[POV SWITCH: Colin Farrow – Slytherin, First Year]
I've shared a dorm with Richard Magus for a week, and I still don't know who the hell he is.
Don't get me wrong, he's fine. More than fine. Sharp, calm, helpful when it counts, never in your way. But he's got this... weight to him. Not like he's brooding or trying to be important. Like he already knows how the story ends and he's just waiting for the rest of us to catch up.
The rest of us stumble through our mornings, tripping over shoelaces, still figuring out which staircase leads where. Richard's up before the torches even shift. No noise. No fuss. Just gone, off doing Merlin-knows-what. I caught him once, in the common room, barefoot and silent, moving like he was training for something. Not duelling or Quidditch.
The day I asked why he got up so early, I expected a joke. A shrug, at least. He just looked at me and said, "Habit." Like that explained everything, maybe it did.
There was another time when I couldn't sleep, due to nerves or sugar, or whatever. I got up and saw him standing by the underwater window, dead still. Just watching the lake. He seemed to be a part of it. Like the shadows were talking to him, he didn't even flinch when a grindylow swam past.
He doesn't say much about his past. If you ask, he pivots, asks about your wand instead, or your opinion on Professor Dumbledore. Smooth as butterbeer. Most of the others don't notice, but I do. There's a gap around his story, and it's there on purpose.
I grew up with my family in both worlds, so I knew how to navigate and discuss subjects without actually addressing them directly.
He's polite. Courteous, even. He thanks the elves for the food. Nods to portraits when he walks by. But never too much, never drawing attention.
He doesn't brag. Doesn't show off in class, though he's ahead of all of us. He helped me in Potions last week, didn't even blink when I nearly melted my cauldron. Just pointed, said, "Stir slower. And anti-clockwise."
I tried to figure out if he wanted something from me. Some kind of angle. But he just... helps. Observes. Catalogues.
If I had to describe him in one word, it'd be controlled.
I'd call him a mystery, but I get the feeling he wants to be exactly that. The question isn't what Richard Magus is hiding.
The real question is, what happens when he decides to stop hiding?
[POV SWITCH: Poppy Pomfrey – Ravenclaw, Second Year]
I notice people.
Not in the way most students do. I don't care about what house someone's in, or whether their robes are a little too pressed, or if their cauldron's hand-me-down. I notice the little things. The way someone winces when they sit down after falling on the Quidditch pitch. The paleness around someone's mouth when they're about to faint in Herbology. I've always been good at that, spotting what's wrong before anyone else sees it. I suppose that's why I'll end up a healer someday.
But Richard Magus?
He didn't look wrong. He looked... deliberate.
I first noticed him during the sorting ceremony. The Great Hall was buzzing like always with new students, but there he was, still, composed. He's a first-year, but he moves like he's been here longer than some of the seventh-years. Not showy. Just… sure.
And his eyes.
Merlin, help me, those eyes. Sharp, clear, but deep in a way that makes you wonder what he's already seen. Not cold exactly, just distant, like he's always somewhere three steps ahead. You look into them and forget what you were going to say. I did, anyway.
He's got this strange mix about him, dark hair, pale skin, robes always neat but never fussed over. A taller than most of the first-years. There's something carved about him, like he was sculpted by intention rather than time.
I started asking around the next day after waking up. Casually, of course. Just enough that people wouldn't think I fancied him, which, all right, maybe I do a little. But mostly, I was curious.
"Do you know that new Slytherin boy? Tall, quiet, with black hair and purple eyes?"
"Richard Magus? Yeah. Why?"
I never had a proper answer. Just wanted to know more. No one really had much, just the same impressions. That he's polite, brilliant, strange. One girl said he got a Gryffindor to stop shouting by just looking at them.
It makes me wonder where he came from. What kind of life makes someone like that by eleven?
There's something about him that lingers. Maybe it's healer instinct. I can usually tell when someone's hiding something beneath the surface. And he is. Not in a dangerous way. Not yet. Just... contained. Like a storm bottled behind glass.
I don't trust him completely. But I don't think I could ignore him even if I wanted to.
And part of me hopes I won't have to.
Because if I ever end up running the Hospital Wing, patching students up through scraped knees and secret curses, I have a strange feeling Richard Magus is someone I'll be seeing again. Not as a patient.
But as something else entirely.
[POV SWITCH: Orion Black – Slytherin Head Boy]
Magus.
I've been watching him since the Sorting. Not out of curiosity. Out of instinct.
He stepped forward like he already belonged here. Not puffed up like the pureblood peacocks or trying to prove something like the Muggle-borns tend to. No hesitation, no awe. Just precision.
I've seen first-years bluff confidence before. I've worn better masks myself. But this boy? He isn't wearing one. Or maybe he's wearing ten, so seamlessly layered you don't notice they're masks at all.
He doesn't try to fit in. Doesn't chase approval. But he doesn't rebel, either. He navigates. Like he's moving through a game he's played before, only now the pieces are alive, and he's cataloguing every one of them.
Calculated. Contained. Polite without submission. Ambitious without noise. That's the part that unsettles me.
I couldn't get any information about him, and that's typical for Muggle-borns, but he doesn't walk and talk like a Muggle-born. So either he's just a confident Muggle-born or there's more to Magus than meets the eye.
He reminds me, Merlin help me, of Riddle. Magus has that same edge.
I've seen him speak with every House. Not just his own. Ravenclaws in the library. Hufflepuffs on the pitch. Even Gryffindors, more than once. And they listen. They remember him. Because he asks about their families, helps with wand movements, and nods as if he's known them for years. That's real power, not being feared, but being liked, and remembered, and underestimated all at once.
I asked Abraxas what he thought. He leaned back in that pompous way of his and said, "One to watch." And that's the closest thing to praise you'll ever get from a Malfoy.
But I don't just watch him. I study him.
He's not a threat. Not yet. But threats don't announce themselves. They smile. They listen. They teach you to lower your wand.
I don't trust him.
But I respect him.
[POV SWITCH: Professor - Horace Slughorn]
Oh, that boy has potential.
Richard Magus, now there's a name that might be worth something someday. Has a ring to it, doesn't it? Subtle. Not aristocratic, no old lineage that I know of, not yet, anyway, but something... clean. Sharp. Like the kind of name you hear at Ministry galas twenty years from now, right before someone takes the podium.
He's not flashy. Doesn't strut. Doesn't brag. But watch closely, and you'll see it, that stillness. That control. The way he moves through a classroom like he already owns his space, but doesn't need to say so. Not many students his age manage that. Frankly, not many adults do either.
He brewed a flawless Cure for Boils on the first go. Not just passable, flawless. Clean edges, perfect simmer, not a single scorch mark on his cauldron. And what's more, he helped another boy, Farrow, I think it was, without being asked. Slipped over, gave a quiet pointer, no fuss, no fanfare. Most first-years are too busy worrying about their own mess to notice anyone else's, let alone fix it.
That's rare.
Reminds me a bit of a young Damocles Belby. No, not quite. Magus is smarter. Less prone to fidgeting. Doesn't talk to fill space. When he speaks, he's already considered the weight of the words. That's the sort of student you keep your eye on.
I've already inked his name in my little black book. One of the newer pages, but I've circled it twice. Might not send him an invitation just yet, best to let them settle in, find his legs, but I'd wager he'll get one before the term's out. No doubt.
He's Slytherin to the core, of course. You can see it in how he measures people, how he watches instead of speaking. Knows how to play the game without showing the pieces. That's precisely the sort of mind I like to... encourage. It just needs a few nudges; the right doors open at the right times.
And if he goes far, Minister, scholar, maybe even Department Head, well, it never hurts to have friends in high places.
I could help him go far.
And if he does? That's good for both of us, isn't it?
[POV SWITCH: Professor - Albus Dumbledore]
There is something familiar in Richard Magus.
Not his face. I do not know his family. I've made discreet inquiries, combed through a few old records, followed faint trails through Ministry archives. Nothing remarkable. No legacy. No ancient name whispering through the ages of the magical world. And yet, the boy walks through Hogwarts as though he were born from its stones.
It is not blood that stirs memory, it is presence.
The way he listens more than he speaks. His answers are precise, but never complete. Every word is measured, every expression carefully chosen. Even his silences are purposeful. Controlled. Intentional. He engages with others, yes, but rarely without a reason.
And when he helps, it is not from a place of warmth or impulse. It is efficient. Thoughtful. Observed from a distance before he moves. He notices everything, this boy.
I have taught many students. Many bright ones. But Richard… he feels written in ink where others are still scribbled in pencil.
He sits at the front of my classroom without posturing, does not seek attention, yet draws it all the same. He is generous with his knowledge, but never reveals the extent of what he truly holds. That restraint speaks volumes.
And it reminds me.
Just a year ago, there was another boy, polite, gifted, endlessly curious. A boy who walked the halls of this very castle with something heavy behind his eyes. One who asked questions no other child dared ask. About power. About limits. About secrets.
Tom.
There are echoes in Richard Magus that stir those old memories. The discipline. The detachment. The undeniable talent.
But I do not believe he is the same. Not yet.
He has not lied. He has not manipulated. He is not cruel. But the ingredients are there, if ever stirred the wrong way. It is not darkness that concerns me. It is direction. What path he takes. What voices he chooses to heed.
And so I'll watch, not with fear, but with care.
Hogwarts has always been a crucible. Some students emerge as legends. Others… as warnings.
Let us see what fire Richard Magus walks through.
And what he becomes on the other side.
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