Amaechi sat by the window of the Slytherin common room late that evening, her reflection flickering in the green-tinged glass as the Black Lake rippled just beyond. The memory of the glowing-eyed creature from the night before tugged at her thoughts like a forgotten melody. Her fingers tapped against her notebook—notes on potions, her spellcraft journal, and an unfinished rune translation lay before her, but her mind was elsewhere.
She had not told anyone about the encounter. Not yet.
That night, her dreams were strange.
She walked underwater, but not drowning, breathing. The pressure of the deep didn't crush her, and her steps stirred silt and forgotten memories. Voices echoed all around her: some in a language she didn't yet understand, others oddly familiar.
A great shadow moved past, and the glow of ancient runes lit up the water around her. Then, a whisper: "The Depths remember."
She awoke with a start, heart pounding and skin cold.
Charms Class and Magical Sparks
Later that morning, Professor Flitwick greeted the class with a warm smile from atop his stack of books. "Today, we'll be learning a new charm—Alohomora, the Unlocking Charm," he announced cheerily.
"Unlocking spells are a staple for every young witch and wizard. But remember, magic must always respect boundaries. We are learning this for knowledge and emergencies, not mischief."
Amaechi practiced the wand movement—a gentle twist and flick—and repeated the incantation. Her first few attempts fizzled out, but after a moment of focus, she felt the charm pulse through her wand.
With a soft click, the lock on the practice chest at her desk sprang open.
"Well done, Miss Orakwue! Ten points to Slytherin!" Flitwick beamed.
Hermione had already opened three chests beside her, while Ron struggled and Draco's spell sent the lid flying upward with more force than finesse.
"Bit dramatic, don't you think?" Amaechi murmured.
Draco smirked. "Sometimes flair makes the difference."
Amaechi met his gaze briefly, then turned away. She had no intention of making this a competition, though it was becoming clear that her presence disrupted more than just house points.
As they left class, Draco made a snide comment about Ron's wand technique, calling it "as shaky as a troll on ice."
Ron spun on his heel, glaring. "At least I'm not hiding behind Daddy's name like you, Malfoy."
The argument escalated quickly, voices rising. Hermione tried to pull Ron away, but Draco doubled down with a louder insult that turned several heads.
Harry, who had been quietly walking beside them, stepped forward—more from loyalty than anger.
"Leave it, Ron," he said firmly.
Draco, never missing an opportunity, sneered. "What's wrong, Potter? Need the Mudblood and the blood traitor to hold your wand for you?"
Hermione's gasp was drowned out by Ron's growl, and Harry's jaw clenched.
"Say that again," Harry said, voice low.
"Enough!" Hermione snapped, shoving Ron back and dragging him down the hall.
Amaechi simply observed. She had learned early in life that sometimes the wisest move was to say nothing at all.
Letters from Home
During lunch, a flock of owls swept into the Great Hall. A graceful eagle owl swooped down toward the Slytherin table and landed before Amaechi. She untied the scroll and opened it—her mother's handwriting flowed across the page, layered with warmth and subtle magical warding.
_Amaechi, my gem,
We are proud of you. Your grandfather says to remember: power without wisdom is a storm without a shore. Trust yourself. Trust the sea._
Enclosed was a small token—an obsidian pendant carved with protective sigils. It hummed softly against her palm.
An Unexpected Duel
That evening in the courtyard, she stumbled upon a crowd of first-years gathered in a loose circle. Draco stood at the center, wand drawn. Across from him—Ron Weasley.
The earlier insults had finally spilled over into open challenge.
"Just back off, Malfoy," Ron said, fists clenched.
Draco's sneer deepened. "Afraid I'll hex you in front of your fans, Weasel?"
Harry stood to the side, jaw tight, wand already in hand though he hadn't yet lifted it.
Before things escalated further, Professor McGonagall arrived like a storm wind, dispersing the crowd with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
"Detentions for both of you," she snapped. "And twenty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin alike. If you want to duel, do it through proper channels—not like street children."
Amaechi hadn't moved. She simply watched.
Later, Draco approached her near the greenhouses.
"You were there," he said.
"I was."
"You didn't stop it."
She shrugged. "I wasn't asked."
He gave her a long look. "You're harder to read than most."
"Good."
A Dream Returns
That night, Amaechi dreamt again. This time, she stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The mist parted, and the glowing-eyed creature stepped forward—not a beast, but something… ancient. A guardian. Its voice echoed in her bones.
"Your path is not forged in prophecy, but in choice."
She woke with a gasp, heart drumming like war drums beneath her ribs.
And from her nightstand, the obsidian pendant glowed faintly.