Hogwarts, Great Hall, September 6, 2017, 8:00 AM
Friday breakfast was different.
Louder.
More chaotic.
Because it was the day the mail arrived.
Solus sat at the Slytherin table, eating toast while watching the ceiling of the Great Hall open to let the owls through.
Dozens of them.
Maybe hundreds.
They descended like a storm of feathers, delivering letters, packages, and copies of the Daily Prophet to students shouting with excitement.
Albus, beside him, looked up nervously.
"Expecting a letter?" Solus asked.
"My mum said she'd write. But..." Albus paused. "I don't know if she'll want to write after... you know. Slytherin."
"Your mother isn't like that."
"How do you know?"
"Because if she were, she wouldn't have married your father." Solus took a bite of his toast. "Harry Potter married Ginny Weasley. A woman who played professional Quidditch and fought in a war. I don't think she's the type to judge her son for the house he's in."
Albus smiled faintly.
"I hope so."
A brown owl swooped down and dropped a letter in front of Albus.
He opened it with shaking hands.
He read.
And his face lit up.
"She... she says she's proud of me." Albus's voice trembled. "She says it doesn't matter what house I'm in. That I'm her son and she loves me."
Solus smiled.
"Told you."
Albus laughed, wiping his eyes quickly.
"Thanks."
A white owl landed in front of Solus.
A post owl. Not my family's owl.
Because Helen hadn't bought an owl. She had said they would use the Hogwarts postal service.
Solus took the letter.
The envelope was simple.
Cream-colored (coloured). His name written in his mother's familiar handwriting:
Solus GrayHogwarts, SlytherinScotland
Solus opened it carefully.
[Dear Solus,
I hope this letter finds you well. It's been only five days since you left, but the house feels empty without you.
Your father called from Boston last night. He says his project is going well and he hopes to return home in three weeks. I told him about your sorting into Slytherin. He was confused about what that meant (you know how he is with magic), but when I explained it was the house for ambitious and intelligent students, he laughed and said: 'That sounds exactly like our son.'
How are your classes? Have you made friends? I know sometimes you're shy with new people, but I hope you're finding your place. Remember you don't have to be like everyone else. You just have to be yourself.
The garden is blooming. The roses we planted together in spring are beautiful. Every time I see them, I think of you.
The neighbors' (neighbours') house, the Millers, is for sale. They said they're moving to Manchester for his job. It's strange to think they won't be here when you come back for Christmas.
I miss you so much, honey.
Write to me soon and tell me everything about Hogwarts. I want to know about your professors, your classes, your friends. Everything.
With all my love,Mom (Mum)
P.S. I've enclosed some cookies (biscuits) I baked yesterday. Hope they arrive intact. I know owls aren't the best delivery service, but it's all we have!]
Solus read the letter twice.
Then a third time.
'Everything seems normal.'
'Her handwriting is the same.'
'Her tone is warm.'
But...
There was something.
Something only someone who had known Helen for eleven years would notice.
'The letter is too cheerful.'
Helen had always been optimistic. She had always seen the bright side of things.
But there was a difference between genuine optimism and forced optimism.
And this letter...
'It feels like she's trying too hard to sound happy.'
Solus looked at the date in the top corner.
. . . . . . .
September 5, 2017.
Yesterday.
Two days after he left.
'Maybe she just misses me,' Solus thought. 'It's the first time I've been away from home for so long.'
'It's normal for her to sound a little... different.'
But the feeling of unease wouldn't go away.
"Bad news?" Stella asked from across the table.
Solus looked up.
"No. Just a letter from my mother."
"And?"
"And nothing. She just says she misses me."
Stella studied him with those sharp eyes that saw too much.
"But something's bothering you."
"No."
"Lie."
Solus sighed.
"You're annoying, Zabini."
"I know. It's part of my charm." Stella took a bite of an apple. "So, what's worrying you?"
Solus hesitated.
Then he decided it was absurd to worry about nothing.
"My mother sounds too cheerful. Like she's trying to convince herself that everything is fine."
Stella arched an eyebrow.
"Maybe she just misses you. Parents do that."
"Maybe."
But Solus wasn't convinced.
. . . . . . .
Defense Against the Dark Arts Class, 10:00 AM
Defense class was with a professor Solus hadn't met yet.
The classroom was on the third floor, near the Astronomy Tower. When Solus and Albus entered, students were already seated: Slytherin and Gryffindor together.
Rose Weasley was in the front row, staring ahead with a determined expression. She didn't look at Solus when he passed.
'Good. The less interaction, the better.'
Solus chose a table in the middle. Albus sat next to him.
Stella entered moments later and dropped into the chair next to Solus.
"Ready for Defense?" she asked.
"Always," Stella replied with a smile.
The door closed.
And the professor walked in.
It was a woman.
Young. Maybe twenty-something.
Short black hair. Pale skin. Dark eyes that swept the room with an intensity that made several students sit up straighter instinctively.
She wore black robes with the Hogwarts crest embroidered in silver, but underneath she wore clothes that looked more... practical. Trousers. Boots. As if she were ready to fight at any moment.
"Good morning," she said with a voice that was soft but carried a weight of steel. "I am Professor Ekaterina Volkov. And this is Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Her accent was unmistakable.
Russian.
Solus went on alert.
'Russian? Here?'
'Coincidence?'
Professor Volkov walked to the front of the classroom with precise steps.
"Defense is not just learning spells. It is learning to survive. To think. To react." She stopped and looked at the class. "Some of you come from families that fought in the war. Others do not know that world. But all of you need to understand something: the Dark Arts did not disappear because Tom Riddle alias Voldemort died."
The name made several students flinch.
"The Dark Arts are magic. And magic is neither good nor bad. It is a tool. It depends on who uses it and why." Volkov crossed her arms. "My job is to teach you to defend yourselves. Not to attack. But defense means understanding what you face."
She paused.
"So, who can tell me what is the difference between a dark spell and a normal spell?"
Several hands went up.
Volkov pointed to Rose Weasley.
"The intent," Rose said confidently. "A dark spell requires malicious intent."
"Incorrect," Volkov said without emotion.
Rose blinked, clearly surprised.
"What?"
"Malicious intent makes a spell more powerful. But it does not make it dark." Volkov looked at the class. "Anyone else?"
Solus raised his hand.
"Mr....?"
"Gray. Solus Gray."
"Mr. Gray. What is your answer?"
"A dark spell is one that causes irreparable harm or requires sacrifice, of self or others, to function. It is not the intent that defines it. It is the cost."
Volkov looked at him for a long moment.
"Ten points to Slytherin. That is the correct answer."
Rose sank in her seat, clearly annoyed.
Volkov continued:
"Dark spells require a price. The Killing Curse, for example, requires that you truly want to kill. Not just think it. Want it. Feel it in every fiber of your being." Her voice was cold. "And that changes something inside you. Every time you cast it, you lose a piece of your humanity."
The classroom was in absolute silence.
"Therefore," Volkov said, "I will not teach you dark magic. But I will teach you to recognize it. To defend against it. And to understand that the wizarding world is not black and white. It is gray (grey)."
She looked at each student.
"And in the gray (grey), is where you must learn to survive."
The class was intense.
Volkov taught them the Shield Charm, Protego, and made them practice it over and over again.
"Too weak," she told a Gryffindor student. "If someone casts a hex at you, that shield will break in a second."
"Better," she told Rose after her third attempt. "But you still think too much. The shield must be instinctive."
When she reached Solus, she watched him cast the spell once.
"Protego."
A shimmering shield materialized in front of him. Solid. Stable.
Volkov studied it.
"Good control. Have you practiced before?"
"No, Professor. First time."
"Interesting."
Volkov tapped the shield with her wand. It didn't break. "Very interesting."
She walked away.
But Solus felt her eyes on him for the rest of the class.
. . . . . . .
Great Hall, 12:30 PM
During lunch, Solus couldn't stop thinking about two things.
His mother's letter.
And Professor Volkov.
"Notice anything weird about Volkov?" Stella asked between bites of a sandwich.
"Weird how?" Albus asked.
"I don't know. She's... intense. Like she's seen things."
"Probably fought in the war," Albus said. "My dad says a lot of Russian wizards fought against the Death Eaters who fled to Eastern Europe after Voldemort fell."
'Interesting', Solus thought.
'So she's a war veteran.'
'But why is she here? Why at Hogwarts? And why now?'
That afternoon, Solus wrote a reply letter.
He sat in the Common Room, with parchment and quill, trying to find the right words.
[Dear Mom (Mum),
Thanks for your letter. And for the cookies (biscuits). They arrived intact and delicious.
Hogwarts is... amazing. The castle is huge. Sometimes I get lost trying to go to class. But I'm learning the shortcuts.
My classes are interesting. Potions is my favorite (favourite) so far. The professor is strict but fair. History of Magic is also good. The professor actually knows what he's talking about, not like the books I read.
I've made two friends: Albus Potter (yes, Harry Potter's son) and Stella Zabini. Albus is quiet but loyal. Stella is... enthusiastic. She never sits still. I think you'd like them.
Slytherin isn't what I expected. The books paint it as the house of villains, but most students are just... ambitious. They want to do something with their lives. And that's not bad.
I miss home. I miss the garden. I miss the mornings where we had breakfast together.
But I'm also excited to be here.
Write to me soon. I want to know how you are. How Dad is. How everything is.
Love you,Solus]
He sealed the letter.
He would take it to the Owlery tomorrow.
But as he put it away, the unease returned.
'Something isn't right.'
'I don't know what.'
'But something isn't right.'
That night, Solus dreamed again.
Not of the green door.
But of Helen.
She was in the garden of their house.
Looking at the roses.
But her face was... different.
Thinner.
Paler.
Her eyes were empty.
"Solus," she whispered. "Where are you?"
Solus tried to answer.
But no sound came out.
Helen turned.
And vanished like smoke.
Solus woke up gasping.
The dormitory was dark. Albus was snoring softly. The other boys were asleep.
Solus sat up in bed, breathing heavily.
'Just a dream.'
'Just a dream.'
But it didn't feel like just a dream.
It felt like a warning.