Chapter 14: Watching

The castle was quieter than usual during their first real break of the day, the halls bathed in the soft glow of late morning light spilling through tall windows. It was now after transfiguration—which meant a break—the first proper chance the Hufflepuffs had to roam without a schedule breathing down their necks.

Unfortunately, that also meant Ernie and Justin were arguing over the “correct” shortcut to the Great Lake courtyard.

“No, this staircase loops around to the east corridor and skips the moving hallway entirely,” Ernie insisted, pointing left with dramatic authority.

Justin rolled his eyes. “And I’m telling you that last time you said that, we ended up trapped behind a tapestry full of screaming toads.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“They screamed, Ernie.”

Behind them, Susan sighed deeply, adjusting the strap of her bookbag like a weary chaperone. “Can we please just ask a portrait or, I don’t know, not trust Ernie's inner compass for once?”

Hannah giggled, falling into step beside Elara. “You’d think we’d have learned by now.”

Zacharias shrugged. “Let them argue. Wandering aimlessly is half the Hogwarts experience.”

“Only if we don’t end up inside a cursed closet,” Wayne added helpfully, squinting at a corridor that seemed to stretch farther than it should.

Elara trailed behind the group, her gossip book floating lazily at her side—a gift from Hogwarts itself, or maybe just a nosy little thing with a mind of its own. So far, it had proven very good at overhearing things it shouldn’t. Currently, it was closed and quiet. For now.

Eventually, after taking the long way three different times, they turned a corner and stumbled into a sun-drenched corridor lined with ornate gold-framed portraits, stretching from floor to ceiling. It looked like any other hallway at first—until the portraits began to whisper.

“Oh, oh, is that the girl?”

“The one with the ivy wand?”

“Did you hear she speaks to plants?”

“No, no, I heard she blew up a cauldron just by blinking!”

“I heard McGonagall marked her down as a cursed object and called a meeting about it.”

“I was at that meeting, and I’ll have you know—”

Elara blinked as every head in every painting slowly turned to look at her, all at once.

“—Oh, yes, it’s definitely her.”

“Golden vines, right up her arm! Looked like the tree itself was waking up—”

“Bit too much Hufflepuff in her eyes, if you ask me. That one’s got Slytherin shadows.”

“Elara Willow,” one portrait said with reverent curiosity. “The Sorting Hat couldn’t decide, they say. A four-house soul.”

And as if summoned by the chaos, Elara’s gossip book shot upward like it had been electrocuted, opening mid-air and beginning to furiously scribble on its own.

“‘Four-house soul’—I like that!” Justin said, mock-serious. “Sounds dramatic. We should start calling you that.”

“Don’t you dare,” Elara muttered, cheeks coloring slightly.

“Oh, come now,” the gossip book fluttered next to her ear, writing upside down and sideways just to get it all down. “It’s just getting good.”

Susan crossed her arms, scolding the portraits. “She’s just a first year. You shouldn’t be gossiping about her.”

One portrait of an older witch in deep purple waved her off. “Nonsense. Hogwarts students are always fascinating in the beginning. But this one…” Her eyes narrowed at Elara. “There’s a storm in her silence.”

“…Thanks?” Elara said awkwardly.

Wayne leaned in toward one of the frames. “Do any of you ever stop talking?”

A nearby portrait of a wizard in high boots and a wig whispered to another: “If she makes the chandeliers bloom next, I’m retiring.”

As they backed out of the whispering portrait hall, the gossip book still scribbling dramatic headlines about “The Hufflepuff with the Haunted Wand,” Justin muttered, “We should get extra credit for just surviving Hogwarts’ architecture.”

“Or at least for surviving Ernie’s directions,” Wayne added, ducking a swish of a moving tapestry that tried to slap him.

“Oi! I said we were close to the courtyard,” Ernie defended, though they were clearly in a part of the castle none of them recognized.

Before Susan could scold anyone, a sharp cackle split the corridor like a knife through parchment.

“Oh no,” Hannah whispered. “Not him.”

A blur of bells, giggles, and chaos burst through the air as Peeves the Poltergeist came soaring upside down, juggling what appeared to be floating cream pies and wearing a cloak made of mismatched scarves.

“Students out of bounds, what a curious bunch!

Up to no good? Or just missing lunch?”

He cackled and threw a pie that narrowly missed Wayne’s ear and splattered against a suit of armor, which immediately started scolding him in German.

“We’re not out of bounds,” Ernie said firmly, puffing up. “We’re just on a break—”

“OOOH LA-DEE-DAAA,” Peeves howled, somersaulting midair. “Prefect pants over here! What’re you doing, then? Planning a pie parade? Plotting to prank the portraits?”

“We were just exploring,” Elara said calmly, already sensing his attention zeroing in on her.

And oh, did it. Peeves halted mid-spin, floating closer until he was upside down right in front of her, grinning like a crooked crescent moon.

“Well well WELL, if it isn’t Ivy-Girl herself,” he sang. “Little Viney Wonder, whispering spells and blooming gold. You’ve got magic all twisty, like roots through stone—lovely, lovely, terrible thing!”

Elara blinked. “…Thanks?” She realized this was nearly her catchphrase by now.

“I like you,” Peeves declared, circling her like a lazy orbit. “You’re odd. You’re spooky. You smell like trees and trouble.”

Zacharias choked. “What does that even mean?”

“But enough small talk!” Peeves announced, hands flaring. “Let’s play a game! A contest! A challenge of wits and riddles! If you win… no pies to the face. If I win—well, I get to drop a pie on whoever I please!”

“Can we not—” Susan began, but Peeves was already conjuring a scroll out of midair with a pop and a puff of green smoke.

“First riddle! And I’ll start with… hmmm…” He squinted at Elara, floating nose-to-nose. “You, Wand Whisperer. Solve it or suffer the cream!”

Riddle #1:

> “I speak without a mouth and hear without ears.

> I have no body, but I come alive with fear.

> What am I?”

Justin whispered, “Echo! It’s an echo.”

Elara smiled faintly and said it aloud. “An echo.”

Peeves groaned dramatically and dropped a pie onto the floor. “BAH! You’re no fun.” He pointed to Wayne. “You! Tree-boy!”

“I’m not—” Wayne started, then sighed. “Fine.”

Riddle #2:

> “The more you take, the more you leave behind.

> What am I?”

“Footsteps,” Wayne said, almost too quickly.

Peeves shrieked and chucked another pie straight up in the air in frustration. “Who told you all riddles were your thing?!”

One by one, the group answered each riddle he gave them, some with whispered team huddles, others with wild guesses that miraculously turned out right. Each time Elara answered, Peeves only grew more gleeful.

“You’re clever, Ivy-Girl,” he said, hovering upside down again. “Clever like the Hat said. Coulda been a Snake, coulda been a Raven… but you ended up with the Badgers.” He leaned in, whispering like it was a scandal. “I bet you didn’t even pick. I bet you just let it happen.”

Elara’s expression flickered—but she said nothing.

With one last pie flipped lazily into the air (which missed Justin by half an inch), Peeves cackled again.

“I’ll be watching you, Wand Whisperer! Don’t get boring, now—or I’ll haunt your sock drawer!”

And with a spinning shriek of laughter, he vanished through the ceiling.

There was a long pause.

“…That was unsettling,” Susan muttered.

“Do you think he was serious about the sock drawer?” asked Sally-Anne.

Zacharias turned to Elara. “I think he’s in love with you.”

“Oh shut up,” she said, half-laughing, half-terrified he might be right.

And as they continued walking, her gossip book bobbed behind them, furiously scribbling:

> PEEVES CHALLENGES HUFFLEPUFFS TO RIDDLE BATTLE—LOSES TO “IVY-GIRL” IN FIRST ROUND. STORMY-EYED FIRST YEAR STRIKES AGAIN. SOCK DRAWERS NOT SAFE.

The laughter from Peeves’ retreat still echoed faintly above them when the corridor fell into an uncanny hush. Even the gossip book paused mid-scribble, its quill hovering in the air like it was holding its breath.

“I don’t like this silence,” whispered Hannah. “It’s… weird.”

“It’s Hogwarts,” said Justin, though even he sounded unsure.

And then—they felt it.

A chill, like cold breath trailing down the back of their necks. The kind of cold that sank past skin, straight into the bones. The torches along the walls flickered, dimming, as something moved through the shadows.

He appeared without a sound.

A silvery, bloodstained figure gliding forward, robes drifting behind him like tattered mist. His eyes—cold, sunken, and eternally locked in some long-dead fury—scanned the group with a heavy, unnerving stillness.

“Bloody hell,” Wayne whispered. “That’s…”

“The Bloody Baron,” Susan confirmed softly, instinctively stepping closer to Hannah.

The Slytherin House ghost floated just before them, still and regal in a way that was more frightening than Peeves' wild chaos. He didn’t speak right away. Just studied them, especially Elara, with eyes that saw far more than she was ready to understand.

“You,” he said in a voice like stone dragged across stone. “You walk like a quiet thing... but the forest remembers you.”

Elara blinked. Her wand warmed slightly at her side—as if it felt the same gaze settle over it.

“You knew Peeves was here?” Zacharias asked cautiously, trying to keep the mood light.

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The Baron didn’t blink. “I always know when he is here. He does not fear much. But he… avoids me.”

“Why does Peeves avoid you?” Elara asked curiously.

The others turned sharply to stare at her.

The Baron stilled, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

A moment passed. Then two.

“Because he knows I am not bound by foolishness,” the ghost said at last, voice cold but not angry. “And because I do not laugh.”

Everyone looked like they were holding their breath. Even the gossip book didn’t dare scribble.

And then—Elara smiled.

Just a soft, thoughtful curve of her lips. Not out of mockery or bravado. Just… a genuine sort of gratitude. Like she saw something different in him than the blood and silence.

The Baron tilted his head, just slightly, like no one had looked at him that way in centuries.

“I see,” Elara said gently. “Thank you for answering.”

The silence stretched thinner.

Then, with a faint rustle of cold air, he turned.

And with no farewell, the Bloody Baron drifted away through the nearest wall, disappearing like mist.

Everyone exhaled all at once.

“Did you just smile at the Bloody Baron?” Zacharias asked, somewhere between horrified and impressed.

“He looked sad,” Elara said, as if that explained everything.

Hannah shook her head, eyes wide. “Who does that?”

Ernie turned to the gossip book, now furiously scribbling again.

> BLOODY BARON MYSTIFIED BY SMILING HUFFLEPUFF.

> IS SHE A GHOST WHISPERER TOO?

Justin gave Elara a half-nervous grin. “Remind me not to stand too close to you when the portraits start talking and ghosts start following you.”

Elara just smiled again, more to herself this time, as they continued down the corridor—wand arm warm, heart steady.

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By the time they reached the marble staircase leading down to the Great Hall, the group had mostly recovered from their ghostly encounter—mostly. Susan was still glancing over her shoulder now and then, while Justin kept muttering that he felt like his spine had frozen. Sally-Anne and Wayne debated whether Peeves or the Bloody Baron was more terrifying.

Elara walked a little behind them all, her fingers lightly brushing the spine of her gossip book, which still hovered loyally at her side like a pet with too much personality.

Zacharias hung back too, matching her pace. He had a habit of walking with his hands tucked behind his back like a tiny professor, but now they were shoved in his pockets, his brow furrowed in thought.

“So,” he said after a long silence. “You’re not… scared of ghosts, then?”

Elara glanced sideways at him. “No. Should I be?”

He snorted. “Well, yes. Most people don’t try to make friends with the Bloody Baron. Or smile at him. Or talk to him. You do realize that’s completely mental?”

Elara shrugged, half-smiling. “He didn’t seem as scary once he started speaking. Just… alone.”

Zacharias didn’t reply immediately. He kicked a stray pebble down the stairs, watching it skip off the edge.

“You’re weird,” he said finally, though there was no bite to it. “Not in a bad way. Just in a… strange, interesting way.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said dryly.

“You should,” he said. “I don’t give many.”

That earned a soft laugh from her.

They reached the lower landing where the doors to the Great Hall stood open, voices already echoing out and mingling with the scent of roasted vegetables and freshly baked bread.

Zacharias hesitated a moment. “You know… yesterday I thought you were going to be the kind of person who wanted attention. With the Sorting Hat and the wand thing and… whatever it is you are.”

Elara raised an eyebrow. “And now?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Now I think you’re trying really hard not to be noticed at all.”

There was a beat of silence. The group was already moving ahead without them.

Elara looked down at her hand, where golden ivy had bloomed just hours ago. “I don't like attention. It... frightens me honestly. That's why I go blank and try to seem to composed—try to convince myself that I'm not as affected as I am. But... maybe both are true,” she said quietly. “I don’t always know what I’m trying. Or who I really am.”

Zacharias tilted his head, studying her—not with the usual judgmental air he wore like a badge, but with something more curious. A little softer.

“I guess that makes two of us.”

She blinked, surprised. “You?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t look so shocked. Just because I’m obnoxiously confident doesn’t mean I’ve got it all sorted. I’m not that arrogant.”

Elara smiled—genuinely this time.

They stepped into the Great Hall side by side, the din of lunchtime chatter wrapping around them. As they moved toward the Hufflepuff table, Ernie waved them over with exaggerated arm gestures, and Susan was already rearranging everyone’s seating like a mother hen nesting in chaos.

Zacharias leaned toward her one last time before sitting down.

“Thanks for not being boring.”

Elara turned toward him, arching an amused brow. “You’re welcome… I think.”

Then they took their seats—closer than usual.

And for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, Elara didn’t feel like she was sitting at the edge of everything.

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The Great Hall buzzed with its usual midday energy as Elara and the others sat at the Hufflepuff table, still chattering about Peeves and the Bloody Baron. Laughter lingered on their lips as they dropped into their usual spots, plates clinking and napkins fluttering.

As Elara reached for a pumpkin pasty, a quiet stillness tugged at her senses.

She didn’t know why she looked up—only that she felt she was being watched.

Her gaze lifted to the staff table. Professor Snape sat motionless among the other professors, arms folded, his eyes locked on her from across the hall. Again.

There was no malice in his stare. No cold sneer or sharp arch of the brow. Just… observation. A deliberate, focused awareness that left her strangely calm rather than unsettled. He was trying to read her, that much was clear. But he wasn't just looking, he was seeing.

"Uh... why is he staring at you like that?" Zacharias muttered, leaning sideways with a half-bite of treacle tart hanging from his fork. "Snape looks like he's trying to read your mind. Or hex you. Or both."

Elara secretly glad someone finally said something and confirmed she wasn't just crazy or imagining things. She held her Professor's ink black gaze for a moment longer, then she blinked and turned back to her plate with a tiny shrug. "Maybe he thinks I’m going to accidentally levitate a dessert or something."

Zacharias snorted. "Please do."

And as if summoned by dessert-related prophecy—

The pudding erupted.

One of the enchanted dishes at the far end of the table hiccupped mid-serve, and then—splorp!—a second helping oozed out. And another. And another.

Spoons flew. Plates overflowed. A mountain of sticky golden pudding began building, spreading like an oozy avalanche across the table. Justin squealed, Wayne started scooping it into spare cups with a grin, and Susan leapt to protect the bread rolls.

"THE PUDDING IS MULTIPLYING!" Ernie yelled like it was a tactical emergency.

"Save the pies!" Hannah cried, holding one overhead like a soldier protecting rations.

Elara laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe, ducking under a flying glob as Sally-Anne used her napkin like a shield. Even Zacharias had pudding in his hair, looking horrified and offended.

"I demand to speak to the kitchen elves," he muttered as Susan tried to wipe him down. “This is sabotage.”

Eventually, the magic corrected itself—or a house-elf somewhere realized what was happening—and the dish stopped its culinary chaos. The table looked like a dessert battlefield, but no one seemed to mind.

Still giggling, Elara leaned back in her seat, the warm laughter melting into thoughtful quiet as voices from the next table drifted across the pudding-splattered divide.

“...I’m telling you, I saw them. Lights. In the Forest. Gold, like fireflies but bigger. Last night.”

“Probably just some Weasley prank.”

“No! I know what I saw. They were moving. Like vines. All twisty and alive…”

Elara’s smile faded slowly.

Golden vines.

A chill crawled along her spine—not fear, exactly, but a curious shiver of recognition. Her dream from last night flashed in her mind. The glowing ivy. The reflection with golden eyes. The way her wand pulsed in her hand like it was alive.

Had it really been just a dream?

Or… was something beginning to stir?

She glanced down at her wand where it lay tucked in her robes, quiet and still—for now.

Zacharias nudged her lightly with his elbow. “You alright? You’ve gone quiet.”

Elara blinked, then smiled, the expression slow and unreadable.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Just thinking.”

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The enchanted ceiling above the Great Hall began to dim ever so slightly, clouds drifting in to mimic the afternoon light as students gradually filtered out. Elara tucked her wand safely back into her robe and rose with the rest of the Hufflepuffs, who were now groaning at the idea of moving after stuffing themselves silly.

"Alright," Ernie said, already holding a folded bit of parchment like he was leading a military expedition. "Defense Against the Dark Arts. First floor, right?"

"Third floor," Justin corrected, looking over his shoulder. "Or maybe second? The moving staircase really messes everything up."

"I swear I heard it was on the first floor," Wayne insisted, already walking confidently in the wrong direction.

"Wait, is Quirrell the one who smells like garlic?" Sally-Anne asked, nose scrunching as she adjusted her bag.

“Supposedly,” Hannah replied with a shrug. “To keep vampires away.”

“Seems a bit dramatic,” Susan muttered, clutching her schedule with a death grip. “He could just use garlic bread like a normal person.”

"Can someone please confirm what floor we’re going to before I start hexing people in the name of punctuality?" Zacharias asked dryly, arms folded, though there was the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

Elara chuckled, falling into step beside him as the group veered off toward the main staircase, where the ever-gleaming bannisters and shifting steps awaited their next victims.

As they started to ascend, the staircase groaned—not ominously, more like a moody old man getting out of bed—and immediately changed direction mid-step. Several of the students screamed as they all stumbled sideways with it, bumping shoulders and laughing.

"Honestly, this place is alive," Justin muttered, gripping the railing.

“Do we even have permission slips for this ride?” Wayne added, looking slightly queasy.

After what felt like three wrong turns, two detours through the armor corridor (complete with clanking helmets that turned their heads to follow them), and a brief moment of panic when a tapestry swallowed Hannah for about five seconds, they finally spotted a cluster of older Ravenclaws heading the same way.

"Defense?" Susan asked quickly, pointing down the corridor.

"End of the hall, last door on the right," a seventh-year answered kindly. “If you get to the haunted mirror that insults your outfit, you’ve gone too far.”

“Noted,” Elara said with a faint smirk.

Finally, they arrived at a heavy wooden door slightly ajar, the scent of old books and something vaguely herbal wafting from within.

A timid voice from inside floated out as they approached.

“C-come in, come in! C-class is about to b-begin!”

They exchanged wide-eyed glances.

This was it.

Their very first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson.

Elara’s hand brushed her wand instinctively. Her fingers tightened slightly.

She had a feeling… things were about to get interesting.

The classroom smelled faintly of dried herbs and candlewax—spiced with something slightly off, something Elara couldn't name. It was dimmer than the others they’d been in so far, the shutters half-closed over the tall windows despite the afternoon sun outside. Shadows gathered lazily in the corners.

Professor Quirrell stood at the front, hunched behind a stack of books, his dark robes fluttering slightly as he nervously fidgeted with the edges of a large velvet turban wrapped tightly around his head. His face was pale and slightly shiny, a permanent sheen of sweat clinging to his brow as he glanced up, startled by the sudden influx of students.

"Y-yes, th-that’s right. Come in—s-seats anywhere, please. We’ll… we’ll be beginning shortly," he stammered, clutching a quill that trembled ever so slightly in his fingers.

Elara paused just past the threshold, the noise of chattering students dimming around her as her eyes settled on him. She instinctively slipped into that quiet mode of observation—the way she always did with new people. Analyzing. Reading.

His nervousness wasn’t an act. That much was clear. It hung around him like the frayed edges of a spell cast too many times. But it wasn’t just nerves. There was something buried underneath it—something hidden behind the stutter and lowered gaze. A flicker of duality. Like a curtain just barely shielding a different stage.

She’d seen him once before. At the Leaky Cauldron.

He hadn’t looked at her—hadn’t even seemed to register her presence, his attention solely fixed on Harry. The same way now, his eyes flitted briefly over the group of Hufflepuffs before landing with awkward force on the cluster of Slytherins entering behind them.

Elara’s gaze shifted naturally with his.

Draco Malfoy entered, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, with Blaise Zabini just a step behind—cool, calm, and detached. Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Daphne Greengrass, and Theodore Nott all followed in a stream of green-trimmed robes, their presence somehow heavier than the cheerful buzz of the Hufflepuffs.

Elara didn't miss how Draco’s eyes darted straight to her as he passed. His usual smirk flickered—less mocking this time, more curious. She met his look with unreadable calm before looking away.

The room was arranged in long wooden tables set for pairs, each one bearing an old Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook and a small jar of—were those pickled claws?

Zacharias had already claimed a seat near the middle and tilted his head expectantly toward her. Elara moved to join him but didn’t sit right away. Instead, she let her fingers lightly skim the surface of the desk, her wand hand brushing the wood as she took it all in.

The way the room was dimmer.

The smell in the air.

The unnatural stillness behind Quirrell’s nervous movements.

She finally took her seat beside Zacharias, folding her hands quietly in her lap, her fingers curling loosely around her wand. Her expression remained composed, but her senses stayed alert—tuned in.

Something about this room felt… quieter than it should have. As if even the shadows were holding their breath.

And Elara, as always, watched.

Waited.

Listened.

But Elara got pulled from her observant flow when a familiar voice cut across the chatter.

"Nice to see you again, Misfit," Draco drawled, sliding into the row behind her with all the self-satisfaction of someone who thought the nickname was far more clever than it was cruel.

She didn’t turn. Just blinked once, slow and deliberate, smiled, and calmly said, “As much as I appreciate the nickname, you should try a new line sometime. That one’s wearing thin.”

Zacharias choked back a laugh beside her, earning an impressed side-eye from Blaise Zabini, who was already lounging in his seat like he found the whole room tedious.

Before Draco could respond, Professor Quirrell cleared his throat with a sharp, trembling squeak that startled a few of the students into attention.

“W-welcome,” he said, voice quivering like a leaf in a gale. “T-to your f-first lesson in D-Defense Against the D-Dark Arts.”

He gave a jerky little nod as if congratulating himself for getting the sentence out in one piece.

“I-I am P-Professor Quirrell,” he continued, “and this year w-we’ll be focusing on… on the basic principles of d-defense. V-very important, v-very important indeed, given—given the d-dangerous creatures out there. Vampires! W-werewolves! H-heh—heh—hags!”

He seemed to get stuck on the last word, chuckling nervously like he’d made a joke no one else understood.

Elara exchanged a glance with Zacharias, who looked both bewildered and mildly entertained.

Quirrell began passing out sheets of parchment with a list of creatures and basic facts—some clearly copied straight from the textbook, others annotated in shaky handwriting with dramatic warnings like MAY BITE WITHOUT WARNING! and DO NOT STARE A BOGGART IN THE EYE!

Then, with a flourish, he turned to the covered cage on his desk.

“I th-thought I’d b-bring in a real specimen for today’s lesson,” he said with a nervous puff of pride. “N-nothing too frightful! J-just a harmless little creature for you to practice identification…”

He whipped off the cloth.

Inside was a jar.

Containing what appeared to be a shriveled, twitching… dead slug.

Several students leaned forward.

Others leaned away.

“Is that… a worm?” whispered Susan.

“I think it’s already dead,” muttered Ernie, sounding personally offended.

Elara just stared at it, her brow barely raised. She couldn’t decide if this was a joke or not.

Quirrell, seemingly oblivious to the growing confusion, beamed as he tapped the glass.

“Th-this is a very r-rare species of… Blibbering Humdinger,” he declared.

The Ravenclaws would have had a field day.

Zacharias opened his mouth to respond—but Elara nudged his arm gently, shaking her head. Better not to draw attention.

The rest of the lesson passed in a blur of half-formed sentences, mispronounced spells, and warnings about magical creatures that may or may not exist. By the end of it, Elara felt no more prepared to defend herself than she had walking in. But she had taken notes, if only to catalogue how strange the experience had been.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling she had walking into the room—that something was off. Not just Quirrell’s nervousness. But something deeper.

Something… watching.