In the candle-lit halls of Hogwarts, where magic stirs with every whisper, Harry Potter begins his first year - unaware that fate has woven another soul into his journey.
Elsa Scamander, silent as snowfall and powerful as a storm, arrives cloaked in...
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"Okay leave it , was he handsome?"
♡♡♡♡♡♡
ELSA POV
“It was Hagrid. Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets,” Harry said, voice heavy with dread.
My heart stumbled in protest. “It cannot be Hagrid,” I replied, my voice calm but firm, like winter resisting fire.
“We don’t even know this Tom Riddle bloke,” Ron interjected, frowning. “He sounds like a dirty, rotten snitch to me.”
I let out a soft laugh, grateful for the levity.
“Okay, leave it,” I said teasingly, tilting my head. “Was he handsome?”
“Yes, he was,” Harry muttered, his tone clipped, “but not your type.”
I laughed again, warm and genuine. “Just kidding.”
But his eyes were still shadowed. “The monster had killed somebody, Elsa. What would any of us have done?”
The chill returned, not from my own magic, but from the weight of his words.
Anna, ever the peacekeeper, chimed in. “Look, Hagrid is our friend. Why don’t we just go and ask him about it?”
Ron gave a mock grin. “That would be a cheerful visit. ‘Hello Hagrid, tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?’”
A familiar gruff voice startled us. “Mad ’n hairy? Yeh wouldn’t be talkin’ about meh now, would yeh?”
We turned together, our surprise unified.
“Hagrid,” we breathed in unison.
He eyed us suspiciously. Harry, ever direct, asked what he was carrying. Hagrid launched into a long-winded explanation—about whatever beast he had in tow—but I heard none of it. My mind drifted.
Where was Hermione?
As his tale trailed off, we all gave uncertain nods—only to be interrupted by Neville, who stumbled toward us, breathless.
“Harry, y-you have to c-come with me!”
Without hesitation, Harry followed, and we trailed after them to the Quidditch pitch.
Moments later, Harry came running back, panting.
“Someone came into my room,” he gasped. “They wanted something… and they got it.”
“What?” I asked, a ripple of worry threading my tone.
“Tom Riddle’s diary. It’s gone.”
---
Harry had been ready for the match when Professor McGonagall swept onto the field like a storm.
