◇
The Slytherin common room had always felt like it existed underwater.
Green light filtered through the tall windows where the lake pressed thick and black against the glass. Shadows moved slowly along the walls as the currents shifted outside. The silver lamps burned low, and the fireplace cast a dull emerald glow across the stone floor.
Arthur sat in the high-backed chair closest to the fire.
He leaned back into the dark leather, one arm resting along the carved wood of the armrest. His posture was relaxed, almost careless.
But he wasn't doing anything.
No book.
No wand spinning idly between his fingers the way it used to.
He was simply… existing.
The green flames rolled lazily in the hearth, their light reflecting faintly in his eyes. When the fire shifted, the thin rings of gold circling his irises caught the glow like molten metal under water.
Across the room, three people were pretending they weren't staring.
Pansy Parkinson sat on the edge of the sofa, one leg crossed sharply over the other, her back straight in that aristocratic posture she used when she wanted to appear unimpressed. Blaise Zabini lounged beside her, long legs stretched toward the fire, looking relaxed in the effortless way he always did.
Theodore Nott leaned forward in the armchair opposite Arthur, elbows resting on his knees.
From a distance, it looked like a normal Slytherin gathering.
Casual.
Comfortable.
But the space between them had arranged itself into something else entirely.
A line.
They'd been watching him for twenty minutes.
Arthur knew because he'd been counting the shifts in the fire.
Pansy broke first.
"You're taller."
The words burst out of her like they'd been clawing at her throat.
Her tone was sharp—almost critical—but it wavered slightly at the edges.
Arthur didn't turn.
He continued watching the green flames.
"Must have been the weather," he said after a moment. "Good for the bones."
Pansy blinked. "That's not—"
"Don't do that."
Theo's voice cut through the room.
Arthur turned his head slowly.
Theo was leaning forward now, composure thinning in a way Arthur had rarely seen.
Theo had always been the quiet one. The observer.
Even in first year.
Especially in first year.
Arthur remembered the courtyard.
Late spring. Crickets in the ivy. Pansy pacing like a caged animal while Blaise pretended to read a book he hadn't turned a page of.
Theo lying on a stone bench staring at the sky like none of it surprised him.
'Was wondering when you'd stop hiding.'
Arthur blinked once.
The memory dissolved.
Theo's eyes were sharper now.
"In the Great Hall," Theo said, "We overheard what you said to the Headmaster."
The fire cracked.
Arthur's gaze moved across the three of them.
For a brief moment, he looked less like a fourteen-year-old boy and more like something older that had learned how to wear one.
Something almost amused flickered behind his eyes before fading again.
"I'm the same person, Theo," he said calmly.
Theo let out a quiet breath.
"Bullshit."
Pansy shot him a quick look.
"Theodore—"
"No."
Theo didn't look away from Arthur.
"He disappears all summer," Theo said. "Comes back looking like he walked out of a battlefield."
Blaise tilted his head slightly.
"That's actually a very accurate description."
Theo ignored him.
"He looks the Headmaster in the eye," Theo continued, "And tells him to try telling the truth."
Theo leaned forward again.
"That's not the same person."
Arthur studied him quietly.
Theo had always understood patterns first.
Back in first year, when Arthur had said he didn't know what "back" meant anymore, Theo had been the only one who hadn't tried to argue.
Now Theo looked like he was staring at the result of that moment.
Arthur shifted slightly in the chair.
The leather creaked.
"I just stopped asking permission to be here," he said.
Blaise raised an eyebrow. "That's a poetic way of not answering the question."
Arthur glanced at him. "You didn't ask one."
"Fair."
Pansy finally leaned forward.
"You're different," she said.
Arthur shrugged lightly. "That's not illegal."
"That's not what I meant."
She gestured toward his face.
"Your eyes—" Her voice faltered.
Blaise finished the sentence for her.
"They look expensive."
Arthur huffed softly. "Everything looks expensive to you."
"That's because most things are."
Theo spoke again before the banter could settle.
"Where did you go?"
Arthur's expression didn't change. "Outside."
Theo's jaw tightened. "That's not an answer."
Arthur tilted his head slightly. "Good. You're noticing a pattern."
Across the room, other Slytherins had begun whispering quietly, glancing toward Arthur before quickly looking away.
Blaise finally exhaled. "You know what the problem is?"
Arthur didn't respond.
"You're sitting in the same chair," Blaise said, gesturing lazily.
"Same robes. Same face."
He paused.
"But the room keeps acting like there's a dragon in it."
Arthur's mouth twitched faintly.
Pansy rolled her eyes. "That's not helpful."
"I'm simply describing the atmosphere."
Theo leaned back again, eyes narrowing slightly.
"You remember first year?" he asked quietly.
Arthur did.
Theo's gaze drifted now to Arthur's eyes.
"You told us something then," Theo said slowly.
Arthur waited.
"You said power wasn't something you chased."
The room went quiet again.
"You said the people who chased it were usually the least prepared to carry it."
Arthur didn't answer.
Theo tilted his head.
"So tell me something, Arthur."
The fire popped softly.
"Did you find power? Or did it find you?"
Arthur watched the flames for a long moment.
When he finally spoke, his voice was softer.
"Does it matter which one comes first?"
Theo didn't reply.
Arthur's gaze moved between the three of them.
Something in his expression shifted.
Not enough to erase the distance. But enough to acknowledge it.
"You're not wrong," he said quietly.
That was worse than denial.
Arthur leaned back in the chair again.
The fire crackled beside him.
"But you're not right either."
Silence.
"Give it time."
Theo frowned slightly. "For what?"
Arthur looked back at the flames.
"For the room to catch up."
Arthur glanced briefly toward the lake-dark windows."It always does."
◇◇
Pansy was the first to surrender to the tension. She pushed herself off the sofa with a sharp little movement, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt like the furniture had personally offended her.
"I have homework," she muttered.
No one believed that.
Pansy Parkinson did not abandon drama for homework.
But tonight she did.
Then she disappeared.
Blaise was next.
He closed the book in his lap without marking the page — the clearest sign he hadn't been reading at all. He studied Arthur quietly for a long second, head tilted slightly, dark eyes calculating.
Blaise Zabini liked puzzles.
Arthur had always been a simple one. Not anymore.
"You're going to make the entire house paranoid," Blaise said mildly.
Arthur didn't respond.
Blaise considered him a moment longer, as though deciding whether the answer mattered.
Apparently it didn't.
"Interesting," he murmured to himself, rising smoothly from the sofa.
Then he left.
Theo lingered.
Theodore Nott had never been good at pretending things were fine when they weren't.
He stood near the foot of the staircase, hands in his pockets, staring at Arthur like a mathematician trying to solve an equation that had suddenly grown new variables.
"You know," Theo said finally, "people usually change over summer break by growing half an inch and becoming slightly more annoying."
Arthur said nothing. Instead, His eyes flicked toward Theo.
Theo held his gaze. Searching.
But after a moment, he simply shook his head.
"Right," he muttered.
Then he turned and disappeared up the staircase.
The common room grew quiet.
The lake beyond the tall windows pressed its dark weight against the glass, rippling faintly with slow underwater currents. Shadows drifted across the ceiling like distant ghosts.
Only two people remained.
Arthur.
And Draco Malfoy.
Draco had not moved the entire time.
He stood beside the fireplace mantle, leaning against the carved stone with the kind of casual posture that took actual effort to maintain. His arms were folded, expression neutral as he watched the green flames curl and flicker.
Arthur felt the stare before Draco spoke.
"How long are you going to keep staring at me?"
Arthur didn't turn around.
Draco didn't even blink.
"You're making them twitchy, Reeves," he said eventually. "Even me."
Arthur glanced sideways.
Draco's pale hair caught the firelight, turning almost silver in the glow.
"Pansy looked like she's seen a ghost," Draco continued lazily. "And Blaise is probably convinced you've been possessed by a dark wizard."
Arthur leaned back slightly in his chair.
"And you?"
Draco looked at him properly then.
Really looked.
He studied the longer hair first.
Arthur had never bothered cutting it before. It brushed the back of his collar now, darker in the shadows.
"I'm wondering," he said slowly, "if I should start calling you sir."
For a moment the fire cracked loudly between them.
Arthur let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
"Don't start."
Draco's mouth twitched. "So it was a long summer."
Arthur turned his gaze back to the flames.
The green light flickered in the gold rings of his eyes again.
"It was a long summer, Draco."
The words were calm. Too calm.
Draco watched him for several seconds.
Draco Malfoy had grown up around people who lied for sport.
Ministers.
Politicians.
Pure-blood socialites.
He knew the difference between a lie meant to deceive and a lie meant to close a door.
This one was the second kind.
Draco straightened slightly from the mantle.
"Right," he said quietly. "Long summer."
But he didn't look convinced.
Arthur didn't explain.
The fire popped again, sparks twisting upward like tiny dying stars.
For a long moment neither of them spoke.
Then Draco turned toward the staircase.
"You know," Draco said without looking back, "whatever happened…"
He hesitated.
Draco Malfoy rarely hesitated.
"…they'll adjust."
Arthur didn't respond.
Draco studied him for one last second.
Then he left the common room.
Arthur remained in the high-backed chair.
Alone.
The green flames crackled softly.
And the lake pressed its silent weight against the windows.
Watching.
◇◇◇
[The next day...]
The Library hadn't changed.
Same dust drifting lazily in the sunlight.
Same towering shelves of ancient books leaning toward one another like conspirators whispering across centuries.
Same oppressive silence that made even the turning of a page sound like thunder.
But when Arthur stepped inside—
The silence followed him.
Conversations thinned. Chairs scraped quietly across the floor. A Ravenclaw boy shifted his stack of books two inches farther away from the aisle without realizing why.
Arthur walked past them all like none of it mattered.
Like none of them mattered.
He moved between the tall bookcases, the faint echo of his footsteps swallowed by the thick carpets.
And then he found her.
Hermione Granger sat at her usual table near the tall windows.
The same spot she'd claimed since first year.
Books surrounded her in chaotic towers — spell theory, magical history, ancient runes, defensive charms. Several were open, parchment notes scattered between them like fallen leaves.
Normally Hermione would be reading three of them at once.
But today—
She wasn't reading anything.
She was staring at a blank sheet of parchment in front of her.
Arthur pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.
The chair legs scraped softly.
Hermione didn't jump.
She didn't gasp or look startled.
She simply lifted her eyes and looked at him. As if expecting him.
"Do you think it's like Riddle's diary?" she asked quietly.
Arthur blinked once.
The question clearly wasn't what he expected.
"No, Hermione."
She leaned forward slightly, fingers gripping the edge of the table.
"A blood activation, maybe?" she continued quickly. "Arthur, I checked sixteen books. The only thing even remotely similar—"
"Hermione."
His voice wasn't harsh.
But it stopped her completely.
Final.
She closed her mouth.
Arthur nodded toward the parchment.
"It's just parchment."
Hermione followed his gaze to the folded sheet in front of her.
"Maybe a little mischievous," Arthur added lightly.
Hermione frowned.
"That's not funny."
"I wasn't joking."
Her fingers tapped the table expectantly.
She looked like someone who had been awake for hours.
Arthur tilted his head slightly.
"Is it something you and the others found last year?"
Hermione hesitated.
"Something like that."
That wasn't a no.
Arthur looked down at the parchment again.
His eyes sharpened slightly.
The gold ring circling each iris flickered faintly in the sunlight filtering through the library windows.
And suddenly—
He could see it.
Not the blank parchment Hermione saw.
But ink. Lines.
Moving words crawling across the page like living things.
Delicate pathways unfolding across the entire castle.
And at the very top—
Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs are proud to present…
Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly.
"The Marauder's Map," he murmured.
Hermione froze.
Her head snapped up.
"A map of Hogwarts."
"As expected. Your new eye color isn't just for show."
She stared at the parchment again.
"I haven't even said the words yet."
Arthur leaned back in his chair.
"I can see it just fine, Jean."
Hermione's breath hitched.
She hated when he called her that.
Not because it was rude.
Because it meant he was teasing.
Or at least… he used to.
She looked up at him again.
Really looked.
Her eyes filled suddenly with frustrated tears she hadn't expected.
"You're different," she said quietly.
Arthur didn't answer.
Hermione swallowed hard.
"Your eyes aren't just gold, Arthur."
She gestured weakly toward them.
"They're… empty."
Arthur's expression didn't change.
"Like you're looking through me instead of at me."
The words came out before she could stop them.
The silence between them stretched.
Arthur met her gaze.
Really met it.
And for just a moment—
The cold sharpness faded.
The gold softened. A quick flicker of the blue-grey color it once was.Gone so quickly Hermione wondered if she imagined it.
"I'm still your study partner, Hermione."
His voice was quieter now. Almost gentle.
"But the things I have to study now…"
He paused.
"…don't fit on parchment."
Hermione looked like she wanted to argue.
To demand answers.
To grab his sleeve and drag the truth out of him the way she did with Ron when he was hiding something.
But something in Arthur's eyes stopped her.
Not fear.
Just distance.
Arthur looked down at the parchment again.
The Marauder's Map unfolded clearly before him.
Hallways.
Secret passages.
Moving dots wandering across the castle.
Professor McGonagall — second floor corridor.
Argus Filch — dungeon staircase.
Nearly Headless Nick — drifting through the Trophy Room.
Arthur's eyes moved slowly across the intricate web of lines.
Memorizing it.
Every corridor.
Every hidden door.
Every flaw in Hogwarts' walls.
"Although," he said softly after a moment,
"This one might prove useful."
Hermione watched him in silence.
And for the first time since she'd met Arthur Reeves—
She felt like she was studying someone she didn't understand at all.