The morning light filtered green through the Black Lake. It rippled across the walls of the Slytherin common room, cold and wavering like a memory trying to take shape. The air smelled faintly of damp stone and polish — someone had taken to cleaning even the snake motifs carved into the pillars. Word had spread overnight: the Triwizard Tournament was coming, and Hogwarts had begun to preen itself like a bird before flight.
Slytherin House, however, was not whispering in awe. They were strategizing.
"Diggory's the favorite," said Blaise Zabini, lounging back on the couch. "Hufflepuff's already writing songs about him. I heard one of them rhymes Triwizard with divine lizard."
Theo groaned from his chair beside Alden. "That alone should disqualify them."
Draco was standing near the fire, coat half-buttoned, voice full of smug amusement. "Oh, let them. If they want to embarrass themselves, that's their problem. Everyone knows Hogwarts' champion will come from here."
"Because you say so?" Theo asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Because it's obvious." Draco gestured around the room. "We've got better blood, better training, and fewer nerves. You think a Hufflepuff's going to stare down a dragon or whatever they throw in? Please. The rest of them will be too busy writing moral essays on fairness."
A few chuckles echoed, though they died quickly when their eyes turned to Alden — who hadn't spoken yet.
He was seated opposite the fire, sleeves rolled, reading a weathered volume titled The Alchemy of Magical Barriers. A silver quill hovered at his side, scratching silent notes into the margin of another parchment. His presence filled the quiet effortlessly — not through volume, but gravity. Even the flames seemed to lean toward him.
Draco, noticing the attention shift, smirked. "Of course, some of us don't need to try for glory. Some of us have it following them around like a curse."
Theo muttered, "Careful, you'll wake it."
Alden looked up slowly from his book. "You sound like a believer, Theo."
"I'm not," Theo said. "But the castle is. And rumor spreads faster than fiendfyre."
"That's rich," Daphne Greengrass said from the corner, her tone light but eyes sharp. "Coming from the one who helped spread the last one about Alden transfiguring a corridor into ice."
"That wasn't a rumor," Draco said proudly. "I saw the frost myself."
Alden turned a page. "Experiment. Third year. Contained."
Theo leaned toward him. "Contained? It froze the lock on Snape's door for a week."
"That was an unintended side effect."
Daphne laughed softly, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "See, that's what unnerves people. You make chaos sound like an inconvenience."
"Chaos," Alden said mildly, "is just unmeasured order."
Draco's grin widened. "You're doing it again."
"What?"
"Talking like you're already above the rest of us."
Alden shut his book, finally meeting his eyes. "If I were above you, Draco, I wouldn't have to talk."
For a moment, the room fell silent. Then Theo snorted into his tea, breaking the tension.
Draco, of course, recovered with a grin. "Fine. Fine. But when the Goblet's lit, you're putting your name in, aren't you?"
A few heads turned toward Alden, curiosity sharp and collective.
He didn't answer at once. Instead, he reached for his quill, letting it hover again, silver tip glinting in the firelight. "You make it sound like prophecy."
"It is prophecy," Theo said dryly. "Half the House already believes it."
Draco folded his arms. "And the other half's just waiting for you to prove them right."
Alden smiled faintly, that unreadable calm curving at the edges. "Then let them wait."
A beat passed — just long enough for the subtle hum of the lake above to fill the space.
Then he rose from his chair, closing the book with quiet finality. "Breakfast?"
Theo blinked. "You're not denying it."
"Did I ever?" Alden asked, stepping past him.
The common room stirred as he walked toward the exit, robes whispering against the floor. Draco fell into step beside him, smirk returning like a reflex. Theo followed, muttering under his breath, "You really do like feeding the fire."
Behind them, the whispers began again — small, serpentine, unstoppable.
"He's going to enter.""He'll do it. You'll see.""And if he does… Merlihelpslp whoever stands across from him."
The path from the dungeons to the Great Hall had never felt this awa ke. The air itself seemed to shimmer — dustless, cold, too clean for comfort. Hogwarts had been scrubbed within an inch of its magic; the ancient stones glistened with polish, portraits looked freshly oiled, and even the torches burned higher, their flames steady as watchful eyes.
Draco Malfoy was the first to speak, because of course he was.
"Merlin's beard, they've actually cleaned the suits of armor. Look at that — you can see your reflection in its knee."
Theo brushed past one, expression unreadable. "You would be the type to check your reflection there."
"I'm simply pointing out," Draco said, gesturing at the spotless corridor, "that Dumbledore's gone mad. All this for a few foreigners? If Durmstrang's so fragile they can't handle a bit of cobweb, they can turn back at the gate."
Daphne Greengrass laughed lightly from behind them, her tone polished but amused. "You're forgetting the Beauxbatons girls. I doubt they'll complain about things being too clean, Draco."
Draco perked up instantly. "Well—perhaps Dumbledore's not so mad after all."
Theo sighed. "You're hopeless."
Crabbe and Goyle trudged behind, still half-asleep, whispering to each other about the feast they hoped would come with the foreign guests.
Alden walked between them all — silent, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes moved along the stone walls, taking in every subtle change. Even the castle's hum had shifted, the low thrum of enchantment beneath its bones deepening like a heartbeat before a storm.
"Something feels different," he said quietly.
Theo looked over, curious. "The cleaning?"
"No." Alden's gaze lingered on a nearby window, where the lake shimmered silver-green beneath the morning light. "The castle feels… expectant."
Daphne tilted her head. "Expectant?"
He nodded once. "It always does. Before something important. Hogwarts has a way of knowing before anyone else."
Draco rolled his eyes. "That's the most cryptic thing I've heard before breakfast. You should write for The Quibbler."
Theo smirked. "You'd need to be able to read first, Draco."
"Very funny," Draco muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward.
They turned a corner — and paused.
The marble corridor stretched before them, gleaming. The suits of armor lining the walls had been burnished until they shone like mirrors, each helm reflecting distorted versions of their faces as they passed. Filch was up ahead, muttering viciously as he polished a brass nameplate. Mrs. Norris stalked beside him, tail flicking, eyes like wet amber.
"Out of the way!" Filch barked as a pair of first years scurried by. "If I see one muddy shoeprint on this floor, I'll string you up by your toes!"
Draco smirked, whispering, "Maybe he'll hang himself next if the bannisters aren't symmetrical."
Theo elbowed him, murmuring, "You're insufferable before food."
They moved past, the sounds of the castle filling the silence — portraits grumbling as they were scrubbed, broom bristles sweeping the staircases, a faint murmur of distant voices from the Great Hall below.
Then, as they reached the staircase landing, Alden stopped.
Down below, the main hall had been transformed overnight. Banners hung from the rafters — crimson, blue, yellow, and green — shimmering with enchantments that made them ripple like water. The Hogwarts crest gleamed above the staff table, brighter than gold.
Daphne exhaled softly. "It's beautiful."
Theo nodded. "Overdone, but beautiful."
Draco leaned against the banister, surveying it like a general before battle. "And all of this," he said, "just to make the other schools jealous. Dumbledore's making a show of it. He wants the world to think Hogwarts is still the crown jewel."
Alden's eyes traced the crest for a long moment before he replied. "And isn't it?"
Draco shrugged. "It is. But only because we're in it."
Theo groaned. "You mean because you're in it."
Draco ignored him, eyes still fixed on the banners. "You can feel it, can't you? Everyone's waiting for something. The whole castle's holding its breath. Whatever this tournament brinIt'sit's going to change everything."
Alden finally smiled — a quiet, thin thing that didn't reach his eyes. "Change always does."
As they resumed walking toward the Great Hall, the camera might've lingered — on the way their reflections warped in the polished armor, on the whisper of their footsteps fading into the rising hum of voices beyond the doors.
Because outside, the castle was breathing. And in its halls, the rumors had already chosen their champion.
The corridors outside Transfiguration still shimmered faintly with leftover magic — the kind that clung to the air like static after a spell's discharge. A faint haze drifted from a charred desk someone had failed to reverse, the scent of singed parchment hanging beneath the vaulted ceiling.
"Next time," Theo muttered, adjusting his satchel, "try not to turn your quill into a lizard mid-essay."
Draco rolled his eyes. "It was an accident. The incantation slipped."
"Of course it did," Theo said dryly. "Right after McGonagall said, 'Focus on precision, Mr. Malfoy.' Truly unprecedented timing."
Alden said nothing. His transfiguration — a perfect silver-feathered sparrow — had already fluttered into McGonagall's palm and dissolved into dust before anyone else managed so much as a wing. He walked with his hands folded neatly behind his back, head tilted slightly as if still thinking through something unseen.
Daphne caught his glance. "You make it look too easy. It's unnerving."
Alden's answer was simple. "It isn't difficult. Only exact."
They turned the corner — and stopped.
Two figures stood at the far end of the corridor. Professor Snape and Professor Moody.
Neither moved. The tension between them was so tangible that even the portraits along the walls pretended to sleep.
Snape's arms were folded, black robes falling like shadow to the floor. "You overstepped," he said, voice low, deliberate. "Again."
Moody's magical eye rotated once — full circle — before snapping back to Snape. "You call it overstepping. I call it doing my job. Teaching them what the world really looks like."
"You call forcing a curse on a fourteen-year-old teaching?" Snape's tone was colder than stone. "I call it arrogance."
Draco leaned slightly toward Theo, whispering, "Ten galleons says Moody explodes first."
Theo didn't blink. "You wouldn't win that bet."
Moody's leg thudded against the flagstones as he took a step forward, the sound sharp, heavy, unnatural. "If your precious Slytherins can't handle a curse, maybe they don't belong here."
"Careful," Snape murmured. "Insult my House again, and you'll wish you still had both eyes to see the result."
A low hum filled the hall. Alden realized his hand had gone to his wand without thinking. The students were perfectly still now — the kind of stillness that wasn't fear, but instinct—predators recognizing predators.
Moody's normal eye flicked toward Alden, the corner of his scarred mouth twisting. "Ah, there's the boy himself. Do you have an opinion on the matter, Dreyse? Still think the Ministry's slipping?"
The others froze.
Draco muttered under his breath, "He really doesn't know when to stop."
Alden's expression didn't change. He stepped forward just slightly — enough that his presence seemed to fold into the argument like an additional weight.
"I haven't seen evidence to suggest otherwise," he said evenly.
Moody gave a short, barking laugh. "Big talk for someone who hasn't lived long enough to grow a beard."
"And yet," Alden said quietly, "old enough to block an Auror's curse."
The corridor went silent again. The only sound was the faint whirrr of Moody's magical eye spinning in its socket.
Snape's mouth twitched — not a smile, but the ghost of satisfaction. Daphne whispered, "He's going to get himself killed."
Moody took a step closer, and his voice lowered. "You've got fire, boy. Dangerous thing, that. Especially when you start pointing it at the wrong people."
Alden's gaze didn't waver. "Then I'll be careful where I point."
Snape's tone sliced through the air before Moody could answer. "That's enough."He moved between them in one smooth step, robes whispering like a blade through silk. "My students have class to attend. And you, Professor, have a temper to leash."
Moody gave a dry snort. "Constant vigilance, Severus."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "Precisely."
He turned sharply, the command implicit in his stride. "Mr. Dreyse. Mr. Malfoy. Miss Greengrass. The rest of you — follow me."
The Slytherins moved at once, wordless. Alden was the last to turn, but not before glancing back. Moody stood alone now, watching them leave. The magical eye tracked Alden's retreat until he disappeared around the corner.
Only then did Moody smile — a broken, crooked grin that belonged more to something waiting than something amused.
By the time supper rolled around, the castle had gone feverish with speculation. Every corridor hummed with half-truths, the Great Hall bursting with a din of voices thick as smoke. Owls swooped overhead, candlelight shimmered across the four long tables, and the new banners gleamed proudly against the walls — scarlet, blue, yellow, green — like four rivals sharpening their colors before battle.
At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy was in rare form.
"I'm telling you," he declared, leaning forward so his voice carried, "it won't just be dueling. Dueling's too simple. It'll be something grand — dragons, probably. Or cursed vaults. Something that kills at least one person."
Theo raised a brow. "You sound disturbingly cheerful about that."
"Not cheerful," Draco said, spearing a potato. "Realistic. It's called the Triwizard Tournament, not the Triwizard Picnic."
Daphne smirked. "And yet, knowing Hogwarts, they could make it a picnic and still have someone die."
The table laughed. Even Theo cracked a smile.
Alden sat among them, quiet as always, silver-white hair catching the candlelight. He hadn't said much — content to listen, to watch how words moved through people like spells without wands. His plate sat mostly untouched, a quill hovering just beside it, jotting absentminded notes in a small black journal open beside his goblet.
Draco nudged him with his elbow. "Come on, Dreyse, you've got to have an opinion. What do you think the tasks will be?"
Alden looked up slowly. "Tasks meant to measure courage, intelligence, and resourcefulness. At least, that's what the tradition claims."
Theo grinned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Alden said evenly, "it will test who panics first."
That earned a few chuckles. Even Draco looked pleased. "Exactly. You'd pass with flying colors — you never panic."
"Not true," Alden murmured, turning a page in his journal.
"Oh?" Daphne asked lightly. "And what, pray tell, makes you panic?"
He glanced up, calm as the lake at night. "Incompetence."
The laughter this time was loud enough to make a few Gryffindors glance their way with irritation.
At the other end of the table, Blaise Zabini was holding his own court, whispering darkly about cursed goblets and basilisks in the tasks. Pansy Parkinson argued that there'd be no danger at all — that the Ministry would never risk "something scandalous after last summer's disaster." The rest of the students oscillated between awe and fear, the way children did when talking about monsters they both hoped and dreaded to meet.
Theo leaned in. "They say no one under seventeen can enter. Dumbledore's making it a rule this year. Age line and everything."
Draco scoffed. "As if that'll stop anyone. It's only a spell. Spells can be broken."
Daphne rolled her eyes. "And you'd know how to break one?"
"No," Draco admitted, then smirked at Alden. "But he would."
A few heads turned. The candles flickered — just enough to make Alden's eyes gleam an odd, muted green-grey.
Theo sighed. "Merlin's sake, Draco, stop trying to start a prophecy every time he blinks."
Draco ignored him, prodding further. "Still — imagine it, Dreyse. They put up some silly line around the Goblet, and you just walk through it. The entire schoolis watching."
Alden met his gaze, expression unreadable. "That's assuming I'd want to."
"Of course you'd want to," Draco said. "Power, recognition — glory. You could shut everyone up at once. No more rumors, no more whispers. Just proof."
"Or confirmation," Theo muttered.
Draco frowned. "What?"
Theo looked down at his plate. "That the rumors were right."
The tension that followed was brief, fragile. Daphne broke it with a flick of her hair. "Either way, the castle will get what it wants. It's already humming. Can't you feel it?"
And they could. The walls themselves seemed to vibrate faintly under the chorus of voices — a low, living magic threading through every stone arch and painted ceiling. Hogwarts was awake in a way it hadn't been for years, its heartbeat pulsing in the clatter of silverware and the rustle of enchanted banners.
At the Gryffindor table, Harry and Ron were leaning in to Fred and George, all four of them animated and conspiratorial. Hermione looked exasperated but intrigued. Further down, Hufflepuffs chattered excitedly about Cedric Diggory; the Ravenclaws were already debating theoretical spell constructs to bypass magical wards. It was a symphony of ambition, insecurity, and youth — and in the middle of it all, Alden sat utterly still.
Theo finally said, "You're really going to do it, aren't you?"
Alden didn't answer. He reached for his goblet, eyes half-lidded, thoughtful. "When everyone rushes forward," he murmured, "it's rarely the one who shouts first who wins."
Draco smirked. "So that's a yes."
"Maybe," Alden said, setting his goblet down. "Maybe not."
He stood, his chair sliding back with barely a sound. The movement drew eyes from a few nearby tables — mostly curious, partly wary. As he left the Hall, the hum of voices swelled again, almost instinctively, like the castle itself leaning in to whisper after him.
Theo watched him go. "You ever notice," he said softly, "how he never says yes — and it still sounds like one?"
Draco smiled faintly. "That's why he'll win."
And around them, Hogwarts continued to breathe — the banners shifting like waves, the ceiling above flickering with faint lightning over a restless horizon.
The castle had fallen still. Rain whispered against the high windows, and the lake murmured somewhere beyond the dungeons — a soft, rhythmic sound, like water thinking to itself.
In the fourth-year Slytherin dormitory, only one candle still burned. Its light drew a fragile circle on the desk where Alden Dreyse sat, coat still buttoned, silver-white hair catching the gold like drawn steel. A quill hovered above parchment, the feather unmoving until his thoughts aligned.
On the paper were fragments: geometric lines, circles intersected with runic scripts — ideas, not plans. He wasn't scheming. Not yet. Just testing boundaries.
Hypothesis: If Age-Binding relies on chronological markers (temporal resonance), then bypass requires dislocation, not deception.
He wrote in small, exact print — every word a measuredcutt. A line. A pause.Then another.
Option I: Proxy sigil. Transmute age signature from object to self. High probability of rebound. Fa in error.
He drew an elegant rune at the corner, the shape spiraling inward like a fingerprint.
Option II: Reverse temporal lock with mirrored anchor. Possible paradox. Requires outside focus. Not practical.
The quill tapped twice. Ink bloomed like smoke.
From the bed nearest the wall, Theo's drowsy voice broke the quiet. "You're still awake?"
Alden didn't look up. "Thinking."
Theo propped himself on one elbow, blinking through the dim. "About?"
"The Age Line," Alden said simply.
Theo groaned. "Merlin's bones, you're not serious."
"Not entirely," Alden replied, still writing. "But it's an interesting problem. Dumbledore won't rely on a simple enchantment. It'll be layered — temporal, intent-based, likely tied to soul-age markers."
Theo squinted at him. "You sound like you're writing a thesis."
Alden finally set the quill down. "I don't intend to cheat," he said — and then, after a breath, "I just want to know how I would."
Theo swung his legs over the side of the bed, half-amused, half-worried. "That's exactly what every mad inventor says before blowing up a tower."
"Then I'll use the dungeons," Alden said, deadpan.
Theo laughed under his breath, but it faded when he noticed Alden's expression hadn't changed. He was staring at the parchment again, eyes distant — like a mathematician glimpsing an equation just out of reach.
Axiom I: Power = Intent × Clarity. Axiom II: Inversion reveals structure. Axiom III: Cost is conserved.
He murmured the lines quietly, as though reminding himself where thought ends and ambition begins. The words steadied his breathing, turned impulse into order.
Theo leaned back. "You're really going to try it, aren't you?"
Alden didn't answer right away. He lifted the quill, drew one last mark — a looping rune that glowed faintly before fading back into ink.
Then he said, softly, "If someone builds a wall, it deserves to be tested."
Theo sighed. "You and your walls."
"Someone has to make sure they hold," Alden said.
He blew out the candle. The darkness swallowed the desk, but the faint shimmer of ink still pulsed once, like a heartbeat trapped under paper.
Somewhere beyond the window, thunder rolled — low, distant, promising. And in the quiet that followed, it was hard to tell whether the sound that lingered was rain on glass… or the first echo of decision.