The Great Hall buzzes with excitement as the Start-of-Term Feast unfolds. The enchanted ceiling reflects the darkening September sky, speckled with early stars. As Professor Dumbledore stands at the front of the hall, his hands raised to quiet the room, the students gradually fall silent, their chatter dying down to whispers.

Thalassa Wilkes sits among her fellow Slytherins, her back straight and her long ash blonde hair cascading neatly over her shoulders. Her expression is carefully schooled into one of polite disinterest as she listens to the headmaster’s familiar rhetoric. He speaks of unity, of standing together against the rising darkness, his blue eyes twinkling as he glances around the room. But Thalassa’s green eyes remain cool, her gaze fixed on a point just above Dumbledore’s head, where the floating candles flicker lazily.

Unity. As if there can be unity when the very fabric of their world is being unraveled by blood traitors and Mudbloods. Unity would mean standing with those who understand the true value of their heritage, not pandering to those who seek to destroy it. Yet here they are, expected to tolerate and even befriend those who have no place in their world.

The old man is a hypocrite, preaching ideals that will only weaken them in the end. Unity, in his eyes, means surrendering their identity, diluting their bloodlines, and embracing the very people who seek to erase them from history.

“Oh, boohoo,” she murmurs under her breath. She catches a glimpse of a smirk from her cousin, Apollodoros, and her own lips twitch in response. They know better. They all did. The world is changing, but not in the way Dumbledore imagines. The time will come when those who are true to their blood will rise above, and those who betrayed it will be left in the dust.

For now, Thalassa will play the game, sitting through these lectures and pretending to care. But in her heart, she knows where her loyalties lay, and no amount of Dumbledore’s honeyed words will change that.