The common room was held in a fragile, heavy silence. Elijah stood by the window, watching the first grey flakes of a blizzard begin to curtain the world outside. The only sound was the rhythmic snap of firewood.
Harry and Ron retreated upstairs soon after, driven by the suffocating weight of the evening's events. For Harry, escape into sleep was the only available mercy; he could not yet face the reality of a school that now viewed him as a monster.
Only Elijah and Hermione remained. The young witch tried to lose herself in a book, but her head soon began to droop.
"Ginny.. Shall we go up too?" she asked, stifling a yawn. "A bath first, perhaps? The castle is getting so cold."
Elijah paused, then nodded. "Alright."
Hogwarts did not rely on Muggle technology for its comforts, but magic provided a luxury of its own. In the girls' dormitory bathhouse, steam billowed from enchanted taps, turning the room into a warm, white blur.
Elijah sat in the mist, inhabiting Ginny's small frame with a detached, analytical calm. Beside him, Hermione worked a lather into her thick, bushy hair.
"Ginny, could you help me with my back? I can't reach."
"Of course," Elijah said. He took the sponge, his mind miles away.
He felt no flicker of interest in the girl's undeveloped form; his focus remained entirely on the board he was setting for the months to come.
The following morning felt dim and subterranean.
The blizzard had intensified, sealing the windows with thick crusts of snow and plunging the castle into a perpetual twilight.
Elijah descended to find a grim tableau: Harry staring into the embers of the hearth while Ron and Hermione engaged in a joyless game of Wizard Chess.
"No class today?" Elijah asked.
"Herbology's cancelled," Ron said, not looking up from his knight. "Professor Sprout's busy putting socks and scarves on the Mandrakes to keep them from freezing."
Hermione leaned in, whispering, "It's been awful for Harry. Everyone's avoiding him. They think—well, you know what they think."
"I could help explain," Elijah offered, though he knew it was a hollow gesture.
Harry stood abruptly. "No. Thank you, Ginny, but it doesn't matter. As long as you three believe me, the rest can think what they like."
"Where are you going?" Ron asked as Ginny followed Harry toward the portrait hole.
"Breakfast," Elijah said.
"Fresh air," Harry added.
They stepped out into the drafty corridors. The wind howled through the masonry, carrying the chill of the mountains.
"Don't let them get to you, Harry," Elijah said. "They'll realize eventually."
"They don't want to realize," Harry said, his voice flat. "It's more exciting this way. The famous Harry Potter, the dark heir? It's a better story."
"At least you are getting it."
"Yeah."
They parted ways at the first turning. Elijah did not head for the Great Hall. Instead, he made his way toward the 2nd-floor girls' bathroom.
The attacks had to proceed. It was a cold necessity. Only by escalating the panic could he force the governors to act against Dumbledore. If the Headmaster remained, Elijah's eventual resurrection would be met by the only wizard he truly feared.
He slipped into the shadows of the bathroom and whispered to the pipes.
The Basilisk stirred, a heavy, rhythmic slithering echoing deep within the stone. Elijah emerged a few moments later, veiled by a Disillusionment Charm, and began his hunt.
The corridors were nearly deserted due to the storm. He soon spotted Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Hufflepuff second-year, walking with a boy named Ernie Macmillan.
"Do you really think it's him, Ernie?" Justin was saying. "I mean, Harry Potter?"
"It's a Dark Wizard's mark, Justin," Ernie replied solemnly. "You saw him yesterday. That wasn't just a spell; it was a conversation."
Elijah stepped up beside them, his movement silent. He raised his wand toward Justin's temple.
Imperio.
Justin's eyes went dull, his soul retreating behind a grey veil. He stopped dead.
"Justin? What is it?" Ernie asked.
"I... I forgot something," Justin said, his voice a hollow monotone under Elijah's direction. "Go on to the kitchens. Bring me a pumpkin juice."
Ernie hesitated, then shrugged. "Alright. But be careful. You're Muggle-born, remember."
Elijah led the puppet-like Justin through the dark, winding passages, searching for a witness that wouldn't die. He found him in a lightless corridor: Nearly Headless Nick, drifting aimlessly through the gloom.
Elijah withdrew the curse and slipped back into the shadows. Justin blinked, looking around in a daze. "How did I get here?"
"My dear boy, you walked," Nick said, his head wobbling precariously on his ruff. "I was just looking for someone to help with this window. It's blowing a gale, and being dead, I find I lack the... purchase."
Justin turned toward the ghost, his eyes widening. But he wasn't looking at Nick. He was looking past him, into the darkness where the Basilisk had just emerged from a vent.
Justin froze, his body turning to cold stone. Nick turned to see what had horrified the boy, and the sight of the King of Serpents struck the ghost with a force that transcended death.
He didn't die—he was already dead—but he turned a smoky, impenetrable black, suspended in mid-air.
The aftermath was a whirlwind of terror. Harry, caught at the scene once again, had been hauled off to Dumbledore's office by Professor McGonagall.
Elijah sat in the common room later that evening, calmly buttering a piece of bread as Ron and Hermione paced nearby.
"Ginny, did you see anything?" Ron asked, his voice thick with desperation. "You were out there with him."
"I went to the Great Hall," Elijah said simply.
"If we didn't know him, even we'd suspect him now," Hermione whispered.
"The Heir of Slytherin!" Fred said, joining them with a laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Harry Potter, the most evil wizard in Gryffindor. At least we've finally beaten the Slytherins at something."
Elijah watched the twins closely. He knew about the Marauder's Map.
It was a masterpiece of tracking magic, a god's-eye view of the castle that could ruin his plans in an instant. If the twins used it while he was directing the Basilisk, he would be exposed.
He pulled them aside into a corner.
"What is it, Ginny? Planning another duel?"
"I'm your sister," Elijah said, affecting an innocent pout. "I did a lot for Gryffindor's honor last night. Don't I deserve a favor?"
The twins hesitated. "Depends on the favor."
"I want the map," Elijah said, lowering his voice. "The thing that shows where everyone is. I want to find the real culprit so Harry can come back."
Fred and George exchanged a look of genuine hurt. "How did you find out about that?"
"I'm not stupid," Elijah said. "And if you don't give it to me, I'll tell Dumbledore about the secret passages you've been using."
"Threatening your own flesh and blood," Fred sighed. "It's a cruel world."
"We can't, Ginny," George said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "It's too dangerous. Dumbledore said the Heir is a powerful Dark Wizard. We don't want to find you petrified."
"I'm a pure-blood," Elijah countered. "But the wall says 'Enemies of the Heir,' not 'Mudbloods.' I humiliated the Slytherins last night. If the Heir is one of them, I'm at the top of their list. I need to see them coming."
The logic struck home. Reluctantly, they led him to an empty classroom and locked the door. Fred pulled a tattered square of parchment from his robes.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Fred whispered, tapping it with his wand.
The ink spread like a blooming flower, revealing the intricate bones of the castle. Tiny dots crawled across the surface, each labeled with a name.
"Tap it and say 'Mischief Managed' when you're done," George warned. "Or anyone can read it."
Elijah took the parchment, his expression solemn. "Thank you. I'll return it when the danger is over."
With the map in hand, Elijah's movements became surgical. He didn't just use it to hunt; he used it to avoid.
A few days later, he stood outside the 2nd-floor girls' washroom. He checked the map and saw two dots inside: Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater.
He pushed the door open.
Percy jumped back from Penelope as if the air had caught fire.
"Ginny! What... what are you doing here?"
"Using the restroom," Elijah said, eyeing the two of them. "But this is the girls' room, Percy. Dating in a lavatory? That's desperate even for you."
"Please, Ginny," Percy stammered, his face a deep crimson. "Don't tell. Especially not Fred and George."
"Hehe~ I won't. But find a better spot. Ron comes here to check on... things. If he catches you, the whole school will know by dinner."
The pair fled, Penelope looking thoroughly annoyed. Elijah turned his attention to the back stall, where the Polyjuice Potion was simmering in its final stages.
Soon, Ron and Harry arrived, followed by Hermione, who carried four sets of robes stolen from the laundry.
"It's ready," Hermione said, her voice shaking with nerves. She added a strand of Millicent Bulstrode's hair to the first cup. It hissed and turned a repulsive, curdled yellow.
Harry added Goyle's hair; Ron added Crabbe's. Their potions bubbled into shades of muddy brown and grey.
Elijah reached into his pocket and pulled out a lock of platinum-blonde hair he had snatched from Draco Malfoy during the dueling club.
He dropped it into his cup. The potion swirled, turning a sharp, electric white-gold.
"Wait," Harry said. "We shouldn't drink it all in one stall. We won't fit once we change."
They retreated to separate cubicles.
Elijah looked at the swirling liquid. He could have used human Transfiguration, but the Polyjuice provided a level of genetic mimicry that even the best transformation lacked.
He tilted the cup back and drained it.
It tasted like overcooked cabbage and copper.
The Polyjuice Potion began to work.
He felt as if something alive was wriggling beneath his skin, constantly surging. It was like a snake, slithering under his skin, tearing apart the connection between his skin and flesh, eating his flesh!
But this pain was fleeting.
The next moment, through his eyes, he saw his platinum blonde bangs.