**Author's Note: Sorry for rarely uploading or anything, alot has been happening recently. Trying to look for work, plus other things, has sort of made me stop uploading; I just haven't been able to stay with a consistent upload schedule. I also have a massive issue, I dunno if its writers block or what, but I constantly design and make new stories alot. Even though I never upload anything, I'll craft full characters for a story, and sort of forget about other ones. Then, I eventually end up deleting that story I worked on for days. Just a cycle over and over, I'm hoping to get better now that it's a new year, but we'll see. Anyway, bye bye, enjoy it all, and, subscribe to my Patreon LeadPoison **
The days began to slip.
September peeled away in thin sheets of parchment and morning frost, and Hogwarts fell into its rhythm again, the endless cycle of lessons, laughter, and rumors. The kind of days that blurred together until you couldn't tell one Tuesday from the next.
Outside, the forest had begun to bronze and curl. The sky hung lower now, bruised with early storms, and the lake looked more like a mirror for winter than water.
Inside, the castle adjusted as it always did, portraits gossiping about tournaments, staircases shifting in petulant moods, ghosts conducting their quiet patrols. The scent of rain and parchment lingered in every corridor.
For most, the chaos of the term had resumed: essays, homework, fleeting dramas that lasted exactly until supper. For Alden Dreyse, the world remained silent.
He moved through it like a figure in a photograph, calm, deliberate, untouchable. Even now, weeks after the Defense class, the whispers followed him in fragments:
"Told Moody the Unforgivables were for cowards..."Didn't even blink..."I heard he studied curse resistance privately—""Slytherins are saying Dumbledore protects him..."
Rumors lived short lives at Hogwarts, but Alden's never quite died. They evolved from fear to fascination, and back again.
At breakfast, he read quietly while the rest of Slytherin bickered over pumpkin pasties. Draco still liked to mutter about the Triwizard Tournament, how unfair it was, how Potter would somehow cheat, but even he lowered his voice when Alden turned a page. Theo had stopped commenting altogether. He'd learned that silence between them meant comfort.
Across the hall, Harry and his friends had started to forget, or at least pretend to. But every so often, one of them would glance toward the Slytherin table, that same table where Alden sat reading through Magical Equilibrium: The Laws of Potent Balance, as if he were auditing the universe.
Classes rolled forward. Charms essays, Divination charts, Potions drills.Rain and ink, quills and fatigue, the normal blur of school life that made September indistinguishable from October.
Still, beneath it all, there was a faint shift. It wasn't dramatic, more like the air itself had become thoughtful. Students were beginning to wonder what Dumbledore's announcement about the "legendary event" would mean. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were rumors made real by the week.
Hagrid was seen hammering things behind the Forbidden Forest. Filch had requisitioned new lanterns. The Great Hall gleamed brighter than usual, like it were preparing to impress someone.
And Alden quietly, faithfully began experimenting again. Late nights in the library, empty corridors after curfew, notebooks filled with clean lines of theory. Not dark magic, not exactly, but the kind of spells that played with thresholds, the spaces between forces. Half of them would never make it into textbooks. He didn't need them to.
He only wanted to understand.
By the first week of October, even Theo admitted,
"You're going to outgrow this place before the rest of us learn how to tie our shoelaces."
Alden only replied,
"Growth doesn't need witnesses."
That was the night the Charms notice went up, parchment fluttering on the board outside the Great Hall, glowing faintly blue under Flitwick's signature.
Group Practical Project: Due November 1st.
Assignment partners have been pre-selected.
Theo squinted at the parchment, muttering through the names.
"Bulstrode and Parkinson… Nott and Greengrass…"
Then he froze.
"Dreyse and Granger."
Alden looked up from his book.
"Interesting," he murmured.
"That's one word for it," Theo said, smirking. "You and the Gryffindor prodigy. She'll love your bedside manner."
Alden only shut his book, the sound sharp in the corridor.
"Then let's hope she values silence."
Charms, Thursday morning. The room smelled faintly of chalk, lemon polish, and ozone, the residue of too many experiments gone right and wrong. Floating candles traced lazy circles overhead, and the ceiling was low enough that laughter seemed to get caught in the rafters.
Students crowded around desks, voices overlapping, some grumbling, some excited, most pretending to be both.
Professor Flitwick stood atop his usual stack of books at the front, beaming in the way only he could when about to unleash group chaos. He clapped his tiny hands, the sound producing a faint golden spark.
"Good morning, class! I trust you've all seen your project pairings?"
Groans echoed across the room.
"Ah, yes, I did say random," Flitwick continued cheerfully. "Which means no complaining, no bribing, and absolutely no hexing your partner if you disagree on theoretical applications. I'm looking at you, Mr. Finnigan."
Laughter rolled through the Gryffindor side. Seamus grinned guiltily, wand twirling in his hand.
Draco, at the Slytherin row, raised his hand with a feigned politeness that fooled no one.
"Professor," he began smoothly, "surely there's been a mistake? Someone like Dreyse, well, he ought to be paired with someone who… matches his level of competence."
Flitwick tilted his head, blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses.
"You mean you, Mr. Malfoy?"
"Well," Draco said, smirking, "I simply think it'd be a waste of—"
"No changes," Flitwick interrupted briskly. "Miss Granger and Mr. Dreyse are partners. Consider it a challenge for both of you."
Across the room, Hermione's quill froze mid-sentence. Her gaze flicked toward Alden, calculating, cautious, curious.
Ron leaned across his desk toward Harry.
"That's cruel, that is," he whispered. "Putting her with him."
"Maybe they'll cancel each other out," Seamus muttered.
Theo, lounging in his chair behind Alden, hid a grin.
"Be gentle, will you? She bites when cornered."
Alden didn't answer. He simply rose, crossed to Hermione's table, and sat beside her with the kind of composed quiet that somehow felt like a disruption in itself.
The chatter softened.
Flitwick adjusted his spectacles, wand raised.
"Your task," he announced, "is to develop an augmentative charm, an enhancement spell that amplifies a simple magical function. It can be defensive, practical, or aesthetic, but it must show original application of magical theory."
He beamed.
"Think creatively. Surprise me!"
Pairs immediately fell into murmured debate. I nk scratched, parchment rustled, energy thrummed.
Hermione turned toward Alden, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.
"All right," she said briskly. "We should start by outlining possible charm matrices. If we base it on a third-order amplification sequence, we can stabilize the effect using a derivative of the Lumos spell—"
"Or," Alden interrupted, his voice level, "we ignore the matrix and start with intention resonance."
Hermione blinked.
"That's… not in the curriculum."
"Neither is originality," Alden said, calmly flipping open his notebook. "Yet here we are."
Her mouth opened, then closed again.
"Fine," she said tightly. "Let's hear it."
Alden drew a small circle on the parchment between them, a single rune, angular and deliberate.
"Every charm leaks magic when cast," he explained. "Most wizards just lose that energy to the air. If we rebind it mid-cast, force it back into the initial spell, we could double the output without a second wand movement."
Hermione frowned, intrigued despite herself.
"That's… technically impossible. The field would destabilize."
"Unless you adjust the rhythm," Alden said. "Magic listens before it obeys."
He raised his wand. A flick of the wrist, deliberate, silent. The tip glowed not bright, but dense, the light bending inward instead of spilling outward. The flame sat on his wand like molten glass.
Hermione's eyes widened.
"That's… Lumos duplex," she breathed. "But you didn't incant—"
"Didn't need to," he replied. "Intention resonance."
Around them, heads began to turn. Even Flitwick paused mid-step, peering over a stack of books.
"Oh my!" he squeaked. "That's not in any standard charm registry!"
Hermione's pride bristled. She quickly raised her own wand.
"Yes, but can it sustain under repetition?" she countered."Lumos fortis!"
Her wand burst into a golden flare bright enough that the nearest Gryffindors shielded their eyes. The light was textbook-perfect, pure and warm.
For a heartbeat, the two lights hung beside each other, hers radiant, his dense. Different philosophies made visible.
Theo whistled low.
"Careful, you'll burn a hole through the ceiling."
Daphne Greengrass, watching from the back row, murmured,
"That's the first time I've seen anyone match Granger in precision."
Seamus muttered, "Yeah, but one of them looks like they might accidentally blow up the classroom."
Flitwick clapped his hands again.
"Excellent! Excellent work, both of you! Collaboration at its finest!"
Hermione lowered her wand, cheeks slightly flushed. Alden's light flickered out like it had been dismissed rather than extinguished.
She glanced at him, finally allowing herself to ask quietly, almost warily:
"Do you always break the rules of spellcraft?"
"Only when they slow me down."
Flitwick, delighted, dismissed the class with a flourish. As students filed out, Theo caught Alden's shoulder, whispering with a grin,
"You and Grange, that's either the start of a masterpiece or a small war."
Alden adjusted his sleeve.
"Both require the same patience."
The Charms lesson emptied in a low roar of chatter and scraping cchairsStudents poured out into the corridor, their voices bouncing between stone arches. The sun, filtered through high windows, painted dust in gold. The air still smelled faintly of ozone and candle wax, the residue of too many spells cast too close together.
Alden left the classroom last of the Slytherins, his satchel slung neatly over one shoulder. Theo walked beside him, rolling his wand between his fingers; Draco lingered half a step ahead, already speaking loudly enough for anyone to hear.
"Well, that was a waste of time," Draco declared. "Flitwick pairing you with Granger is ridiculous. If he'd had any sense, he'd have let us work together instead."
"He said it was random," Theo reminded him lightly.
"Random," Draco scoffed. "Convenient excuse for favoritism. Probably thinks pairing a Slytherin with a Gryffindor makes for a good moral story."
Theo smirked.
"You mean like unity?"
Draco ignored him.
"Still—Granger? Honestly. She probably spent half the summer memorizing textbooks. You'll die of boredom."
Alden said nothing. His silence, as always, drew more attention than words would have.
They had just reached the marble stairwell when Hermione appeared behind them, parchment clutched in one hand, quill ink still glistening wet.
"Dreyse," she called, breath catching slightly as she caught up.
Draco turned with visible disdain. Alden stopped.
Hermione hesitated only a moment before speaking, her tone brisk, polite, but cautious, as though testing unknown ground.
"About the Charms project," she said. "I thought we might start early. I'll be in the library after lunch. Would four o'clock work for you?"
Alden glanced at her, unreadable. He was about to answer, a calm, measured voice, when Draco cut in, his tone sharp and dripping.
"Oh, I'm sure he's got better things to do than spend an afternoon with a filthy mud..."
He stopped.
The words froze on his tongue as Alden's eyes shifted. He didn't turn his head. He didn't frown. He simply looked at Draco with a quiet, sidelong glance that carried more weight than any curse.
Draco swallowed, pale lips pressing shut.
Alden turned back to Hermione, tone even.
"Four o'clock is fine," he said. "I'll bring my notes."
Hermione blinked once, surprised by the ease of the reply, perhaps expecting a refusal or indifference.
"Right," she said, voice softening. "See you then."
She left toward the stairway, curls bouncing, parchment tucked under her arm.
Silence held a beat too long. Then Draco exhaled, muttering,
"I don't see why you bother. You could ignore her completely, and nobody would care. She's beneath you. She's a mud...."
"My project partner," Alden interrupted, voice low but final. "Ignoring her would make it take longer."
Theo stifled a chuckle.
"Efficient as ever."
"Practical," Alden corrected.
They continued walking down toward the dungeons, the sound of dripping water echoing from below.
From behind, a voice called, smooth and lilting:
"Alden."
They turned slightly. Daphne Greengrass caught up, poised, graceful, her robes perfectly pressed, pale hair braided elegantly down one shoulder. Her blue-grey eyes held that Slytherin blend of curiosity and calculation.
"I saw the pairing board," she said lightly. "You really are with Granger?"
"So it seems," Alden said.
"What a shame," Daphne murmured. "I was hoping for something more… stimulating. You could always forget the assignment and work with me instead."
Theo raised an eyebrow.
"Tempting offer."
Daphne ignored him, eyes never leaving Alden's face. He regarded her evenly, tone unchanged.
"I don't leave things unfinished," he said. "Even partnerships."
For a moment, she looked as though she might press further a small, playful curve at her lips, but something in his expression stopped her.
"Pity," she said finally, turning away with a faint rustle of silk.
When she was gone, Draco made a low, incredulous noise.
"You really do enjoy confusing people, don't you?"
Alden adjusted his sleeve, unbothered.
"No," he said simply. "They confuse themselves."
Theo laughed under his breath.
"I'm almost looking forward to watching you and Granger study together. She's going to start quoting laws at you by the second page."
"Then I'll rewrite the law," Alden replied.
The three of them turned the corner toward the damp glow of the dungeons, the chatter of other students fading behind them.
By the time they reached the common room entrance, the lake shadows rippled faintly against the stone. Rumors had already begun to stir again, this time, not about fights or curses, but about something far stranger:
A Slytherin and a Gryffindor… studying together.
In Hogwarts, that was nearly scandalous enough to make the walls whisper.
The library at four o'clock was the kind of quiet that hummed.
Late light filtered through the high windows, catching on dust motes that drifted like suspended thought. The smell of ink, paper, and polish hung in the air, faint, clean, timeless.
Madam Pince's shadow moved between aisles like a wraith, and somewhere far off, the clock above the Arithmancy shelves ticked with precise disapproval.
Hermione had arrived early, predictably, and had already claimed a table near the windows, parchment spread like a map of her intent. She'd outlined three possible versions of their assignment, complete with references to Advanced Charmcraft by Adalbert Waffling and two additional footnotes from the Journal of Experimental Spell Theory.
She'd expected to wait.
Instead, Alden Dreyse arrived exactly on time.
No hurry, no hesitation, just the steady, unhurried rhythm of someone for whom punctuality was a principle, not a habit. His robes were immaculate; the silver of his hair caught the late afternoon light, and his eyes that quiet, green-grey clarity scanned the table before meeting hers.
"You're early," he said, tone neutral.
"And you're on time," Hermione replied, trying not to sound surprised.
"That's usually how schedules work."
He sat, opening his ledger, the green one he always carried, and drew a single quill, freshly sharpened. His movements were deliberate, every motion precise enough to seem practiced.
Hermione cleared her throat.
"So," she began, "I thought we'd start by refining the augmentation theory from CL, building off Flitwick's lesson on field resonance. If we can link two active charms in sequence without collapse—"
"You'll lose thirty percent efficiency at minimum," Alden interrupted, without looking up.
"Excuse me?"
He flipped a page.
"Linked charms bleed energy. The field doesn't stabilize fast enough between casts unless you pre-bind the resonance with intent. It's simpler to anchor them through timing."
"Timing?" Hermione repeated, incredulous. "You mean rhythm? That's not in any textbook—"
"That's the point."
She bristled.
"Theory without foundation is just guessing."
"Foundation without questioning is just obedience."
The words hung there not cruelly, but firmly. Hermione opened her mouth, then stopped, exhaling through her nose.
"Fine," she said at last, straightening. "Show me."
Alden nodded once, almost politely, and drew his wand. The wood caught a flicker of the sunset light, dark ebony with faint marbled veins that seemed to drink the glow.
He reached across the table, touching the edge of her parchment.
"We'll use a simple charm. Wingardium Leviosa. Watch the flow."
Hermione folded her arms, skeptical but attentive.
Alden flicked his wand once, silently. The quill on the table rose not jerkily, not weightless, but smoothly, like it had been persuaded rather than forced.
Hermione frowned.
"You didn't say the incantation."
"Words are training wheels," Alden murmured. "Once you understand the structure, you don't need the noise."
He made a subtle adjustment to his wrist. The quill dipped, rotated midair, and began tracing a slow spiral, the ink glinting faintly. Then, with a final flick, he laid it down perfectly on the edge of her note, not a single blot out of place.
Hermione blinked.
"That wasn't just levitation," she said quietly. "You were controlling the air flow around it."
"It's easier to shape the space than the object," Alden said. "Objects obey; space negotiates."
For a long moment, Hermione forgot to argue. She just watched him the way he focused entirely, the stillness in his shoulders, the precision in each gesture.
This, she realized, was discipline. Not the kind she prized, built from rules and diligence, but something older, sharper, almost philosophical.
He was what the rumors said, yes, brilliant, unsettlingly calm but not dangerous. Not like that.
"I don't understand you," she said finally.
Alden didn't look up from his notes.
"That's all right," he said simply. "Understanding comes slower than fear."
Hermione stared at him, equal parts frustrated and fascinated.
"Do you ever doubt anything you do?"
"Every day," he said. "That's why I measure."
She wanted to ask more, but he was already writing again, short, exact strokes, diagrams forming like blueprints across parchment.
Across the library, two Ravenclaws whispered behind a stack of books.
"That's him, the one who blocked Moody."And she's actually talking to him."Looks normal enough to me…"
Hermione heard, but didn't look back. For once, she didn't care what the castle whispered.
By the time the sun sank completely, their table was covered in papers and runes. Theirss was the only desk still lit, her charm forming neat, bright rings in the air, his countercurrent weaving through them like faint smoke.
At last, Hermione leaned back, exhaustion softening her voice.
"I think we've got something."
Alden nodded, closing his ledger.
"We do."
Hermione gathered her parchment, hesitant for a moment before speaking.
"You know," she said quietly, "you're not like people say."
"People prefer stories," Alden replied, standing. "They're easier than people."
He gave a small no, not a bow, not a dismiss, just a gesture of civility.
"Tomorrow then."
And with that, he was gone, the faint sound of his steps swallowed by the echoing halls.
Hermione watched him disappear between the shelves, a strange thought settling in her mind: perhaps, just perhaps, the most dangerous thing about Alden Dreyse wasn't his power;
It was that he saw the world differently.