From the moment Elias stepped into the magical world beyond the Grangers' quiet home, he knew — instinctively — he would never go unnoticed.
Not because he was loud.
Not because he demanded attention.
But because there would always be someone watching.
Measuring.
Competing.
And he already knew their names.
---
Diagon Alley, two months before Hogwarts.
The cobbled streets were alive with color, noise, and spellfire. Elias moved through it like a shadow — silent, calculating, eyes always flicking from wand to wand, stall to stall. Hermione walked beside him, her hand brushing his whenever someone got too close. A subtle claim. A quiet guard dog.
They were here for supplies.
They left with a presence.
Because that's when Elias met Draco Malfoy.
---
It was a minor interaction.
Their hands touched the same wand at Ollivanders.
The wand — 11 inches, rowan and dragon heartstring — refused them both.
But the glance exchanged in that moment was anything but minor.
Draco's lip curled with entitled disdain.
Elias tilted his head in detached amusement.
And just like that, a spark ignited.
Two children — born into different worlds, shaped by different traumas — recognized one another not as strangers, but as threats.
---
That night, Elias modified the observation ward in his notebook to include ambient magical resonance scanning.
"Draco Malfoy," he murmured, sitting cross-legged by candlelight. "Son of Lucius. Dark pedigree. Impressive control, for his age."
Hermione lay on her stomach beside him, watching the flicker of his quill. "I saw him. He thought you were beneath him."
Elias nodded.
"He's wrong," she added, her voice cool.
"I know."
Then, after a pause:
"I don't like him."
"That's good," Elias said softly. "Because we'll be seeing a lot of him."
---
September 1st. Hogwarts Express.
Elias sat with Hermione in a compartment alone until the last minute — reading a book on spell theory laced with modified notes only he could decipher. When the door slid open and Draco appeared, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, the tension rippled like a thrown pebble in still water.
Hermione stood.
Elias didn't move.
Draco smirked. "Heard you're the Muggle-raised genius. The one who rewrote a shielding charm into a mirror. Cute trick."
Hermione opened her mouth, but Elias lifted a hand — calm, quiet, surgical.
"And you're the pureblood with less original thought than a grindylow."
Draco's smile froze.
He didn't respond.
But he sat with them anyway.
---
The ride passed in silence.
A chess game appeared between them halfway through.
Neither announced the match.
They just played.
Elias made the first move with a knight.
Draco responded with his queen's pawn.
No words.
No glares.
Just moves — sharp, unrelenting, brilliant.
When Hermione returned from the trolley, she found both boys leaning forward like twin statues carved in rivalry.
She didn't interrupt.
They played to a stalemate. Then again. Then again.
By the fifth game, their breathing had synced.
By the sixth, Elias smiled slightly.
And Draco's eyes narrowed.
He knew.
This boy wasn't normal.
He was something else.
Something dangerous.
---
Sorting Hat.
"Elias Granger," McGonagall called.
He walked with precise steps. Hermione held her breath.
The Hat barely touched his head.
> "Ah. Curious. So much power. So much clarity. A mind like a black sun — absorbing, twisting, innovating. You would do well in Slytherin. Or Ravenclaw. But you don't follow. You lead. Hmm… very well then—"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Applause followed. Hermione clapped first. Hardest.
Elias met Draco's gaze from across the room.
Another spark.
Another silent move on the board.
---
That night, Elias stood by the window in Gryffindor Tower, watching the moon.
He spoke without turning. "He's smarter than I expected."
Hermione sat on his bed, reading one of his annotated tomes. "Draco?"
"Mm."
"He's not smarter than you."
"No. But he knows he isn't. And he'll do something about that."
"You'll stop him."
"I'll watch him. Let him make the first mistake."
Hermione closed the book and stood. She walked to him, gently placing a hand on his back.
"You're already winning."
"I'm not playing to win," Elias said. "I'm playing to learn."
---
Elsewhere, in the dungeons of Slytherin, Draco wrote something into his diary.
Not a plan.
Not a scheme.
Just a name.
"Elias Granger."
He didn't know what Elias was, not yet.
But he knew.
This boy would change the game.
And Draco refused to let himself fall behind.