Harry Potter: Bloodling

Michael clenched his jaw. "That's your answer?"

"That is all I can give you," Elijah replied pleasantly; it was as if he wasn't aware of the overall mood around him.

Anthony let out a frustrated breath. "Merlin's bloody beard, you're impossible."

Luna, who had been watching the entire conversation with great interest, finally spoke again.

"I think he's telling the truth," she said mildly.

Michael turned to her with an incredulous look. "Luna, he's not telling us anything."

And with that, the conversation died.

Elijah kept drinking his pumpkin juice while the rest of his housemates returned to their plates.

After some time, the Great Hall gradually began to empty, students drifting out in small clusters as breakfast drew to a close.

All around, conversation buzzed with low, uneasy energy.

At the Ravenclaw table, Elijah lingered, his posture composed, his goblet of pumpkin juice nearly untouched.

If only they knew how trivial such human concerns appear, he mused to himself, his cool gaze sweeping over the departing crowds.

Yet, this school does hold its curiosities. Perhaps it shall offer more diversion than I first supposed…

He rose from the bench in one smooth motion and fell in step behind his housemates.

A hush settled over them the moment they registered his presence; the few who dared glance over their shoulders met his polite half-smile.

Though he had insisted on the name Elijah, most would undoubtedly struggle to separate it from Oliver Graves, the latest human form he had taken.

Outside the Hall, voices echoed in the high-ceilinged corridors.

Students of all years bustled by, an undercurrent of tension thrumming beneath the usual morning rush.

Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner marched just ahead, speaking in hushed tones—occasionally darting furtive looks Elijah's way.

Luna Lovegood ambled closer, but even she simply offered a whimsical smile and said nothing.

What a curious little human. I must study her more closely. There is something peculiarly refreshing about one who sees through veils that blind others. Though perhaps she sees too much...

His destination was Professor Flitwick's Charms classroom—if the memory of Oliver was to be trusted—located along a corridor lined with ornate tapestries and tall windows that allowed pale winter light to wash in.

Elijah's eyes flickered toward the glass, admiring how the morning sun picked out motes of dust in the air.

Beautiful, in its own fleeting way, he thought. A pity it holds no warmth for me.

He let the others enter first, stepping in gracefully behind them.

Professor Flitwick stood upon his customary stack of cushions at the front of the room.

With a swish of his short wand, he levitated a series of small black drapes onto empty desks.

"Good morning!" Flitwick's squeaky voice carried a note of excited anticipation as the class settled. "Today, we shall tackle an advanced charm that has not been part of the curriculum in recent years. You are all seventh years now, on the cusp of your N.E.W.T.s, so I feel confident you can manage it!"

A ripple of interest passed through the students.

Some straightened in their seats, wands at the ready.

Others cast anxious glances around the room.

It's so easy to distinguish the cattle from the wolves these days, he thought with quiet amusement.

Elijah took a seat nearer the back, where the shadows hugged the corners.

His expression remained politely attentive, revealing nothing.

"Our charm this morning is called Umbraculum Apparare," Flitwick announced, flicking his wand and lifting all of the black drapes from the desks, garnering gasps from the whole classroom.

If Elijah was impressed, he didn't let it show.

"It is a sophisticated bit of magic used to conjure illusions out of existing darkness. This practice is akin to Lumos, but here we do not banish the shadows. Instead, we harness them, giving shape to ephemeral figures of our choosing."

He demonstrated by pointing his wand at a floating scrap of black cloth. "Observe carefully!"

Flitwick made a tight, deliberate spiral with his wand, then slashed it in a subtle diagonal. "Umbraculum Apparare!"

At once, the diminutive professor's cloth writhed as if alive.

A faint grey mist seeped from its edges and coalesced into a smoky silhouette—a tiny, dancing figure of a goblin fiddler, no larger than Flitwick's hand.

The miniature goblin twirled through the air and danced to an unheard tune.

Gasps rose again around the classroom.

Roger Davies's eyes widened as he leaned forward, fascinated.

"Be advised," Flitwick continued, "the illusions produced by Umbraculum Apparare are fragile. They will unravel at the slightest loss of focus. You must visualise precisely what you wish the shadow to become, and maintain steady intent."

He let the goblin shape swirl back into a smoky wisp, which disappeared into the cloth again. "Now, partners or trios, please. I want everyone to have a turn practising this incantation. Begin by conjuring something simple—a small creature or object. Nothing too elaborate. Ready? Off you go!"

Before he could select a partner, Marie Slater approached his desk.

"Elijah," she said, stumbling a little over the unfamiliar name. "Would… would you like to work together?"

Oh? It seems like I've caught prey already, he thought, studying the girl's nervous demeanour with mild amusement.

He offered a slight bow of his head, courtesy polished by centuries. "Indeed, Miss Slater, if it pleases you."

Her eyes darted away at the old-fashioned phrasing, Graves isn't a pureblood, but she nodded.

They settled at a table in the corner, where a swath of black cloth lay folded.

Slater set it upright, letting the cloth drape over a wooden stand, so it cast a broad swatch of shadow.

"I'll go first," she murmured, drawing her wand. "Just to… well, just to see if I can manage it."

Slater inhaled and traced the required motion in the air, wand-tip describing a spiral before slicing it downward. "Umbraculum Apparare!"

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