Unraveling the Unknown
Ezekiel sat in the Ravenclaw common room, his fingers tracing the edges of the mysterious letter he had received the previous night. The message was vague, but it carried weight—someone was watching him, and they knew of his title as Lord Ravenclaw.
Whoever this "Friend" was, they clearly had knowledge beyond what most students at Hogwarts should.
His first instinct was to check if the letter contained hidden enchantments. Pulling out his wand, he murmured a few detection spells, scanning the parchment for invisible ink, tracking charms, or curses.
Nothing.
Whoever sent this was careful.
The letter didn't seem to pose an immediate threat, but it was clear that he needed to stay alert.
If they wanted a reaction from me, they won't get one that easily.
With that thought, he placed the letter into his enchanted storage box, securing it for later.
---
Later that day, Ezekiel found himself walking through the halls of Hogwarts, deep in thought. He decided to speak with someone who might offer insight—Professor Flitwick.
The Charms professor was one of the few individuals at Hogwarts whom Ezekiel respected both as a scholar and a duelist.
After the day's lessons, he approached Flitwick's office, knocking twice before entering.
"Ah, Mr. Malverne," Flitwick greeted, looking up from a pile of parchment. "What brings you here today?"
Ezekiel took a seat, leaning forward slightly. "Professor, I was wondering—how often do ancient magical families receive unexpected correspondence?"
Flitwick blinked, clearly intrigued by the question. "It depends. Those with notable lineages may find themselves receiving letters from various circles—some seeking alliances, others offering warnings."
Ezekiel nodded. "And if such a letter contained only vague information? No request, no threat, just an indication that someone was watching?"
Flitwick's expression turned thoughtful. "Then, my boy, you should tread carefully. A letter like that serves a purpose—to test your reaction. Whoever sent it wants to see what you'll do next."
That confirmed what Ezekiel had suspected.
"I assume you've already checked for enchantments?" Flitwick added.
Ezekiel smirked. "Of course."
Flitwick chuckled. "Smart lad. Keep it, but don't dwell too much on it. If they intend to contact you again, they will."
Ezekiel thanked the professor and left, feeling slightly reassured—but no less determined to uncover the truth.
---
That evening, Ezekiel returned to the Room of Requirement, resuming his magical experimentation. His latest focus was refining his control over elemental transmutation—a branch of magic that allowed the shaping of elements beyond basic spells.
His goal was to create a stable elemental construct that wouldn't melt or shatter easily.
He focused, channeling his magic through his palm, and watched as ice began forming, taking the shape of a small dagger.
The first attempt cracked immediately.
The second held its form but was brittle.
The third—after a shift in his magical flow—remained solid.
Ezekiel's eyes gleamed.
Progress.
He twirled the dagger in his hand, noting how light and sharp it felt. With more refinement, he could potentially forge true weapons or even armor from ice.
The potential was exhilarating.
I need to push this further.
---
After finishing his training, Ezekiel decided to take a late-night walk through the castle. As he passed one of the deserted corridors, he noticed someone ahead—Professor Snape.
The Potions Master's sharp eyes flicked toward him.
"Wandering the halls at night, Malverne?" Snape's voice was low, scrutinizing him.
Ezekiel smirked. "Just thinking, Professor. The castle is quite peaceful at this hour."
Snape regarded him for a long moment before speaking. "Thinking is dangerous when done alone for too long. See to it that your ambitions do not lead you astray."
Ezekiel inclined his head slightly. He knew Snape was not a man who spoke without reason.
"I'll keep that in mind."
With that, Snape turned, his cloak billowing behind him as he disappeared down the corridor.
Ezekiel stood there, considering the interaction.
Something told him that Snape knew far more than he let on.
And for some reason, the warning felt… personal.
---