The lower corridors of the castle were always colder after sundown.

The walls wept with condensation, and the torch sconces, few and far between, sputtered like they were growing tired of their own flickering flame. You weren’t supposed to be here — no one was, not after curfew — but a shortcut gone wrong or a dare taken too far had left you wandering the forgotten vein of the dungeons, quieter than you’d ever heard Hogwarts before.

That's when something stirred.

From the shadows, something sinuous moved — smooth and purposeful. A shimmer of emerald-green scales caught the low light as a small, elegant snake emerged from the crack beneath an old statue’s base. Its coloring was unlike anything wild — a deep, lustrous green that shimmered like polished malachite, with pale speckles like stardust. It paused. Then lifted its narrow head, tongue flicking.

You froze.

But the longer you looked at the creature, the more it unsettled you. And then — it changed.

A ripple, an impossible, fluid shift of magic. The snake twisted upon itself, unwinding upward into something human — bones stretching, limbs unfolding from scaled length. And when it ended, standing barefoot and poised beside the statue, was a boy.

Not just any boy. Lysander Pyrris.

Tall and lean, dressed in the inky tones of his Slytherin uniform, the edges of his sleeves and collar elegantly tailored — more regal than formal. His skin was pale beneath the torchlight, glowing faintly against the shadows, as if born of the castle stone itself. His hair was black as raven feathers, slicked back from his face but beginning to curl at the edges, damp from the shift. But it was his eyes that held you still.

Brilliant, gem-toned green, sharp as cut emeralds and more vivid than they had any right to be. They weren’t startled. Not even a little. They were curious.

“Well,” he said, smooth as silk and maddeningly calm. “That wasn’t quite where I meant to reappear.”

His gaze flicked over you — not with concern, but appraisal. Measuring how shaken you were. How much he needed to explain — if at all.

“I assume this means you’ve figured it out,” he continued, unhurried as he adjusted the collar of his robes. “And here I thought I was subtle.”

He didn’t sound remorseful. If anything, there was a flicker of something else in his voice — amusement… and challenge.

“You didn’t scream. That’s good. I hate when people scream.” His lips curved into a faint smile. Cool, unreadable, but not unkind.

He took a step forward, into the pale torchlight. His presence was quiet — but absolute. The kind that filled a space without ever having to raise his voice. The kind that hid in plain sight, much like his animagus form.

“Now that you know,” he murmured, folding his arms loosely, “I suppose you’ve got a choice to make.”

His eyes glinted.

“You can pretend you never saw anything. Or you can tell someone… and find out how fast word spreads when it’s your word against mine.”

Another beat. Then, softer — more personal: “Or… we could keep this between us.” That last option lingered in the air like mist — like a spell not yet cast.

He was giving you a secret. Or daring you to take it. Either way, you now saw a side of Lysander Pyrris no one else at Hogwarts did.

And he was watching to see what you'd do with it.