firecracker ???

The morning post arrived with its usual flurry of wings and scrolls. Elestara glanced up from her plate only when a sharp-tufted owl swooped in with practiced precision and dropped a dark envelope right in front of her porridge.

She didn't need to check the wax seal.

The lettering was distinct, old-fashioned, not quite flourishing but deliberate. Elestara Black, Slytherin House, Hogwarts.

Her chest tightened with something sharp and unspoken.

She slid the envelope into her lap and didn't open it until she was alone upstairs.

The parchment inside smelled faintly of cedar and firewhiskey. The message was brief. Cryptic.

You were born under a difficult name. Wear it well. Legacy chooses those who earn it, not those who reach for it. Inherit with grace. Lead with restraint. Strength is not in loudness.

R.

No signature. There never was.

Elestara folded the letter carefully, the edges crisp against her fingers, and placed it inside the velvet-lined jewelry box she kept hidden beneath her robes.

She stared at it for a long time before closing the lid. Her reflection in the mirror behind her was still and sharp-eyed. She felt the weight of her godfather's words like a stone resting just beneath her ribs.

Later that week, Professor Snape stopped Draco at the end of Potions.

"You'll remain behind," he said without looking up from a sheaf of notes. "You'll begin assisting me in the dungeons on alternate Tuesdays."

Draco looked momentarily stunned. Then he puffed up with pride.

"Yes, sir."

Elestara watched from the doorway, eyebrows raised. When Draco joined her afterward, he was nearly insufferable.

"I'm not surprised," he said. "Father always said I had a particular aptitude."

She rolled her eyes. "Is that what he said when you melted the cauldron at ten?"

He ignored her, but he looked pleased.

Harry noticed the change.

It wasn't big. Just subtle enough to catch his eye.

She seemed quieter in the evenings, more thoughtful. Once, he saw her thumb the edge of something in her pocket before tucking it away. Another time, she lingered in the courtyard long after Theo and Pansy had gone back inside, staring up at the sky with a look that wasn't dreamy—it was calculating.

He didn't know why it stuck with him.

It just did.

He wondered, sometimes, who her family was. Not in the way people gossiped about Sirius Black or whispered about Bellatrix Lestrange. But personally.

Who had raised her to be that composed? That controlled?

She didn't boast like Draco. She didn't shrink like the others. She existed at the edge of every room like she belonged to it—and expected you to act accordingly.

Harry watched from a distance.

He didn't approach.

Not yet.

But he was beginning to understand that whatever Elestara Black was made of, it went deeper than her name.

-

That Friday, Draco took it upon himself to deliver a formal challenge.

He cornered Harry outside Charms, his expression smug and his voice carefully loud enough for surrounding students to hear. "You want to earn your fame properly, Potter? Midnight. Trophy room. Wizards' duel. Wands only—no contact. Unless, of course, you're scared."