The train hissed to a halt beneath a sky streaked with stars. The smell of damp grass and wood smoke filled the air. We stepped off the train into the crisp night, steam curling around our feet. Harry helped Ron lift his overpacked trunk, Hermione whispered something to Neville about magical plant care, and I gently lowered Nyx into her luxurious ebony cat carrier, lined with velvet and softly enchanted for comfort.
She meowed loudly, displeased. "Hey now," I whispered, running a finger behind her ear. "You'll see me soon. Probably before curfew."
She blinked at me, then curled into a pouty black ball. I chuckled and set her by the stack of other animal carriers near Argus Filch, who grumbled under his breath as he began loading the carts. That's when I heard the familiar booming voice. "Firs years! Firs years over here!" Hagrid stood tall—larger than life and twice as warm. His shaggy hair and coat looked even more immense in the torchlight, and he waved us over with a big hand.
With the help of a pair of Head Boys, he herded us toward the black lake. The boats awaited—four per craft—just like in the stories I remembered. Me Harry, Ron, and Hermione shared a boat. Neville was behind us with Seamus and Dean. The journey across the lake was silent at first, then we rounded the bend, and saw Hogwarts.
The castle sat above us like a crown on a cliff. Lights glittered through the towers and turrets, reflecting off the water. Even after everything I'd been through, everything I knew, my chest tightened at the sight. "This… this is real," I whispered. "I know," Harry said beside me. "It doesn't feel like a dream anymore."
We reached the stone dock and were ushered up the path. Professor McGonagall met us just before the massive doors, prim, proper, and stern-eyed. She greeted us, instructed us on the Sorting, then turned to check on the Great Hall.
That's when Draco Malfoy eyed Ron and decided to talk. He strutted over like he owned the path and sneered at Ron. "Don't see why they'd bother letting your sort into Hogwarts, Weasley. Don't you people have enough kids to feed already?" Ron stiffened. Hermione's eyes narrowed.
I stepped in front of Draco—calmly. Without lifting a hand, I summoned the nearest Cauldron Cake from Ron's open bag with telekinesis and stuffed it into Draco's mouth before he could react. He sputtered, eyes wide. I leaned in, my voice velvet-wrapped steel. "Your mother told you to watch your mouth and your volume in the presence of dignified company."
My eyes flicker gold. Draco froze. "Now turn around. You're going to need your energy tonight." He yanked the cake from his mouth, glaring at me, but said nothing. He turned, stiffly, and walked off.
Murmurs exploded behind us. "Who is that?" "Is that Callum Dawn?" "The Ministry mentioned him in the Prophet..." "…and that's Harry Potter next to him—" Harry groaned. "Great. More attention." I smirked. "Get used to it. You've got fame from your mom and You-Know-Who. But I know you won't let it go to your head." " It won't," he muttered.
Minutes later, Professor McGonagall returned and ushered us into the Great Hall and the Sorting Ceremony. Everything was exactly as I remembered. Floating candles. The enchanted ceiling. Plates shining in gold and silver. The four tables of students, each filled with cheering, whispering, watching eyes.
The Sorting Hat stood at the front, already warmed up from a fresh verse. The line formed. Hermione was sorted early—Gryffindor. I watched her carefully. She hesitated only a moment before walking confidently to the red-and-gold table. I had hoped for Ravenclaw, but I understood.
Neville followed. Gryffindor again. The table cheered. Then, Ron, practically trembling, was sorted into Gryffindor as expected. His brothers practically tackled him into their bench.
Then Harry a tense silence. The Sorting Hat sat on his head for longer than anyone else, but it eventually roared, "Gryffindor!" And the hall went wild.
Then my Turn, the name "Callum Dawn" echoed through the chamber. I stepped forward, letting my shoes click confidently on the stone floor. I could feel eyes watching, whispering. I sat. The hat was lowered onto my head.
> Well now… this is rare.
> You've already decided, haven't you?
> Slytherin… the House of ambition, legacy, and power. But also cunning. You'd do well there.
> …Though I must say, Ravenclaw would benefit from a mind like yours. Even Hufflepuff, with your loyalty and drive. Gryffindor would give you rivals worth sharpening your fangs on…
> "No thank you," I thought. "Slytherin, please."
> So polite. So focused.
> Very well then…
> "SLYTHERIN!"
The hall went wild, the Slytherin table cheered, with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff following. Gryffindor was the loudest, with my friends cheering and whistling for me. I rose calmly, my black robes shifting to dark green and silver, crest shining over my heart.
As I sat down, I was welcomed by some first years and upper years with smiles and back pats. The Sorting Ceremony wrapped in a familiar swirl of claps and good food. Professor Dumbledore stood he spread his arms wide, his robes cascading like waterfalls of midnight.
"Welcome," he began warmly, "to another year at Hogwarts. For some of you, it is the first step into a world long whispered about in bedtime stories and hopeful dreams. For others, a return to halls that have shaped generations."
He introduced the professors—familiar names with new faces:
Professor McGonagall, sharp-eyed and stern.
Professor Flitwick, smaller than I expected but radiating magical power.
Professor Sprout, with leaves stuck in her robes and fingers stained with soil.
Then…
Professor Quirrell.
I narrowed my eyes.
His aura flared into view—sickly, unstable. A shifting mass of mossy green, tinged with pulsing violet. But it was his head that caught my gaze—a tumor-like black mass, almost alive, throbbing in rhythm like a second heart. I didn't need AIA or a system prompt to confirm what I already knew.
Voldemort was riding shotgun. I turned my gaze away, that would be a serious fight if I let him fully resurrect, but that's a thought for another time. For now, I had more immediate things to focus on and needed to make use of the canon events unfolding. After the rules and reminders the Forbidden Forest, the use of spells in the Hallways is prohibited, and the third floor is restricted. Then, naturally, we feasted.
Then came the escort to the dungeons, Slytherin's domain. The halls grew damp and cool. The air carried an ancient, serpentine scent of old stone. Our common room, carved into the rock beneath the lake, glowed with emerald torchlight, and reflections of dark water shimmered on the ceiling. It was beautiful with a regal look that was untouched by time.
Snape, who had escorted us down personally, gave a short, disinterested warning of the rules and following them, then a short welcome before vanishing like smoke. The prefects gave us the password, explained curfew, and then began to relax into their little circles.
That's when I made my move. I stepped forward. My wand brushed my neck, whispering the Sonorus Charm. My voice echoed through the stone like a rolling drumbeat: > "Good evening, Slytherin House."
Dozens of heads turned. From curious first years to smug third years to stone-faced seventh years, all eyes were on me. I let the silence linger.
> "My name is Callum Tesfaye Dawn. First-year, yes. Just like some of you. A junior to many of you. But I stand here tonight because change is coming." Some snorts. Raised brows. Draco shifted beside the fireplace. Others leaned in.
> "Slytherin House has the worst reputation in Hogwarts. When people hear our name, they think bigotry, arrogance, and cowardice in the face of power. That ends now."
A scoff came from a fourth-year girl. "Oh yeah? And how exactly do you expect to change things here?"
I smiled slowly.
> "By force, if necessary."
That got attention.
> "From tonight on, we lead by example. We will become the standard. The benchmark of excellence. No more bullying other Houses. No more 'mudblood' talk. No more blind worship of blood purity like it's still 1322."
> "And starting tonight, every morning and every evening, we will study. Together. Because the only way we crush every other House in this school is not by throwing blood status, but by proving we are better through talent, discipline, and results."
> "We rise—or we rot."
A prefect, tall and sharp-faced, stepped forward. "And who exactly do you think you are? Are these your words or Professor Snape's?"
I met his eyes. "Mine."
He laughed. A few others joined. Another upper year stepped forward, wand already drawn. " Well, I speak for most, if not all of us, when I say no, so what are you gonna do now. You gonna fight us, then?"
> "If I have to," I said softly.
I turned slightly toward Draco and murmured, "Watch this."
Then I raised my right hand.
> Bang—
A Magic Missile, nearly invisible, slammed into the sixth-year's chest and knocked him clean off his feet, sending him sprawling into three of his classmates. He skidded across the floor, moaning.
Gasps.
"He didn't use a wand—"
"What kind of spell was that?!"
I stood there, golden glow in my eyes, my palm still faintly warm.
I let the moment burn into their memory.
> "This is just the beginning," I said, voice calm. "So get on board or get out of the way."
The Prefects rose. The Head Boy—a lean seventh-year with aristocratic cheekbones and a saber-like wand—stood, assessing me.
> "Let's see what you've got, then."
Dozens of students leaned forward. A battle was coming. I stood firm in the heart of the Slytherin common room, stone walls echoing with the tension of rising magic and the silent hesitation of watching students. My wand disappeared into the folds of my robe.
> "I don't need it to take care of you lot." That was the spark and a storm of red and gold light shot toward me—Stupefy, Expelliarmus, Impedimenta, and more. Slytherins, all years, threw spells out of reflex. The air buzzed with magic, the torches dimming under the pulse of ambient energy.
But I was already ready I used Invisible Wall to block their spells. To them, it looked like their spells hit nothing, then ricocheted. The wall shimmered briefly, invisible to anyone without the sight or magical perception to see it. Spells slammed back into their casters. Some yelped, others ducked.
Near the right side of the room, a first-year froze when a ricocheted hex sped toward her. Before I could intervene—
> "Protego!"
A sharp, confident Shield Charm flared into existence, cast by a dark-haired girl I hadn't yet met. Her wand trembled slightly, but her stance was strong. I smiled. Not everyone here was rotten. But now, it was time to finish it.
> "This is getting dangerous." With a thought, I summoned a Magic Missile—pure white-blue mana swirling like a comet in my palm. Then, using Telekinesis, I swept the missile across the room like a painter's brushstroke. Twelve upper years were struck down one by one. Each blast knocked a wand loose. Some dropped to their knees. Others hit the floor groaning. One rolled into a couch, stunned and snoring.
The others—the spectators—watched in open awe and horror. With my hand still raised, I gathered the fallen twelve—and hoisted them into the air against the far wall like dolls on invisible strings. The room smelled of dust and burned pride.
I conjured a small white flame in my palm. Gasps rose. "Are you going to burn them?" asked the same brave girl from earlier.
"No," I said, voice calm. "I'm going to heal them." The white fire spread in ribbons across my hands. I walked to each of the stunned, crying, or groaning students, holding the flame to their bruises, curses, or aches. Some twitched. Others sobbed. A few looked at me with terrified awe.
The flame glowed brighter for those with deeper pain. Some upper-years still mouthed off weakly. "You'll regret this when I tell my parents," I didn't bother. I summoned water from a nearby mop bucket, twirled it with magic, and doused the loudest ones. The room erupted in sour mop-water stink.
I smiled. "Go ahead. Tell them. But understand this: change is happening, whether you like it or not." Then I let the spell go. Twelve bodies slumped gently to the floor—alive, healed, but humiliated.
I turned to the crowd. Study session begins at 0500—that's five a.m. sharp. Anyone not here… I'll find you myself." The silence held like a prayer then the system chimed in my mind.
> [Quest Update: "Zero to Hero" – Progress: 4%]
I smirked. "Good."
I headed toward the boys' first-year dorms. The crowd parted like a river. No one blocked my path. No one challenged me again—not tonight. My boots echoed on the polished stone as I walked, then opened the heavy iron door.
Inside, it was dim and cool, lit only by flickering greenish-blue sconces embedded into the walls. Nyx was already waiting, curled in her plush carrier, eyes gleaming in the low light.
> "Hey there," I whispered. She stretched lazily and padded out, hopping onto my bed with regal grace, purring like thunder. A few of the other boys came in—quiet, wide-eyed, dragging their trunks. None spoke. None dared. But their eyes… those told stories.
Fear and uncertainty. I let them settle. Then I flicked my wand, levitating my trunk to the corner, sorting my robes and supplies with a few elegant gestures. Everything tucked itself neatly into place. My wand returned to my side.
I sat cross-legged on my bed, Nyx curling at my feet, and started Mana Meditation." The flame inside me, I felt it pulse softly, the energy flowed. Magic whispered in the walls of the dungeon like a forgotten god returning to life.
And I smiled.