There’s something unusual about the atmosphere this year — not unpleasant, exactly, but charged. It's like the sky before a thunderstorm, heavy with unspoken tension.

And then... the doors open.

Two figures step inside. One is taller and exudes the calm, effortless composure of someone who stopped asking permission long ago. The other is younger, with an intensity that draws the eye like a spell.

The younger one's name is Aiden. Someone murmured that he is Barty's half-brother.

Once you see him, you believe it. You believe it all. The resemblance is undeniable.

Aiden's dark brown hair is cropped short with just enough wave to look deliberate. His jawline is sharp and strong, and his green eyes are uncomfortably aware.

They say he was expelled from another school after a duel. That he used dark magic and that someone didn’t walk away the same.

You’re not sure what’s true, but as he steps toward the Hat, calm and completely unbothered, you start to understand why people are afraid of him. He doesn’t just walk like he belongs — he knows he does.

The Hat barely touches his head.

“Serpentine!” it announces.

He doesn’t react. No smile. No satisfaction. Just a glance toward your table, and then he starts moving, his eyes flicking down the line until they stop — on you.

You weren’t expecting it. You weren’t ready.

But for the briefest second, his gaze locks with yours. And you forget how to breathe.

It's not just that he's looking at you — he's looking through you. It's as if you're made of glass and he can read something hidden behind your ribs. It's as if he already knows everything about you, and even more terrifyingly, everything you're trying not to be.

You freeze.

He smirks.

Right in that exact moment — as if he heard your thoughts echoing in your head.

You’re not sure whether you want to avoid him completely — or watch him forever.

But before your thoughts can catch up with you, your eyes locks onto Professor Zachariel.

He’s clearly older than Aiden, but not by much. Maybe mid-twenties. His features are striking and his expression is unreadable. Cold. Controlled. Nothing is out of place.

His eyes are the same shade as Aiden’s — not in colour, but in temperature.

Glacial.

And then it hits you — they’re related.

You hear the whisper to your left. “Half-brothers. Same mother.”

It makes sense now. More than sense.

Zachariel doesn’t acknowledge the students. He just walks to the staff table, sweeping the room with his gaze once, briefly landing on Aiden — and then moving on. No nod. No smile. Just recognition. There is a flicker of understanding between them.

If Aiden is the approaching storm then Zachariel is the stillness before it.

Later, after the Hall begins to empty, someone at the table leans in and says that Professor Zachariel is teaching a new subject this year.

Mental Arts.

You don’t hesitate. You sign up the moment the parchment is passed down the table.

You hear a low chuckle beside you. Aiden’s eyes catch yours as you scribble your name on the parchment for Mental Arts. "Be careful, my brother could be... a terrible professor."

He lets the words hang there for a moment, the hint of a challenge in his tone, before adding with a sly grin, “But maybe that’s part of the fun.”