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Harry couldn’t believe it.
He had spent the entire summer stuck on Privet Drive while everyone else—his friends, Sirius, half the bloody wizarding world—had been holed up here, in this gloomy, secret headquarters, playing at some grand resistance.
And where had he been? Not included. Not informed. Not even considered, apparently, until dementors had nearly sucked out his soul.
By now, though, the frustration had faded into something duller. It was hard to stay angry when the twins were wreaking havoc, when Sirius was right there, when Ron and Hermione kept filling him in on everything he’d missed—who had passed through Grimmauld Place, what the Order had been up to, all the little things that made it feel like a war was actually happening.
So, when they were sitting on the stairs again, listening in on another Order meeting, Harry wasn’t expecting much.
And then the kitchen door opened.
Dumbledore walked out first, in all his usual, annoyingly composed glory, like he hadn’t kept Harry in the dark for weeks.
And right behind him—
"Snape?" Harry muttered under his breath.
Hermione shot him a disapproving look, the kind that clearly meant Professor Snape, but didn’t actually say it.
"Mum says he’s part of the Order," Ron muttered instead. "And that we’re supposed to respect him or something."
Ron didn’t sound convinced.
But Harry had already stopped listening, because right behind Snape, walking with that arrogant sort of ease Slytherins had perfected, was a boy.
"And what about that Prince bloke?" Harry nodded toward the teenager. "He’s not of age. What’s he doing here? He’s a Slytherin!"
"Elias?" Hermione blinked, like she was surprised Harry even needed to ask. "Well, he—he knows things. Things that might help. He goes to meetings, and sometimes he just... stays here."
"Yeah, obviously he knows things," Ron muttered. "He’s a Slytherin."
Harry didn’t get a chance to say anything before Mrs. Weasley called them all for dinner. And once they were sitting around the table, with everyone talking over each other and food being passed in every direction, there wasn’t really a good moment to bring it up again.
But the thought stuck with him.
Elias Prince.
Harry had never really thought about Elias Prince before. Not in any real way. He was just another Slytherin, another student Harry had seen in the hallways, another face at the Slytherin table. Not someone important. Not someone worth thinking about.
But now that he was here, in Grimmauld Place, in the same room as Dumbledore and Snape, sitting in on Order meetings—Harry couldn’t stop wondering.
Had Elias always been around? Had he just... never noticed?
Harry tried to think back.
Prince had been Sorted into Slytherin, obviously. That wasn’t surprising. But now that he was really thinking about it, Harry was almost sure the Sorting Hat had taken longer with him than it had with Malfoy. Not as long as with Harry himself, maybe, but definitely longer than usual.
When the Hat finally called out Slytherin!, Elias hadn’t smiled. Not even a little. But the Slytherin table had cheered anyway, like they’d expected it all along.
Harry had always figured Slytherins stuck together for convenience, like Malfoy and his goons. But Elias...
Elias had friends. Like, actual friends.
Malfoy—who, as far as Harry could tell, thought he was the most important person in every room—had always seemed to care what Elias thought. Like he wanted his approval. Harry hadn’t really noticed before, but now that he was thinking about it, Malfoy used to look at him whenever he said something particularly snobbish, like he was waiting to see if Elias agreed.
Not that Elias ever reacted. At least, not when other people were watching.
Instead, he always stuck close to Nott. The two of them worked together in class all the time, always moving like they already knew what the other one was about to do. They were good at it too. Weirdly in sync.
Harry frowned to himself.
When Malfoy was at his absolute worst in second year—shouting slurs, acting like he was better than everyone—Harry was pretty sure now that whenever Prince was around, Malfoy lowered his voice.
He hadn’t noticed it at the time, but thinking back, yeah. It had been there.
Once, he’d seen them in the library—Prince leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, while Draco whispered furiously, waving his hands around like he was really annoyed about something. Harry had assumed it was just some Slytherin thing, probably something nasty.
He’d thought the exact same thing whenever he saw Prince and Nott together.
Except they never talked. They just sat there, in the same space, doing their own thing like the other one didn’t even exist.
Older students had talked about Prince sometimes too, though not in the way they talked about other Slytherins.
"You know the Prince heir doesn’t waste words."
"Lady Prince must be proud."
Like he was different, somehow.
And then there was Cedric.
Harry should’ve noticed sooner.
Second year, Cedric had been a reserve player, sitting out with an injury or something. Prince didn’t play, obviously, but he always came to the matches.
And he never sat with the other Slytherins.
Some of the time, he was alone, right up at the top of the stands.
Once, Harry had seen him with some older, stern-looking woman who had to be a Prince relative. But usually, he was with Cedric.
They’d sit there, heads close together, talking quietly—sometimes watching the game, sometimes not. Harry had barely thought anything of it at the time. Just another weird Slytherin thing.
Then there was Terry Boot.
Harry hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Really.
But when he saw Boot alone with a Slytherin in the middle of the whole Chamber of Secrets disaster, what was he supposed to do? What if Prince was threatening him? What if he was about to hex him?
So he’d crept up to the Astronomy Tower, invisible. Just in case.
But all he’d heard was the end of some conversation.
"You’re such a typical Ravenclaw," Prince had muttered.
"And you’re practically a Ravenclaw yourself," Terry shot back. "I don’t even know how you stand Slytherins half the time."
Prince had snorted. "Same way you stand Ravenclaws. Selective tolerance."
And then he just walked away.
One time in third year, Harry walked into the library and found it almost completely empty—except for Prince, who was standing at the front desk, handing Madam Pince some books. He was saying something about private collections and family records, and it sounded exactly like the kind of thing snobby pure-bloods always talked about. Harry had ignored it at the time. Looking back, maybe he should have paid more attention.
There were other things, too. Like that time Harry had seen Prince sitting outside with two Ravenclaws who were arguing over some equation. They were getting pretty heated about it when Prince, who hadn't even been part of the conversation, calmly corrected them. No parchment, no book—just said the right answer like it was obvious.
"Do you even take Arithmancy?" one of the Ravenclaws had asked, sounding a bit annoyed.
"No," Prince had said, shrugging.
And when Malfoy had been milking his stupid hippogriff injury for weeks, Prince hadn’t joined in. But he was there. Not fawning over him like Crabbe and Goyle, not feeding into the dramatics, just—there.
Harry had once been walking behind a group of Slytherins when Malfoy was, as usual, whining about his injury. Prince let out a small, tired sigh.
"Draco…"
And Malfoy actually shut up. Just like that.
A few seconds later, he muttered, "It hurts."
Prince glanced at him—Harry couldn't see his face properly—and said something too quiet to catch. But whatever it was, Malfoy stopped complaining for the rest of the day.
Maybe that was when Harry had started thinking they were friends.
Then again, whenever Malfoy got too full of himself, Harry noticed how Prince and Nott would exchange a glance—just a second or two—and without a word, the conversation would shift. Like they had some kind of secret understanding.
But Prince wasn’t always weird and quiet. Sometimes, he was just… normal.
Once, when Harry was struggling through his Transfiguration notes, he overheard Cedric and Prince talking at the next table.
"That won’t work," Cedric was saying. "You can’t bend a Protego Shield like that."
"I can," Prince said. Then, after a pause, "But on the other hand…"
"Alright, alright," Cedric groaned. "If you can actually do it, I owe you one."
Prince smiled—a real, genuine smile. Looking back, Harry wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen him smile like that before, or after.
"Next match, you show up in Slytherin colors," Prince said.
Cedric laughed. "And if you can’t do it?"
"Name your price."
And then there was again Terry Boot.
Harry hadn't seen what started it, but he had seen Terry get hit by a hex in the courtyard. He went flying back, and before Harry could react, Prince stepped in front of him. Casual. Almost lazy. But blocking him completely from the older Ravenclaw who had hexed him.
And just like that, the other boy stopped.
McGonagall had stormed in and scattered everyone before Harry could figure out what was going on, but as he was being shoved along with the crowd, he’d heard Terry mutter,
"People are gonna think you actually care."
Prince didn’t react. He never seemed to care what people thought. He was polite to most, distant to some, and completely indifferent to others—but never unkind.
Except for one time.
At the time, Harry had thought it was just Slytherin politics. Looking back, maybe it was more than that.
Marietta Edgecombe had come over to the Slytherin table, giggling with her friends. She leaned in close, all smiles, and whispered something to Prince.
He didn’t even hesitate.
"No."
A few people turned to look because, well—Hogwarts loved drama.
"What?" Marietta blinked.
"No," Prince repeated. "Not interested."
The way he said it—so flat, so final—made even Malfoy look surprised.
The rumors afterward were ridiculous.
During the Yule Ball in fourth year, Harry had been too caught up in his own disaster to pay much attention to anyone else. But he did remember seeing Prince dancing with some stunning girl from Beauxbatons—someone who looked like she’d been chosen for the role, even though he had arrived at the ball with someone else. Harry mainly remembered it because Malfoy had made some joke about expectations, and while everyone had laughed, one look from Prince had been enough to shut them all up.
For most of the night, though, Prince had been talking with Cedric and Cho Chang, and he actually seemed to be enjoying himself.
No one really knew who he’d originally brought to the ball, which, of course, led to plenty of rumors—but then again, everyone was the subject of rumors that night. Turns out, he’d taken Astoria Greengrass, which was odd. She was only a third year, not even old enough to attend unless an older student brought her. But Elias treated her like a proper gentleman, which Hermione had muttered something about being pure-blood politics, probably.
That year, there had also been a girl Harry could—if he had to—call Elias’ girlfriend. The only one.
Su Li.
She was quiet like him, sharp, talented at dueling, and had absolutely no patience for nonsense. But she wasn’t from the usual pure-blood circles, which made their friendship stand out. Sometimes, Harry would see them studying together in the library, heads bent close over a runes textbook. Other times, they’d walk through the corridors, always speaking in hushed tones.
Then, just before Easter, Su kissed him.
It wasn’t dramatic or flashy, just a quiet moment between two people who clearly liked each other. Hogwarts was full of moments like that—Harry had seen hundreds.
Elias kissed her back.
For about a month, they were something.
But before June even started, it was over.
No big fight, no drama—just an understanding. Su never seemed bitter. Elias never seemed sad.
After the Third Task, Elias was quiet. But then again, he was always quiet.
He didn’t accuse Harry of lying. He didn’t laugh along with the other Slytherins.
He just watched.
Not with blame. Not with skepticism. But maybe—just maybe—with understanding.
It was only recently that Harry realized Elias had never asked him a single question about that night. Not once had he tried to find out what had happened in the graveyard.
Because Elias knew.
Because Elias had lost a friend.
And even now, he was grieving—in the way someone like Elias Prince could and would grieve.
Quietly.
On the edges.
Where no one could see.
Elias wasn’t Snape’s favorite in class. That was Malfoy.
But Snape never treated him like the others, either. He never loomed over his workstation, never barked at him, never ordered him around. There were no insults, no cutting remarks.
Once, when Elias messed up a potion, Snape only gave him a cold look and told him to stay after class. Harry never knew what had been said, but when Elias walked out, he looked more frustrated than humiliated.
Prince never spoke in lessons unless he was called on. He never argued with teachers, never sought attention, never got caught up in Slytherin pranks—unless they were actually funny.
Now that Harry thought about it, Elias had always been odd. It should’ve stood out more. But it didn’t.
Prince never did anything before the deadline. He was never seen scribbling last-minute notes before a test. He never looked anxious about an exam, never flipped through his textbook in panic, never even carried too many books to begin with.
He studied—but never late in the library. He took notes—but far fewer than most. It was like he just knew what he needed to know. He did his work, but never seemed to work too hard.
And his grades? Good. Safe.
He didn’t talk much—not during meals, not in the corridors. Well, he talked, but he didn’t gossip, didn’t chatter. And yet, somehow, he always seemed to know something extra. He’d make a comment about something happening in another house—something he shouldn’t have known. He’d mention a rule or an upcoming test before it was even announced.
Harry realized now—Elias was always listening.
And then there was Filch.
Harry had seen it—how Elias always greeted him. And Filch, who seemed to hate every student, never quite looked at Prince with the same level of disgust. Sometimes, he even spoke to him.
That alone was strange enough.
Harry also remembered a weird moment when Elias had stood face-to-face with Percy—who, at the time, was already in his seventh year.
Elias hadn’t looked nervous. Not even slightly intimidated. If anything, he looked disgusted.
"You’ll do great at the Ministry, Weasley," Prince had said, his voice edged with something bitter before walking away.
Back then, Harry hadn’t understood.
Now—seeing what Percy had turned into—he thought maybe Elias had known long before anyone else.
Because Elias knew things. And he had secrets.
Harry had seen his name on the Marauder’s Map more times than he could count.
In Snape’s office.
On the Astronomy Tower—sometimes alone, sometimes with Snape.
And, more than once, walking with Dumbledore through the castle.
And now, knowing Elias was becoming part of the Order...
Harry couldn’t help but wonder—what was the deal with this enigmatic Slytherin?