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Chapter Text

Smoke, leisurely moving in the cold, eerie atmosphere. Waves of despair and anguish rippled through the innocence of the consciousness that was once calm and quiet.

Heavy fumes, dark green and gray, going from muddy tones to murky ones, unsettling and reminders of decay, swooshing around and suffocating the light like a tight grip around one’s neck. Like a curtain that was slowly fading away to give place to ruin and misery, and being pulled continuously towards this source of dread was inevitable.

Imperceptible whisperings coming from everywhere were overwhelming to the hearing, and the indistinguishable faces peaking from underneath that chilly smoke could easily send anybody into turmoil. Everything seemed to be pulsating, breathing, like it had a life of its own, and nothing could escape it.

The voices grew louder, the features on the faces were appearing more clearly each second that passed, and the smoke now moved with purpose, to devour, to replenish. Hands sticking out, coming for blood. All of it seemed to grow closer and closer and closer…

“Clarke !” It all faded away. The smoke, the darkness, the voices, the faces, it all faded away when she opened her eyes and regained her composure. The screams were still stuck in her throat, battling a few seconds ago to get out.

As she stood up and opened her eyes, she was still experiencing those illusions, a whisper there, a cold breeze here, strange shadows appearing in the corner of her vision.

Seconds seemed to drag unnaturally, her senses still shaken and her thoughts struggling to tidy up. It all seemed heavier and froze her in place.

“Clarke, come on !”

A light swoosh coming from the flick of a wand and an apple dropping suddenly on her head seemed like the remedy to her trance. She regained her consciousness and started scanning her surroundings, still with a ragged breath and panic written all over her eyes that mirrored the blue of the lake lying out in front of her.

She then remembered where she was. This very special place on the Hogwarts grounds, she felt the soft grass under her hands. She lifted her head where the apple came from and observed one of the ancient willow trees that were sprawling around the area, majestically hanging their branches towards the still water.

A bit further away from where she was located, a couple of students were sitting on logs or moss-covered stones that gave this place a more mystical feel. Others were playing with the multicolored and fluorescent fish that were shimmering in the lake. It was a well-known place among the older students to hang out.

The sun was out today, gently laying its radiant rays on the clear water, the green grass. Delicately filtering through the leaves of the trees and onto her face. For Clarke, she regularly came here to relax or sketch something to let her mind wander elsewhere than this eerie place that it has become, either here or the astronomy tower.

There was something about this area that made it feel grand and inspiring, oxygen for the soul. And of course, her little friend group of delinquents often (nearly always) followed her to the glade.

After slowly coming back to her senses by acknowledging her fine surroundings, her breathing has finally calmed down. She could clearly see and feel the world that was magnificently spreading out in front of her in all of its reality.

Picking up the apple that was beside her on the grass, she turned around swiftly and threw it at her culprit, landing squarely in her stomach.

“Ow ! What the hell Clarke ? That hurt !” The brunette behind the antics snarled at Clarke and bent over to retrieve the apple.

“Like that didn’t hurt me ?” She shot back. The other girl stood up again and got ready to throw the apple back at the blonde. “Oh no no, we are not playing that game Raven, stop it right there.” Clarke quickly ducked behind the tree next to her, pointing at her friend. “Put it down right now, Reyes.”

“Or what ?” A fully smug smile extended on Raven’s face, clearly proud of her dominance in this little fight. “Can’t handle a little boo-boo, Clarkey ?”

“Oh shut up.” Clarke took out her wand, still peaking from behind the tree, knowing a little spell would wipe that smirk off her friend’s face.

“What are you two doing ? Am I not supposed to be the youngest and least mature one here ? Cut it out.” A dark-haired girl with Gryffindor’s bright and vivid colors coming off of her cloak and tie marched through the grass and stopped between the other two students with an unimpressed look on her face. “Come on, we are going to be late for lunch, you idiots.”

“Oh, hey Octavia, that’s what I was trying to tell blondie over there, but she was too busy dozing under her perfect little tree.” Raven then got closer to the blonde and offered her a hand to get up, and that same smug expression.

“Yes, well, you could’ve, you know.. gently woken me up ?” Wit was dripping from her words, she tried to appear annoyed but she couldn’t when Raven was acting this playful, and when her antics pleasantly strayed her away from the darkness she was quickly spiraling into earlier.

She took her friend’s hand and stood quickly, shaking off the small strands of grass from her cloak. “True, but where’s the fun in that ? You know me, I live for the dramatics.” Clarke slapped the brunette’s arm with a small chuckle and shook her head, knowing that nothing she could say could outdo Raven’s sarcasm.

Octavia was watching both of them with an amused look, but then the glade was starting to clear out due to all the students making their way to the Great Hall, and just like that, patience flew away from her body. “Come on you two, look there’s almost nobody left here, and the others are probably waiting for us.” She huffed out with annoyance.

“Yes, yes O, we are up and about now.” Raven patted the younger girl’s back and started for the castle. Clarke watched them from behind with a small smile that quickly washed away when susurrations made their way into her ears. She briskly caught up with her two friends, leaving no room for the fear to crawl up inside her mind.

The three girls strode in through the doors into the Great Hall. It stretched before them, grand and glittering, lit by the floating candles. The enchanted ceiling above them showed the bright blue sky, with magnificent gold streaks of sunlight that were playing across the Houses’ tables.

This setting cast warmth in the room, as if the sun truly graced Hogwarts with its presence inside the castle’s walls. It was perfectly mimicking the weather outside, giving Clarke a pleasant and secure feeling.

Above, the Houses’ banners were dancing and swaying with glory in the breeze, giving the halls an airy and open feel. The room roared with life, buzzing chatters came from everywhere, students and the staff laughing and talking and diving into their plates.

The air was thick with the comforting smell of fresh, good food, making it hard to resist it. As if the smell wasn’t enough, the girls caught a glimpse of what was laden onto the tables and quickly made their way there along with the rest of their friends.

It was an endless feast of magical abundance. Loaves of bread, buttered potatoes, roasted vegetables, well-cooked meats alongside their savory juices, and then the irresistible desserts, going from pies to chocolate mousse to ice cream.

Raven was practically drooling beside Clarke, and she wouldn’t deny that her own taste buds were pleading for just a small bite of those dishes.

“What took you three so long ?” muttered the boy across from Octavia, with black curly hair and features resembling all too well to her own. He was eyeing them carefully, knowing that those girls could not stay away from trouble. “Did you blow up something and have them cover for you again, Raven ?”

“Oh come on, Bellamy, that’s not fair, that was one time.” She managed to say with her mouth full of food, at least that was what the people around her thought she said. “Besides, it’s Clarke’s fault if we’re late.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and stabbed a roasted potato with her fork. “Excuse me for enjoying a little peace before being dragged into chaos central.” She gestured vaguely toward the group. “Jasper, get your own food before I hex you.” Swatting his hands away from her plate, the shaggy brown-haired boy across from her sat back down, pouting.

“Peace ? Is that what we’re calling shoving one’s face into the filthy Hogwarts grounds’ grass ?” He snorted from his seat, now stealing food from the Ravenclaw boy beside him.

“Well, one would consider that better than drunk strolling, don’t you think ?” That same boy said while hitting Jasper’s hand with his fork. His playful tone was met with a chorus of laughter from around the table, recalling their good old antics from last year’s Halloween party, which ended with a drunk Jasper wandering the halls as a ‘sexy dementor’, screaming and hollering. The party quickly died down when the caretaker came in suddenly, in a room full of booze and teenagers in dorky costumes, carrying a very intoxicated Jasper. “And hands off my plate too.”

The fun chatter and teasing continued during the remainder of lunch. The atmosphere was light and delightful, something Clarke needed more than anything these very particular days.

Jasper was stuffing food down his cloak’s pockets and urging his good mate Monty to do the same, forever the rules benders.

Raven was seemingly giving a crash course in Potions for Bellamy, who was dreading that specific class and already asking people around him to cover for him. Behind the brunette’s quick wit and heavy sarcasm, she was a star student.

Octavia, on the other side, was engaged in an engrossing conversation with a sweet Hufflepuff boy named Miller that just joined them about the upcoming Quidditch matches, which were always exciting for her.

Everything seemed in order; a small smile of contentment tugged at her lips as she watched the scenes unfolding in front of her. And that familiar awe at how these people have managed to find each other and fit together like puzzles.

So why ? Why was she feeling that cold, heavy tug in her chest that descended all the way to her stomach, tying it into a very tight knot ? Why was it that her limbs seemed to suddenly be getting rid of the warmth of the sunlight and the satisfying gold of its rays ?

She felt like there was a thin, devastating curtain separating her world from theirs. Hers, the one where darkness ruled and light couldn’t get away from it. Her world where shadows passed through the corner of her vision, candles flickered oddly around her, and voices, chilly, whispering in her ears.

Suddenly, a warm hand made its way on top of hers, and she felt her colors coming back, consciousness back into place, back to her body that was in the Great Halls, sharing a nice meal with her sweet friends. She shook her head and turned her gaze to be met with nice, inviting, brown eyes. “Earth to Clarke. I thought someone Stupify-ed you or something with how frozen you looked.”

Raven examined her friend, noticing hints of previous fear in her blue eyes and the way her lips were slightly parted, furrowed eyebrows emphasizing her worry. “Are you alright ?”

Clarke stood still, weighing her friend’s question, debating whether or not she wanted to bother her again with her worries that only seemed to be in her mind. She parted her lips, but no words came that could ease Raven’s worry.

Raven’s features seemed to grow from ones of puzzlement to ones of compassion, empathy for the blonde. She seemed to understand the unspoken words and gave her a slight, gentle nod and squeezed her hand affectionately, not leaving it while she turned around to watch Monty destroy Octavia in a game of Exploding Snap.

Raven has been present since she was a child, she was her person, the one she would turn to whenever things got bad. They shared a bond that seemed effortless and instinctive. The brunette loves to tease her mercifully. She was the one who always pulled her out of her serious, contemplative shell, bringing warmth, laughter, and chaos into her life.

The deep trust between them was something their other friends always found admirable, their silent understanding of each other’s emotions, always reading the unspoken currents of each other’s minds.

Clarke, sitting there and looking at her friend while she was hollering at Bellamy’s antics, was forever thankful to meet Raven in her first year at Hogwarts, when times were tough and she didn’t even have her mother’s comfort and support after her father’s passing. The brunette was a particularly hyperactive child who always seemed to pull Clarke out of her little bubble. As annoying as it was in the past, she was grateful that Raven never gave up on her.

The quick-witted girl did not have the best childhood herself, and Clarke could always read her pain and misery behind all those layers of protective sarcasm. Their grief and sorrow came together like two magnetic forces and merged to create a haven that was their friendship.

Suddenly, the loud chatter from the tables around her died down as movement near the Slytherin table caught the eye of a few students. Standing up from the bench with an air of quiet command was the light brown haired girl that Clarke and her group of friends knew all too well. She clenched her jaw at the sight.

With her perfect ponytail, her sharp features that called for respect, and eyes so green they could capture the entirety of nature’s glory in them. She adjusted her robe with precision and moved with purpose. Something about the way her body moved had the entire room mesmerised by her, Lexa.

Clarke grew sick with how the students seemed to quiver in their seats with fear and how they spoke in hushed tones when the Slytherin Prefect was nearby. Disdain was written all over her face because of the way the other girl seemed to carry herself with an aura of superiority, the All Mighty Woods.

She understood that the mysterious character of the poised girl across the room and her good looks could make some sense of admiration stir in her mates. But not fear, and certainly not any emotion that would give her the nickname “The Commander”. The blonde scoffed as she watched Lexa stroll down the halls, between the tables.

As though she could hear her, the Slytherin turned around and their eyes met, a hint of amusement and challenge in the forest, anger and exasperation in the ocean. The blonde could not stand her, and she didn’t hide it, ever since they were first years. Lexa turned around and continued on her path to class.

“Really, who does this girl think she is ?” She huffed in annoyance when the green-eyed girl left the area. Biting on a cupcake and chewing angrily.

“I mean, have you seen her ? That girl is talented beyond belief, and don’t even get me started on her looks.” Said Jasper, eyes focused on the game of Exploding Snap that was now occurring between Bellamy and Raven.

Monty nudged him with his elbow and whispered lightly. “Dude, read the room.” When Jasper turned around, he was met with a sea of fury from the blonde and quickly apologised.

“I never really understood why you don’t like her.” Octavia now looked at her, genuinely curious about her friend’s reaction anytime the Slytherin is around. “Is it because she outsmarts you in a couple of classes ?”

“What ? She does not outsmart me, she wishes she could.” Her foot tapped against the floor like a drum of irritation.

“Right.. So this is what it is about ? Academics ?” The dark-haired girl smirks, a tone of playfulness in her words, too amused by her friend’s dramatic retorts.

“No, obviously it isn’t just about the academics, it’s-” She groaned and ran a hand through her golden hair, looking more frustrated by the minutes. “It’s everything about her, from the way she presents herself like she is untouchable, to the way she speaks in class like a ‘know-it-all’, to her small smirks filled with cockiness when she knows she is right. Ugh, I just can’t stand her.”

“Untouchable you say, Griffin ? Sounds like you have a personal vendetta.” Says Bellamy without looking up from his cards. Throwing a ‘HA!’ when he gets a move on Raven.

“Don’t even joke about that. Having people around Hogwarts calling her ‘Commander’ is already enough.” Clarke uttered with contempt in her tone, lips driven by pure hostility for Lexa.

“And know-it-all ? Have you met yourself, Princess ?” It was Raven’s turn to tease the blonde.

Clarke only scoffed in response and put her head on the table. She and Lexa had been at odds since their very first year at Hogwarts, tension that only seemed to grow through time. Every classroom that had the misfortune of having the two girls ended up as a battlefield; a small question could turn into a battle of egos. Clarke despised Lexa’s arrogance, and Lexa despised Clarke’s persistence.

Their duels, in each and every class they have attended together, were driven by sheer stubbornness, neither willing to give the other rest. They competed for everything, house points, recognition, and attention from the teachers. Each of their encounters left sparks of competitiveness, and every shared glance was loaded with silent challenges.

Both girls thrived on driving the other mad, feeling a full sense of accomplishment when beating the other. Their rivalry was constant during the years, unyielding. Everyone knew about this everlasting competition those two girls had, the students, the professors, the ghosts, the paintings. No one could ever tame them.

“AHA! In your face Reyes ! How can you be so smart and yet so bad when it comes to this game ?” Bellamy was standing up now, arms in the air, celebrating his little victory against Raven and pointing at her to further mock her. “I know what I am getting you for Christmas ‘Medal for most creative misplays’.”

Raven grew annoyed by his provocation and mocking, lips twitching, trying to find the best comeback to his stupid celebration. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides, and she quickly let her wand speak for her. Everyone turned to look at what the brunette had done, and it was met with an explosion of laughter from the friend group and some people watching the scene nearby.

Bellamy’s nose was twitching uncontrollably whenever he opened his mouth and tiny puffs of smoke spewed out of it, giving him the most ridiculous look anyone could ever have. It didn’t help that his eyes seemed like they were coming out of his orbits with how panicked he was.

“Congratulations, champ ! Your nose, too, is celebrating your victory in style.” Said Raven, with a very pleased smile and having seemingly calmed down from her initial silent rage, tucking back her wand in her robe. “Clarke, I believe it is now time for our Charms class, yes ?” She turned around to face the blonde, a frisky glint still present in her eyes.

Still chuckling, clutching her stomach, Clarke met her friend’s gaze. “It is indeed, Ms.Reyes.”

They both gathered their stuff quickly, alongside Monty, and started to rapidly make their way to the classroom since it was a bit far from the Great Hall. Monty high-fived Raven for her little trick, and the three of them departed from the room, leaving behind Jasper and Octavia still laughing at Bellamy, who was moving around frantically, and Miller desperately trying to fix his nose.

The heavy oak doors of the Charms classroom swung open with a soft groan, revealing a space bathed in the warm, golden light of the calm afternoon. Dust particles danced in the sunbeams that streamed through the tall, arched windows.

The warmth of the sun reflected on the rows of polished wooden desks. The walls were lined with shelves filled with shimmering, translucent spheres, books, and jars with different contents.

The air was humming with a low, expectant energy, the scent of old parchment and something faintly floral that could only bring ease to the soul. The students and the professor were already present.

Clarke, Raven, and Monty slipped into the room, as silently as they could, desperately trying to be inconspicuous. Unfortunately, they have been betrayed by the quick thud of their footsteps and their melody of ragged breaths. Heads turned, and the three delinquents were met by multiple pairs of eyes.

Professor Gustus, slowly and softly, looked up from the ancient book he was reading instructions from. A soft and almost imperceptible sigh escaped him at the sight of the Ravenclaw students standing there, guilty looks on their faces.

“Ms.Griffin, Ms.Reyes, and Mr. Greene, of course.” Professor Gustus began, his stern voice carrying softly across the room. “Fashionably late. Perhaps you could enlighten us as to why you felt the need to delay your class this time ?”

They stood there, dumbfounded, wondering what excuse they could use this time. Glances were shared between the three of them, worried. Finally, Clarke settled on offering him a small, apologetic smile, with Raven and Monty mimicking her action.

“We were discussing our tactics for the upcoming Exploding Snap tournament, things got…smokey ?” Raven tried, and Clarke quickly nudged her with a wide-eyed look, mouth agape. Monty, on the other hand, chuckled beside them, trying hard to hide his smile with the heavy books he was carrying.

Professor Gustus just shook his head and closed his eyes before motioning with his hand for them to come in and settle down. His gaze was already drifting back to the ancient book open on his lectern, as if their late arrival was merely unpredictable.

As they were moving around the classroom to take place, Clarke’s gaze flickered across the room, landing on Lexa, who was already seated, her posture impeccably straight, her expression stoic and unimpressed, emerald eyes meeting hers with an appraising look. It was the same expression Clarke had come to associate with Lexa's effortless superiority. The blonde just sat down beside her friends, already annoyed to have to share a class with the Slytherin.

She should be accustomed by now; it had been a month since they got their schedules and were assigned their classes. But every time Clarke opened the wooden doors and was met with those same shimmering eyes, irritation was all she could feel.

"Today," Professor Gustus's voice cut through the lingering whispers, "we will be delving into the ‘Water-Making spell’ otherwise known as ‘Aguamenti’ which requires a refined control over the incantation and wand movement."

He stepped back, aiming his long, graceful wand into the black, rusty cauldron that was sitting on the wooden desk in front of him. With a simple and elegant movement, moving from right to left, a stream of clear and shimmering water flowed from the tip and filled the recipient rapidly. The classroom was following each of his movements with sharp focus, preparing to try the spell.

Professor Gustus eyed his classmates with a satisfied look on his face, seeing that he had got their attention. “Now, students,” He continued, his gaze sweeping the room, flickering from one student to another, “The challenge will be to control the intensity of the flow as well as the purity of the water.” He motioned with his hand for the students to go ahead and try for themselves.

Clarke stepped forward, holding her willow wand in her right hand with unwavering confidence. She held her head high and with her voice ringing clear and strong, she declared “Aguamenti !” With a powerful and rigid flick of the hand, a robust stream of water emerged from her wand into the cauldron, with a swift and efficient flow. Though a few stray droplets splashed onto the stone floor and the desk, it still counted.

With a pleased smile on her face at her success, she glanced at Lexa’s desk, hoping the Slytherin had witnessed her triumph, wanting to prove a point.

On the other hand, Lexa was focused on her own technique. Taking a deep breath, she raised her wand gracefully and moved it from right to left with a finesse that could command attention without a word. Lexa was a dancer, and the room was her ballet, though Clarke would sooner choke than applaud.

“Aguamenti.” She said softly, her voice cutting sharply among the other students’ incantations. Soon, a clear stream of water made its way into the cauldron, flowing naturally and smoothly to fill it to the brim. She lifted her head and made eye contact with Clarke, a wordless provocation.

Professor Gustus made his way between Clarke and Lexa and observed the results. “Ms.Griffin, though your power is evident and the overall outcome is good enough, I would still recommend exercising your control.” He then put his gaze on the Slytherin girl, ”Ms.Woods, your execution is flawless. A perfect demonstration of controlled power. Good job, girls.”

The blonde, clearly vexed by the obvious difference in praising, hastily wiped the water on her desk. “Regardless of the control, the spell has been cast just as well, with raw power. If anything, my way was faster; there was no need for all that…fussiness.” She was gesturing towards the green-eyed girl, still holding her gaze, but this time with apparent annoyance in her stare.

“Fussiness ?” Her voice was still as sharp, dangerously clear, trying not to waver under Clarke’s goading. “This is called ‘refinement’, Griffin, while your ‘raw power’ almost flooded the desk.”

The Ravenclaw girl’s jaw tightened, her eyes now blazing through emerald ones. “Flooded? This is merely a splash, Woods. Your refinement will not help you under pressure; no wonder you’re so uptight.” The other students were all staring at the scene now, watching those two argue was always a spectacle for the others.

Lexa opened her mouth, putting her wand on her table, ready to fire back, but the bearded Professor quickly cut through them. Clearing his throat, a weary sound that got the attention of both girls, “I am afraid I have to stop this spirited conversation about the intricacies of ‘Aguamenti’ before it delves into a full-on waterbending duel.” Their classmates were snickering and chuckling around them.

“Both of you have demonstrated proficiency. The distinction between your methods is clear, and both are valid applications.” He went back to the front of the room. The blonde and the brunette were still holding each other’s gaze with intensity.

“Now, good job to everyone who has shown capability. For the others, keep practicing. Class is conclu-” Gustus’ words barely left his mouth when Raven briskly shot her wand up “Aguamenti !”

The water burst out of the tip of her wand, sputtering with rogue pressure away from her cauldron and splashing directly on her right, distracting the two rivals from their silent battle.

Clarke yelped as cold water hit her face, and droplets of water were running down her previously perfectly tamed hair. Lexa blinked slowly, a single wet strand of hair plastered against her cheek, and her robewas completely soaked.

Raven’s eyes went wide for a moment, and then she lowered her wand with a smirk. “Well, efficiency is also important, two birds one stone and all that.” Laughter roared all around them whilst a sea of fury and storm-tossed emeralds threw daggers at her.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent with her friends on the Quidditch pitch. Her nose was deep into ‘The Standard Book of Spells’, going over the material they had been studying earlier in Charms. Raven and Monty were sitting on the bleachers, Jasper munching on some Bertie Bott’s beans. The rest of their group was flying around on their brooms, throwing the quaffle between them, having fun.

“Quit it, will you, Griff ?” Raven spoke from her place, “You did well, it doesn’t matter how you did it.” She took her friend’s book and threw it on the bleachers. Clarke sighed in annoyance but was grateful for her friend’s disturbance.

She was now staring at the other side of the pitch where Slytherin’s seeker was standing. “Ugh, of course she is the seeker.”

“Hot, right ?” Jasper said with a full-on smile, and his expression quickly turned into one of disgust “I got earwax !” He started spitting on the grass, and his friends laughed at him. The blonde muttered ‘Karma’.

Clarke caught a glimpse of the emerald eyes that were looking in her direction, held it for a few seconds, and then turned her gaze away to her friends in the sky. Charms was enough action for the day; she didn’t need to be even more provoked.

After some time sitting in the common room by herself, Clarke decided it was time to head to the Great Halls for dinner. Coming down from the Ravenclaw Tower and into the corridors that led to the vast room, she was met with hordes of students also making their way there. She was being pushed away by the ones whose patience ran faster than their thoughts.

Suddenly, a shoulder brushed hers too harshly; the weight of the stumbling students before her pushed her off balance. Before she was able to catch herself, a firm hand gripped her arm. She was steadied by the strength that pulled her to her feet.

Her eyes lifted to meet the one that was facing her, and she realised a striking green stared back. Lexa.

For a suspended moment, the corridor seemed quieter, the rush thinning out and the halls filtering. Neither spoke nor moved; they just stared at the charged silence between them.

Clarke opened her mouth to cut through whatever that was, the beginning of a reluctant thank you forming on her lips. And it hit.

The air shifted. The torches along the stone walls flickered too violently, shadows growing out of shape around her. She looked down the end of the corridor, which seemed to be engulfed in threatening darkness, yet was very much alive. A coldness slipped into her chest, harsh and uninvited. Voices were calling her, and for a moment, she wanted to follow them.

Her arm twitched, and her vision swam at the edges, blurring everything momentarily.

“Clarke.” A low and steady voice broke into the heaviness.

The blonde’s eyes looked back into Lexa’s, which were meticulously studying her; they narrowed with a dangerous awareness and were calculating. Her usual firm expression faltered into one of veiled concern.

Clarke tore herself free before the brunette could further investigate, pushing the Slytherin’s hand off her arm with virulence and avoiding her look. “Excuse me.” she muttered, voice low and bitter, while pushing past her and striding down the hallway.

But the weight of that gaze followed her, heavy and searching.

That night, Lexa noticed Clarke’s absence at dinner, staring at the empty spot between her delinquent peers, eyes lingering with questions. As if the missing presence carried more weight than the buzzing of the room.

Chapter Text

She was sitting on one of the moss-covered stones scattered unevenly around the lake, which reflected the greyness of today’s weather.

In her hand was a crystalline shard suspended from a worn-out silver chain. It was a piece of an unknown mineral that captured the ambient light and reflected it into hues of pale green and cold blue. Within its clear depths, white waves were slowly swaying, they almost seemed frozen in time. It felt unnaturally cold against her skin, a silent thrumming.

She fiddled with it, turned it sideways, and felt it gently with her thumb, her emerald eyes were fixated on it as if she was trying to solve an unending riddle. She raised it to the sky and contemplated the cold colors merging, creating the illusion of something alive and breathing.

Her mind went back to last night’s event. She had noticed the odd behavior of the Ravenclaw girl and could not shake it out of her head. Normally, she would not give it much thought, but there was something about the peculiar demeanor that Clarke displayed in those halls.

What she felt at that moment was stuck in her thoughts. How the shard on the chain around her neck pulsed with a cold, buried gleam. A shiver, a sharp contraction that seemed to suck all the warmth around her. A sickening current, shallow and irregular, as if the air itself were breathing. The white waves were no longer locked, they were swirling in an agitated manner within that fragment.

She closed her grip on the necklace and raised her head, scrutinizing the sky that mirrored the storm she had seen trapped within it last night.

It was like the weather had reversed completely, yesterday’s light and hope were now submerged by the tide of gloom and unrest. She shouldn’t read much into it, Hogwarts was usually like that in the damp October. If anything, the sun was the imposter. For light and hope were the strangers here, because in the castle and beyond, only the storm belonged.

Those concerns were probably the reason why she found herself on the grounds of the glade, observing intently the golden-haired girl who was sitting across from her by the lake. She was surrounded by her friends and seemed like they were engaged in an animated conversation.

Lexa’s eyes swept over the group, noting the careless laughter, loud tones, and playful manners. They were reckless, undisciplined, but she could not deny the skill they had displayed throughout the years, for that, she carried cautious respect for them. She felt no desire for camaraderie, yet she recognized usefulness when she saw it. They were not a threat, except for the pranks they often played, and that could sometimes get out of hand. Chaotic, unpredictable, but not without merit, they wore the title ‘delinquents’ truly well.

“The Commander is taking a day off from duty ?” A familiar voice rose from behind her, a hint of playfulness in those words.

Lexa's lips twitched into a hint of a smile. “Duty calls, but some days it rather whispers than shouts, Anya.” She placed the necklace back carefully around her neck and relaxed on the stone. “And today, it is one of those days.”

She felt her housemate sit beside her and observe her quietly with sharp eyes, knowing there was something deeper than what she let on. “It is never one of those days.”

Intense green met hazel eyes, and a current of understanding passed between their gazes.

The seriousness of the moment was cut by loud hollering and laughing. They directed their focus on the commotion that was going on the other side of the lake.

A pudgy, silver-scaled fish with comically oversized teeth and sly, glimmering eyes latched onto one of the boys’ robe, who could only be Jasper Jordan, tugging with absurd determination. He yelped at the vicious-looking specimen that continued gnawing at his cloak. He was gesturing his wand at it, trying to get rid of it.

The rest of his friends were too busy laughing at the scene, some of them rolling on the grass, and the others watching with absolute fun.

“I truly don’t understand how they have made it so far in their education.” Anya said with exasperation in her voice, though the corners of her mouth were blatantly revealing an amused expression. “They are all so careless and seemingly dumb.”

“You secretly enjoy it.” Lexa remarked, looking at them with an impassive expression, while some of them were now helping the Gryffindor get rid of the devious fish.

“Don’t get me wrong, their antics do liven up the castle, but I can’t stand them. They’re careless, irresponsible, and utterly ridiculous. Every little thing turns to chaos when they’re around.” Her eyes rolled as the scene unravelled in front of them, and she sighed with annoyance.

The fish plopped back into the water, successfully nudged by a well-aimed spell from Nathan Miller, whom she had the pleasure to converse with in one of their ‘History of Magic’ classes. Jasper was now frantically moving around, having taken off his robe and showing the damage the creature had done to it. His friends kept on laughing at the shredded mess and its sorry state.

The familiar, comforting weight of the shard turned into a sudden, piercing cold, a silent alarm that yanked Lexa’s attention away from the boy. Her eyes darted back to Clarke. The amusement that had graced the blonde’s features seconds ago had evaporated, replaced by a look of profound unease and uncomprehending fear.

A sudden gust of wind passed through the glade and sent the surface of the lake rippling, and rustled the leaves of the willow trees, which sounded like a distant whisper.

Each second passed slowly and crawled with heaviness. She saw the blonde girl’s fingers clench, saw her take a deep, ragged breath, and then her eyes darted around, taking in her friends and the familiar scenery. The sheer panic that was displayed on her face moments before was replaced by a dazed awareness. Lexa registered the signs of her recovery and how she tried to force a smile for her friends as the icy cold that was thumping against her skin had settled down.

Clarke’s eyes skimmed over her surroundings and abruptly stopped on Lexa’s piercing gaze. The moment stretched with unspoken confusion between the two girls, as green eyes, sharp and analytical, stayed fixated on raw, disoriented blue ones. As she was observing the other girl’s features, the Slytherin felt a wave of curiosity and intrigue wash over her, mixed with a flicker of unease.

The blonde suddenly averted her stare from Lexa, redirecting her attention to her friends, leaving her wondering why the air around Clarke felt wrong and charged moments ago. Why the natural order of the space surrounding them had momentarily been disturbed.

She clenched her necklace and fell into the current of thoughts that was whirling in her head, growing more and more frustrated at the oddity of the situation.

This crystalline shard, a family heirloom she'd possessed for years, had always been a silent mystery. Throughout the years, it would rarely behave strangely, but since the start of the school year, its subtle awakenings had become more frequent and pronounced. Its strange behavior was a constant source of confusion and frustration. This situation was escalating into an undeniable burden, something she was desperate to unravel.

“Honestly, those guys just have a knack for turning a quiet afternoon into a circus, don’t you think ?” Anya said with a huff while gesturing to the group by the water.

Lexa slowly got out of her train of ruminations and leisurely nodded her head while letting go of the necklace. “I suppose you’re right.” Her gaze fell again on the blonde, this time just watching instead of analysing, as she followed her mates out of the glade.

The girl beside her got up with one swift motion and readjusted her robe. “Come on, Commander, Quidditch time.” She looked at her with bright eyes and an excited smirk.

She stood up and let a small, amused twitch lift the corner of her lips at her friend’s eagerness. “Stop calling me that..”

“Oh, what, like you don’t enjoy it.” They started their way to the Quidditch pitch, Lexa shaking her head in false vexation.

The chill of the humid October air did little to dampen the vibrant energy of the Quidditch pitch, it carried a special scent that mixed wind and earth with a subtle sense of something wild and unpredictable. For the Slytherin team, it was more than welcome since it mimicked their dynamic perfectly.

In the air, there was a blur of emerald robes portraying focused aggression as they honed their skills. Their brooms sliced sharply through the greyness of the sky, each twist and turn precise and daring. This was to be expected from that House.

Even in practice, their competitiveness was prominent. Between the subtle gestures, quick reflexes, some to avoid the bludgers and others to keep eyes on the quaffle. Keen glances were exchanged, and the pitch seemed alive with each player’s ambition and the team's overall playstyle.

Lexa was up high, on her perfectly polished ebony broom with silver accents at its edges, reflecting elegance and skill and fitting perfectly the Slytherin’s poised nature.

She was scanning the pitch, observing her teammates’ every move, anticipating any sudden movement and looking out for flying bludgers coming her way to knock her out of the broom.

Her analytical nature made her a proficient addition to the already skillful team. She was strategic and moved with precision and made efficiency her ally. Being a seeker, she had to remain cool and calm, she often tried to intimidate her opponents with her unforeseeable techniques and her very well-practiced flying skills. She tried to be as imperceptible as a shadow and as quiet as a whisper on the field.

Looking over the area, she swept every corner of it, trying to locate the Golden Snitch. Instead, she found something else that gleamed like the soft brilliance of sunlight on the sidelines. Not the elusive Snitch, but Clarke Griffin with two of her friends she could only recognise as Raven Reyes and Octavia Blake. They often gathered there, a self-proclaimed support group for Murphy, one of their own who was a Chaser on the Slytherin team.

Clarke was posed there, sketching per usual, focus written on her face and passion present in her eyes. Raven was headfirst into a Potions book, brows furrowed, irritation well carved onto her features. Octavia, on the other hand, was watching intently their practice, eyes swaying and head turning with each movement on the pitch.

Lexa’s eyes were scanning the girls silently sitting there, gently dissecting the trio, searching for a crack in their composure. Or maybe only in Clarke’s.

And then it happened, just inches from her sharp face, a blur of black iron tore through the air, wild and off-course, making her breath hitch. The Bludger was not flying with aim but with reckless force, the result of a brutal mistake, a pass going astray by one of the Slytherin Beaters. The rush of its passage split the space with a violent swish that rang in her ears.

The sound of the brooms slicing through the air and the Quaffle being passed from one player to another, the calls hurled across the pitch, all of it paused. Specks of green ceased their motion for the exception of heads turning towards the danger, eyes widening as the scene dreadfully unfolded. For an instant that seemed to stretch for far too long, the entire practice was abandoned, time only revolving around the metal ball hurtling straight to the benches.

Lexa, high above, felt a jolt that had nothing to do with the wind. Her gaze tracked the Bludger’s trajectory, its angle burning itself into her mind. Eyes snapping back to where it was headed, widening as the line became clear. The brunette’s jaw tightened, not from concern, but from the cold assessment of a potential disaster.

Down under, golden hair was oblivious to the danger, not even the slightest aware of what was coming.

“Clarke !” Murphy’s voice ripped through the atmosphere, cutting the stunned silence, raw with alarm.

With a single fluid surge of his broom and sharp precision, he shot downwards, decisive like an arrow with wind tearing at his hair, everything else blurring out as he zeroed in on Clarke.

The Seeker witnessed the whole scene as she noticed the blonde’s head snapping up at last, her blue eyes wide with recognition and fear. Her body seemed to be locked in place, torn between the need to flee and the impossibility of escape, her breathing seemingly getting caught in her chest.

Lexa knew that Murphy did not have time to reach her, not before the Bludger did. She rapidly got her wand out, the motion swift and instinctive, fingers tightening around its familiar grip, and before the spell even had time to form on her lips, the air itself seemed to ripple around Clarke.

The Bludger stopped abruptly, awfully close to the Ravenclaw, who had her eyes now shut and her arm above her head, as if protecting herself from the hit, which never came. The ball twitched and jolted in the air, snapping from side to side in violent spasms, like it was convulsing, like it was confused, as though it didn’t know what it was trying to strike.

Although it all happened in a blur, quick as it was, Lexa’s sharp eyes picked up on the strangeness that played out before her. She noticed the hesitation of the Bludger, its odd bursts as though pulled by unseen strings.

Then, with a vicious recoil, it tore away from Clarke, whipping back with as much force as it previously displayed. Hurling in a brutal ricochet into one of the Beaters flying close to the scene, Anya.

Before it could severely slam into her, Lexa reacted more swiftly this time with a flick of her wand in a precise way. The Bludger’s harsh momentum was dulled mid-flight, its speed decreased relatively. When it struck Anya’s guard, it only knocked her sideways while she was gripping her broom tightly, unbalanced but unharmed. Her head snapped up to meet Clarke’s eyes, fury taking over the precedent confusion.

The Slytherin Beater got off her broom as fast as a blink of an eye, striding through the field with charged rage that was eagerly waiting to flood out of her. She stomped on the pitch, making her way to the bleachers, the wrath in her eyes already speaking the words that hadn’t yet left her mouth.

She stopped dead a few feet from where Clarke was, planting herself on the grass. The blonde was now up on her legs from the alarm and puzzlement caused by the event. Lexa took that cue to quickly make her way to where the commotion was going on, hurrying off her broom, but before she could even act, Anya was already lashing out at the girl.

“You !” She was vibrating with rage, growing more and more fervent as she was met with an ocean of bewilderment. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what happened ! What the hell was that supposed to be ?”

Clarke let out a long breath, rubbing her temples in an exasperated manner, still recovering from the abnormality of it all. “Are you being serious right now ?” Her voice was sharp and laced with irritation “Are you seriously blaming me for that ? It was initially coming for me !”

The other girl’s eyes blaze. “Oh come on,” Anya snapped, stepping closer. “You think I didn’t see you pull that little stunt and aim it back my way ?”

The blonde’s eyes widened, disbelief flashing across her face “What ?” Her voice wavered. “It’s a Bludger, they go wild sometimes, it’s not-, I did not-” She glanced left and right, spotting the small crowd beginning to gather around them, and her chest tightened.

“You did not what ?” Anya’s tone cut through the air like a knife, unforgiveness wrapping her every word. “That’s not what you did ? Because it surely looked like it.”

“Alright, that’s enough !” Raven stepped in front of Clarke, hands raised, blocking Anya’s path. “Back off, Anya. Seriously.” She tried a smile to ease up the tension.

“Stay out of it, Reyes.” It only seemed to ignite her temper further. Her glare swept past Raven and landed squarely back onto the blonde. “This doesn’t concern you.”

It was Octavia’s turn to intervene, standing beside Raven, crossing her arms and narrowing her steely eyes. “Actually, it does concern us.” She said firmly. “She didn’t do anything, so back off.”

The tension hung heavy in the air. Anya’s wrath was palpable, and every student around could feel her ready to erupt. Fists clenched at her sides, she opened her mouth with an expression of frustration. Just as the words were ready to pour out, she felt the strong presence of her teammate beside her.

She turned her head around and met sharp emerald eyes, cool, unyielding, and commanding. Behind those layers of intensity, there was also a hint of softness that radiated a quiet understanding that made the Slytherin Beater’s chest loosen. Lexa’s gaze did not demand, instead, it anchored her, like the good friend she was.

The fire in Anya’s eyes faltered, the anger still there but restrained, aware that pushing further would be foolish. She ground her teeth and took a reluctant step back, holding the fuming inside of her in check.

Clarke scoffed, her eyes narrowing as she watched Anya stepping down, her gaze hadn’t softened, it just seemed to be even more fired up. “Oh, brilliant.” She threw her hands up in the air, clearly done with the whole situation, now harshly looking at Lexa. “The great Woods to the rescue, smoothing things over with such a glare.” The heat of the confrontation was still radiating, and the Seeker’s intervention seemed to make matters worse. “What a perfect time for the Commander to exert some control. It’s just fascinating how you always have to be in the middle, like the world can’t possibly function without you making the decisions.”

Lexa’s keen emeralds that were usually controlled widened for a fraction of a second in sheer disbelief. Clarke’s sudden hostility and accusatory words seemed to have struck a nerve, the harsh words that were uselessly thrown her way felt like a personal attack. Hot waves of fresh anger collided with each other in the Slytherin’s gut, eclipsing the usual impassiveness she usually maintained.

The calm and composed expression she so often wore was no more. It left space for venom and unrestrained twitches of her eyes and flaring of her nostrils to take over. She took slow, deliberate steps towards Clarke until not much space was separating the two. Everything from her features to her posture, to the energy she was emanating was far more intimidating than Anya’s previous rage.

“You think I enjoy this ? You think I enjoy being in the middle of your little circus ?” Her voice was dangerously low, each word enunciated with a spit of fire, carrying great weight. “You have no idea what ‘making decisions’ entails, Griffin.”

Glinting green wrath met a sapphire tempest, the air around them cracking with the sudden energy shift. Lexa leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t think I didn’t notice what happened.” She breathed, the secret carried away in the wind. “You can’t deny it.”

Panic was suddenly revealed in the azure blaze, it met the unwavering gaze of the brunette. The blonde was so quick to retort but her breath got caught in her throat, Lexa’s words landed like a blow. She regained her composure, not letting any more emotion slip out. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Woods.” She managed.

She did not wait for an answer, pushing past Lexa and the other students who were engaged in loud chatter from what was happening, abruptly and practically fleeing the scene.

Her two friends were quick to follow her, not before throwing bitter glares her way and hearing Raven say, “That’s low, even for you, Woods.”

The crowd dissipated after witnessing the dramatic exchange, their whispers like rustling leaves. Anya was still simmering with residual anger. “Seriously, what the hell is their problem ? It’s like- Like- Ugh !” She was gesturing to the place where the trio was located earlier, finding and losing her words at the idiocy of the situation.

Lexa’s mind was still processing what had just been said between her and the Ravenclaw. Her jaw clenched, and she took a long and steady breath to calm herself down. “Practice is over.” She said flatly, turning around to get her broom. “Let’s just go.” Anya sighed behind her and followed her quietly, even though the crackling sparks of her fury could still be heard from afar.

Her chest still throbbed with tension and turmoil, a tense mix that formed and moved with slow irritation in her, a coiling feeling she could not release. Fists clenching, undeniably betraying her impassive face.

Each word that Clarke had uttered had lingered and was desperately clinging to the edges of her razor-sharp control. Higher up, the sky mirrored her storm, dark clouds were now rolling, and the wind was tearing at her green cloak. Slowly, raindrops splattered against the ground and onto her face, the cold water offering comfort and balance to the fire that was ignited. She gripped her broom tighter, threatening to let the surge of emotions spill on the field.

The familiar hustle and chatter of the Great Halls enveloped Clarke as soon as she stepped through the large oak doors. The great mix of aromas emerging from the various meals that were proposed to the students was not enough tonight to make her mind wander. Her thoughts were in a frenzy, as scattered as the flying candles in the rainy, enchanted ceiling of the large area. She tried to let go and let herself be engulfed in the light chaos of the room, the chatter, laughter, shouts, but something kept tugging her back and going over the whole of that day’s events.

As she made her way to the Gryffindor table, where her friends and she were used to sit, her eyes inadvertently swept over the Slytherin table. With her usual air of detached poise, sat Lexa, listening to what her most trusted housemate, Anya, was saying. She wondered how she could appear so unshaken. She could not help but dwell on her last words, ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice what happened.’ Clarke could not afford a person like that Slytherin girl meddling in her inner worries.

Sliding into a seat beside Raven, the wooden bench groaned under her weight. “Yes ! She just exploded, just like that !” Octavia was seemingly recounting what happened on the Quidditch pitch earlier in the afternoon to the rest of the group. She huffed in annoyance, remembering the events, stabbing her fork into her plate.

Clarke barely registered Octavia’s words or the others’ reactions, since her head was already full of that moment, and decided to stuff her face instead. “You okay there, Griff ?” Raven asked, arching her brow inquisitively, sensing her friend’s energy was still off.

“Yeah, today has just been a lot.” She replied with a shrug as if that mere movement could brush off the weariness and frustration. Her eyes darted back to Lexa, where she still looked composed and unreadable, as if nothing had happened.

Her jaw tightened, a small flicker of irritation that was starting to get buried by roasted chicken and mashed potatoes was slowly threading back into her chest. Every word she had thrown at her earlier gnawed at her temper. But the last ones, the last ones just clutched at her fear.

“You know,” Raven was looking in the same direction as her. “I could hex her if you want me to.” Her head snapped back at Raven, who redirecting her brown eyes at her housemate. Her smile was playful, but her gaze carried concern and softness.

Clarke could not help but chuckle at her friend’s suggestion, her shoulders loosened slightly from earlier tension. The brunette’s concern, masked under layers of mischief and fun, often helped cut through the whirlwind of emotions she was trying to process. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She smirked slightly, picking at her plate. “Though it sounds very tempting, but no.”

Raven snorted, “Fair enough, but if you ever want to see Woods turn into a toad, you know who to ask.” She nudged her and winked clumsily.

“You really need to work on your winking game, Reyes.” Octavia spoke for her spot, looking at the pair with amusement.

“Oh it’s not that bad, plus I still get some.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“Gross, Raven, gross.” Spoke Jasper, next to Octavia, dropping his fork on the table, disgust written on his boyish face. “No more pumpkin pie for me.”

They laughed at his over-the-top’s reaction, and fell into comfortable banter and teasing. Bellamy was trying to cover his little sister’s ears due to what was being discussed at the table. Octavia was pushing him away, annoyed at his dramatic protectiveness. Monty and Miller were getting comfortable, exchanging shy glances and timid smiles. Murphy just joined them, sliding to the seat next to Clarke, sending her a sheepish smile, knowing not to talk about what took place in the pitch.

The frisky bubble of camaraderie that they have formed at the table felt like a shield that helped her tuck away what could burst it in a matter of seconds.

Their attention was momentarily snagged by the departure of a tall boy from the Gryffindor table, who was sitting not far from them. He was weaving his way through the commotion, deliberately moving towards the Slytherin table. He approached Lexa and Anya and exchanged a few words with them which was met with a nod from the second and only a flick of the eyes from the first.

Clarke’s brow furrowed as she witnessed the exchange. The confusion as strong and present as she had felt since their first year there. Lincoln was a sweet, kind boy, she therefore did not understand his link with those two snakes. She could not reconcile the image of reliability with one of arrogance.

She turned back to her table and noticed Octavia, subtly scrutinizing him, with an intensity that contradicted her usual lively demeanor. They were merely friends, so Clarke knew that this was more than simple curiosity. The Gryffindor’s interest was obvious, and she could not hide it.

“Geez, O. Keep it in your pants, will you ?” Shooting a sly grin at the dark-haired girl.

“Yeah, even I am feeling the heat from this tension.” Jasper loosened his golden and red tie to accentuate his statement, getting a laugh out of his friends.

Octavia blushed and quickly glanced away from the Slytherins’ section. “You’re imagining things.” While Bellamy buried his face in his hands, muttering under his breath ‘Gross gross gross.’ Monty put his hand on his shoulder, a quiet gesture of reassurance.

The laughter quickly faltered as Headmaster Marcus Kane rapped his hands, demanding his students’ attention. Conversations died mid-sentence, the rattling of silverware subsided, and the loud buzzing of chatter vanished into an expectant silence while heads and glances turned to him.

He was wearing a nice smile and stood tall behind the raised podium located in the front of the Great Halls, hands resting lightly on its dark, polished wood. His posture was rigid but not stiff, and he was scanning the room with a gentle gaze. Even through his obvious considerate features, there was an unspoken authority in the way he held himself.

He cleared his throat, his voice carrying through the large room. “A moment of your time, students,” his voice resonating steadily, far from being overwhelming. “As you all know, Hogwarts has always prided itself on not only blindly pursuing knowledge as the sole purpose of all things. But also on courage, ingenuity, and determination that must define our students.” His hands were behind his back while he was marching from left to right, still gazing at the students.

“True learning thrives when challenges arise, when one’s power, skill, and resourcefulness are tested, and when being pushed against rivals.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. The students exchanged curious glances, leaning forward to catch every word, and others furrowed their brows in quiet puzzlement. The air was charged with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.

He continued, “To that end, the Department of Magical Artefacts, under the esteemed guidance of our Head Curator, Mr. Cage Wallace, will be hosting on Hogwarts grounds, a special competition.” He gestured towards the staff’s table, where Cage Wallace sat up straight at the mention of his name, offering a nod to the Headmaster, then to the students. He radiated an aura of intellectual decorum, and his sharp, well-trimmed face and well-combed hair hinted at meticulous care.

A ripple of excited murmurs spread through the Great Halls, rising quickly into a buzz of eager anticipation. The students were glistening with enthusiasm, their eyes bright and attentive, small smiles tugging at the lips of some of them. Others exchanged elated looks, nudging one another with big grins. While others simply sat in silence, absorbing every information with seriousness and earnestness.

“Now now, settle down.” He chuckled at the excitement that the announcement caused in front of him, the hum of the room slowly softening. “This competition, we will call ‘The Artefact Quest’, is essentially a friendly and lighthearted challenge to gently immerse you in the school year that has just begun.”

He went back behind the lectern, “It will also be a way to test your understanding of magical artefacts and their significance in our world.” He continued, “It will involve a series of three little challenges across the entirety of the grounds, which will be revealed the day of the event, and will last for one full day.” The Headmaster carried on with the explanations as the students were all ears, “This competition only allows third-year students and above to participate.” At that, the mecontentment could be heard across the room, but Kane cut through it with his sharp voice. “You have until the end of the week to sign up, but keep in mind that not all who submit their names will be chosen.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed slightly at that, though the idea of being ‘chosen’ piqued her competitive edge. She didn’t like leaving things to chance, and the thought that some students might get picked over others pulled at her pride.

“The grand prize,” He paused, a slight smile playing on his lips, building suspense and intrigue. “Will only be revealed once we have our winner. And good luck to all.” A playful smile was twitching his features, clearly having fun toying with the students’ curiosity. Who did not share the same feeling of gaiety and made that known by various groans, whispered complaints, and dramatic slams of the fist on the table.

Kane’s return to his seat at the staff table signaled to the students that his announcement had come to an end. Clarke rested her elbow, leaning her cheek into the palm of her hand. She still was not convinced by the whole choosing process, the air of unpredictability left her dubious. “ ‘Not all who submit their names will be chosen.’ Is that supposed to be a fun competition or an entry to an exclusive club ?” She sighed. Nevertheless, it did spark curiosity in her mind.

Beside her, Raven nudged her elbow, “You gonna sign up for this ‘exclusive club’, Clarkey ?” She whispered, her eyes glinting with amusement, though the blonde could see she was vibrating with excitement. “I probably will, and if we get chosen, I will probably kick all of your asses.”

“Kane did say that it was ‘friendly’ and ‘lighthearted’, Reyes, you might have skipped over that part.” Octavia chuckled, amused by her friend’s eagerness.

“ ‘The Artefact Quest’ does sound interesting.” Bellamy chimed in, the corners of his mouth tugging into a small smile. “And though you are right, my precious little sister, I will be the one kicking your asses.” He said with a pointed look at Raven, puffing his chest, and Octavia hitting his shoulder softly at his remark.

Monty, who grabbed a deliciously red-looking apple, butted in with sarcasm, “I think you guys forgot about the part where you need to be chosen.” Clarke couldn't help but chime in with a dry, “Preach.”

“Alright grumpy, what’s your deal here ?” Raven turned to her blonde friend, “I know you want to participate.”

Clarke sighed, “It’s just that the uncertainty of being chosen… It’s frustrating. You work hard, you prepare, and then it all comes down to some arbitrary decision.” She liked challenges, loved them even, but this particular rule left a bitter taste that she couldn’t ignore, the air felt different tonight.

“Case in point, grumpy, you just need to get laid.” Clarke nudged her playfully. “I know you’re just overreacting for nothing, you were practically buzzing with excitement when Kane was making the announcement.”

“We’ll just see, I guess.” She gave a small, resigned shrug, her hand still propping her chin while Octavia and Raven were grinning at her pointless skepticism.

Jasper ran a hand through his hair, eyes zeroed in on the table, not looking at anything specifically. “A lifetime supply of pumpkin pasties… Oh my god, a lifetime supply of pumpkin pasties, what if that was the grand prize ?” His friends’ laughed at his idiocy of an epiphany, “That or just bragging rights.”

“Some people here don’t need to win a tournament for that.” Octavia pointed at Raven and Bellamy with a wry smile.

A small chorus of “Meh, she’s not wrong” and “You’re right” came from the friend group at her statement, and even the pair agreed to that.

The table fell into a lighthearted hum, the earlier tension from Kane’s announcement fading, replaced by playful banter and the remainder of a great feast.

Clarke’s gaze deliberately looked for a specific Slytherin student, the need to observe her reaction to the big revelation that had occurred moments ago, deep in her guts. After all, they were both known to be sworn rivals.

Her eyes fell onto their table, and as always, Lexa was wearing her usual impassive, stoic expression. The same carefully maintained composure that seemed to make her impervious to excitement or disappointment. She was unreadable. Her posture was unbelievably straight, her hands folded carefully, and that same steady gaze. Though there was a faint, imperceptible tension in her jaw that betrayed her fixed mask. That subtle hint, so easily missed by anyone else, was enough to ignite a surge of determination in Clarke.

The air felt different that night.

It was different that night.

Something seemed off, like a puzzle missing several key pieces. And as their eyes locked, she felt like Lexa held one of those crucial pieces.

Across the room, Lexa felt the weight of an intense pair of blues on her, piercing through the chatter and laughter of the room like a quiet storm. For one too many times that day, her necklace turned ice cold, mirroring the fierce, unyielding force of the tempest that held her gaze.

The blonde’s presence had undoubtedly become a pivotal piece in the unknown, unsettling game Lexa was seemingly already playing.

It was undeniably different that night.

Chapter Text

A long, insistent, and loud chatter echoed through the cramped room. The shouts were bouncing off the high ceilings, onto the dark stone of the walls, filling the space with high tension and harsh looming pressure.

The hushed voices of some added a quiet sense of chaos to the already suffocating weight of the debate. Whispers and yells came together to build a whirlwind of noise, colliding in the narrow area until logic itself was drowned underneath the storm.

Even in a room where words were meant to shape the law, irrationality pressed harder than the fire emerging from the torches set in brackets on the walls.

“The fluctuations reached Feldcroft last night, you can’t call that a coincidence !” Called a voice from the far corner of the room.

“Fluctuations happen every year, don’t dress it up as doom.” Responded to someone else's gruff opinion beside it, sharp and dismissive.

Cloaks swept against stone as witches and wizards crowded the steep floor, the uneven light swallowed by the dark, panelled walls casting the speakers’ shadows into gloomy shapes, arguing as fiercely as their owners.

In the deep underground Wizengamot meeting chamber, the air carried a sharp tune of urgency, laced with fear. As it had not been called to session in such haste for decades. The room meant for quiet committees now heaved with overlapping arguments and restless noise.

At the center, on the polished mahogany table, parchment rustled violently as the members were slamming reports, each voice straining to be heard above the next. Chaos wouldn’t begin to describe the clashing that battered the chamber.

“Enough.”

That single word cut through the commotion like a well-sharpened knife, and the swell of voices died against the murkiness of the chamber.

All heads turned as Thelonious Jaha rose from his seat, the one at the end of the large table, the stark elegance of his dark and tailored suit only sharpening the weight of his intense gaze.

His eyes swept through the crowded room, steady and stern as he scanned each figure that was seated on both sides of the table on the high-backed and well-carved chairs. The silence that followed him was not obedience, but the hush of fear and reluctant respect.

“We are not children bickering over bedtime stories.” His voice was slow and carrying across the room. “If magic is stirring against us and the wizarding world, then we will face this matter with order, not chaos.”

The room shifted uneasily at the words. Some of the wizards relaxed in their seats, grateful for the authority he gave off. Others wore disapproving looks on their faces. The rest stayed put with sharp expressions, taut and unblinking.

Dante Wallace’s voice rose from one of the seats, calm but edged with a small sense of disdain. “Magic stirring against us ? Surely we have overcome many abnormalities that would bend magic to turn itself on our world, and none have ever been more than passing disturbances.”

“ ‘Passing disturbances’ you say ?” The Head of the Aurors’ voice did not take much time to answer Dante’s words. “For the previous Head of the Department of Mysteries, you should be leaning more into the mystery of it.” Indra readjusted herself to sit more straight and look at the old man with a stricter gaze. “And open a book once in a while.”

Dante’s nostrils flared, and he leaned forward, grabbing the arms of his chair with a tight grip. “You would dare lecture me on history, Auror ? I have spent a lifetime-”

“I said, that is enough.” The Minister’s voice rang gavel, final and unyielding, quickly taking back the room’s attention. This time, his words carried the weight of a threat, something to be obeyed.

Jaha stood up from his seat and set both his hands behind his back, his keen figure drawn to its full height, giving him a severe and commanding stature. His gaze was lowered, not to avoid the room, but for the silence he had set to stretch and settle. For his fellow wizards to compose themselves and look at the matter in a more orderly manner. Only when he had felt that the tension had resolved, even if slightly, he raised his eyes, calm and calculating.

“We are gathered here over a serious matter, one that has urgently forced this council into session. Across our world, there have been reports of irregularities, oddities, anomalies, call it what you will, but it has become enough of a problem to stir the Ministry’s conscience.” He looked at every wizard present by his side, keeping a fierce look in his eyes.

“We have received reports from all over the country, wild surges of magic, ancient wards acting out, spells fizzling into nothingness, charms unraveling. What once held firm is now brittle, and what should obey no longer listens.”

He was now circling the polished table, each step echoed against the chamber’s stone floor, strolling with a steady and calm pace, with his hands still firmly clasped behind his back.

“These are not isolated incidents, but events that should be seen as patterns. A growing storm that threatens to destabilize the very foundations of our society.” The eyes around him darted between one another, some with wide alarm and others with disbelief or skepticism. Some of the wizards were intensely gazing at him, weighing his words and searching for hints of exaggeration.

“For too long, we have dismissed those bizarre incidents as minor disturbances or casual occurrences. But the scale, the frequency, and the strangeness of the events can’t be ignored any longer.” His voice echoed more sternly at those last words, his eyes widening in a clear warning.

“We can’t afford to descend into meaningless bickering when our world might be under genuine threat.” Jaha swept the room with his strict gaze, his voice edged with the disdain their quarrels had earned. “This is not a time for ego or casting blame or doubting each other, our duty calls.” He said, looking pointedly at Indra and Dante.

“Now,” He returned to his seat, leaning forward as he set his elbows on the table, his hands clasped before his mouth in a measured pose. “What do we know so far ?”

Abby Griffin, one of the most performant and renowned healers of the St.Mungo’s hospital, shifted forward in her seat, a movement that commanded immediate attention from her peers. Years of magical medicine lent her words authority and undeniable credibility.

“From a medical standpoint, we have received many patients who helped us observe a consistent presentation of symptoms across the whole country.” Her brows furrowed in worry as she met her colleagues’ eyes, showing the gravity of the situation.

“This is a crisis.” Her voice rose more urgent, demanding full attention from the council members. “Those symptoms defy all known magical principles. We have uncontrolled power surges, inexplicabled collapses and spells lashing out. Those are not just mere incidents.”

Eyes widened, alarmed glances were exchanged, while others furrowed their brows in doubt. The Undersecretary’s quill could be seen scribbling notes on a piece of parchment in the air. Scoffs of exasperation and murmurs of perplexity could also be heard in the room.

Hands clenched, chairs shifted, and small, tense gestures betrayed the unease even among those appearing to be composed. The charged silence after that was a pause of dawning comprehension.

“Some records also show indisputable changes in certain patients’ behaviours.” Abby continued, her tone still pressing. “Some kind of psychological disturbances. I am talking about complete detachment from reality, heightened paranoia, or uncontrolled fits of lunacy.”

She sighed, showing her frustration with the overall situation she, as a healer, has been put in. She put a hand on her forehead and closed her eyes for a brief moment, gathering herself before continuing.

“People are suffering, and this will only escalate if it is left unresolved. An intervention is critical at this point, we cannot let it deepen.” The weariness in her gaze was very much apparent. “Every day we leave these events unattended, more individuals are at risk.”

As if on cue, the fire of the torches flickered with force and fierceness, casting shifting shadows across the chamber and revealing the features of the others, wide eyes, furrowed brows, clenched jaws, and subtle gestures of unease. In the wavering light, the gravity of Abby’s words seemed to settle on each of them, unspoken but undeniable.

She settled back on her chair, signaling that she was done with her strikingly alarming report. Leaving the room boiling with more tension than they have felt when they first stepped through the large dark door.

A light cough broke the silence, drawing back every member from their short confusing daze. Marcus Kane cleared his throat, hands clasped firmly on the table.

“These cases are concerning, yes.” He spoke with a light tone, calm and composed, though a tinge of dubiety. “But are we certain that they are all connected ? It is possible that some are situational, coincidental.” He unclasped his hands, moving them subtly as he spoke. “After all, magic is a fairly ancient force, and it’s known to be.. capricious. It would not be surprising if it misfired from time to time. That is why I caution against assuming a threat without solid evidence.”

He swept the room with a measured gaze, studying each council member thoughtfully. There was no harshness or agressivity in his eyes, only careful calculation, trying to appeal to logic.

His look landed on Abby, who met his gaze with a confused expression, incredulity passing over her features. They had worked together for years, and she knew his caution was born of logic, not doubt, but in this moment, it still unsettled her.

He nodded softly in her direction, with a tight-lipped smile, and quickly looked over to the other members of the council. His statement was met with some disapproving eyes and on the other hand, quiet affirmations.

“From the Law Enforcement Department, we are not seeing any odd activities that could point to a singular, malicious intent.” Miller’s voice carried a grounded tone, as if weighing fact against speculation. “The reports we are getting are the usual thefts, enchanted objects misused and petty spells exchanged between neighboring households or local apprentices or just habitual little pranks. Disruptions that fall entirely within the scope of what we normally handle.”

The healer’s gaze sharpened, though she remained composed. “These may appear ordinary in isolation, yes.” She said, her voice steady. “But if we examine collectively the frequency and nature of the events, the result suggests something far beyond mundane mischief. I do not know what you all need to see to understand the gravity of this, or how many more need to suffer before action is taken.”

“I agree with Doctor Griffin.” The Auror spoke from her seat, face as sharp and strict as always. Her eyes measured each member’s resolve. “We cannot dismiss everything as just mere incidents. The consequences are too severe and too important to turn our focus away from them.”

Minister Jaha looked at her with pointed attention, as well as Kanewho had always admired her discipline and the unwavering precision with which she executed her duties.

“As Head of the Aurors,” she carried on with a firm and resolved tone, “it is my duty to protect the wizarding world. Ignoring this unpredictable danger would be a failure of that duty, and I will not stand by while any one could be at risk.”

Dante leaned back in his chair, a patronizing smile playing on his lips, accentuating the wrinkles on his face. “It is rather quaint that we are entertaining the idea of a threat or a ‘crisis’ like Doctor Griffin so eloquently described.” He turned that smile to Abby, a quiet provocation. “From my own extensive experience, these sorts of reports are just the results of the usual hiccups of a complex magical world. These anomalies are the very things we study, and yet they rarely escalate.”

He drummed his fingers lightly on the polished table, a faint gesture of impatience. “Let’s not allow a few stray sparks to ignite a wildfire of panic among our peers, yes ?”

Despite his misplaced arrogance and the tone of superiority he allowed himself to use to express his ideas, some of the wizards gathered around the table could not help but reason with his logic. Though harsh and rude, he sometimes made sense in his statements, and the years of expertise he had stacked behind him only brought credibility to his words.

“What about our dear students ?” Minister Jaha asked, his voice even but carrying a weight that drew the council’s attention. “Regardless of the true source of this disorienting situation, their protection is also one of our top priorities. Has Hogwarts been a target of those events ?”

The question hung in the air before all eyes turned towards Kane, the Hogwarts Headmaster. He straightened slightly. “So far, there have been no incidents at Hogwarts that fall outside the usual chaos of student life.” He said, with a slight tone of playfulness, earning a few quiet chuckles and small smiles from his peers, which eased the overall tension.

“That said, we cannot assume that the school will remain untouched if this pattern continues.” Indra cut in, not letting them forget about the pressing matter.

Jaha nodded, his smile faltered as he remembered that one of the students was his own son. “Indeed, Hogwarts is home to many young witches and wizards, and their safety must be considered above all else.”

There was a beat of silence, yet it was thick with unspoken perplexed thoughts, buried frustration, and uncommunicated fears. The room itself seemed to be holding its breath, every person present stifling in their own world.

“A small competition is being hosted by Cage here, a great opportunity to observe their magic in practice.” Kane spoke to ease the pressure that was slowly crushing the chamber. “The students are elated by this chance that has graced the Hogwarts Grounds.”

Cage Wallace had been present since the beginning of this session, quietly observing with a calm and calculating gaze. There was an air of measured curiosity about him. Though he spoke little, the council was aware of his attentiveness, a presence that strangely unsettled some of the room.

He did not move from his previous position, well seated on his chair, comfortable, with an impression of haughtiness that was reminiscent of his father.

“Indeed, we can ensure that the event is closely monitored, with precautions in place to limit any unwanted accidents.” His eyes fixed with a quiet intensity, betraying nothing but a sly glint.

“Make certain that you do that, I have been told that this type of events attract undesirable attention.” Jaha said, his gaze lingering on Cage with a quiet, measured weight. The Head Curator only nodded with calm acknowledgment.

The Minister cleared his throat, the sound cut through the heavy stillness. “We cannot ignore what has been presented today. While there is rising disagreement, it would be best if we remained vigilant. What some of us have endured cannot be disregarded. Even minor, situational disturbances can have serious consequences for those affected, and it is our duty, both by law and conscience, to act when the safety and stability of our world is at stake. No incident is too small to merit attention.”

The Minister gave a firm nod, letting the weight of his words fall onto the room. “For now, let this council be on the lookout for more complications. Monitor every development, report any unusual activity, and do not underestimate even minor incidents. This session is adjourned.”

The chamber’s door creaked open with deliberate slowness, the sound echoing off the tall, darkened walls as members began to rise from their seats. The members rose, murmuring among themselves, some exchanging worried glances, others skeptical. The chamber seemed heavier than when they had entered, and though the meeting had come to an end, the sense of unease lingered in each of their conscience.

Each figure departed in turn, their expressions clouded with unease, the conversation having raised more problems than the solutions they had hoped for.

On one side, Abby’s brown eyes stayed put on the Minister’s figure, utter disbelief and confusion drawing themselves across her otherwise smooth features, now faintly lined by age. She could not understand the mere course of action decided. To her, it felt dangerously insufficient, negligent in the face of what she had laid before them moments ago. The man that she already despised further accentuated her focused disdain.

Their eyes met and almost immediately, Jaha’s face turned away and he hastily left the room, in something that could only be recognised as shame or conflicted restraint. As if he knew that his decision was far from a solution.

The Healer felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked at the source that interrupted the whirlwind of confusion that was slowly coming to life in her mind.

Kane stood there, eyes fixed on her with a softness and steadiness that radiated warm concern, which contrasted with the Minister’s sharp retreat. “You spoke with conviction, Abby.” His voice matched the warmth of his gaze. “Do not let this get to you. I must admit that it unsettles me, but do not waver in the face of uncertainty.”

“It unsettles you alright, that must be why you had my back earlier.” There was harshness in her words, while she was quickly readjusting her robe and getting away from this seat that had managed to put the whole council into unease.

“I want to believe you.” He admitted, quieter and looking around, only to see that the room had emptied. “But I cannot blind myself to reason. My duty is not only to act, but to act with care, to weigh the cost of alarm against the cost of silence.”

Abby turned on him, her eyes sharp. “Blinding yourself to reason ? Marcus, you’ve heard me. You’ve heard the reports, do you think I would waste my time with meaningless ‘incidents’ as you all like to call them ?”

“No, I know you’ve seen something real.” His jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm. “I just do not know yet if it is as dangerous as you fear.”

The words hung between them like a veil of smoke, pressing on the air and clouding the only slight sense of logic that lingered in the chamber. Abby held his gaze, her anger clashing with disbelief, battling in fiery fierceness in her being, stopping any words from forming clearly out of her mouth.

She slowly removed his hand from her, signaling that this frustrating exchange was coming to an end. She marched out of the chamber with as much vexation as her eyes let on.

Behind her, Kane shook his head in irritation, finding it impossible to remain balanced in a world that crumbled beneath their feet. He sighed, as if that simple act could let out all the tension that had been building up and tightening his chest. The Headmaster turned around, leaving the room.

The large and eerie door closed behind him with a resonant groan, echoing through the chamber like a final note. The torches dimmed with the draft of the closing door, leaving the room slowly falling into an engulfing darkness, as though the chamber itself preferred to keep its secrets.

The first pale light of dawn spilled through the small, arched panes of the Ravenclaw dorm room, stirring it to life and catching the shimmer of dust in the air. The room was quiet, except for the faint noise of whatever type of unnatural bird was at their window this morning.

Clarke shifted beneath the thick blue covers that were neatly spread on top of her, blinking against the slowly rising brightness. The wan light of that morning was leisurely snaking its way into the room through half-drawn blue curtains, timidly drawing her attention.

Slowly sitting up on her bed, she softly rubbed her eyes, coaxing the haze of sleep to lift as the room around her came into clearer focus. She let her gaze wander on the rug marked with the Ravenclaw crest, the bird’s wings stretching in all its glory, bringing a sense of quiet wisdom to the room.

Across the room, on the very messy bed from which fell the blue covers, Raven was in deep sleep, lightly snoring, her uncomfortable suggesting she had been wrestling with her pillows all night. Perhaps that was what Clarke heard in the darkness that was previously engulfing the room, or was it ?

The blonde observed her friend’s chaotic side of the room, half-open notebooks spilled secrets of last night’s insomnia, a small storm captured in fabric and parchment, and her wand sneaking from under the bed.

She shook her head with a small smile tugging at her lips, her friend has never changed her ways, ever the same since childhood. But at the same time, a whole different person, someone she could be proud of, and someone Clarke could only feel indefinitely grateful to have as a close friend.

She turned her still drowsy cerulean eyes to the domed window on her right. Aside from carrying the pride and delight of being a dignified Ravenclaw, Clarke particularly enjoyed the greatest benefit of belonging to this well-respected House, which is the location of their dorms.

Every morning and every night, from the first moment the light started to creep from the horizon, and the first moment darkness settled its veil on the world and made place for the glow of the stars, she was able to witness it from high above.

The weak light of the October morning, filled with a tinge of greyness and the quiet melancholy of the season, spilled on her face with a tenderness that put the very sadness of the hour to shame.

Below, the castle grounds stretched like a patchwork of shadow and dimness, the lake glinting softly as a thin mist curled above its surface. The Forbidden Forest loomed in the distance, dark and silent, its secrets hidden beneath the morning haze.

The Quidditch pitch lay quiet and calm, free of the competitors flying fiercely around. The bleachers sat clear of any passerby or students chanting and roaring encouragements.

High above the courtyard, the wind whispered through the tower, carrying the sweet scent of earth and wet weather the rain brought up the day before.

Clarke’s gaze lingered on the horizon, a quiet thoughtfulness settling over her, as if the world below were both impossibly vast and intimately close. In those quiet moments of reflection, her mind could silently wander through the infinite passages that seemed to open every second that passed. She could stray away from her body and let the atmospheric magic of the grand landscape offering before her take her wherever. Maybe where she could reach for understanding, if only she knew where to begin.

She truly enjoyed waking up and going to sleep to those views and emotions. She could not even imagine how it was to live in the Slytherin Dungeon, with its cold stone walls, dim green light, and the ever-present murmur of the Black Lake pressing against the windows.

Upon her recalling the sharp and fierce green of that sly House, a pair of ferocious eyes with the same intensity of that shade surfaced in her mind, and with them the memory of what happened on the Quidditch pitch.

Clarke replayed the words in her mind, over and over again, until they had lost any meaning and no longer sounded like words at all, but as a warning carved straight into her bones, like shocks startling her brain repeatedly. ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice what happened’.

Ever since that incident, it was all she could think about, paranoia slowly crawling up her insides to grip at her neck and stop her from breathing altogether.

What did Lexa mean by that ? Has she actually seen something ? Or worse, had she understood ?

The more she tried to dismiss it as pure arrogance because of the Slytherin’s usual know-it-all attitude, the more the certainty crept into her mind that Lexa’s eyes hadn’t been bluffing. That her words, though wrapped in venom, carried a heavy sense of recognition, as if she had seen through something Clarke had fought to keep hidden.

The green had been too piercing, she feared now that every casual glance sent her way, every murmur sneaking in the hallways, would seem to bend towards her, heavy with suspicion. And it didn’t help that they had class together again today.

“It will clear up by the afternoon.” A groggy voice came from the other side of the room, heavy with sleep and thick with drowsiness. It gently pulled the blonde from the spiral she was plunging headfirst.

Clarke slowly turned her head to see that Raven had pushed the covers off her shoulders with slow, reluctant movements before sitting up on the edge of her bed. She rubbed at her eyes, fingers dragging across her face as if the gesture alone might coax her awake, and let out a long yawn that echoed in the quiet of the room.

“What do you mean ?” The blonde echoed back.

The brunette sat there for a moment, hunched and blinking at the dim light, then she nodded toward the window beside Clarke. “The weather. It will clear up.”

“Oh.” Her gaze lingered on her friend for a moment, who held it, with a sluggish weight of someone caught halfway between dream and day. Then she looked back at the sky. “Probably.”

“Come on, Princess, we don’t want to be late for Indra’s class.” She stood up and stretched, and immediately started looking for her clothes. “Not unless you’re dying to be her next demonstration dummy.”

A nostalgic smile made its way onto her face. The nickname brought bittersweet memories of her father, a word once warm on his lips, now echoing only in her mind, where she longed for it and knew it would never return. How she longed to hear his voice call her that again, though she knew it never would.

“Please, if we’re late, it won’t be because of me.” She shook the covers off her and got up from her warm and cozy bed to step into the cold of the season. “It’ll be because you can’t tell your robes from the rest of that disaster you sleep in.”

“Oh, Clarkey, poor Clarkey. You seem to forget that this.” Raven lifted her wand with a lazy little wave, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Is the solution to all problems, my dear.”

With a flick, the mess at her bedside stirred to life, clothes folding themselves neatly before landing in an organized pile, her robes and uniform floating straight into her waiting hands. Another wave and the scattered odds slid back into drawers, leaving her corner of the room startlingly tidy.

Clarke rolled her eyes, with a small smile at her friend’s antics. “Show-off. Shame you don’t use it before turning the place into a literal battlefield.” She said as she fetched her own garments.

After a bit more playful banter and changing into their formal Hogwarts attire, laughter still lingering as the two girls stepped into the Ravenclaw common room.

The Ravenclaw common room was wide and had a perfect circular shape. It was airier than most others at Hogwarts. Graceful arched windows punctuated the walls, draped in blue and bronze silks. By day, they offered a breathtaking view of the mountains beyond. The domed ceiling was painted with stars, faintly shimmering in the torchlight, their glow mirrored in the midnight blue carpet underfoot.

Students from all years were scattered throughout the large room, giving it its usual lively hum. This morning, like every other morning, it was calm and measured, a kind of serenity that seemed to pour from the ceiling itself.

The atmosphere was infectious. Even the most restless first years seemed rested, their whispers softened by the weight of the quiet, as though raising their voices would somehow disturb the calm. Older students leaned into the hush, quills scratching in a steady rhythm, minds sharpened by the softness and clarity of morning.

A few lingered by the fire, eyes closed, not wanting to separate themselves from the warm daze that last night’s sleep seemed to put them into. There was no rush in the common room, no frantic energy thrown around.

Clarke felt the quiet soothe her, the weight in her chest loosening as if she was being wrapped in the peacefulness that radiated off the room. It always had that effect on her, making her feel like she belonged among her peers, the thinkers and dreamers that filled that space.

Yet, beneath all of it, another sentiment coiled. The very same silence that steadied others only reminded her of the noise she carried inside. The very same space that could make her feel at home also gnawed her with suspicion that she was somehow out of step, her unease louder most of the time.

The room both welcomed her and cast her apart, a paradox she could never quite shake.

“I think we have enough time to get breakfast with the others before class.”
Clarke spoke gently, shaking off the discomfort that was trying to make itself whole and complete in her.

“Yeah, if they’re even up.” Raven retorted, rubbing her eyes once more to chase away the somnolence. “I’m sure Octavia’s still snoring loud enough to make Headless Nick complain.”

“You’re right… and Jasper’s likely drooling all over that Charms essay he swore he’d finish before dawn.” The blonde shook her head, exasperation tugging at her features but softened by the fondness lacing her tone. Their carelessness never failed to amaze her, yet it was part of what made them who they were.

They quickly made their way to the Great Halls. On their way there, Clarke gave some discreet glances to her surroundings, her eyes darting over the clusters of students filling the corridors.

She half-expected to see those sharp green eyes waiting at the end of the hallway, or worse, to hear her name whispered from lips that should know nothing. The thought that Lexa might have already told someone clawed at her chest, and she forced herself to walk faster, as if outrunning it.

Raven and Clarke sat at the Ravenclaw table, where they found Monty and Nathan already there. They greeted the pair with nice smiles. The rest of the delinquents were nowhere to be found.

“Told you so, Princess, no one in sight. Give me those sickles now.” She stretched out her hand, palm open and expectant.

“We didn’t even bet on it ? If anything, I was agreeing with you.” Clarke lightly tapped the brunette’s hand to swat it away. “Eat your food, Reyes.”

Raven bit into a buttery, golden croissant, scrunching her nose at her housemate in playful deception.

Monty and Nathan were whispering things into each other’s ears, with timid smiles splattered on their smitten faces. Clarke noticed how Monty’s hand occasionally brushed against Nathan’s, a spark of warmth passing between them, while Nathan’s eyes kept darting nervously toward Monty, unable to hide the soft fondness in his gaze.

They have been beating around the bush since they first saw each other in their 4th year. It was not official yet, but it was progress from the stolen glances across the Halls they had been sharing for so long.

“I think we’re interrupting.” Her sidekick nudged her delicately and muttered in her ear.

“Are we ?” Her brows furrowed gently, with a small smirk tugging on the corner of her lips. “They seem to be in their own little world.”

Raven chuckled softly before turning back to her breakfast, chewing softly on the irresistible foods laid on the table before her. The blonde’s gaze lingered a moment longer on the pair, a quiet warmth stirring in her chest. There was something innocent and sweet about the way they hovered on the edge of confession, that tiny tension between them that promised something more.

She picked up her glass of pumpkin juice and sipped it slowly, then gave her attention to the various types of cupcakes that sat there waiting to be eaten.

Some time had passed, spent eating their breakfast, exchanging light chatter, and enjoying the quiet hum of the Great Halls. The room was slowly filling up as more and more students were waking up to get to class, wanting to get refreshments to avoid having to battle the day with an empty stomach.

The three Ravenclaws realised the clock had edged closer to the start of their next class. Reluctantly, they pushed back on the bench and gathered their belongings.

Together, they stepped away from the table, walking with a steady pace towards the hallways. As they got close to the door, two very familiar Gryffindors almost ran into them, sweating and breathing as hard as they could.

The dark-haired girl, Octavia, had her tie knotted crookedly around her neck and one sleeve still inside-out, her robes rumpled as if she’d rolled out of bed just minutes ago. While the boy’s hair stuck up in every direction, his wand awkwardly clutched in one hand and his cloak half-draped over his shoulders, flapping with each hurried step.

The same expression was drawn on their faces. Eyes wide in panic, eyebrows raised as if they had just seen a boggart, mouths slightly open in a mixture of breathlessness and disbelief.

“Well, well, well.” Raven crossed her arms in amusement, slyly smirking. “If it isn’t our wild youngsters.”

Clarke’s lips twitched in a mix of amusement and exasperation, as Monty stifled a laugh as they looked at their messy figures, giving them a frazzled and chaotic energy.

“No time for chit-chat.” Octavia managed to say frantically as she pushed past her two friends, quickly followed by Jasper, who only waved at them.

“But enough time to stuff their faces apparently.” Said Monty with a hint of entertainment in his words.

They got back on their tracks to the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, the faint clatter of silverware and distant laughter fading behind them.

To say that Clarke was apprehensive about that class was an understatement. The thought of sitting through it with Lexa across the room made her stomach twist. Every step toward the classroom felt heavier, weighted with the dread of stolen glances, unspoken accusations, and the constant fear that Lexa had already told someone what happened. The closer they got, the louder the thrum of her own heartbeat became, a steady reminder that this was not just another class.

Paranoia was getting the best of her. The senseless side of her was weighing on the logical part of her mind. Deep down, she was aware that everything she was seeing was just a simple trick of her own making. Anxious imagination was causing her to paint images of delusions, even though she knew it, it did not make the knot in her throat any looser.

She smoothed her robe with shaky hands, forced her shoulders down, and straightened herself, an attempt to snap herself out of it.

“What’s gotten into you ?” Raven looked at her with concern. “Is it because we have class with Lexa ?”

Clarke froze for a fraction of a second, her friend’s words hitting far too close to the truth. She tried to mask it with a tight smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Don’t try that with me, Clarke.” Her voice was now firm and low, the short that did not leave room for theatrics. She nudged her elbow gently, an anchor more than a reprimand.

The blonde let out a shaky breath, and the tight smile faltered into something more honest. “I’ll be fine.”

Raven didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press. Instead, she gave a small nod, her gaze forward as though shielding Clarke’s dignity by not staring too long.

“You know I will always have your back.”

The words landed like a balm, steadying something in Clarke’s chest even as her stomach twisted. She let the silence stretch for a moment, letting herself breathe in the comfort of it before she murmured, barely above the hum of the corridor. “I know.”

Monty just looked at them with a warm smile, a genuine glint of affection for the two girls. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to. His quiet acknowledgment was enough to add a soft note to the tension hanging over Clarke.

She eased up in the sympathy and understanding of the moment, letting herself feel a little bit of relief, for she was not alone. She tried to hang on to that emotion, but the closer they drew to the classroom, the harder she got pulled down into that well of darkness.

When they entered the room, it wasn’t the dimly lit chamber that lay before them in a grand hush or the high windows that let in pale slants of light that grabbed her attention. Or even the occasional flicker of shadows across the old stone walls, or the rows of timeworn desks stretched neatly toward the blackboard and the raised platform that split them in two. Or the teacher’s desk behind which shelves sagged beneath an assortment of odd magical instruments, caged creatures, and dusty tomes on curses and counter-spells. Or how the air seemed to carry a faint smell of parchment, polish, and even the lingering echo of the residue of countless spells.

No, it was not all of that, though it was strong and standing with splendor, resonating the overall mood that that particular subject always radiated : ominous, vigilant, and resolute.

It was those intense green eyes, sharp and firm, as if they carried the weight of a thousand battles and the silence of unspoken truths. A gaze that pierces through pretense and lays bare whatever lies beneath.

They burned with clarity that felt dangerous. They did not simply look. They dissected, weighed, and judged in an instant, leaving nothing unseen.

And that petrified Clarke. It was as though those eyes carved straight through the fragile walls she had built around herself, stripping her with an unrelenting precision.

Those eyes had captured her as soon as she entered through the classroom’s grand doors.

She felt Raven’s hand on the small of her back, pushing her forward to one of the desks, grounding her against the sharp pull of panic that threatened to rise. The contact was gentle and firm, as though to remind her of the earlier promise.

They took place in the middle row and waited for their professor, who was keenly seated behind her desk, going through what appeared to be a stack of parchments. Her quill moved with precise, deliberate strokes, each scratch against the paper sharp enough to echo in the otherwise hushed room.

She did not glance once over the room, did not meet any of her students’ gaze, but the tension in the air suggested she was very well aware of their presence and every move.

“Nice atmosphere.” Raven said with a flat tone. “Feels like a funeral.” She continued, tapping her quill on the desk without looking up.

The faintest shift in the air followed, as though the professor had heard and was deciding whether the remark deserved acknowledgment.

“Indeed, it does.” Clarke retorted from her seat, looking straight ahead and not allowing herself to glance right or left or to a particular spot in the front rows.

The classroom was filling up quickly, and everybody knew that it was better for them to arrive early and on time for that specific course. Putting Professor Indra in a bad mood was never on anyone’s to-do list. Ever.

She finally looked up from her files and stood by the blackboard, her posture unyielding, her dark eyes sweeping across the room with an intensity that seemed to dissect each student.

“Good morning, class.” Her voice cut through the quiet, sharp and precise. “I take it you are all complete strangers in the use of non-verbal spells, yes ?”

Murmured affirmations and hesitant nods spread through the room as Indra continued to look around with calculating eyes. “What is the advantage of non-verbal spells ?”

Lexa’s hand shot in the air almost immediately after the question. “Very well, Miss Woods ?”

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform, which gives you a split-second advantage." The Slytherin affirmed with a direct tone.

“Correct.” Indra nodded and turned back to look at the whole class.

“And that’s what swallowing the Standard Book of Spells does to a person.” Raven whispered beside her friend, causing her to stifle a laugh.

Green eyes were precisely scrutinising the pair after their small exchange, they seemed to be measuring and calculating. Clarke instantly felt her jaw tense. She did not enjoy the obvious sense of superiority Lexa had over her since their altercation. It was undeniably present and hard to shake off.

“Ms.Reyes, you seem to be enjoying yourself quite well.” Indra shot her a dense look, showing she did not really enjoy the distraction. “Will you please enlighten the rest of your classmates as to what the principle of non-verbal spells is ?”

Raven’s head snapped up at the sound of her name. For a moment, a prickle of unease crossed her features, the instinctive reaction of being caught under Indra’s sharp gaze. She straightened, meeting the professor’s eyes with the calm assurance of someone who knew exactly what was expected of her.

“Non-verbal spells depend on willpower, focus, and intent.” She started. “Speaking an incantation out loud is like giving the brain a shortcut, the word helps focus our intent and direct the magic.”

Clarke was looking at her with a proud smirk on her face. “Casting non-verbally means cutting out that shortcut and relying only on concentration, visualization, and wand movement.”

Raven was speaking those words with a collected assurance, each syllable measured, as though she had already rehearsed the explanation in her mind a dozen times. By the time she finished, there was a quiet edge of confidence in her voice.

“Well explained, Ms.Reyes.” Indra’s voice cut through the classroom, cool and exact, carrying neither warmth nor displeasure. “Five points for Ravenclaw.”

A quiet scoff rose from the front rows, the not-so-silent annoyance of a brown-eyed Slytherin, Anya. The Slytherin’s irritation was hardly subtle; after all, her own friend’s flawless answer moments earlier had earned nothing, while the other girl’s had been rewarded.

“While most of you can freely use your wands for mere tasks,” The professor continued, “using them to cast powerful spells non-verbally, to protect yourself from evil and darkness, or in combat, is strictly different.”

She moved from left to right, hands clasped behind her back, each step carried a deliberate weight, as though the very floorboards bent to her authority. Her gaze swept the rows with a measured sharpness, daring anyone to look away first, the silence thickening with every pace.

“It’s harder, and requires more mental discipline, and demands sharper concentration than spoken casting.” She said, still looking at her students. “Practicing ‘thinking’ the incantation while doing the wand movement, instead of saying it, is one way to achieve it. Another way to do so is a duel.”

She came to a halt, facing the raised podium from the area beside her desk. As if on cue, the students all rose from their seats and gathered around it in two loose semicircles, the scrape of chairs against stone echoing briefly before silence reclaimed the room.

“First students up, Mr.Greene and Mr.Murphy.” Indra’s voice rang across the circle, sharp and commanding.

The crowd parted as the two boys stepped out, mounting the raised podium with matching strides. A ripple of anticipation ran through their classmates, the scrape of shoes and shuffle of robes filling the silence.

Murphy shot Monty a smug smirk, which the Ravenclaw boy answered with a roll of his eyes but his playful smile betrayed his own amusement. Though the Slytherin went on with his friendly taunting when he mouthed ‘Try to keep up’. Monty huffed out a laugh and shook his head.

“Wands ready.” The professor instructed, stepping close to the dais, looking up to her two students. “Remember, no incantations. Focus, control, intent.”

The boys lifted their wands. For a moment the classroom was hushed, the tension held only by Indra’s gaze. Everyone seemed to be well focused on the two boys and their wands. “Go.” That single word, piercing and cutting, pulled the room into motion.

Murphy struck first, a flick of his wrist sent a crackled of red light toward his friend. It sputtered halfway and fizzled into smoke. The sound of laughter moved through the crowd, and the boy frowned, mildly annoyed. He tried again, this time forcing more focus into the gesture, his brows pinched, his lips tightening around the spell. This time, it went clean and straight to his opponent, but ever the talented wizard, dodged it easily with an effortless shield charm. His expression was composed and focused.

He countered swiftly, his own silent spell striking in an unswerving and sleek line. Murphy’s frown deeped when he struggled to parry, jaw clenched in concentration. His shield came late, the impact making him stumble a half step backward. Another streak came through and another one, and a third. The Slytherin wrestled to not stumble, his heel touched the edge of the stage but he felt the hand of one of his peers surging him forward. For a heartbeat, embarrassment flickered in his eyes but he quickly straightened and got back in stance.

The exchange continued, Murphy firing shots in bursts, his eyes narrowed, determination etched on his face even as sweat began to bead at his temple. His magic was inconsistent but stubborn, each strike was pushed by sheer will.

Monty held his ground with precision, his features calm but taut with focus, his eyes gleaming with good-natured challenge. He moved with the confidence of someone testing himself as much as his opponent, every counter measured, every gesture sharper than the last.

The blue-eyed boy’s breathing grew heavier, his shoulders tensing up, frustration spreading more and more on his face. The Ravenclaw boy, in contrast, looked steady, though the set of his jaw betrayed the effort of holding pace.

“Enough.” Indra’s voice cut through, and both lowered their wands instantly.

The two boys took long, deep breaths. Monty inclined his head in respect while John gave a dramatic bow, which made his classmates laugh. As they stepped down from the podium together, each putting a hand on the other’s shoulder.

“One stumbles forward, the other stands steady. You both have lessons to learn from each other.” The professor said quietly. “Non-verbal magic does not forgive distraction. You either believe the spell into existence or you do not. Mr. Murphy, yours fizzled because your concentration broke before your wand moved. Mr. Greene, you held the image, the intent, and so the spell obeyed.” They both nodded keenly at the remarks and observations.

“Now,” She turned around to the other students. “Let us see another attempt.”

She scanned the crowd with calculating eyes, looking at each and every one of the faces that were scattered before her. After she made her decision, she turned back to the stage and called. “Ms.Griffin, Ms.Woods. Let us see that rivalry in action.”

Clarke’s stomach dipped at the sound of her name, a flicker of unease sparking in her chest. She did not think that she would face the other girl so fast. It was too quick, the paranoia was still there, lingering in her chest, staying put in the back of her mind, waiting for her to waver to take over completely, hanging for the smallest weakness to surge forward and take hold. For a heartbeat, she thought it might.

But then she lifted her chin, forcing her breath steady, as if sheer will could smother the dread. She straightened her shoulders almost instantly, schooling her features into calm determination before stepping forward.

On the other side, Lexa went up the stage, looking as firm and unshakeable as she always has, every movement carrying the same assurance she always seemed to possess. Wand in hand, she was ready for the duel ahead, as though this were not a challenge at all, but simply the natural place for her to stand.

The blonde got up there as well, and her grip on her wand tightened. Whatever ghosts haunted her, she would not show them here, not to her classmates, not to her professor, and certainly not to Lexa.

“Remember, the only words I want to hear are mine when I call the duel to an end.” Indra said while looking at the two girls. “Go.”

That two-letter word carried far more weight than its size allowed. It dropped into the silence like a stone into still water, rippling through the air, through nerves and pride alike. For Clarke, it landed heavy, pressing against that troubling feeling in her chest. For Lexa, it was nothing but a command to obey, a cue to act. The classroom itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the clash.

The green-eyed girl did not hesitate, did not waver. Her wand sliced through the air, and a sharp burst of light shot across the podium before Clarke had fully braced herself. She managed to shield herself with little cover. She staggered a step, breath catching, the sting of surprise cutting deeper than the spell itself.

Her azure eyes seemed to carry a battle of crashing waves, the ocean fighting itself, though it mirrored what was happening in her own mind, it also showed how ferocious that simple shot made her feel. The glint of surprise in her gaze had faded, making way for ruthlessness instead. She forced herself still, jaw tightening as she lifted her wand higher.

Her own spell flew back in a clean arc, the impact ringing against Lexa’s shield. The sound echoed like a challenge. The Slytherin’s stare locked into the intensity of her opponent’s eyes. She caught it, the storm that had sparked behind Clarke’s gaze, the flicker of surprise now hardened into a sharp, unyielding focus. The vulnerability was gone, replaced by something colder, more cutting, a force that demanded to be met head-on.

She clutched her wand tighter, changed her stance into something steadier, more grounded. No longer bracing against surprise, she looked ready to withstand whatever came next.

Her feet were braced wide on the dais, her shoulders squared but not stiff. Her chin lifted, and the set of her jaw made her look less like a student defending herself and more like a fighter stepping willingly into battle.

The next shot came hard and fast. Clarke’s wand slashed through the air, a streak of light sparking toward Lexa with enough force to rattle the shield that met it. The clash cracked like thunder, the energy sparking between them drawing gasps from the watching class.

For a moment, it felt less like a duel of spells and more like a duel of wills, their eyes locked just as tightly as their wands.

The brunette’s counter responded quickly, her own spell hissing past the Ravenclaw’s shoulder. She pivoted, dodging it, though it almost hit one of the students. That dangerous motion made their classmates take several steps back, most of them seemingly drawing their wands to protect themselves.

Clarke’s hair whipped across her face as she turned back to her adversary, her arm stretching in a quick and harsh movement, her wand striking back with an equally ruthless strength.

Back and forth, the duel raged as spells fired, shields flashed, each movement heavier and sharper than the last. Silent strikes and deflections, sparks ricocheting across the podium, and the sound of two heavy forces were echoing everywhere in that room.

The blonde’s eyes still carried that drive and robustness, having put aside the fear and panic that were eating her alive just moments ago, her slight frown and pursed lips showed the intensity of her concentration.

Lexa’s steadiness and perfect composure were no longer. Her jaw clenched, and her eyes matched the ferocity of the blue, and her brows were furrowed, giving away that it was equally hard for her to keep up.

The clash of light on light drew scattered reactions, winces as spells hissed too close, sharp intakes of breath when shields shuddered under impact, laughter stifled in nervous excitement. The room was alive, restless, caught between awe and unease as if they weren’t watching classmates anymore, but rivals locked in something far more dangerous.

The sweat, the swift movements of their wands, their elegant and harsh footwork, the sound that it echoed on the dais and onto the room, the breaths and loud grappling of their spells were only leaving them craving for more.

It was far more aggressive than what they had witnessed earlier between Monty and Murphy. Even the usually unflappable Raven had begun to worry, gaze darting between the two girls.

They seemed to have forgotten that it was a simple exercise, that they were in a classroom, monitored by a high-ranking professor, and being watched by multiple students. They only had each other in their lines of vision and focus.

Suddenly, they stopped. To the other people present in that room, it must have happened in a minute or two. For the two girls, it had lasted for far more.

They had frozen in place. Feet rigidly planted on the solid surface of the stage. The darkness of its color seemed to seep out of it and snake up, curling around them like smoke, as if the floor itself were feeding the tension between their bodies. Wands still raised, eyes locked, neither moved. They were caught in a silent struggle that felt far heavier than the magic still sparking faintly in the air.

Clarke’s ferocity was rapidly washing out of her intense blue eyes. The vigour that had been dominant in her gaze was now replaced by something far more disturbing than academic rivalry or trivial hatred. It felt as though a shadow had slipped past her guard, coiling coldly around her chest. Each breath carried the weight of it, heavy and wrong, as if the duel had opened a door she hadn’t meant to touch.

The classroom blurred at the edges, sound falling away, leaving only the faint echo of something vast and unseen pressing against her mind. A chill slid over her skin, threading into her bones, leaving her rigid where she stood. She could not move.

Faint whispers pressed against her ears, indistinguishable and scattered, like fragments of words carried by a wind she could not feel. The harder she tried to shut them out, the louder they seemed to grow, circling her mind with their weightless persistence. Those voices appeared to flow with the chill air that enveloped her mind and soul, heavy and suffocating, until even her breath felt stolen.

Shapes flickered at the edges of her vision, pale, shifting outlines that seemed to reach and dissolve all at once. Faces that weren’t faces, eyes that never fully formed. They lingered only long enough to scrape at her mind before vanishing back into the shadows, leaving her raw and adrift.

Across from her, Lexa’s only movement was the slow rise of her free hand to her chest. Beneath the fabric, her fingers found the outline of the heirloom pressed against her skin. She hadn’t realized how heavy it felt until now. The moment she touched it, a jolt of cold rushed through her, sharper than ice water.

It pulsed faintly under her touch, not with sound or words, but with a presence, like the echo of a heartbeat that wasn’t her own. The crystal seemed to press deeper into her, seeping chill through her bones. For an instant, she had the terrible impression it was aware of her, clinging to her, testing her. Her throat tightened, her breath hitched, and her fingers were drowned in the crawling, insistent, and lurking pull of the necklace.

It threaded through her chest in quiet pulses, heavy and unrelenting, like something trying to root itself beneath her skin. Like something trying to communicate with her. Like it was pressing her to act, to be aware, to do something.

She felt a rush of urgency wash within her. At that, she did not think twice, her movements did not suggest hesitation. She had also noticed that the blonde in front of her was fixed in place, the same panic and fear in her eyes as that night. The sight of Clarke so fractured stirred something uncanny within Lexa, as if rivalry alone could not explain the weight pressing between them.

Knuckles white, grip hardening around her wand, she raised it a bit more and advanced with unflinching resolve. It was not mere instinct guiding her, but something heavier, older, threaded into her veins. She moved as though bound to a duty she did not yet understand, her body carrying out a command her mind had not given.

The Slytherin’s jaw was clenched forcefully, her eyes were no longer carrying that sense of confusion and disorientation. The spell that left the tip of her wand flashed through the distance separating them with determination and purpose.

The striking blue line shot forward, only to twist sharply at the last instant, as though the very air had bent it off course. It slammed into the ceiling with a crack like splitting stone, shards of plaster raining down as a scorched mark spread across the dark surface.

A gasp rippled through the watching students, the tension in the room doubling in an instant. The students around protected themselves in whichever way they could, with shield charms, their arms, and some others hid under the desks.

The sound of shattering stone crashed through Clarke’s fog like a hammer. The panic of the others, their cries, the scramble of feet, the rush of magic flaring to shield themselves, struck her harder than any spell could have.

Everything else that captured her from the real world had fractured in an instant. She blinked rapidly, breath stuttering as though she had just broken the surface after being dragged under too long.

She looked around her, taking in the damage, the fractured ceiling, the dust still hanging in the air, the nervous shuffling of classmates retreating from around the podium to take refuge next to the large door and the small windows. Her gaze finally snapped back to Lexa.

For a heartbeat, neither moved. Their eyes clashed in the charged silence, not just a duel of magic but of will. Clarke’s breath was uneven, her arm was no longer raised, though her grip trembled. Lexa stood rooted, steady yet unsettled, her own chest rising sharply with each inhale.

“Enough.”

The word cracked through the silence like a whip. Indra hadn’t moved, not even an inch, her expression unreadable, but the weight of her gaze swept across both girls with the precision of a blade.

“That display may have impressed some of your classmates,” she said, her tone cool and precise, “but recklessness has no place in this classroom. Power without restraint serves no one, least of all the witch who wields it.”

She let the words hang, not raising her voice, but making sure the steel in her tone carried to every corner of the room. She then raised her head to look at the result of the girls’ duel and briefly closed her eyes in exasperation.

With a single, fluid motion of her wand, the cracked ceiling knit itself whole again, plaster and stone settling as though it had never been touched. Dust stilled in the air, then vanished at her command.

“This concludes this session.” The professor returned to her desk without glancing at any of her students.

In the midst of chairs scraping against stone and students moving toward the exit, their steps tapping in random beats, and as the tension eased into restless movement, the two rivals remained unmoved. Their eyes firmly locked onto each other.

It wasn’t hostility that charged the space between them, not entirely. Something else had risen in its place, heavier, unspoken, threading through the air like an unfinished spell. Neither of them could name it, neither of them could break from it, and for that suspended instant, it felt as though the duel had shifted into something far more dangerous.

“I am telling you !” Raven was moving her hands frantically, trying to recount the duel with as much dramatisation as it had been. “It was like Clarke and Lexa were auditioning for ‘Most Dramatic Duel of the Century.’ Spells flying, and the bloody ceiling cracking, next thing I know, I’m ducking for my life while those two just keep glaring at each other like it’s a staring contest.”

“The ceiling collapsed ?!” Octavia’s brows furrowed at that, half in disbelief, half in awe.

Raven shook her head. “Not the whole ceiling, just enough to make everyone dive for cover.” She turned to Clarke. “Ten out of ten chaos, impossible to get bored when the two of you share a class.”

“That sounds dangerous, though,” Bellamy chimed in from his seat, his tone light but his eyes betraying a glint of worry as they flicked to the blonde. “If you hadn’t deflected that shot, Merlin knows what kind of disaster we’d be hearing about instead.”

‘If you hadn’t deflected that shot.’ She hadn’t. She knew she hadn’t. Her wand had been frozen at her side, her arm heavy and unresponsive. Still, the spell hadn’t struck her. It had twisted, recoiled, like the air itself had interfered.

The smoke hadn’t cleared yet, rough and stinging in her throat, when the words reached her. Clarke’s jaw tightened. They thought it had been quick reflex, maybe even talent. But she knew the truth. She could not recall anything but the echo of her own disbelief.

“Good thing she’s a very capable witch.” Monty nudged her with a small grin.

Clarke forced a smile back, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Capable. If only she had the faintest idea what had just happened. The truth pressed against her ribs like a secret she wasn’t even sure was hers to tell.

They were sitting in the courtyard, the bright and lively grass beneath them refusing to mirror the heavy grey sky above, as if the earth itself insisted on keeping its color where the heavens would not.

The courtyard stretched wide, framed and enclosed by the castle’s stone walls. Patches of bright grass spread between winding cobblestone paths, dotted with dark oak benches. Grand, ancient trees rose here and there, some branches twisting toward the sky and others hanging low, giving the space a more intimate feel to it. The leaves were gently whispering with every gust of wind. In the center, a small fountain murmured, the soft sound of the water mingling with the shuffle of students’ footsteps.

It was a relatively quiet space, the occasional passage of the teenagers through the covered corridor, along with their chatter, barely disturbed the calm, soothing atmosphere that lingered there. It was a perfect way to break the silence in there, a pull back to reality. The laughter echoed softly against the walls, blending with the faint rustle of leaves outside.

“This rivalry is going to get someone killed at some point.” Octavia said beside her, throwing her an amused look.

“Great, just what we needed here, more chaos.” Jasper answered with a roll of his eyes that spoke louder than words.

Raven threw a pointed look at him, a confused frown on her face. “You do realize you’re the reason for half of it, right ?”

“And you for the other half.” Raven raised an eyebrow at Octavia’s comment, the corner of her mouth twitching in a half-smile of reluctant agreement.

They noticed a tall, straight figure walking toward them from the outdoor aisle. Cage Wallace. His steps were measured, confident, the kind of presence that naturally drew attention, though he moved too smoothly, too deliberately. Raven’s brow arched, curiosity sparking in her eyes. Jasper gave a half-smile, tilting his head as if weighing him up. Octavia leaned forward slightly, intrigued. Clarke straightened subtly, a quiet respect in her posture. ”Is he coming over to us ?” Murmured Bellamy with a slight frown on his face.

The group shared small, uncertain, and curious glances. The question lingered in the air, left unanswered, as he slowly approached them. When he reached them, he nodded quietly with a thin smile, gently tugging at his lips. A certain sense of slyness could be seen in one of the many layers of his expression.

“Good morning, students.” His greeting was met with a chorus of hesitant replies, confusion written in the scrunches of their noses and the furrow of their brows.

His gaze swept over the friend group before quietly settling on Clarke. The moment their eyes met, she shifted slightly, a quiet unease stirring in her chest. She couldn’t quite grasp why the Head Curator had come to them. Or maybe it was just the trepidation from earlier that lingered.

“Clarke Griffin, is it ?” A flicker of hesitation drifted in her blue eyes.

She looked over the rest of her friends before gazing back at Cage. She nodded slowly and responded quietly. “Yes, sir.”

“Ah,” he said, the word slipping out like a quiet realization. “I thought so.” His gaze lingered for a fraction too long, letting the apprehension stir between them. “You bear a strong resemblance to your father.”

The blonde’s expression hardened, the faint curiosity in her eyes dimming into something unreadable. Her shoulders straightened, and when she spoke, her voice was calm but stripped of warmth, she was now studying him rather than merely listening. “You knew my father ?”

Raven got closer to her, a sign of quiet protectiveness. Bellamy’s eyes narrowed, studying Cage as though already deciding he didn’t like where this was going. Octavia leaned back against the bench, her posture casual but her gaze sharp, ready to intervene if needed. The others were now looking with wary curiosity, their defensive postures not going unnoticed by the visitor.

“From afar.” Cage replied, his tone calm. “Men of his calibre leave impressions not easily forgotten.”

Pride flickered across her features, which was quickly replaced by guardedness. She nodded at his statement, acknowledging that her father was quite something when he was still among them.

“I imagine you’ve inherited more than just his looks. From what I have heard from your professors, and even the Headmaster, you carry his name admirably.” The thin smile never left his face, but his gaze lingered too long, sharp and deliberate, as if he were dissecting her every movement in search of something unseen, as though searching for something just beneath her expression.

Clarke didn’t flinch, but the faint shift in her posture betrayed her chin lifting slightly, spine straightening, as if composure itself could serve as armor.

“Well then, pardon my intrusion. I do hope to see you all at ‘The Artefact Quest’.” He finally looked at her friends with the same slight smirk. “If not all, then some.” At that, his attention returned to Clarke, the pointedness of it impossible to miss.

Cage gave the group a final nod before turning away, his hands clasped neatly behind his back as he made his way toward the castle. His stride was composed, unhurried, carrying the quiet authority of someone accustomed to being observed but revealing nothing in return.

“Well,” Jasper spoke up first after a long silence had fallen between them, “That was definitely weird.”

“Immensely weird.” Monty spoke from beside him.

“Undoubtedly weird.” It was Octavia now.

“Undeniably weird.” Echoed Bellamy.

Raven shook her head subtly, a silent warning, and gestured for them to cease their remarks. She then turned back to Clarke, who was still standing motionless, her gaze distant, as if the encounter had left an aftertaste she couldn’t quite name.

“Well, that wasn’t creepy at all.” She muttered, trying to lighten the heaviness that had settled around her friend. “Think he was trying to hit on you ?”

“Ew, Raven. Gross,” Jasper grimaced, scrunching his nose. “Why would you even say that ? He’s like… ancient.”

Octavia snorted. “Maybe he just enjoys intimidating teenagers for fun.”

Clarke exhaled, half a laugh slipping out. “Well, if that was the case, it worked.”

They exchanged a few uneasy glances before offering Clarke a sympathetic smile, each of them silently agreeing to steer away from the subject. They all knew how deeply her father’s memory still lived in her, how even after all these years, the wound hadn’t dulled, only learned to hide itself better.

“I put my name in for the competition.” Bellamy said, deviating from the subject at hand.

“That’s great, Bellamy.” Raven’s enthusiasm could be seen from miles away. “Finally, a reason to kick your ass. I was planning on putting my name in after dinner tonight.”

“The competition is no reason for that.” Octavia spoke up, with amusement in her tone. “You are actively trying to kick his ass.” The Ravenclaw half-nodded and half-shrugged, a reluctant agreement to the remark.

“Well, well.” Jasper held his head high, a mix of mockery and pride in his words. “More of you people that I can beat. Sadly, Monty doesn’t want to make the list.”

“I’d rather watch you lot brawl and place bets than actually enter,” Monty cut in, rolling his eyes. “You’d make better sport than competitors.”

“Are you entering as well, Clarkey ?” Octavia grabbed her attention, which was already split by their funny antics and the disturbing interaction just minutes ago.

“I am not sure yet.” She said, with a measured tone. A faint crease formed between her brows, and her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

Sure, after the competition had been announced, she wanted nothing more than to participate, she was never the type to turn down academic challenges. And after catching her rival’s eyes at dinner last night, that desire to take part in it only grew stronger.

But the uneasiness and the paranoia had wrapped around her like a cocoon from the moment she opened her eyes in the quiet of the morning. Nothing about this day felt like a promise, only the faint hum of something waiting to go wrong. All of the events had been aligned to tell her to back away from any more trouble. She was torn between her principles and the blurred image of an ominous threat her mind had forced onto her.

Raven offered her a small, knowing smile. She knew when not to press, and this moment right now was one of them. Clarke’s silence spoke louder than any answer could, that taut, thoughtful quiet that always meant she was fighting something inside her own head. Raven knew that.

She nudged her shoulder lightly, a quiet gesture that meant that she was there no matter what. “Whatever you decide,” she said softly.

The blonde returned her friend’s warmth with a tender, genuine smile of her own. The kind that softened the tension in her features, if only for a fleeting moment. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to remind them both that whatever shadow lingered over the day, it hadn’t claimed her entirely.

Their friends, who had been watching the interaction, all matched the moment with equal affection and fondness. She was not alone. She will never be alone. A thought she did not want to vanish.

The day had gone by fast, slipping through Clarke’s fingers before she could really grasp it. She moved from Potions to Astronomy, her last two classes, both of which demanded her focus, though her mind kept wandering. Astronomy had always been her favorite, a quiet homage to her father, who used to trace constellations with her on parchment maps. Now, it felt heavier, like the subject itself carried his absence.

When classes ended, she drifted to the library, hoping that the stillness between shelves might quiet her thoughts. It didn’t. Dinner came and went with the usual noise, Raven and Bellamy bickering, Octavia laughing at something Jasper said, and Monty quietly admiring Nathan. It was the kind of liveliness that usually grounded her. But not tonight.

Even when she caught a glimpse of Lexa across the Hall, a familiar surge of irritation flared in her chest, the feeling passed too quickly to cling to. Through it all, the same quiet melancholy lingered, a thin thread of unease weaving itself through every hour, refusing to let go.

Nighttime has swept the castle’s corridors clean of any student. The only sounds that could be heard were the soft murmurs of Hogwarts, the delicate cracks of the moving stairs. The occasional whisper of portraits half-awake, trading secrets from centuries past. Moonlight spilled through the tall, arched windows, painting the stone floors in silver streaks. Somewhere far below, the lake’s reflection shimmered faintly against the walls, as if the castle itself were breathing in its sleep.

Clarke’s footsteps echoed faintly as she rounded the corner near the Charms corridor, wand casting a soft circle of light ahead of her. Her patrol route lay neatly folded in her hand, the ink still fresh. Tonight, she would be making rounds with Nathan.

The boy was calm, a steady, unbothered presence that most would find comforting, and his company was pleasant enough, though Clarke had wanted to be alone after that day. The air still felt thick with everything that had happened, every thought she hadn’t yet managed to untangle. But Nathan’s quietness worked in his favor; he didn’t force conversation, didn’t try to make her laugh, didn’t fill the space with useless words.

Until a voice that she knew all too well struck her eardrums and shook her balance.

“Griffin.” It wasn’t loud, it didn’t have to be. The sound of her name, shaped by that measured tone, was enough to make her spine straighten. Her reaction was not out of fear, it was rather a sort of protectiveness. Guarding herself was everything she was about these days.

The voice brought out frustration and irritation from within herself, something she did not know she was capable of feeling tonight because she felt drained of any emotion.
Along with the exasperation, fatigue hit her harshly, roughly. She was tired, it crawled deep beneath the skin, into thought and breath alike. She felt like this was above the limits of what she could handle.

Lexa stepped out from the shadow of a tall archway, wandlight catching against the silver edge of her prefect badge. Her cloak moved with the air, quiet, composed, deliberate.

“The Hufflepuff prefect could not make it tonight.” Lexa said, her voice even, her eyes not. “I was asked to take his place.”

The blonde took a slow breath and exhaled through her nose, counting the seconds. One. Two. Three. The corridor smelled faintly of dust and candle wax. A window at the far end let in a sliver of moonlight that cut across the floor, pale, thin, and quiet. No, it did not tame the anguish stirring deep in her being.

She did not bother to hide the irritation flashing through her features. “Right. Let us get this over with quickly.” She did not offer Lexa even a slight glare, she just marched forward, her stride resolute.

The Slytherin Prefect did not react to the hidden hostility, even though the brief tightening of her jaw betrayed her impassiveness. “We start with the East Wing.” She said, following her steps.

“I am aware.” She held the piece of parchment above her head for the brunette to see.

They walked in silence. Their footsteps, soft yet deliberate, echoed against the long, dim corridor, fading only to rise again. The castle seemed to shrink around them, its familiar grandeur folding into the pressure of unspoken words. Every so often, the light from their wands crossed paths and flickered briefly, neither of them acknowledging it, both aware of it.

Clarke’s jaw was set, her eyes fixed ahead, refusing to glance sideways. Lexa walked a pace behind, her stride as measured as ever. The distance between them was neither close nor far, it was exactly enough to make the silence deafening.

The air grew colder as they passed a series of tall windows, moonlight cutting across Lexa’s features. She looked carved out of calm, her expression unwavering, though Clarke could feel that faint, unyielding intensity that followed her like a shadow. The silence between them was sharp, stretched thin and taut like something waiting to snap.

Clarke broke it first, feeling the insistence of the presence pressing on her patience. “I am perfectly capable of handling a patrol without supervision, you did not have to step in.”

“I was simply following orders, Griffin.” The Slytherin replied with a clipped and precise tone, cutting through the cold air that submerged the inside of the castle.

The blonde let out a bitter laugh, humorless, pointing precisely at her sarcasm. “Of course, a favourite hobby of yours.”

Lexa had stopped walking. The Ravenclaw simply continued, putting one foot in front of the other. Noticing the sound of her steps not echoing anymore, she turned around. Her wandlight caught the green in Lexa’s eyes, and something under it. Frustration, maybe, or restraint.

“You think that discipline is something to sneer at.” Lexa said. Her voice was calm, but her body wasn’t, her fingers flexed once at her side, the only sign of the temper she kept chained. “Maybe if you had some, you would not find yourself in the middle of all that chaos.”

“Pardon me ?” Clarke furrowed her brows, pure resentment and anger drawing rapidly on her face. The blue of her eyes intensely pointed at the forest green.

“Trouble does not seem to need your permission to find you.” Lexa’s gaze shifted to her, not sharp, but searching.

Clarke’s steps faltered for half a heartbeat. “Is that supposed to mean something ?”

“I do not believe in coincidences, Clarke.” Her eyes now carried a strong sense of determination, they were unforgiving, sharp, resolute. “That night in the corridors. The glade. The Quidditch practice. And again in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class.”

“Oh so you are watching my every move now ?” The blonde tried to shrug it off with an irrelevant comment, wanting the subject to swerve elsewhere than this forever building ache in her chest.

“You act like you do not care, but it’s written all over you.” Nothing could stop her from calling her out openly now, without anyone eavesdropping, or any eyes pointed at them. “How your mind wanders, how your eyes falter, how your magic..” She stopped herself.

Silence had dawned on them, though it was the loudest thing in the corridor. It pressed down like a living thing, heavy, close, humming with all the words neither dared to say.

Clarke stood perfectly still, the tip of her wand trembling ever so slightly in her grasp. Her throat felt tight, her pulse drumming against the side of her neck. The faint torchlight carved harsh gold into Lexa’s features, high cheekbones, a jaw set in quiet fury, eyes that refused to yield.

“Do not act all high and mighty now, Woods. Like you know everything.” Her blue eyes gleamed with a frustration that didn’t seem to rattle the other girl. “You do not know what you are talking about.”
“I know enough to recognize when someone’s losing control,” Lexa said, her tone cooling into steel. “And you-”

“-don’t know me,” Clarke snapped, cutting her off. The words hit sharp and sudden, echoing against the corridor walls. “You think you can read everyone like one of your stupid books, but you don’t know what it’s like to have something inside you you can’t explain.”

Only after she uttered those words that she realised the gravity of that admission. Her lips were parted, disbelief at the the sound of her own voice still hanging in the air. It was as if something had slipped out of her, something raw and unguarded that she hadn’t meant to reveal. The confession lingered between them like smoke, heavy and impossible to take back.

Her pulse quickened, each heartbeat thrumming in her ears with painful clarity. She could feel her throat tighten, her chest constricting as if the castle itself had turned its weight against her. The air was too sharp, the silence too aware. It wasn’t just embarrassment that crawled under her skin, it was exposure. A terrible, unfamiliar nakedness that made her want to retreat into herself, to undo what had already been said.

Lexa released a long breath, though she never broke eye contact. Her eyes seemed to be scanning and analysing her thoroughly. Her gaze lingered a moment longer, and Clarke felt the air between them thicken, heavy and almost electric. Every detail was catalogued in that quiet, unreadable scrutiny, the set of her shoulders, the rapid thrum of her pulse, the slight flare of irritation she hadn’t tried to hide.

And then, finally, The Slytherin spoke. Not with reproach, not with warmth, but with the unmistakable clarity of someone who knew exactly what she wanted to say, and exactly how to make it impossible to ignore. “I know you are avoiding the tournament.”

“You think stepping back will make it safer. That avoiding it will keep you contained. But hiding from it won’t make it disappear.” Her voice was low and calm. “You are right, I do not know you, or what is happening to you. But I do know that you have never stepped down from a fight.”

At that, Lexa got back to walking, her eyes having finally left Clarke, they were now focused on the path straight ahead. The blonde was still fixed in place, feet firmly planted on the ground, letting the cold air of the night wrap around her like a shield, as if the chill could keep her thoughts at bay.

Her chest rose and fell in slow, uneven breaths, the wand trembling faintly in her grip. Clarke’s mind was a tangle of fear, frustration, and the undeniable tug of Lexa’s words. She wanted to deny it, to tell herself she could keep running, keep avoiding the tournament, keep ignoring the unpredictable surge inside her.

She blinked, the atmosphere and the unyielding presence of the brunette pulling her out of the spiral of her own thoughts. She forced herself to move, with a sharp inhale, she took a step forward, then another, falling into the other girl’s pace behind her.

The corridor stretched ahead, silent except for the echo of their footsteps. Clarke’s mind was still buzzing, the words Lexa had spoken twisting in her chest, but she pushed them aside, forcing herself to focus on the patrol, on the path, on the routine, on keeping her wand steady.

She followed her in silence, her stubborn pride keeping her from looking her way, even as the warmth of adrenaline and the faint spark of defiance slowly replaced the fear that had gripped her moments ago.

The Slytherin Prefect did not seem to be affected by the interaction at all. Though her features were less hard than usual, her jaw was relaxed and her eyes did not carry that sharpness that could frighten anyone that dared cross her path.

Though they were completely silent, the semblance of a conversation from the previous dialogue lingered in the air. Clarke was not angry anymore, just alert. Her mind had settled into a tense, cautious focus, the whirlwind of emotions gradually tempered by the rhythm of their steps.

The castle around them was quieter now, the distant creak of a stair or the soft rustle of a curtain the only sounds besides their own movements. Clarke’s wand light flickered slightly against the stone walls, but she held it steady, letting the act of moving forward anchor her.

The remainder of the patrol passed in near silence. They moved through the corridors with measured steps, checking doors and listening for disturbances, each of them lost in their own thoughts. The castle seemed to hold its breath around them, shadows stretching and shifting with the flicker of their wandlight.

Only at the very end, as Clarke prepared to turn back toward the Ravenclaw Tower, did Lexa break the quiet. Her voice was low, calm, but carried an unmistakable weight: “Good luck.” And with that, she stepped away, leaving the blonde to process both the words and the echoing sense of challenge they carried.

Clarke slipped quietly back into her dorm room, careful not to wake Raven, who lay curled under the gentle pull of sleep. The pale moonlight spilled across the bed, soft and silver, illuminating the sheets and casting delicate shadows along the walls. She sank onto the edge of her own bed, her thoughts still tangled around Lexa’s words, sharp and unyielding. She could feel the weight of the challenge pressing in on her, a mix of fear and defiance coiling tight in her chest.
She could not yet process what had been exchanged between her and her rival. The words carried too much weight, too much honesty, she was lost and confused. Her mind seemed to drown into the perplexity of it all for the umpteenth time this day, or this week, or this month. She had lost track of time. She did not know how long it had been. And that showed that it went on for too long.

The disbelief still ringing in her ears from her unprompted confession. She was bewildered that she let on such an important part of herself to the person she hated the most. But what moved her the most was that the other girl did not react the way she thought she would : mockery, superiority.

Her greens were glinting with a hint of sincerity mixed with a spark of comprehension. It was unusual.

She had moved to her desk now. Her hand hesitated over the parchment for a long moment, fingers brushing the quill. Then, slowly, deliberately, she took it up, dipping it into ink and letting it glide across the paper. The lines of her signature were firm, resolute, each stroke a quiet defiance against the fear that had kept her from stepping forward. When she set the quill down, the form was complete. She had signed up.

In contrast to her emotions, the room was still. It was bathing in moonlight, a silver calm that blended with the soft snores of her roommate. Clarke’s chest hummed with a small flicker of hope. Her visions, her mysterious magic outbursts, her paranoia, the overthinking, none of it had gone away. But she had made a choice. And for the first time in a long while, she felt the faintest surge of control, as if stepping up might finally allow her to reclaim it.

Yes, she would face the challenge, and whatever waited beyond it, she would not run. The fear, and the unknown still lingered at the edges, a quiet, waiting threat.