The Ravenclaw common room was, at once, a godsend and a burden, and it was entirely conditional on the timing. It was surreal being able to study in a magnificent tower so close to the sky that he felt he could hear the old alchemists speaking to him through the air, that his research quite literally was taking flight. Really, the worst thing about it was this certain proclivity Ravenclaws seemed to have, that they preferred to study at night and in small droves, their din low enough to be indecipherable but loud enough to be disruptive. The library was worse, the silence deafening.
He’d taken to sneaking into the Gryffindor common room some nights - though he hardly considered it sneaking in if he had the password. A small, mousy girl he’d befriended during class some weeks ago had offered it to him, perhaps a token of gratitude for his company and chattering during some suppers if he found her, and he’d readily accepted it. The crackling fire was perfect background noise, and there were usually far less Gryffindors up studying this late.
It was here Bilius felt somewhat secure perusing through his anatomy books - there were innocent enough to explain to the average passerby should they question his interest (rather than his true motives, trying to dream up new, more grotesque hybrids based on the limitations of human anatomy), and he had them open on his left side with some Potions work to his right. He was deep into his studies when a voice cut through the air, and he forced himself not to startle too terribly.
“Oh! Hello,” he said, offering the other a genial smile. “No, I suppose not, though it’s not something I mind - I regularly get five to six hours of sleep, and I much prefer the shadows the moon may cast to that of the sun.” He set his quill down on the desk. “Are you going out? Careful that the professors don’t catch you. I came in just before curfew to avoid the professors.”
Silas did not recognize the voice, not as Gryffindor at least. Hogwarts was small enough that he knew everyone by name, but large enough that the individual voices outside of his house all ran together in his mind, discordant as the many tongues that tangled in back alleys in Prague, Moscow, London. But in the common rooms, certain sounds were familiar; they had to be as familiar as a crackling fire or Harriet’s loud laugh or how Honoria chewed her nails down to the quick. Foreign voices were just that, foreign, and Silas did not like them.
He drew his wand, out of habit more than anything. Supposedly, there was nothing to fear at Hogwarts. Supposedly. Silas was not one drawn to silly superstitions, even though they fascinated, but he was more than aware of the rumors that drifted down the halls, and exactly how true they were.
But no, it was no monster, no gruesome ghost seated before the fire, but Billius, that Ravenclaw, the Muggleborn who Silas’s mother was unusually fond of. Silas wasn’t unfriendly to Bilius, but he certainly did not know the other boy especially well, beyond first names and an occasionanal shared class when they had been younger. But it was, well, odd, to see a Ravenclaw so at home in the Gryffindor common room. Ravenclaws were clever, far too clever by half, if anyone asked Silas, so it was all together possible that Billius had just cracked the password and could come and go as he pleased. That was rude, even for a Muggleborn, and Silas somehow doubted that one would just invite themselves into another house’s common room, unless they had good reason.
“What are you doing here?” He was in no mood to be polite, not so late at night, not when he had been practically caught sneaking out. “And what are you reading?” Silas stepped forward, wand still out, trying to get a better look at the books, but it was still too dark, and all he could see was a shadowy drawing of... something.
