The mud was the first thing Hermione noticed.
Not the mud itself — Hogwarts was full of it — but the fact that Elias Sorenson sat down to dinner in the Great Hall without bothering to vanish it from the hem of his robes.
Three nights in a row now, the same dark stains crusted along the fabric, and he ate like he hadn’t seen food in a week.
She watched him from the Gryffindor table, a forkful of shepherd’s pie cooling halfway to her mouth.
Elias had always been particular.
At the Leaky Cauldron over summer, he’d straightened his cuffs three times before picking up his knife.
He spoke in complete sentences, chewed with his mouth closed, and never, ever left a room looking less than immaculate.
The boy currently shoveling roast potatoes into his mouth was wearing Elias’s face, but the performance was wrong.
The thought sat cold in her stomach.
She pushed her plate away.
In Transfiguration the next morning, she caught him again.
Professor McGonagall was demonstrating the theory behind inanimate-to-animate transfiguration, and Hermione, who had already practiced the spell with Elias weeks ago, allowed herself a sliver of attention to drift sideways.
Elias sat two rows ahead, his white hair catching the grey light from the windows.
His jaw was tight.
His knuckles were pale around his quill.
For a full thirty seconds, his expression twisted into something like pain — genuine, physical effort — before smoothing out again as if a switch had been flipped.
Hermione’s quill snapped in her hand.
She barely noticed.
“Stop! Stop it! Your wand is practically in my eye!”
Ron Weasley’s flailing arm jolted her back to the present.
His hawthorn wand was jerking through the air like he was trying to bludgeon the feather into submission.
“The Levitation Charm requires a flick and a wrist movement,” Hermione said, snatching her own wand from the desk.
“Not whatever you’re doing. It’s not a club, Ron.”
Ron’s ears went red.
“Well, you try it, then, if you’re so brilliant.”
She did.
“Wingardium Leviosa.” The feather rose smoothly, and Professor Flitwick squeaked his approval from atop his stack of books.
Five points to Gryffindor.
Hermione allowed herself one smug glance in Ron’s direction.
He rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful.
“No wonder everyone hates her,” Ron muttered to Harry as they filed out into the corridor.
“She’s a nightmare.”
A shoulder bumped Harry’s, and a figure hurried past.
Harry caught the shine of tears before Hermione ducked her head and kept walking.
“She heard that,” Harry said quietly.
“So what? I bet she doesn’t have a single friend, and she’s definitely noticed it herself.”
Hermione stopped.
Turned.
Her eyes were red but her voice was steady.
“No. You’re wrong. I have friends.”
Ron’s guilt flickered and died under the heat of his own stubbornness.
“You mean Sorenson? Come on. He’s a Slytherin. He’s probably been looking for an excuse to drop you for weeks.”
“So what?” The words came out sharp, almost desperate.
“As long as we’re at Hogwarts, we’re classmates. The house doesn’t affect our relationship.” She was quoting him.
She knew it.
The conviction in her voice was borrowed, but she meant every syllable.
Ron opened his mouth, saw her face, and said anyway: “Maybe Sorenson just can’t stand you anymore.”
Hermione turned and left.
Her fists were clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms.
She wiped her eyes before the tears could fall, and by the time she reached the stairs, she had made up her mind.
Tonight.
She would confront the imposter tonight and make him give Elias back.
In the Slytherin common room, Elias checked the time.
The Halloween feast would be starting in ten minutes.
He slipped out of his dormitory, walked to the door of an unused underground classroom, and retrieved a palm-sized bag.
An Undetectable Extension Charm hummed faintly against his fingers.
Inside, a mountain troll waited, silent and still for now.
Fifteen minutes after the feast began, he would release it.
Subdue it.
Keep it in place.
Then run to the Great Hall, raise the alarm, and let the professors handle the rest.
Quirrell’s instructions had been precise.
“What are you doing?”
Elias spun.
Hermione stood at the end of the corridor, wand raised, her face a mask of fury and fear.
He frowned.
Not now.
Quirrell had been clear — no witnesses.
His hand twitched toward his wand, and something inside him recoiled.
His arm wouldn’t move.
For a long, strange moment, he stood frozen, a war playing out behind his eyes.
“Who are you?” Hermione’s voice trembled but didn’t break.
“What have you done to Elias?”
The struggle passed.
His expression cleared into something flat and unfamiliar.
“I am who I am. What nonsense are you talking about?”
“Petrificus Totalus!”
The spell shot toward him.
Elias sidestepped, already drawing his wand.
“Avis!” A flock of sparrows burst from the tip, and mid-flight he Transfigured them — wings lengthened, beaks curved, eyes gone sharp.
Eagles.
Hermione had no combat experience.
She stared as the birds dove, her wand useless in her grip because her mind had gone completely blank.
The talons were inches from her face when Elias flicked his wand.
The eagles exploded into a fine mist.
Water sheeted to the stone floor.
Splash.
A prickle crawled up the back of his neck.
[Wrath +1]
[Wrath +1]
[Wrath +1]
The notifications stacked, one after another, faster than he could push them down.
“Quirrell,” Elias snarled through gritted teeth.
But that wasn’t what mattered.
He crossed the distance in three strides, hands already reaching for Hermione’s shoulders, her arms, checking for blood, for scratches, for anything.
She was dry.
She was whole.
The breath left his lungs in a rush, and he pulled her against his chest before he could think.
“I’m so glad you’re alright. I’m so sorry. How could you come here alone? Are you insane?”
Hermione didn’t pull away.
She felt the tremor in his hands, the way his voice cracked on the last word, and she knew — knew — this was him.
The real him.
She tilted her head up, eyes wet, and said, “You’re finally back.”
Elias pressed his palm gently against her back.
“Yes. Thanks to you.” A pause.
“Thank you for believing in me so much.”