three. One… two… three."
David Flint did not bother hiding his confidence. Older. Larger. A practiced duelist who relied on pressure and aggression. The kind who overwhelmed opponents before they could think.
Helios stood opposite him, still, wand lowered at his side.
Flint moved first.
Not with a single spell—but a sequence.
A cutting curse tore forward low, skimming just above the ground while, half a heartbeat later, a second strike followed high—aimed to catch a dodge. At the same time, the stones beneath Helios's feet cracked and surged upward, attempting to throw him off balance.
Layered attacks.
Harry took a precise step, minimal movement. The rising stone missed him entirely. His wand flicked once, almost lazily, and the low curse bent—its trajectory warping just enough to pass harmlessly behind him.
The second spell—
He didn't block it.
He let it come close.
Then tilted his wrist.
The magic unraveled at the edge of his control, dispersing into harmless sparks before it could touch him.
Flint pressed harder.
More spells came, faster now—sharp, aggressive bursts meant to overwhelm. The air between them filled with streaks of light, each one angled to force Helios into retreat.
Each movement timed between impacts. Each flick of his wand altering, deflecting, or collapsing spells before they could connect.
To the watchers, it looked unreal.
Not because Flint was slow—but because Helios was always already where the attack wasn't.
Flint's jaw tightened.
He changed tactics.
The ground split again—but this time not beneath Helios.
Stone rose in a tightening ring, closing like a cage.
At the same moment, Flint's wand snapped forward—
A concentrated blast, aimed straight through the narrowing gap.
For the first time, Helios stopped moving.
The spell came fast.
His wand moved once.
The incoming magic twisted mid-flight—just slightly.
It veered off course and struck the rising stone instead.
The explosion shattered Flint's own construct.
Fragments burst outward.
Helios stepped through the falling debris without a scratch.
Flint's eyes widened—
And that hesitation was enough.
Helios's wand lifted.
A silent pulse.
Flint's wand ripped free from his grip, spinning violently across the chamber.
Before it even hit the ground—
A second movement.
Flint's body locked.
He stiffened mid-step, then collapsed heavily onto the stone floor, unable to move.
Silence fell.
Helios lowered his wand.
He walked forward, stopping just beside Flint, looking down at him—not with superiority, but with quiet evaluation.
"You rely on pressure," he said calmly.
A slight tilt of his head.
"It falls apart when it's resisted."
Then he turned away.
The tension in the chamber had changed.
Adrian Savage stepped forward alone.
Where Flint had been forceful, Adrian was controlled. His stance tighter. His gaze sharper. A duelist who thought before he acted.
Helios took his position once more.
The count ended.
This time—
Helios moved first.
Not with an attack.
A slight shift to the left, forcing Adrian to adjust his angle.
Adrian didn't hesitate.
A narrow, precise spell cut forward—fast and clean, aimed not at Helios's body, but at his wand hand.
Helios rotated his wrist.
The spell skimmed past.
Adrian followed immediately—no wasted time. A second spell struck from the opposite side, forcing a counterbalance.
Helios acknowledged it silently.
His wand flicked.
The incoming magic didn't deflect.
It… bent.
Curved just enough to miss, grazing past his shoulder instead of striking it.
Adrian's eyes sharpened.
He advanced deliberately, each step paired with a controlled cast. No wasted movement. No obvious tells.
Less explosive than Flint's.
More dangerous.
Helios responded in kind.
Their spells did not collide.
They slipped past each other.
Redirected. Altered. Dissolved before impact.
Adrian feinted.
A flick toward Helios's left—
But the real spell came from the right, delayed by a fraction.
A trap.
Helios didn't react to the first.
He reacted to the second.
His wand moved once—
And Adrian's real attack unraveled mid-air, collapsing before it reached him.
That was the moment Adrian realized—
He was being read.
He pushed harder.
Speed increased. Angles tightened. His casting became sharper, more unpredictable.
For three full exchanges, he nearly gained ground.
Helios stepped inside his rhythm.
Adrian tried to retreat—
Too late.
A subtle motion.
Adrian's wand jerked violently from his grip, flying behind him.
He twisted, reaching—
Another flick.
His body seized.
He fell forward, hitting the ground with a sharp crack of stone.
Silence returned.
Helios stood over him briefly.
"You think before you act," he said quietly.
A pause.
"But not fast enough."
He lowered his wand.
And walked away once more.
No reaction sought.
No acknowledgment needed.
Behind him, the chamber remained utterly still.
By the following morning, the entire house knew.
Not in the way Hogwarts rumer mill usually told stories, with exaggeration and noise and the inevitable inflation of every detail. Slytherin passed information more carefully than that. It spread in quiet statements, in short observations exchanged between people who understood the weight of precision.
Savage and Flint challenged Black.
It lasted couple of minutes.
Don't challenge him.
That last part was never spoken openly in Helios's hearing, but he saw it in the absence that followed. No more invitations came. No more sideways remarks from older students. The subtle pressure in the common room shifted into something cooler and more useful.
Acceptance and acknowledgement.
In Slytherin, that mattered more.
Reputation was not built on popularity. It was built on what people believed you capable of doing when pushed. Humiliation, especially before witnesses, could follow a student for years in that house.
David Flint and Adrian Savage had offered him a platform.
Helios had used it.
After that, no one else was eager to provide another.
The Great Hall was unusually bright that day, washed in pale morning sunlight pouring through the enchanted ceiling. Conversation rolled through the four house tables in waves—sleepy complaints, laughter, arguments about assignments, speculation about Quidditch. The clatter of cutlery and plates wove through it all, ordinary and almost comforting in its familiarity.
Helios sat among the Slytherins with a plate before him that he had barely touched. The habit of appearing untroubled often unsettled people more than any visible display of vigilance.
He noticed Draco Malfoy before the boy reached him.
Draco's usual swagger was absent. He did not arrive flanked by Crabbe and Goyle in their usual self-important formation, nor did he wear the faintly superior smirk that seemed attached to him as naturally as his blond hair. Instead, he walked with care, his shoulders held a touch too straight, his expression composed in a way that looked studied rather than effortless.
That alone made him interesting.
"Black," Draco said.
Helios looked up from his place at the table. "Malfoy."
Draco's eyes flicked briefly to either side, measuring distance, ensuring no one stood close enough to overhear easily. Then he produced a letter from inside his robes and placed it on the table before Helios.
The seal was dark wax.
The parchment was of fine quality.
And even before Helios touched it, he knew.
"This is for you," Draco said.
Helios let his gaze rest on the letter for a moment without reaching for it.
"From whom?"
Draco hesitated.
Then, in a lower voice, he answered, "You know who."
The words carried more weight than their softness suggested.
Around them, breakfast continued as normal. Students spoke, laughed, poured pumpkin juice, tore apart toast. But for Helios, the hall seemed to narrow around that simple exchange until everything beyond it became irrelevant background noise.
He picked up the letter and turned it once in his hand.
Draco leaned closer, just enough that his next words would not carry.
"He's been waiting," he murmured.
A brief pause.
"For your answer."
Helios lifted his eyes to Draco's face. There was tension there. Wariness. The unmistakable strain of someone delivering a message he wanted no responsibility for beyond the act itself.
"I've done my part," Draco said quickly.
Then he straightened and stepped away at once, retreating with an almost visible sense of relief, as though distance itself might shield him from whatever consequence followed.
Helios watched him return to his own place before lowering his gaze again.
The letter rested in his hand with deceptive stillness.
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