Chapter 14
Morning's hush lay over the Hogwarts dungeons like a thin veil of mist. Elysia D'Aubigny drew in a breath, the air tinged with damp stone and a hint of sulfur—remnants of all the potions brewed here over the centuries. With a practiced hand, she adjusted her Slytherin robes and stepped into Slughorn's classroom. The heavy oak door gave a soft groan, as though sharing her fatigue.
A few days had passed since that unsettling night—since Thaddeus vanished once more into the maze of corridors, clutching his secrets close. For Elysia, those days had felt endless, each hour stitched with worry. Even Andromeda's steady presence hadn't quelled the questions swirling in her head. But now, morning had come, and with it, a Potions lesson she dared not skip—not with Slughorn's high expectations for the "gifted few," as he liked to say.
She slipped into the classroom with Andromeda at her side, feeling oddly comforted by the clink of glass phials and the gurgling of half-finished potions. Slughorn himself stood at the front—a jovial silhouette in bright emerald robes—surveying the rows of cauldrons that sat waiting atop the long wooden tables. Already, the room smelled of ginger root and faint char, signs of an early-brew demonstration.
"And here we are!" Slughorn boomed, catching sight of them. His walrus mustache twitched with approval. "Settle in, my dears, settle in. We've a thrilling concoction to attempt today—one that demands the utmost care and, yes, a dash of creativity."
A pang of nostalgia tugged at Elysia: how easy it used to be, focusing on potions and classes, before that kettle fiasco on the Hogwarts Express. Before suspicion clouded her every thought. She cast a glance at Andromeda—whose eyes flickered with the same unrest Elysia felt—and took her seat.
Sunbeams filtered weakly through high-set dungeon windows, throwing watery illumination over jars of dried aconite, shrivelfigs, and newts' eyes displayed on Slughorn's shelves. Elysia retrieved her quill and parchment, scrawling the name of the day's potion: Somniferous Liqueur—a subtle drafting that Slughorn claimed could either calm a troubled mind or, if mishandled, cast the unwary drinker into a haze of daydreams.
"You'll see," Slughorn announced, hands clasped over his ample belly, "this brew calls for precise increments of sloth brain infusion and a measured swirl of Fae lavender. Too much, and your subject dozes for hours; too little, and you might not quell even a single nightmare. Balance, that's the key. Watch your timing carefully. And keep those cauldrons at a gentle simmer."
Elysia nodded absently, her mind only half-tuned to the lecture. She felt Andromeda's elbow nudge her lightly—her friend's silent entreaty to focus. So Elysia inhaled, forced her shoulders to straighten, and began laying out her ingredients. She had to keep her hands busy, or she'd spiral into her own restless thoughts of Thaddeus.
At the next table over, Wilson Weiss and Evan Rosier both looked bored but amused, their sly expressions mirrored. Evan flicked a stray bit of herb from his sleeve while Wilson tapped out a rhythm on his mortar. Lucius Malfoy was a few seats beyond them, silent and impeccably composed, his platinum hair glimmering in the lamplight. Rabastan Lestrange had stationed himself near the back, face unmoving, watchful as a hawk. Elysia wondered if he, too, sensed the tension hanging in the air—or if his impassive gaze concealed deeper currents.
"You're quiet today, D'Aubigny," Rosier drawled at last, not even bothering to look her way as he ground his dried lavender. "Unusual for you."
Elysia pretended not to hear. Instead, she poured a measure of sloth brain infusion into her cauldron, watching the thick swirl spread across the simmering water. The stench made her wrinkle her nose, but she said nothing. She would not let Rosier's barbs get under her skin.
On her other side, Andromeda whispered, "Stir it counterclockwise for thirty seconds, then add the lavender." She had the instructions open before her, reading in that calm, precise manner that soothed Elysia's nerves.
Thirty seconds, Elysia repeated in her head. She dipped her stirring rod into the mixture. One swirl, two swirl… She counted. Her mind wandered—where is Thaddeus? Is he safe?—but she forced the thoughts aside. Right now, she had to keep her potion from curdling.
"Time," Andromeda murmured. "Lavender."
With measured care, Elysia sprinkled a pinch of dried lavender blossoms into the cauldron. The water hissed, turning a light periwinkle that reminded her of morning fog. For an instant, the sweet floral scent almost banished the dungeon's mustiness. But the sensation passed, leaving her empty.
Slughorn ambled by, peering into their cauldron with appreciative hums. "Excellent consistency. A delicate color indeed! Keep a close watch—add two drops of nightshade essence soon, and you'll be well on your way to the restful qualities this potion can provide. Marvelous, Miss D'Aubigny. Marvelous, Miss Black."
He bustled on to the next table, where Wilson and Evan seemed to be experimenting with a heavier hand. A swirl of pungent smoke curled upward from their cauldron, followed by a muttered curse from Evan. Elysia heard the scrape of something being dumped in, presumably to correct the brew. Wilson cast them a sideways glance, a faint half-smile on his lips.
At the back, Lucius Malfoy wore an air of quiet confidence, swirling his potion in a manner that suggested thorough practice or perhaps just aristocratic ease. Rabastan, by contrast, seemed to almost dare the concoction to misbehave under his stoic watch.
"Remind me," Andromeda said softly, "why we keep subjecting ourselves to advanced potions in the first place?"
Elysia allowed herself a tiny smile. "Because I'm told it'll help me in the future. Or so my dear mother said, once upon a time. Not that she ever expected me to dwell in these dungeons. She used to joke that I'd be 'too theatrical' for subtle arts like potions."
Andromeda's voice held a trace of warmth. "You, theatrical? Perish the thought."
Forty minutes later, the potions were nearing completion. Slughorn's instructions had grown more pointed: the final steps required delicate timing, and the dungeon air buzzed with tension.
A hush settled when he declared, "Now, if you've done it correctly, your brew should be a color reminiscent of dawn sky. If it's too dark, your sedation might border on coma. Too pale, and the effect is worthless. Proceed with caution, my friends!"
Elysia's cauldron gleamed in that perfect mid-tone—somewhere between pastel lilac and rose gold. She exhaled in relief. She had worried her agitation would sabotage the brew. Apparently not.
Carefully, she ladled a bit into a glass phial, swirling it under the flickering torchlight. A momentary pride sparked within her. At least in potions, she still had control.
Andromeda examined their results, satisfied. "We'll present this to Slughorn, and hopefully, we can slip out before Weiss and Rosier start crowing about something else."
Elysia nodded. They began tidying up the leftover ingredients—gingerly recapping the nightshade essence, wiping down mortar and pestle, stowing the unused sloth brain infusion. She felt a presence behind her, mild but unmistakable. Turning, she found Wilson Weiss standing a careful distance away, cradling his own phial of potion.
His tone was mild. "Decent color, D'Aubigny. Slughorn'll be pleased."
"Thanks," she said shortly. She had no desire to banter, not with so much on her mind.
He shrugged one shoulder, shifting the phial in his hands. "You've been… quieter lately. Thought you might be up to something."
Elysia stilled. "If I were, I wouldn't be telling you."
That brought a flicker of a grin to Weiss's lips. "Fair enough." He paused, eyes flicking to Andromeda then back to Elysia. "Just know that if your cousin surfaces with some elaborate scheme… you might want to keep it discreet. People are watching."
Her pulse skipped. "Is that a warning or an offer of help?"
Weiss smirked faintly. "Whichever you prefer." With that cryptic remark, he turned and strolled back to his station, where Rosier was re-checking their brew's shade.
Andromeda's brow furrowed. "What was that about?"
"I have no idea," Elysia muttered. But I can guess, she thought. House politics, swirling rumors, these always carved out strange alliances. Perhaps Weiss had gleaned that Thaddeus's disappearance spelled deeper matters at play. Or maybe he just wanted leverage. Either way, I'll not trust him blindly.
They brought their finished sample to Slughorn, who all but beamed at them. "Spectacular, truly! You've captured the dawn-hue exactly, Elysia, Andromeda. Such control. Five points to Slytherin from each of you. Well done indeed."
Elysia forced a polite smile, giving a slight bow of her head. Usually, Slughorn's praise would buoy her, but now it felt hollow. As soon as they were dismissed, she was ready to flee.
When Slughorn ended the session with a cheerful, "Off you go, dear students—mind you cork those samples and leave them on my desk!" the classroom burst into subdued chatter. Elysia gathered her things quickly, ignoring Rosier's gaze, ignoring Weiss, ignoring Malfoy's cool glance. With Andromeda at her elbow, she slipped out into the dungeon corridor.
A swirl of students spilled out, the torchlit passage echoing with footsteps and hushed conversation. Elysia inhaled, relieved to be free from the stifling closeness of the classroom. Even so, the dungeons offered no true solace—only more shadows where unspoken secrets lurked.
Andromeda touched her arm gently. "Let's talk somewhere private?"
Elysia nodded. They navigated the winding hallways, passing the flickering greenish light that spilled from the windows submerged under the Black Lake. Soon, they found an alcove near an unmarked stone stairwell. There, they paused. The corridor was quiet, only the faint drip of condensation echoing.
Andromeda crossed her arms. "You're not sleeping, are you? I can see it in your eyes."
Elysia swallowed. "No. Not well, anyway. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Thaddeus, I mean, turning away from me, from us, from Hogwarts. And I can't figure out how to fix it."
A crease formed between Andromeda's brows. "I'm worried too. We both know how Thaddeus can be—tunneling into his own world when things become complicated. But this time, it's…worse. He's shutting us out entirely."
Elysia's voice dropped to a hush. "He said someone was testing the wards. Something about the paint fiasco. I've tried to retrace his logic, but I don't have the same puzzle pieces he does. And that kettle we found… it changed everything."
Andromeda nodded, grave. "We can't exactly barge into the staffroom, announcing there's a conspiracy afoot. Not when we have so little proof."
A quiet laugh escaped Elysia—bitter and sardonic. "Slughorn would just beam and ask if we'd like to join his next supper gathering. McGonagall might listen, but Dumbledore… he's not exactly oblivious. If there's a threat, he probably suspects. So why the silence?"
Andromeda looked away, her expression tightening. "Sometimes, I think the professors keep secrets to protect us. But it doesn't help when we're the ones entangled in the thick of it." She sighed, then forced a note of resolve into her tone. "So, we do it ourselves. We watch. We wait for Thaddeus to slip. Maybe we corner him. Force him to talk."
Elysia's pulse quickened. She nodded. "Corner him. Yes. We can't let him hide forever."
A stray sound echoed down the corridor—a click of heels, perhaps. They went quiet, instinct honed by living in Slytherin's domain, where every word might be overheard. They retreated deeper into the alcove, the chill of the stone seeping through Elysia's robes. After a moment, footsteps receded. They breathed again.
"In the meantime," Andromeda said, voice lowered, "try to get some sleep, Elysia. We'll need our wits, especially if we're dealing with deeper plots. The day we slip up might be the day everything unravels."
Elysia pressed her lips together, half a smile. "Thanks, Mother Andromeda."
Despite the tension, Andromeda smirked. "Just do as I say for once, will you?"
They decided to head upwards, toward the Great Hall for a midday meal. The labyrinthine route from the dungeons carried them past tapestry-hung corridors and twisting staircases. Along the way, Elysia caught glimpses of a world that felt so normal—Gryffindor second-years swapping jokes, a pair of Ravenclaws poring over an arithmancy chart, a huddle of Hufflepuffs debating Quidditch prospects. All so ordinary, Elysia thought, her chest twisting. If only our troubles were that simple.
They reached the Entrance Hall, where sunlight streamed through tall windows. Elysia blinked at the brightness. She was about to suggest skipping lunch—her appetite felt nonexistent—when a voice cut across the marble floor.
"Miss D'Aubigny. Miss Black."
They turned. Lucius Malfoy stood by one of the pillars, arms folded elegantly over his chest. The midday sun caught the silver edges of his hair, giving him a sharp, almost regal silhouette.
"Yes, Malfoy?" Andromeda answered, polite but guarded.
He inclined his head. "Slughorn's requested that top potions students present a demonstration next week—some brew to show off Slytherin's talents. He suggested your names. Mine as well, among a few others."
Elysia frowned. She had heard nothing of this. "I see."
Malfoy shrugged, a small, cool motion. "I suppose he's grooming his 'favorites.' If you're interested, we meet in Slughorn's office on Tuesday evening. If not, I'll inform him you declined." He said it with the faintest hint of challenge in his tone, as though daring her to remain silent.
Andromeda glanced at Elysia. "We'll consider it, Malfoy. Thank you."
He nodded once, unblinking. Then, with a swirl of robes, he descended the steps leading away from them. Elysia realized she'd been holding her breath. "Great," she muttered. "Now we get to play star pupils while the rest of our life is in disarray."
Andromeda tried for a wry smile. "Slughorn's never been subtle about showcasing his chosen few. I guess it's an honor. Or a nuisance. Or both."
Elysia rubbed the back of her neck. "If Thaddeus were here, he'd roll his eyes, say this is a distraction from the real threat." Her stomach knotted. Where are you, cousin? Are you all right? But no answers came from the silent halls.
As they stepped into the Great Hall for lunch, Elysia scanned the bustling tables. On the far side, she spotted Wilson Weiss and Evan Rosier claiming seats among a handful of older Slytherins—Rodolphus Lestrange among them. They did not look her way. Or if they did, they hid it behind idle conversation and steepled fingers. The sight unsettled her. She could almost feel the lines of power that snaked through the house: alliances forming, secrets building, each glance a subtle move in an invisible game.
Andromeda nudged her gently toward their usual spot. They sat, plates of food appearing as if by magic. Elysia forced a few bites of bread, but her appetite deserted her with each passing second. She stared at her reflection in the silver jug of pumpkin juice—saw the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the tension in her jaw. Is this who I've become? A girl lost in worries, ignoring the laughter around me?
An abrupt wave of chatter rose from the far end of the table. Elysia lifted her gaze. Rosier was leaning in to whisper something to Weiss, who snickered under his breath. Then the pair looked in her direction—just a flash of eye contact—before resuming their conversation. She bristled. They know something. Or suspect something. She refused to flinch beneath their curiosity, returning her attention to Andromeda.
A first-year approached them timidly, asking if they had any advice about Slughorn's next quiz. Andromeda offered kind, succinct pointers. Elysia tried to focus enough to add a comment or two. But her heart wasn't in it. She wanted only to slip away and re-scour the corridors, searching for her cousin's footsteps.
Finally, she settled for nibbling a few morsels of roast chicken. The clamor of midday mealtime whirled around her—friends discussing weekend plans, exclamations about Quidditch practice times, an undercurrent of normalcy that felt foreign to her ears.
The meal ended, and they left the Great Hall, drifting amid a sea of students heading to various afternoon classes. Elysia and Andromeda paused by a tall window, the sunlight warming the ancient stone. Through the glass, Elysia glimpsed the rolling lawns, the far edge of the Forbidden Forest standing dark against the pale sky. She wondered if Thaddeus had ventured beyond the castle walls in his search for answers. Was he rummaging through old archives? Communing with half-forgotten wards? The notion felt dramatic—yet not impossible.
"Tonight," Elysia said abruptly. "We check the common room again. We'll wait as long as it takes."
Andromeda nodded, her expression set. "I'll bring coffee. Or a Pepper-Up potion."
Despite herself, Elysia smiled—a small, fleeting curve of her lips. She clutched that smile like a talisman. "If he won't come to us willingly, we'll catch him unawares. We'll make him talk, even if we have to corner him by the dorm entrance."
Andromeda rested a hand on Elysia's shoulder. "We'll do it together. No more sitting on the sidelines."
A hush lingered between them, an unspoken vow. Elysia squared her shoulders. She could almost hear Thaddeus's voice in her head: Don't let fear paralyze you. Act. That was always his way—quick, decisive. He might be the one hiding now, but he'd taught her enough to face darkness without flinching.
She gave a final nod to Andromeda, then parted ways for their respective classes. Each footstep carried her deeper into afternoon's routine, yet her mind stayed pinned to the plan for tonight. She would find him. She would demand the truth, about the wards, about the pranks, about the kettle and the swirl of secrets overshadowing them all.
And if the truth was as terrible as the pit in her stomach suggested, she would brace herself. Because they were D'Aubignys, and Blacks, and Slytherins—and they did not bow to hidden threats.
When the last class let out, and twilight draped its velvet hush over the castle, Elysia took a moment to stand on one of Hogwarts's stone balconies. The wind tugged at her robes, carrying the distant scent of pine from the Forbidden Forest. Stars pricked faintly through the purple sky. She closed her eyes, letting the cool air steady her pulse.
Soon, she vowed silently. I will see you again, Thaddeus. And I won't leave until I have answers.
The memory of Slughorn's beaming praise flitted through her mind—You're quite talented, my dear!—but it felt inconsequential now. A superficial accolade in a world about to tilt on its axis. Because beneath Hogwarts's hallowed halls, a deeper story was unfolding, one with wards tested and loyalties in question. One where she and Andromeda and Thaddeus stood at the precipice.
The coil of determination in her chest eased some of the dread. Elysia opened her eyes. Far below, she could see the silhouettes of students drifting across the courtyard, unaware of the secrets that simmered behind stone walls. She took a long, measured breath, then turned away from the balcony.
Her footsteps echoed in the deserted corridor as she made her way down to the Slytherin dungeons. Each tap of her heel sounded like a countdown to confrontation. In her mind, she pictured Thaddeus's face: guarded, haunted, brilliant. She imagined the flicker of candlelight on his features when she finally cornered him that night.
Be ready, cousin, she thought. The time for running is over.
And with that, Elysia slipped into the gloom, her heart pounding a steady rhythm of purpose, her mind set on unraveling the mysteries that haunted them all.