I do not seek Harriet Potter out on the train. Because the moment you chase, you lose. Power is not in pursuit—it is in being sought after. Harriet will remember me. She will wonder. And when the time is right—she will come to me.
Instead, I turn my attention to other matters. Because while Harriet Potter is a long-term investment, there are other pieces of the game that must be put into play immediately.
The train is already moving when I hear the hesitation in the corridor.
A shuffle of feet. A moment of indecision.
And then, a soft voice—
"Oh. Hello."
I glance up from my book, my gaze meeting the curious eyes of Hermione Granger. She stands in the doorway, her bushy hair slightly frizzed from the excitement of her first journey to Hogwarts. Her arms are wrapped protectively around a thick, overstuffed book bag that seems as eager to explore the magical world as she is.
She is alone, her expression a mixture of enthusiasm and a hint of vulnerability that she tries valiantly to conceal. Hermione Granger is not like the other first-years, awash with the joy of newfound freedom. She is a Muggle-born, stepping into a world that is as foreign to her as it is enchanting.
"Granger," I greet her smoothly, closing my book and setting it aside. My tone is one of mild curiosity, designed to put her at ease while also establishing the subtle hierarchy that exists between us.
Her fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around the strap of her bag, a reflexive gesture that betrays her nervousness. "I was just walking through, trying to meet more people," she explains hurriedly, her gaze darting between the three empty seats in my compartment.
Ah. She is not here because she chose me. She is here because she is casting a wide net, eager to form connections in this strange new world she has entered. It is an understandable impulse, but one that I recognize as a weakness.
"You must be enjoying the introductions, then," I remark, my voice carrying a note of casual interest. I watch her closely, noting the way her eyes light up as she launches into an animated recounting of her encounters so far.
"Oh, yes!" she says, brightening immediately. "It's all so exciting. There's so much to learn about everyone. I already met some students who know all about Hogwarts—Ron Weasley told me about Quidditch, though I already read about it, of course. And I met Neville Longbottom—he lost his toad, poor thing, but he seems very nice. And—"
She stops abruptly, noticing my amusement. She realizes she's been rambling, and a faint flush colors her cheeks.
"Sorry," she says quickly, "I suppose I just… never had this many people to talk to before."
Her apology reveals more than she knows. She's been lonely, hungry for connections. It's a vulnerability she's trying to hide, but it's plain to see for those who know where to look.
I offer her a reassuring smile, inclining my head slightly. "You have the right idea," I say, my voice carrying a note of genuine approval. "Understanding your peers is a wise strategy."
Her embarrassment fades, replaced by a look of relief. She thinks she's been given a pass, a moment of grace in an otherwise overwhelming day.
"Well, I should keep moving," she says, adjusting the strap of her bag. "I still want to meet more people."
"Of course," I respond with a nod. "I look forward to seeing how you navigate the complexities of Hogwarts, Granger."
A small, pleased smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "See you at Hogwarts, Selwyn."
"Indeed," I reply, watching as she exits the compartment, her curiosity undimmed by her brief moment of discomfort.
She doesn't understand yet, but she will. Hermione Granger is a puzzle eager to be solved, a challenge I will guide through the intricate world of Hogwarts. Her desire to belong, to know everyone and everything, is both her greatest strength and her most glaring weakness.
And when the time comes for her to seek out wisdom and guidance, she will remember the boy who listened, who saw her, who did not dismiss her eagerness as mere naivety.
Daphne Greengrass. The Ice Queen of Slytherin, poised and meticulous in her strategy. Her every word, every gesture, is part of a grander scheme to manipulate the social landscape of Hogwarts to her advantage.
Theodore Nott. The Silent Shadow, observing the world with an intensity that belies his soft-spoken nature. He is a repository of knowledge, a living chronicle of the secrets and whispers that permeate the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.
Blaise Zabini. The Enigmatic Sovereign, a figure who commands attention without demanding it. He moves through the corridors of power with an ease that suggests he was born to rule, his eyes piercing through the veils of deception and intrigue.
Together, we form a nexus of influence, a convergence of ambition and intellect that will reshape the destiny of the wizarding world. We are not merely students; we are architects of the future, each one of us playing a pivotal role in the grand design that I, Damian Selwyn, have meticulously orchestrated.
As the Hogwarts Express rumbles along the ancient tracks, we sit in the quiet comfort of our shared compartment, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of first-year anxieties and exuberant displays of newfound freedom. We are not like the others. We do not revel in the frivolity of the moment. Instead, we discuss the intricacies of power and the delicate art of control.
"Malfoy's already trying to assert himself," Theo remarked, stretching out his legs with a languid air of nonchalance.
Daphne gave a soft scoff, her gaze cool and assessing. "Malfoy is loud. He's obvious. He wants attention too much," she observed with a hint of disdain.
"He's still useful," Blaise interjected, his tone carrying an undercurrent of strategic thinking. "For now."
Theo shot me a sly glance, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "And what do you think, Selwyn?" he asked, his voice laced with intrigue. I met his gaze with an unruffled calm, fully aware of the implications behind his question. Theo, ever the astute observer, understood that my plans were far more intricate than those of our peers.
A small, enigmatic smile curved my lips. "I think Malfoy will play the role he was born into," I stated, my words hanging in the air like a veiled threat.
Daphne raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. "Which is?" she inquired, leaning forward slightly.
"A distraction," I replied, the simplicity of my answer belying the depth of my strategy.
There was a brief silence as my words sank in, then Blaise emitted a low chuckle, his eyes gleaming with newfound respect. "Now that," he murmured, a smirk gracing his features, "is interesting."
Daphne remained silent, but the subtle drumming of her fingers against her knee betrayed her contemplation. She was piecing together the puzzle, beginning to grasp the scope of my ambitions. Theo simply smirked, his eyes alight with the knowledge that he was one of the few who truly understood the game I was playing.
He knew, as I did, that Draco Malfoy was nothing more than a pawn—a pawn whose blustering attempts at dominance would serve as the perfect cover for my own, far more subtle maneuvers. It was at this moment that Draco Malfoy himself strode into the compartment, his arrival punctuating our conversation with an air of inevitable conflict.
The door slides open, and Draco steps inside without invitation. His usual bravado seems to have deserted him; the confidence that so often colors his every move is notably absent. It's clear he's grappling with the repercussions of a misstep, one that has shaken his typically unflappable demeanor.
He addresses me with a terse nod. "Selwyn," he says, the name falling awkwardly from his lips.
"Malfoy," I reply, my tone neutral and my expression unreadable.
He remains standing, as if taking a seat would be an admission of weakness. "Did you hear?" he begins, struggling to maintain an air of nonchalance. "The girl from the robe shop—the one I assumed was a Muggle-born. She's Potter."
I arch an eyebrow, feigning mild surprise. "Is that so?"
The revelation piques Daphne's interest, her eyes narrowing slightly as she sizes up the new information. Theo, ever the observer, simply watches the exchange with an air of amused detachment. Blaise, on the other hand, remains silent, his attention fixed on Draco's every word.
"I spoke to her earlier," Draco confesses, his voice betraying a hint of frustration. "On the train. And she was with a Weasley, no less."
A smirk tugs at the corner of Daphne's mouth. "Let me guess—your attempt at an introduction didn't go as planned?"
Theo snickers under his breath, while Draco's face hardens. "She didn't recognize me either," he retorts defensively.
I allow myself a small, knowing smile, for I am acutely aware of the power dynamics at play. "Perhaps it's because she had nothing to lose by not knowing you," I suggest, my voice carrying an edge of quiet authority.
Draco's expression darkens at my words, the realization of his blunder sinking in. He had underestimated Harriet Potter, just as he had underestimated me.
With a huff of irritation, Draco turns to leave, his departure marked by an air of discontent and confusion. He came seeking... reassurance, perhaps, or camaraderie in his discomfort. But he left with none, for the world of Hogwarts is not one where sympathy is freely given, especially among the ambitious and calculating students of Slytherin House.
As the door slides shut behind him, a silence descends upon our compartment. It is a silence filled with the weight of expectations and the promise of things to come. Each of us—Daphne, Theo, Blaise, and I—understands the significance of this moment. The game is afoot, and the players are taking their positions.
Blaise is the first to break the silence, his voice low and contemplative. "You handled him well, Damian," he observes, his dark eyes reflecting a newfound respect for my strategy.
I incline my head in acknowledgment of his words, but I do not gloat. To revel in such a minor victory would be beneath me. Instead, I turn the conversation back to our shared objectives. "Our focus should not be on Malfoy's missteps but on our own advancement," I remind them, my tone as steady and commanding as ever.
Daphne nods in agreement, her sharp intellect already moving beyond the trivialities of Draco's discomfort. "We have our own paths to forge," she says, her voice carrying the same note of cool determination that I have come to admire in her.
Theo, meanwhile, watches me with an intensity that borders on scrutiny. He is trying to decipher my next move, to anticipate the direction in which I will steer our alliance. But I am a master of subtlety, and my thoughts are not so easily read.
"The Sorting will be tonight," I say, my voice carrying the weight of its significance. "The true game begins once our allegiances are made public. We must be prepared to navigate the alliances and rivalries that will inevitably arise."
Blaise smirks at this, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the challenge. "I look forward to it," he admits, the corners of his mouth curling into a confident grin.
Daphne, ever the pragmatist, simply nods, her mind undoubtedly already analyzing the various permutations and outcomes of the evening ahead.
The train slows, its once rhythmic clatter now a series of slow, deliberate thuds against the tracks. The students, sensing the end of their journey, begin to stir, their movements a mixture of excitement and trepidation. I remain still, observing the subtle interplay of emotions that dance across their faces—nervous glances, eager whispers, the flickering spark of anticipation mingled with a hint of fear. For many of these first-years, the Hogwarts Express marks the beginning of their magical adventure. For me, it is but a single step on a meticulously planned journey.
As the train pulls to a halt, the giant of a man known as Hagrid stands outside, a beacon of warmth in the cool evening air. His voice cuts through the murmur of the crowd, a comforting rumble that promises safety and guidance.
"Firs'-years! This way! Over here!"
In the throng of students, Harriet Potter stands out. Her emerald eyes, wide with wonder and a touch of uncertainty, scan the scene before her. She is unaware of my scrutiny, her attention focused on the imposing figure of Hagrid and the looming castle that awaits beyond.
I take a moment to drink in the sight of her—a legend in the making, a pawn on the verge of becoming a queen. But not yet. For now, she remains oblivious to the role I have envisioned for her in the grand tapestry of my design.
The first-years, Harriet among them, make their way to the lake's edge, where a fleet of small, enchanted boats awaits. The water is a perfect mirror, its surface undisturbed, reflecting the majesty of Hogwarts in all its glory. The castle stands proud against the darkening sky, a bastion of magic and tradition that has stood for a millennium.
Hogwarts.
The very name evokes a sense of awe and power. It is here, within these ancient walls, that my plans will unfold, that destinies will be shaped and rewritten according to my will.
I join Theo, Blaise, and Daphne in one of the boats, our collective silence a testament to our shared understanding— the game has truly begun. The four of us, each a scion of our respective houses, sit in silence, our gazes fixed upon the looming silhouette of Hogwarts Castle. The boat glides effortlessly across the still, reflective waters of the Black Lake, as if carried by the very weight of our shared ambitions.
Daphne's eyes are alight with a cool, calculating fire, her posture regal and composed. She is the embodiment of Slytherin poise, her mind already turning with strategies and alliances yet to be formed. Blaise sits beside her, his expression one of quiet confidence, his dark eyes taking in every detail of our surroundings with an almost predatory intensity.
Theo, ever the observer, watches the scene unfold with a thoughtful expression, his sharp mind cataloging every nuance, every potential advantage to be gleaned from this first encounter with the castle that will serve as our battleground.
And then there is Harriet Potter, seated in the boat just ahead of ours. She appears small and vulnerable amidst the grandeur of the setting, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and trepidation. She is a figure of immense potential, a wildcard in the game that is about to unfold. Her destiny is intertwined with my own, though she remains blissfully unaware of the pivotal role she is destined to play.
As the boats reach the shore, we disembark, our footsteps crunching on the gravel path that leads up to the castle. The first-years gather in a loose cluster, their nervous energy palpable in the crisp night air. Hagrid stands before us, his massive form silhouetted against the bright glow of the castle's entrance.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," he says, his voice gruff but kind. The words hang in the air, resonating with the weight of a thousand years of magic and tradition.
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