Harry Potter: Bloodling

After Charms, Elijah's schedule was mostly open for the remainder of the day, giving him ample time to goof around and contemplate the latest developments with Marie Slater.

The girl's eagerness to learn from him had presented an unexpected opportunity, one that aligned perfectly with his needs.

The library would provide an ideal setting—quiet, secluded, and perfect for far more than just academics.

During lunchtime, Elijah found a seat opposite Marie and noticed her picking at her food, lost in thought.

He decided to engage in some light conversation while keeping an eye on the boy who lived, such an interesting specimen.

A human, surviving the killing curse—that is impossible.

Potter seemed distracted, barely touching his own lunch while engaged in hushed conversation with Granger and Weasley.

Their furtive glances towards the staff table, they are looking at the toad woman, interested him little.

Elijah returned his attention to Marie, who was now nervously fidgeting with her napkin.

He noticed how her eyes would occasionally dart in his direction before quickly looking away, a behaviour that amused him greatly.

The prospect of their upcoming library session seemed to have her thoroughly preoccupied, something he hadn't planned, but appreciated all the same.

"Marie, my dear," he said, regarding her with a small smile. "You appear quite preoccupied. May I inquire as to what troubles your mind?"

Her eyes flicked upward, and she managed a tense smile. "It's nothing really… I'm just thinking about our session later."

Elijah inclined his head. "Ah, I see. Rest assured, you have no cause for worry. I shall do everything in my power to make our studies both illuminating and pleasant."

He cast a quick glance down the table where Potter sat, his gaze alternating between furtive whispers with Granger and Weasley, and uneasy glances at Umbridge perched at the staff table. The pink-clad professor returned their looks with unwavering suspicion.

Guessing that nothing would happen any time soon, Elijah returned his attention to Marie. "You've barely touched your lunch," he remarked with a hint of concern in his velvet-smooth voice.

Marie's cheeks warmed at his concern, and she forced down a bit of food. "I suppose you're right," she admitted.

Ah, how effortlessly humans can be led to believe I care, is beyond me.

Elijah simply flashed her a charming smile that made Marie relax in her seat.

"Now, about this evening—do remember to bring your Charms textbook, as well as any notes you've taken thus far. I suspect we will focus on practical exercises, as true mastery comes from practice, wouldn't you agree?"

She nodded, a flicker of excitement dancing in her eyes. "Yes, absolutely. Thank you, Elijah."

"My pleasure, my dear," he said, lifting his goblet in a gesture of subtle toast before taking a measured sip of pumpkin juice. How unremarkable he mused, pressing the sweet taste from his lips.

The students gradually finished their lunches and, with clear reluctance, began filing out of the Great Hall.

"Is our next lesson with Miss Umbridge?" Marie asked, her voice tinged with apprehension.

Elijah nodded calmly, not sharing her unspoken sentiment about the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

The woman couldn't hurt him—nothing could.

They stepped into the corridor, joining the steady stream of students making their way to their afternoon classes.

Elijah strode beside Marie down the corridor, melding seamlessly with the flow of students as they made their way to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Needless to say, he wore his usual air of measured composure—head held high, robes billowing elegantly behind him.

As they turned a corner, a quiet commotion drew Elijah's keen senses.

Two first-year Ravenclaws—pale-faced and trembling—hurried by, clutching their hands protectively.

Without a word, Elijah took in the faint smell of blood, a coppery tang that caused an instinctive flicker of hunger.

Interesting. Who would possibly dare hurt two children, and in broad daylight no less?

They entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, which Ravenclaw shared with Hufflepuff.

A cluster of Puffs occupied the left side of the room, while Elijah and the other Ravenclaws took the right.

Among the seventh-year Hufflepuffs was Patricia Stimpson, a bright-eyed girl with short, curly hair. She offered a polite nod to Elijah and Marie as they slipped into their seats.

Right. She was good friends with Oliver Graves.

Next to her sat Elliot Summerby, a tall boy with a perpetually worried expression, who was busy rummaging through his bag for parchment.

If I'm not wrong, that was Cedric Diggory's seat, before he died in the Tournament last year, he mused, going over Oliver's memories.

The boy's death had been quite the scandal—and quite intriguing, if Elijah was being honest with himself.

It was also one of the deciding factors that pushed him into attending Hogwarts, again…

Elijah swept his robes aside and settled at a desk, deliberately choosing a seat where he could observe the whole room—especially the Professor at the front. He sensed Marie's unease as she sat down next to him, glancing around nervously, but didn't fail to smile at her.

A moment later, the door snapped shut of its own accord.

Dolores Umbridge stood at the front, a frilly pink cardigan perched incongruously atop her plump figure, and a saccharine smile plastered on her face.

The mere sight of her caused Elijah's lip to curl in distaste, though he smoothed the reaction almost immediately.

"Good afternoon," Umbridge simpered.

A collective mumble of "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," echoed through the room, mostly dutiful if lacking in enthusiasm.

Of course, Elijah's voice wasn't among them.

"I trust you have all been revising your theory?" she continued in that cloying tone. "The Ministry-approved curriculum is quite comprehensive, and very important for your studies."

Elijah felt a faint flicker of annoyance.

How laughable, he thought. So-called Defense Against the Dark Arts under the tutelage of a toad in a cardigan. What would Gryffindor make of this… or Helga, for that matter?

"Open your books," Umbridge continued sweetly, "to page two-hundred and thirteen. We shall be reading about the Ministry's approved strategies on defensive incantations."

A few shuffles and rustles filled the air as everyone complied. Elijah pretended to scan the text, though truthfully, his attention was fixed on their professor. She does not deserve the title, he thought. Preaching defence without allowing the students to practice anything. Hadn't the boy who lived done something about that?

...

Add the fic to your collection, leave me a sweet powerstone or two, and comment down below whatever you want to help me with the algorithm.

Can anyone guess who's the main character?

Bloodling out.