The return to Hogwarts wasn't marked by the usual ceremony. The term had already started by the time Arthur Reeves stepped back into the castle's cold stone halls. Schedules, essays, and tired second-years grumbling about homework.
But Arthur liked it that way. The noise of attention, of grandeur—it wasn't for him.
Still, walking through the corridors stirred a strange feeling. Not nostalgia. Something more... like returning to a battlefield after the banners had been taken down. Hogwarts felt different. He didn't know why yet—but his instincts were twitching.
Potions Class — Dungeon Level
Snape swept through the rows like a shadow with a temper.
Five drops of fluxweed, no more, no less," Snape's voice slithered through the room like smoke. "If you overdo it—Goyle, I see that hand trembling—you'll blow us all sky-high."
Arthur suppressed a grin as he leaned closer to his cauldron. Beside him, Pansy Parkinson rolled her eyes dramatically. "I swear Goyle's going to make me bald by the end of term."
Daphne gave a short laugh, while Theo Nott scribbled notes with annoying precision. Crabbe, to Arthur's left, looked mildly confused as usual. Draco, a few seats ahead, turned slightly, smirking at Arthur, clearly showing off his perfectly brewing potion.
Snape's robes whispered as he passed by Arthur's table. He paused for the briefest moment, his eyes flicking to Arthur's cauldron. Then, softer than anyone else got it:
"Excellent consistency… Mr. Reeves. But I'd watch your stir speed—counterclockwise, not lazy loops."
Arthur's cauldron was bubbling with perfect rhythm. Beside him, Theo Nott was flicking ingredients in like he was building a potion in a dream. Crabbe was… existing. And Pansy was sketching Snape's nose with a quill when she thought no one was watching.
"Reeves, If one were to accidentally substitute knotgrass for valerian, what would occur?"
Arthur didn't hesitate. "Combustion followed by nausea and temporary blindness."
Snape raised a brow—barely. "And?"
Arthur added, "If the person was stupid enough to ingest it, probably a week in the hospital wing. Two if Madam Pomfrey's in a bad mood."
A few Slytherins chuckled. Even Snape's mouth twitched.
"Correct. Five points to Slytherin."
Arthur saw the look in Draco's eyes. Friendly competition. And annoyance.
∆∆∆∆∆∆∆
The classroom smelled like overused cologne and hairspray.
Gilderoy Lockhart was everything Arthur expected and worse. Teeth too white. Robes too bright. Ego far too inflated. The girls swooned. Even Pansy batted her lashes—until Daphne kicked her ankle under the table.
Arthur sat in the middle row between Draco and Theo. The Gryffindors filtered in, and that's when he saw them.
Harry Potter. Hermione Granger. Ronald Weasley.
Potter didn't look that impressive. A bit tired. His glasses were slipping. But something around him felt... alert. Like magic was wired too close to his skin.
Ron looked the same—freckled and annoyingly loud. Arthur didn't know why he didn't like him. It wasn't logical. He just didn't.
Then his eyes landed on Hermione—and he blinked.
She'd grown.
Something in the way she walked now was different. Confident. Her hair wasn't quite as frizzy, and the way her robes fit—
Arthur blinked again. Why am I even noticing this?
He mentally shoved the thought aside.
Lockhart cleared his throat dramatically.
"Today, my lovely students," he said, "we will be learning the most essential of defensive spells—Expelliarmus!"
Arthur almost choked on his breath. Expelliarmus? Cassian had drilled that into him on the second day. He used to cast it in his sleep.
"And for our demonstration… how about... you there!" Lockhart's overly whitened grin locked on Arthur. "Yes! You, my boy. Slytherin's finest, I presume."
Draco hissed, "This'll be good."
Arthur stood, stepping calmly to the front of the room. He passed Hermione, who looked at him once, curious. Ron was already frowning.
Lockhart posed dramatically. "Now, my boy, raise your wand—"
"He's a fraud, that one."
Arthur paused.
The voice hadn't come from a student. He looked up.
On a wooden perch by the corner sat an owl—an owl—large, dark-feathered, with golden eyes.
Arthur didn't respond out loud. Instead, his thoughts moved quietly.
What do you mean?
"Shh. It's starting. You'll find out soon."
Lockhart launched into an over-the-top explanation of the spell. Arthur only half-listened. His eyes flicked once more to the owl, who now seemed to be preening itself smugly.
"And now—Expelliarmus!"
The flash of Lockhart's wand was showy and inefficient.
Arthur responded before thinking. Instinct, drilled into him. His wand moved with speed, casting both a shield and a disarm spell in one seamless motion.
A shimmering shield absorbed Lockhart's spell with a soft boom—and Arthur's own spell rocketed forward.
Lockhart went flying.
Not tumbling. Flying.
He hit the wall with a loud oof, his wand spinning out of his hand and clattering to the floor like a dropped spoon. His robes flared around him like a failed circus act.
The class gasped. Someone let out a laugh before silencing themselves.
Arthur turned slowly. Every girl in the front row—Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and even some Ravenclaws—was glaring at him like he'd kicked a kitten. One of them looked like she might cry.
Lockhart was their golden boy.
He smiled internally.
That's what you get, golden boy.
Snape would be proud
The owl let out a soft hoot from its perch.
"Told ya."
Arthur blinked, exhaling slowly. His wand lowered.
"What in Merlin's name was that?" Lockhart groaned, dragging himself to his feet, fixing his hair with a trembling hand. "A bit… overzealous, aren't we?"
Snickers rippled through the Slytherin section. Draco was nearly falling off his chair.
"I thought it was a disarming spell," Arthur said flatly.
"Well—yes! Of course!" Lockhart beamed, adjusting his collar. "Just… well done! Very powerful! Let's call that… an advanced version, shall we?"
Arthur returned to his seat.
Theo leaned in. "You just murdered Lockhart's pride."
Draco added, "Ten galleons says he writes about it in a book and makes it sound like he let you win."
Arthur barely heard them.
He glanced again at the owl. The creature simply blinked, head swiveling toward the window.
Arthur frowned. He didn't know what was stranger—the owl, the ease of those spells… or the sudden realization that he didn't feel tired at all.
He felt awake.
More awake than he'd been in weeks.
∆∆∆∆∆∆∆
Arthur stood beside Theo and Draco, watching as Professor Kettleburn—partially singed coat flapping behind him—excitedly led a nervous group of second-years toward a fenced-off paddock.
"Today!" the professor cried, waving his arms, "We meet the Clabbert!"
The creature in the center of the pen looked like a cross between a monkey and a frog—if that frog had an awkward grin and a large, pustule-like boil on its forehead that blinked red every few seconds.
"Looks like it wants to sell me something illegal," Theo muttered.
Pansy appeared beside Arthur, brushing her gloves off with a frown. "Why are we wasting our time with these swamp-things?"
"Because Kettleburn's tenure is protected by some ancient contract," Draco said dryly.
The Clabbert let out a croaky squeal. A couple of students recoiled.
Then, unexpectedly, Arthur heard it. Not with his ears—but in his mind. A thought that wasn't his own.
"So many. So loud. Where is the sky tree?"
Arthur blinked.
Sky tree?
The Clabbert's thoughts came in short, sticky bursts. Hungry. Miss the warmth. These skins are cold.
Arthur didn't realize he was staring until Pansy nudged him. "You good?"
He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just… trying to understand it."
"You what?" Theo raised an eyebrow.
Arthur shook his head. "Nothing."
Professor Kettleburn pointed at him. "Mr. Reeves! You seem eager. Step forward and show the class how to approach the Clabbert!"
Pansy hissed behind him. "Why does he always get picked?"
Arthur gritted his teeth but walked into the paddock. The Clabbert hissed at first, but he crouched low, murmuring softly—not words, but calm. A feeling. A presence.
Arthur blinked. The voice hadn't come from beside him. It wasn't a whisper—it was a thought. Not mine. He took a step forward.
Okay… what do I need to do? he asked, not out loud.
The answer came at once, like a warm burp of sound in his head.
"You listen. That's why I speak. Not many skins listen."
Arthur's heart thudded. He understood why he could hear it—but he was still a bit distrusting.
Yeah… okay. Just tell me, please.
"Remy likes it. It comes closer. I has gift."
The Clabbert—Remy, apparently—tilted its head. Arthur moved slowly into the paddock. He could feel the tension around him, but in his head there was a calmness. Remy's thoughts weren't aggressive. Just… curious.
As he drew closer, the creature dropped from its perch, wobbling toward him with an awkward but eager hop.
Then it stretched out a spindly hand and placed something in Arthur's palm.
An acorn.
"Remy likes you. You can talk to Remy. So you are Remy's friend now."
Arthur stared at the acorn, then at the bizarre monkey-frog hybrid smiling like it had just given him the key to the universe.
He let out a soft chuckle.
"Yeah," he muttered. "You do you, weird monkey hybrid."
Behind him, Kettleburn was applauding like mad. "Astonishing! Marvelous connection! Ten points to Slytherin!"
As Arthur left the pen, Draco smirked. "Next you'll be taming dragons with your mind."
"Wouldn't be the weirdest thing," Arthur muttered.
Pansy squinted at him. "You sure you're still just a wizard?"
He didn't answer. Just slipped the acorn into his pocket, where it pulsed faintly warm.
∆∆∆∆∆∆∆
The path curved lazily toward the castle entrance, shadows dancing as the sun slipped west. Arthur walked behind the group, hands in pockets, his mind drifting.
The term had started nicely. Classes were tolerable. Professors only mildly annoying. Magical Creatures had been the strangest of them so far—and that was saying something.
He would have to start reading soon.
Not to top the class, of course. He'd never cared for that. His intentional mediocrity often surprised even himself. He could do better. But attention made his skin crawl. Being average let him pass through the year like a mist—present, unbothered, ignored.
He reached the archway into the Great Hall, but something felt… off.
A prickle. Like eyes on the back of his neck.
He turned—but casually.
Then moved suddenly.
In one swift, fluid motion, he spun, grabbed the figure behind him, and pinned them to the stone wall. His hand landed at a throat. The other—unfortunately—landed somewhere it absolutely shouldn't have.
A squeak echoed.
Terrified. Familiar.
Arthur looked down.
"Elena?"
The wide brown eyes blinked back at him.
Elena Potter. Gryffindor. First year. Harry's sister.
She grinned sheepishly. "I was trying to scare you… but, yeah, looks like I need a little more work."
Arthur froze.
His brain was screaming.
His hand was still on her throat. Not tight, just resting. The other was…
Oh no.
His eyes dropped. His other hand was very much on her chest.
He recoiled like he'd been burned, leaping back as if the wall itself had exploded. His hair turned violently pink.
"I—I'm so sorry—" he blurted, face suddenly aware of every rumor this could birth.
Elena chuckled. "It's alright. That was on me. Well… I'll be seeing you, Arthur. Or not."
She turned and disappeared down the corridor, leaving behind one utterly confused Slytherin boy—still rooted to the spot, face blank but hair flickering pink like it was glitching.
What… just happened?
Arthur wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Maybe one hundred times over. Maybe time travel would be invented just for this moment.
As his hair began to cool into its more muted, dark tone, a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"So, Reeves…" came the voice. Cold. Low. Unamused.
"What were you doing with my sister?"
The bloodlust in those words could have given even a Thestral pause.
Arthur slowly turned.
Harry Potter.
"Harry! What do you mean?" Arthur tried to sound as oblivious as possible.
"You—your hand was—I saw—"
Harry's fists clenched. He looked ready to swing, then hesitated. Memory probably caught up to him—last time he tried to fight Arthur, he got dropped in one punch.
"I'm gonna kill you one day. You know that, right?"
Arthur nodded solemnly. "I do."
Harry glared. "So what happened?"
Arthur told him. Word for word. Honest. Unembellished.
By the end of it, Harry was laughing so hard he had to hold his knees.
"That's—Merlin's pants—on the chest? You absolute dolt!"
Arthur didn't laugh.
He didn't smile.
He just looked skyward, whispered, "Take me now," and walked off.
Arthur hadn't gotten far before he heard the familiar sound of expensive shoes tapping across stone—measured, slightly arrogant, as if the floor itself should be grateful to be walked on.
Draco Malfoy.
Of course.
Arthur didn't even bother turning.
"Arthur," Draco drawled behind him, "what are you doing here… with this idiot?"
Arthur sighed, shoulders rising and falling with exaggerated patience. Here we go again.
Harry turned, a smirk already forming. "At least I'm not pretending to be smarter than I am."
Draco narrowed his eyes. "You're not pretending. You're just tragically average."
"At least my family didn't pay off half the faculty just to make sure I got into Hogwarts."
"At least my blood isn't watered down like—"
"Alright," Arthur muttered, rubbing his temples.
The two continued, jabs turning into barbs. Their voices grew louder, their insults sharper. Passersby slowed to listen. This had the makings of a full-on brawl. Neither noticed Arthur's eyes beginning to glaze over.
And then—
"Shut up."
The words were soft. Low. But with a force behind them that cut through the air like a blade.
Both boys froze.
Arthur rarely raised his voice. He never had to. And that made moments like this terrifying.
"You two need to learn to tolerate each other," he said, slowly turning to look at them, his dark hair shifting toward a cooler, almost silvery hue. "I know this isn't about houses. It never was. You're not fighting over where the Hat put you."
He looked between them. Harry looked slightly chastised. Draco was pretending to be indifferent, but his ears had turned pink.
"I don't care what it's about," Arthur continued. "You've been at each other's throats since childhood ( yes, I checked), and honestly? I'm exhausted. This place already has enough chaos without your testosterone-fueled drama."
He turned around, raising a hand half-heartedly. "So… just—why am I still here?"
And with that, he walked off toward the Great Hall, leaving behind two stunned wizards and the faint sound of a door creaking open in the distance.
Harry blinked. "Did… did we just get scolded?"
Draco frowned. "I think we just got grounded. By Arthur Reeves."
Silence.
Then, in reluctant unison:
"What just happened?"
∆∆∆∆∆∆∆
Arthur slid into his usual spot at the Slytherin table, taking in the loud din of the Great Hall with an almost bored expression. After everything that had happened today—from magical beasts to... unfortunate hallway encounters—he wasn't hungry. Not for food, at least.
He had barely picked up a fork when the large doors creaked open again.
Draco and Harry walked in.
Side by side. Not by choice.
Neither looked harmed physically, but Arthur could see the emotional bruises. The kind that come from words you weren't ready to hear. He didn't look at them. He didn't need to. He was the reason.
Draco dropped into the seat beside him like someone who had aged ten years in five minutes.
Theo raised a brow, nudging him. "You look like you just got a lecture from Snape."
Draco shook his head slowly. "I wish."
Arthur kept his face still, but inwardly, he was smirking.
The table buzzed with curiosity. Everyone wanted to know what had deflated Draco Malfoy. The questions started to overlap—Blaise asked something, Daphne leaned in, Pansy scoffed about "emotional drama"—but it all became a blur to Arthur.
Literally.
The voices melted. The plates, the clinking, the hall—all of it receded.
Then came the voice.
Low. Slithering. Ancient. Hungry.
"For years, I have waited…
Trapped below… but now…
Master has returned.
The time is near.
Blood will run.
The unworthy will die."
Arthur stiffened. He couldn't move. The voice echoed inside his head but felt far beneath him. Down here, it had said.
Then, as suddenly as it arrived, it was gone.
The Hall returned. Laughter. Footsteps. A girl squealed as a pie nearly fell on her lap. Life went on.
But Arthur's heart thudded differently now. Cold realization gripped him.
That was no ordinary creature.
Something was awake. Something angry.
He barely noticed Pansy waving her hand in front of his face.
"Arthur, you good?" she asked, squinting. "You spaced out for a full minute. And that potato's been skewered to death."
He glanced down at his plate. She wasn't wrong.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Just... tired."
As the others dove into a conversation about a prank that set a tapestry on fire, Arthur tuned out again. His thoughts swirled around the words he had heard.
"Down here." That meant tunnels. Dungeons
He leaned back, letting the conversation fade again as he looked up to the thousands of floating candles above them, their flames dancing silently. Warm light. Gentle hums of magic. Yet the voice lingered in the cracks of his mind.
"I knew I was asking for too much," he thought. An uneventful year at Hogwarts? Foolish dream.
He sighed, rubbing his temple.
"This is gonna be one tough year."