Hogwarts, Slytherin Dormitory, 2017, 6:00 AM
Solus woke before dawn.
As always.
For a moment, everything was normal.
Then he remembered.
Hospital.
Pills.
'She tried to commit suicide'.
The weight returned like a stone in his chest.
He stayed lying down, looking at the green canopy of his bed.
'I could stay here'.
'I could say I am sick'.
'No one would question me'.
But staying in bed meant thinking.
And thinking meant pain.
'I need to move'.
He got up.
He got dressed.
He went down to the empty Common Room.
And for the first time since he had arrived at Hogwarts, he didn't practice (practise) Intent.
He just sat in front of the fireplace.
And stared at the green fire.
Empty.
. . . . . . .
Great Hall, 8:00 AM
When Solus entered the Great Hall, he felt eyes on him.
Students whispered.
"That's Gray".
"I heard his mom (mum) is in the hospital".
"McGonagall pulled him out of lunch yesterday".
"Do you think he's okay?".
Solus ignored the stares.
He walked toward the Slytherin table.
He sat in his usual spot.
Stella and Albus were already there.
"Good morning," Stella said softly.
Solus nodded.
"Good morning".
Albus pushed a plate toward him.
"You should eat".
Solus looked at the food.
Toast. Eggs. Bacon.
His stomach twisted.
"I'm not hungry".
"Solus . . ." Stella began.
"I'm not hungry," he repeated with a firmer voice.
Stella and Albus exchanged a look but didn't press.
The High Table was also watching him.
Headmistress McGonagall was speaking in a low voice with Professor Annan.
Professor Volkov looked in his direction occasionally.
And Professor Zhao, of Charms, looked worried.
'Everyone knows'.
'Of course everyone knows'.
'McGonagall had to inform them'.
Solus took a cup of tea.
Not because he wanted to. But because he needed to do something with his hands.
Hadrian Rosier approached.
"Gray".
Solus looked up.
"Rosier".
"I heard what happened. I'm sorry".
Solus didn't answer.
Rosier continued:
"If you need time off from the ball project, we understand. Your family is more important".
Kind words.
Calculated but genuine.
"I don't need time," Solus said. "I'm gonna finish the presentation".
Rosier arched an eyebrow.
"Are you sure?".
"Yes".
"Okay. But if you change your mind . . ."
"I won't change it".
Rosier nodded slowly.
"You are stronger than you look, Gray".
And he returned to his seat.
. . . . . . .
Defense Against the Dark Arts Class, 10:00 AM
Professor Volkov had them practicing (practising) Protego again.
"The Shield Charm," she said as she walked between the rows, "is not just a defensive spell. It is a manifestation of your will to survive".
She tapped a student's shield with her wand. It shattered.
"Too weak. If you truly believed you were in danger, your shield would be stronger".
She reached Solus.
He raised his wand without enthusiasm.
"Protego".
The shield appeared.
But it was faint. Almost transparent. A thin film of magical energy that vibrated with instability, lacking the density required to deflect even a minor jinx.
Volkov studied him.
"Mr. Gray. Your shield is the weakest you have produced so far".
Solus didn't answer.
"What happened?" Volkov pressed. "A week ago, your Protego was perfect".
"I'm tired".
"Fatigue does not affect magic in this way. Something else is wrong".
Solus looked directly at her.
"My mother is in the hospital, Professor. Does that count as 'something else'?".
The classroom went silent.
Volkov didn't back down.
"Yes. That counts". Her voice was softer but no less firm. "But listen to me, Gray. Pain weakens your shield if you let it. Or it can strengthen it if you channel that pain into will".
She paused.
"Your mother is in the hospital. You are here. What do you do with that? Do you give up? Or do you fight?".
Solus gripped his wand.
'I fight'.
'I always fight'.
'But today I don't want to fight'.
'Today I just want . . .'
"Try it again," Volkov ordered.
Solus took a deep breath. He visualized the pain. The fear. The image of his mother in a white room. He didn't push it away. He pulled it in, compressing it into a dense core of intent.
"Protego".
This time, the shield didn't just appear; it snapped into existence. A barrier of shimmering, condensed air that hummed with a low frequency. It was solid.
Not yet perfect. But better.
Volkov nodded.
"Better. Remember that, Gray. Pain can be fuel. If you let it".
And she continued walking.
. . . . . . .
Lunch, 12:30 PM
Solus ate because Stella literally put food on his plate and refused to move until he tasted something.
"You can't starve to death," she said firmly.
"I'm not going to starve to death".
"Then eat".
Solus ate mechanically.
No taste. No appetite.
Just fuel.
Halfway through lunch, his father appeared.
Mark walked toward the Slytherin table with tired steps.
"Solus. Can we talk?".
Solus stood up.
They walked toward a quieter corner of the Great Hall.
"How are you?" Mark asked.
"Fine".
"Solus, you don't have to lie to me".
"I'm as fine as I can be, Dad".
Mark sighed.
"I called the hospital this morning. Your mother had a good night. She is stable".
"Can I see her?".
"Not yet. The doctors want to wait until she is more lucid". Mark touched his shoulder. "But soon. Maybe this weekend".
"Okay".
"Solus . . ." Mark hesitated. "Are you sure you want to stay here? You can still come home".
"I'm sure".
"Why?".
'Because here I can pretend I have control'.
'Because here I have distractions'.
'Because at home there is only silence and Mom's absence'.
But he said:
"Because I can do more good here. Continue learning. Continue living".
Mark looked at him for a long moment.
"You are stronger than I was at your age".
"I don't feel strong".
"No one does when they are broken, Solus. But you keep going anyway. That is what it means to be strong".
. . . . . . .
Map Chamber, 3:00 PM
After classes, Solus went down to the Chamber with Stella and Albus.
"Are you sure you want to train today?" Albus asked. "We can just . . . I don't know. Sit".
"No," Solus said. "I need this".
They sat on the marble floor.
"Today," Solus began in a monotone voice, "we are going to practice (practise) projection".
"Projection?" Stella asked.
"Extending your Intent beyond your body. Feeling objects from a distance".
He placed three stones on the floor, separated by several feet (meters).
"Choose a stone. Any one. But don't get close. Just . . . feel it from here".
Stella and Albus closed their eyes.
Solus watched them.
But his mind was elsewhere.
In a hospital.
In a white room.
With a woman who had tried to die.
"Solus".
Stella's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"Yes?".
"I can't concentrate if you aren't concentrated".
"What?".
"Your . . . energy. I don't know how to describe it. But I feel your pain. It's filling the room".
Solus blinked.
'She can feel that'.
'Her Intent is growing faster than I thought'.
"I'm sorry".
"Don't apologize. Just . . ." Stella opened her eyes. "Maybe you need to process too. Not just teach us".
Solus looked at her.
"I don't know how to process this".
"Then don't do it alone," Albus said softly. "We are here".
Solus closed his eyes.
He took a deep breath.
'Feel'.
But instead of feeling the magic of the Chamber, he felt something else.
Pain.
Guilt.
Fear.
Everything mixing in his chest like a storm.
'I can't do this'.
'I can't pretend I'm okay'.
'I can't . . .'
"Solus".
Stella was by his side.
She took his hand.
"Breathe with us".
Albus took his other hand.
"Inhale," Stella said.
The three inhaled.
"Exhale".
They exhaled.
"Again".
Inhale.
Exhale.
'Breathe'.
'Just breathe'.
And slowly, the storm in his chest calmed.
It didn't disappear.
But it became bearable.
After thirty minutes, Solus opened his eyes.
"Thank you".
"Don't mention it," Stella said.
"Better?" Albus asked.
"A little".
It wasn't much.
But it was something.
. . . . . . .
Slytherin Common Room, 7:00 PM
That night, Solus sat with his research notebook on Corvus.
He needed to finish the presentation.
The Cultural Exchange Ball was in nine days.
Nine days.
'Can I do it?'.
'Can I stand in front of the whole school and talk about a man dead a thousand years ago while my mother is in a psychiatric hospital?'.
'Can I pretend everything is okay?'.
'I have to'.
'Because if I don't, I will crumble'.
'And I can't afford that'.
'Not yet'.
He opened the notebook.
He began to write.
Presentation Outline: Corvus Slytherin
I. Introduction
Who was Corvus Slytherin?
Salazar's younger brother, user of Ancient Magic.
Headmaster of Hogwarts after Salazar's departure.
II. His Philosophy
Journal excerpt: "Blood doesn't matter. Will does".
Contrast with Salazar: did not reject Muggle-borns.
Believed magic should be accessible to all who could feel it.
III. His Students
List of 23 known apprentices.
Origins: Scandinavia, North Africa, Russia, Eastern Europe.
Legacy: many founded schools or became advisors.
IV. His Death
1065 AD, defending Hogwarts from invasion.
Died alone, sealing the castle.
Body never found.
V. Lesson
Corvus taught that magic has no borders.
That legacy is not blood, but shared knowledge.
That dying defending what you love is the greatest honor (honour).
Solus closed the notebook.
'It's good'.
'Solid'.
'But something is missing'.
'Emotion'.
'The part that makes people care is missing'.
'The part that shows why Corvus matters today'.
He leaned back on the couch (sofa).
'Why does it matter?'.
'Because the world is changing again'.
'The Statute of Secrecy is dying'.
'And we need to remember that magic was always about uniting, not dividing'.
He opened the notebook again.
He added a final section:
VI. Relevance Today
The magical world faces another crisis (Exposure Crisis).
Corvus taught us that survival requires unity.
Slytherin is not a house of division, it is a house of ambition to protect what we love.
'There it is'.
'That's what is missing'.
'Not just history'.
'Hope'.
Stella came down the stairs at that moment.
"Still working?".
"Yes".
She sat next to him.
"Can I see?".
Solus handed her the notebook.
She read in silence.
"This is beautiful, Solus".
"Really?".
"Yes. Especially the last part. About unity". Stella looked at him. "Did you write it for Corvus? Or for you?".
Solus thought about it.
'Who did I write it for?'.
'For Corvus, who died alone defending a dream'.
'For me, who almost lost my mother because I was far away'.
'For everyone who ever left behind someone they loved'.
"For both," he finally said.
Stella nodded.
"Then it will resonate".
. . . . . . .
Night, 10:00 PM
Before sleeping, Solus wrote a letter.
Not to Helen.
He still couldn't write to her. He didn't know what to say.
But for Mark.
[Dear Dad,
Thank you for coming today.
I know you are struggling too. And I know you feel guilty.
But it is not your fault. Nor mine.
Sometimes people break. And there is nothing we can do to stop it.
We can only be there when they start to heal.
And I am going to be there.
When Mom is ready.
In the meantime, I am going to keep going here. Because that is what she would want.
She would want me to live. To learn. Not to stop because of her.
So that is what I am going to do.
I love you, Dad.
See you on the weekend.
Solus]
He sealed the letter.
Tomorrow he would send it.
He lay in his bed.
He looked at the ceiling.
'First day finished'.
'I survived'.
'It wasn't easy'.
'It wasn't pleasant'.
'But I did it'.
'And tomorrow I will do it again'.
'And the day after'.
'Until it hurts less'.
'Or until I learn to live with the pain'.
He closed his eyes.
And finally, sleep came.
This time, without nightmares.
Just void.
And for now, that was enough.