TSpokerting was over.
The Great Hall fell into that brief, tense silence that always came before the feast began. You could feel the energy—half awe, half exhaustion—like the whole school had been collectively flash-banged by magic, tradition, and the Sorting Hat's "musical crimes."
Then Dumbledore stood, raised his goblet, and smiled.
"Welcome, one and achaos of year at Hogwarts!"
He clapped his hands once.
And instantly—
Boom.
Food exploded into existence. Not appeared. Exploded.
Plates of steaming roasts, shimmering goblets, floating desserts, cauldrons of pumpkin juice that defied gravity—it was like a magical fireworks show but edible. A pie flew past a Ravenclaw. A pudding splatted against a ceiling beam and reassembled itself midair.
The older students didn't even blink.
The new ones screamed.
Harry blinked slowly, a spoon halfway to his mouth.
"…You know, Beelzebub, I can feel Tristan and Rosa suing this school right now in spirit."
Beelzebub's calm voice replied in his mind.
"They'd win both legally and magically. Possibly even muggly."
At the Staff Table, Snape sat in his usual place, arms crossed, glaring daggers at Harry.
Not the metaphorical kind—actual tiny spectral daggers of magic flickered above his head every time Harry laughed.
But right beside him, the tiny black puppy sitting on his lap yipped. It looked up at him with those impossible golden eyes—some mix of cuteness and divine command.
Snape sighed. The daggers vanished.
"Fine," he muttered under his breath. "You win again, Cerby."
The puppy wagged its tail and yawned, sparks of potion smoke curling out of its mouth.
Across the table, McGonagall had her head in her hands.
"Every year," she murmured. "Every blasted year it gets worse."
Flitwick was laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from his face.
Sprout cheerfully passed him a plate of enchanted vegetables that were, for some reason, arguing with each other.
And Quirrell—poor, stammering Quirrell—accidentally summoned his goblet into his own face.
Down at the Slytherin table, some slyther kept sneaking glances at Harry.
"So," one of them said, tone half-curious, half-defensive, "you're the head of a dead house. How's that work?"
Harry smiled faintly, a bit too calm for Draco's liking.
"Simple. You just don't die."
Theo and Blaise snorted into their drinks.
At the Hufflepuff table, Ron and Dudley were already legendary.
They'd built a fortress out of mashed potatoes, sausage, and breadsticks.
Susan, sitting beside them, looked like she was regretting all her life choices but also helping with the turret placements.
At the Ravenclaw table, Hermione was scribbling notes so fast her quill was smoking. The lantern at her side glowed faintly as Jophiel's gentle voice murmured in her mind.
"You do realize the food is not a puzzle to solve."
Hermione whispered back, "Everything's a puzzle to solve."
Padma groaned. "Here we go again…"
Back at the teachers' table, Dumbledore happily chewed on a lemon drop and declared,
"Another successful start to the year!"
McGonagall looked at him with the deadest expression imaginable.
"Headmaster, two students are heirs to ancient clan, one just blinded half the boats with holy light, and we have a Cerberus puppy on staff."
Dumbledore only smiled.
"Exactly."
Harry leaned back, looking at the wild mix of laughter, chaos, and faint magical glowing all around.
It wasn't the Hogwarts from the stories or the books.
It was stranger. Wilder. More alive.
And Harry, somehow, couldn't wait for what came next.
Quirrell then got up as he spoke. "Can I s-say something, H-headmaster".
Dumbledore looked at the new DADA Professor as he spoke. "Yes, you can, Mr Quirrell".
Quirrell stood as he spoke. "S-Students, I wanna S-say something, t-that all of you k-know, we a-all are from d-diffrent background, but does b-back ground, s-shouldn't, define us, w-we should strive to work together a-nd join f-force, shed our p-pride and w-work together, as y-your DADA teacher, I h-hope y-y-you can do that, after a-all, this is Hogwarts".
The Great Hall went quiet for a moment.
Even the enchanted candles seemed to dim slightly as Professor Quirrell's voice echoed through the room, stuttering but sincere.
His words—though halting and awkward—had weight. A few students even nodded.
Then, just as the silence settled—
BOOM!
The enchanted candles reignited dramatically, as if Hogwarts itself refused to let anything end calmly.
Harry blinked. "You know," he muttered under his breath, "that was actually pretty good."
Theo leaned toward him. "Yeah, except for the part where it sounded like he was about to cry."
Blaise smirked. "At least he didn't explode into glitter like Dumbledore's last speech."
Meanwhile, at the Staff Table, McGonagall clapped politely. Snape looked unimpressed, sipping his tea like he was silently judging every vowel Quirrell pronounced. The Cerberus pup yawned again.
Dumbledore, smiling with that ever-present twinkle, said warmly,
"Well said, Professor Quirrell! Truly, the essence of unity and courage we strive for at Hogwarts."
There was a short pause.
Then, somewhere at the Hufflepuff table, Ron whispered to Dudley,
"…What did he say?"
Dudley shrugged. "Dunno. But I think it meant we're all friends now."
Susan sighed, rubbing her temples. "You two are going to make Hufflepuff famous, and not in a good way."
Harry glanced toward Quirrell again.
Something about him… felt off.
Not evil—just unsettling, like an echo out of sync with itself.
In his mind, Beelzebub spoke softly.
"That man reeks of dark intent… but he hides it well. Be wary, Harry."
Harry didn't answer. He just kept eating quietly, eyes lingering on Quirrell's nervous hands, the way his left one occasionally twitched toward the back of his head.
And then, as quickly as it came, the tension faded. The hall returned to laughter and chatter, food and magic, the usual Hogwarts chaos.
But deep down, Harry knew—
The school year had truly begun.
After the grand feast of Hogwarts was over — and after Harry somehow ate seventy plates of food (Theo still swore the number kept rising each time Harry repeated it) — the students were led to their dormitories.
Their guide was a tall red-haired prefect with a serious face and an even more serious posture.
Percy Weasley, he introduced himself.
[Insert image of Percy]
Harry squinted. "Another Weasley... huh. I wonder if he's related to Tristan," he muttered.
Theo raised an eyebrow. "You do realize every redhead here is probably related to that guy somehow."
They followed Percy down the winding staircases, through damp corridors that seemed to stretch forever. The torches burned with greenish flames, and the deeper they went, the colder it became.
At last, they reached a bare stretch of stone wall, where Percy stopped.
He turned to them with a stern look.
"The password is Viper's Coil," he said, and the wall shimmered — melting away into a grand archway.
Inside, the students gasped.
The Slytherin common room lay beneath the Black Lake itself, bathed in a ghostly, emerald light. Shadows of fish and the occasional tentacle drifted across the ceiling. The air was cool and heavy, and the room smelled faintly of old parchment and polished oak.
The decor was luxurious yet haunting: dark stone walls, carved pillars shaped like coiling serpents, deep leather couches, and silver lamps that reflected the water's shimmer.
Harry stood there, taking it all in, and finally broke the silence.
"First the ambitious ideals, then the dramatic cloak entrance… and now the sad villain theme music. This house is one dramatic revelation away from monologuing."
Theo snorted. Blaise tried not to laugh.
Daphne gave him a flat look. "You're also in this house, Potter."
Harry crossed his arms. "Yes, but I refuse to go full Dark Lord aesthetic."
Her gaze flicked to the faint, pulsating mark under his left sleeve — the mark of Beelzebub.
"Yeah," she said dryly. "You're totally convincing."
Blaise smirked. "Don't worry, Daphne. If he goes evil, I'll sell his autobiography for a fortune."
Theo nodded seriously. "I call the movie rights."
Harry groaned. "You guys are the worst support group ever."
Their banter was interrupted when Professor Snape entered the common room, robes flowing dramatically as if the air itself bowed to him. His black hair framed his pale face, and the room immediately fell silent.
At his side trotted a small black puppy, whose silver collar gleamed faintly in the green light. It barked once, almost politely, before sitting near Snape's boots.
"Welcome," Snape said, his voice as smooth and cold as glass. "To Slytherin House — the House of the Serpent. The ambitious, the cunning, the resourceful… and occasionally, the tolerable."
The students dared not laugh, though Blaise nearly choked on air.
Snape's eyes swept across the crowd until they stopped on Harry. The room's temperature seemed to drop another degree.
"Potter," he said slowly. "I trust you will not… bring your father's habits into my House."
Harry blinked. "I didn't think eating food and existing counted as habits."
The puppy gave a single quiet woof, and somehow, that tiny sound seemed to calm Snape.
He turned away, cloak swirling. "Bedrooms are down the hall. Classes begin tomorrow. Try not to make me regret this."
As he left, Theo leaned over to Harry.
"You know," he whispered, "that man scares me more than anything in the Forbidden Forest could."
Harry stared at the puppy still sitting by the door, wagging its tail.
"Yeah," he muttered. "But that dog? That thing's the real threat. I can feel it plotting."
The puppy sneezed, and for some reason, the lamps flickered.
After that, Percy explained where each dormitory was — boys to the left, girls to the right — and how each year had its own section within the Slytherin chambers. His tone carried that prefect's blend of pride and mild superiority, as if he were leading a royal procession rather than a group of nervous first-years.
Harry and Theo shared a look — they were relieved to be roommates, already imagining the chaos they'd cause (or prevent) together.
That relief vanished the moment they opened the door to their room.
Because sitting on one of the beds, back perfectly straight, robes neatly folded beside him, and an expression that could curdle milk… was Draco Malfoy.
The silence that followed could have frozen the Black Lake itself.
Draco blinked, then smirked. "Oh, wonderful. My roommates are Potter and… Nott. Just what I always wanted."
Theo raised a brow. "Trust me, this wasn't on our wish list either."
Harry sighed, dropping his trunk beside his bed. "Seven years. We're not even past the first day and I already feel like I'm aging in dog years."
Beelzebub pulsed faintly against his arm, as if agreeing.
Theo nodded solemnly. "Yeah, if this dorm doesn't implode by Christmas, it'll be a miracle."
Draco gave an indignant huff, tossing his hair. "I'll have you know—"
Harry raised a hand. "Save it. If you start with the 'my father will hear about this' routine, I'm sleeping in the hallway."
That earned a snicker from Theo and a visible twitch from Draco's eye.
It was official.
Year One in Slytherin was going to be the longest, most chaotic year of Harry's life.
The three boys settled in with the kind of awkward, tense silence usually reserved for funeral parlors and Ministry courtrooms.
Theo unpacked neatly, organized, clinical — shirts folded, ties sorted by color gradient, books arranged alphabetically.
Draco unpacked dramatically — carefully laying out expensive items like he was displaying artifacts in a museum dedicated to the House of Malfoy.
Harry dumped everything out of his trunk, sorted it with the efficiency of someone who had clearly never had a childhood bedroom, and shoved most of it under the bed.
Draco stared at the chaos.
Theo stared at Draco.
Harry stared back at both of them, completely unfazed.
"Merlin," Draco muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Potter organizes like a Niffler with a head injury."
Theo shrugged. "He eats like one too."
Harry looked between them. "This is discrimination against my lifestyle."
Draco scoffed. "Your lifestyle is a health hazard."
Theo quietly added, "Don't insult him too much. He'll probably eat you out of spite."
Harry blinked. "Theo, I'm not a cannibal."
"Not yet," Theo said seriously. "You did consume seventy plates tonight."
Draco froze. "You what."
Harry shrugged. "I was hungry."
Beelzebub pulsed against his arm again with a smug thrum.
Draco stared at the glowing faint mark. "Potter, why is your arm doing… that?"
Harry tugged his sleeve down. "Allergic reaction."
Draco: "To what, demons?!"
Theo: "Honestly? Maybe."
Harry: "Excuse you both."
Draco climbed into his bed, clearly bracing himself for the longest year ever.
Theo grabbed a book and leaned against his pillows, successfully pretending he wasn't stuck between two walking disasters.
Harry sat on his bed, legs crossed, staring thoughtfully at the green-tinted ceiling.
Then he spoke.
"You know… if Blaise was here, he'd be judging us."
Theo nodded. "Silently."
"Elegantly," Draco added.
"Peacefully," Theo corrected.
Draco pointed at Theo. "Exactly. Blaise has self-respect. Potter lives like an injured stormcloud."
Harry gasped in offense. "I am a healthy stormcloud."
Theo: "No, you're like if a stormcloud had ADHD."
Draco actually snorted at that.
It was the first accidental bonding moment.
As they slowly slipped into conversation — awkward, defensive, and prickly — the greenish light of the lake shimmered against Harry's wrist.
Beelzebub's presence leaked into the room not as malice…
…but as weight.
Calm.
A strange grounding.
Subtle.
Barely noticeable.
But present.
Theo felt… focused.
Draco felt his usual edge soften, just a fraction.
Harry felt like he could breathe.
The Sin Weapon didn't speak.
But it watched.
And it approved.
This dorm — this trio — was going to be chaotic.
Explosive.
Potentially deadly at times.
But it was also going to be balanced in a way none of them could predict.
Meanwhile, in the Other Slytherin Dorm…
Blaise Zabini stepped into his room with all the grace of a prince entering a palace.
He paused.
And stared.
Crabbe and Goyle sat there in perfect stillness — like two large decorative statues someone forgot to dust.
Then, simultaneously, they looked up at him.
Crabbe raised a hand in a shy little wave.
Goyle stared intensely, as if trying to figure out whether Blaise was edible or dangerous.
Blaise blinked.
This was… not what he expected.
"So…" Blaise said slowly, setting his suitcase on the bed, "you two are my roommates."
Both boys nodded in unison.
Crabbe hesitated, then added proudly, "I bake."
Goyle followed with, "And I play chess."
Blaise stared.
Crabbe and Goyle stared back.
The silence was long, awkward, and thick enough to be used as a potion ingredient.
Finally, Blaise exhaled.
"…Neat."
---
Crabbe brightened immediately.
Goyle nodded enthusiastically.
Then Crabbe perked up even more.
"Want a cupcake?"
Goyle added, "Or a chess match?"
Blaise blinked.
He was not prepared for this level of unexpected wholesomeness.
"…Both," he said after a moment. "Surprise me."
Crabbe handed him a cupcake with swirled emerald frosting.
Goyle set up a chess board like his life depended on it.
Blaise sat down slowly, realizing something important.
He had just become the de facto parent of these two.
And honestly…?
He didn't hate it.
To be continued
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