The Slytherin Common Room were their own world: cool stone, low torchlight, banners heavy with green and silver. When I followed the other Slytherins down the stairs, they craned their necks and watched with a mixture of arrogance and curiosity. The murmurs got worse when we were told where students would rest and the usual post-sorting excitement began to die down into the evening.
Then came the announcement: the annual selection of the shadow prefects. It was a tradition of Slytherin—showing their prowess in dueling and command, but also in their cunning and honor. The call went out for every challenger in Slytherin, and students from first to seventh year stepped forward one by one to test themselves.
Hexes and counters, jinxes and disarms flared in the dueling ring, students cheering and gasping as one by one contenders fell or stood triumphant. By the time the seventh-years had been given their places, The seven shadow prefects were named and the common room was filled with expectant gazes.
Just as the selected prefects were about to disperse, I stepped forward, "Wait."
They blinked and looked towards me and all the students quieted down.
"Why?" someone snarled. "Who do you think you are?"
My reply was simple: "I challenge you all to a wizard's duel — the winner gains total control of Slytherin for the year, authority to coordinate discipline and the house's internal enforcement.
The declaration hung like a gauntlet thrown. Laughter and derision erupted, quickly slipping into ugly epithets; Mudbloods and half-blood slurs flew at me. The old insults that had once defined certain families came up snapping like angry bats.
Snape in the back, watching the ruckus, immediately made his face darken. The mere mention of the word "Mudblood" caused his life to change and he will be taking all those who slur such speech into detention with him.
I didn't flinch. Pure-blood shouts and familial name-calling proved meant to unbalance, but I kept my posture steady.
I asked once more, "Are you accepting my challenge with honor or will you refuse by being a coward and bring shame to your own family house?"
Those purebloods could only grit their teeth and accept the challenge. Their Family honor is on the line. Once they were ready, a group of seven was on one side and me on the other.
In that slate-gray torchlight, I offered the formal courtesy of a bow and drew my wand in a smooth motion for the formality of challenge.
The seven prefects, for their part, returned the gesture with their own bows, wand at the ready. The Slytherin crowd drew in close, the air still with expectation; even some younger students edged forward until prefects hissed at them to step back.
The duel began as the old ways within the school demanded: not reckless blood-lust but a series of craft and counter-craft—disarms, hexes, protective shields, bursts of binding charms.
The seven looked at each other and launched a coordinated assault: a volley of jinxes and hexes meant to disorient and overwhelm. Spells braided in the dim space:
Expelliarmus
Incarcerous
Stupefy
I answered their attacks with ease.
Protego shimmered around me.
I sidestepped, allowing certain spells to harmlessly collapse into dust. Then, with my left hand—I wove dark chains, forged from their own shadows; they wrapped around wrists and forearms, around their torsos, and anchored them to the floor. Several more shadows gained thorn-like vines as it prevented the seven prefects from making any more moves.
The seven prefects found themselves frozen. The more they struggled, the more they felt the magic in their bodies decrease. They knew that they had been defeated, no—annihilated. The room fell into silence broken only by their angry, muffled curses.
It was a combination of his newfound understanding of alchemy and his unique spells derived from his power as a Shadow Monarch. When they realized they were trapped, color drained from their faces; pride turned to begrudging respect in others. Such strength is welcomed in Slytherin.
As their struggle slackened into the quiet of surrender, the prefects bowed, but with wounded pride. The Slytherin students, who a moment before had been a chorus of jeers, now shifted into a restless hush.
Many watched me with a mixture of awe and calculation; a few muttered about the arrogance of an exchange student daring to rearrange house power.
I used the moment to set out new rules, in clear and uncompromising terms:
No bullying other houses unless provoked. Slytherin's strength will be measured in success and cunning, not petty cruelty.
No derogatory slurs toward half-bloods or Muggle-borns. If you can't surpass them with your resources and training, then shame your own vanity by learning to be better—study harder, plan smarter, fight cleaner. Those who only abuse words reveal their own lack of skill.
Unity of House: Slytherin must act as a unit, correct its own, and present a front that represents Hogwarts in strength. With the Triwizard Tournament approaching, disunity is the greatest embarrassment.
As I spoke, silence filled the air. The pure-blood outcry that followed at the second rule was loud but before it could dissolve into chaos my voice rang out and a different momentum took hold: the crowd itself answered.
A murmur swept through the chamber, a rebuke in Slytherin tones: "If you can't be better, be quiet."
It was not the voice of one person but someone who wanted to change. The principle landed: someone in the crowd, with sharpness, called out the truth—an unvarnished admonition that shook the room into reflection. Their voices dwindled.
Finally I appointed an assistant to enforce the rules and coordinate house discipline—someone with the respect of the students. My eyes fell on the pale, composed woman who'd been watching me all evening.
When I asked her name, she answered, "Cassandra. Cassandra Vole."
The name clicked in place with something I'd read: Cassandra Vole, impossible-fit from a different time period—a face I'd seen in the Harry Potter: Magic Awakened game. She's supposed to have been a student in the year 2008, yet here she was.
I thought, "Perhaps I shouldn't take everything from the book lightly."
I called her simply "Cassandra," and asked if she would accept the post.
She accepted with a nod: "I'll take this job."
The reaction to her appointment was mixed—some students whispered that I'd chosen a quiet, calculating ally; others that I'd handed authority to someone whose age and pedigree were unusual. Still, many bowed heads in wary acceptance.
I dismissed the gathering with a formal note of discipline and a time for morning assembly: 6 a.m. in the Great Hall, united Slytherin to show our new order. Cassandra was to meet me in the morning to organize details.
Word traveled fast. By the time the castle slowed down toward sleep, the Slytherin rumor mill was full blown: some students whispered that I had overreached; others, that the house had found a leader. The nickname began to echo: King of Slytherin. It didn't matter whether it came from admiration or scorn. Power, after all, is made of both.
Snape heard the reports that night and went to Dumbledore. He relayed the facts, alarming details: a duel, an infraction, an exchange student assuming house authority.
Dumbledore's face darkened for a moment.
"Keep watch," he told Snape. "Make sure the rules are enforced and that we do not make another Dark Lord."
Back in the Slytherin dungeons after the events, I unpacked into the single room I'd negotiated as Head Boy—a private chamber provided by the prefect office tradition but rarely allocated to newcomers.
It was furnished modestly: a single high-backed bed, a desk, and a small window looking out over Black Lake. The atmosphere was quiet and cool, the room stitched with serpentine patterns.
Anet—my attendant—saw to my needs. She moved with the easy competence of someone used to tending an important charge: laying out clothes, bringing water warmed to my preference, and making sure I was comfortable and untroubled. She showed a professional smile when I gave her instructions and a calm obedience at being trusted with my well-being.
The morning carried a strange atmosphere in the dungeons. Every Slytherin was waiting. For once, Slytherin were silent under the weight of something new: unity. The younger students straightened their robes nervously, while the older ones leaned back, arms crossed.
Cassandra stood out among them, her natural elegance enhanced by a touch of delicate makeup. She, too, was waiting for me.
Behind closed doors, Anet had already played her part in preparing me. She fussed over my attire with the overzealous devotion of a loyal attendant, her crimson face betraying her thoughts as I dressed before her.
Anet even took peeks at my body when I was changing as she fantasized about me. When I finally stood in my plain school robes, I regarded them with quiet disdain. A single flick of my wand, and fabric shimmered, reforming into something more regal.
It bore the elegance of a noble cut woven into fabric: a coat embroidered with gold trace. Emerald accents ran through it, the lining a deep green. A vest of white contrasted beneath, chained by a golden fob, and boots polished black to a mirror finish. My wand rested at my side.
When the door to my private chamber opened, every head in the common room turned. Silence fell. Even Draco Malfoy stood straighter, his lips pressed.
I let my eyes sweep the crowd slowly before settling on Cassandra. She tilted her chin up as if to match my gaze, but her lips betrayed her—a fleeting smile she quickly hid. I smirked faintly in return, acknowledging her subtle defiance.
"Let's go," I said simply.
The common room stirred alive as the unified body of Slytherin fell in line behind me. By the time we entered the hall, the presence of Slytherin was undeniable.
Gryffindors looked on with narrowed eyes, sizing us up. Ravenclaws watched with , whispering between themselves. Hufflepuffs exchanged uneasy glances. Even among the staff table, McGonagall stiffened, Flitwick blinked rapidly, and Snape's expression turned to stone, though he was always been like that.
We seated ourselves, each movement measured like an aristocrat. Food arrived, and we ate with a grace that contrasted sharply with their usual breakfast.
At my side, Cassandra leaned slightly closer. Her voice was soft as she murmured logistical questions.
The girls noticed.
Wednesday, Enid, and Nitocris shot me looks across the hall—sharp glances that all but said "Another one already?"
I returned a look at them, subtly reassuring: I didn't mean for it, I swear.
Their synchronized eye-roll was answer enough.
Still, Cassandra fit the aesthetic that pleased them: composed, elegant, an image of a noble lady. They would not contest her—at least not openly.
Once breakfast concluded, Slytherin scattered like a tide. Some students hurried off to the Quidditch pitch to practice. Others clustered in study groups at the library, no longer content to trail behind Ravenclaw. A few wandered the halls, their minds heavy with the rules I had set the night before.
But not all dispersed. Cassandra remained by my side, as expected. Draco lingered as well, though his arrogance was more intrigued. The Greengrass sisters—Astoria and Daphne—stood close betraying the eagerness of opportunity.
I began issuing orders.
Cassandra was to oversee the Pure-blood faction, keep them disciplined, and remind them of their place under the new order.
Draco, with his influence and name, would back her, lending weight where hers alone might falter. Astoria and Daphne were attached to Draco's circle, their involvement for future maneuverings.
"Remember," I told them, my voice even but edged with command, "this is not about preserving the old order. This is about crafting a stronger one. If they resist, bend them. If they fail, replace them. Slytherin must not only endure—it must dominate through discipline."
Their nods were not merely in agreement, but in silent pledge.
That morning, Slytherin was no longer a nest of fragmented ambition. It was a blade, sharpened and waiting for the right strike, like a true serpent.
The professors were not blind to what happened that morning. In fact, they had front-row seats.
When the Slytherins marched into the Great Hall in disciplined formation, the ripple was immediate—silence from the student body, but at the staff table, the professors exchanged glances, some wary, others curious.
McGonagall sat stiff as a rod. Her lips pursed so tightly. She had seen countless groups of students enter this hall, but never a house moving as one—no jostling, no bickering, no swaggering arrogance. It unsettled her, though not because of misbehavior. Quite the opposite. McGonagall was a firm believer in structure and discipline, but Slytherin had never embodied those values in her eyes. To see them suddenly unified, orderly, and regal made her wary.
Her eyes narrowed as she whispered to Flitwick, "This is... unusual. Almost militaristic. Is he making an army?"
Flitwick peered over the edge of the table. His tiny hands fidgeted. Unlike McGonagall, he wasn't alarmed—he was fascinated.
"Extraordinary," he muttered, "simply extraordinary. Such unity, and in Slytherin of all places! I daresay that young man may have altered their entire dynamic overnight."
The wonder in his voice made McGonagall bristle further.
Sprout, at the Hufflepuff section of the table, looked concerned. She leaned toward Flitwick and McGonagall, her voice low. "United, yes... but under whose rule? I don't like it. Not one bit."
Snape was silent. His black eyes followed every movement. His expression betrayed nothing, but his mind was in turmoil. He knew his House. He knew their arrogance, their rivalries, their selfish ambition.
This—this unity—was unnatural. And it was not his doing. That unsettled him. Whoever commanded this loyalty had done so in a matter of hours, something Snape himself had never achieved in years as Head of House.
His dark gaze lingered on me specifically.
His thoughts turned cold: "It's too late. The serpents bow to another master."
For Snape, that was dangerous. Slytherin unity could be a weapon, and weapons in the wrong hands always turned bloody.
Dumbledore, by contrast, was quiet. His blue eyes twinkled.
He whispered low enough only for Snape to hear, "Do you feel it too, Severus?"
Snape's jaw tightened, "Yes."
Dumbledore's eyes never left the Slytherin table, "How remarkable... and yet troubling. Unity forged so swiftly is rarely without price."
He let out a sigh, "Keep your eyes on him, Severus. Closely. He is more than he appears."
Even Moody, gnawing on a strip of toast at the far end of the table, growled under his breath. His magical eye whirled, focusing on the Slytherins' formation, then on me.
"Hmph. That's not a boy's behavior. That's a general parading his troops," He spat the last word like venom, before taking a swig from his hip flask.
And so, while the students gawked, whispered, and speculated, the professors drew their own conclusions. Some saw potential, others saw danger—but all agreed on one thing: Slytherin had changed overnight.
The Great Hall was alive with whispers the moment the Slytherins entered in formation. What had once been the rowdiest, most divided house suddenly walked with pride and purpose, and the effect was like tossing a rock into still waters.
At the Gryffindor table, the Gryffindors were the loudest in their reactions.
Ron Weasley gaped openly, "Blimey... they look like they're marching for a battle or something."
Hermione leaned forward.
"They're not that bad, Ron. They're sending a message," She glanced toward me with suspicion.
Harry didn't speak immediately. His eyes lingered on the way the Slytherins carried themselves—heads high. It was different from the usual sneering he'd grown used to.
"They're... different," he muttered under his breath.
The Twins, Fred and George, exchanged grins.
"Looks like the snakes found them a king," Fred whispered.
"Wonder how long it takes before he croaks," George added.
Their words were flippant, but even they couldn't fully mask their unease. Gryffindor was used to seeing Slytherin arrogant, not united.
The Hufflepuffs were quieter, but not openly hostile.
Cedric Diggory tilted his head, his expression thoughtful.
"That's...something new," There was only curiosity in his voice.
He knew leadership when he saw it, "You don't see that everyday."
Some younger Hufflepuffs fidgeted nervously.
"Do you think they'll try something against us?" one whispered.
Others, however, were cautiously optimistic.
"Maybe they'll stop bullying us?"
There was a hopeful murmur that perhaps this new Slytherin unity could actually mean peace.
The Ravenclaws were the most analytical of all, their minds buzzing with questions.
Luna Lovegood sat serenely, her large eyes blinking at the spectacle.
"Oh, they've bound themselves to someone..." she said dreamily, her gaze flicking briefly toward me as though she could see something weaving between the students.
Wednesday, seated not far from her, caught the words with quiet interest.
Cho Chang whispered to a friend, "It looks almost like... royalty. That one leading them looks so handsome."
Her words carried awe and fascination.
Other Ravenclaws muttered about the implications, "If they're united, that changes the dynamic of every House competition—Quidditch, academics, everything."
Their very presence was a weight in the Great Hall. Even students who hated Slytherins couldn't deny the power of what they saw: ambition and power.
Cassandra noticed the stares and smirked faintly, leaning in just enough to whisper, "They fear us already. That's good. Fear is the foundation of respect."
Across the tables, I caught glimpses of the girls—Wednesday, Enid, and Nitocris.
Wednesday raised an eyebrow, lips curving into the faintest smirk. She recognized the work of a strategist and silently approved.
Enid shook her head with a laugh, whispering something to a Hufflepuff friend, but her pride in me was obvious.
Nitocris simply crossed her arms, her presence regal even in her Gryffindor robes, and gave me a look that said: Like a true king.
When breakfast ended and the students scattered to their classes, the whispers followed.
"King of Slytherin."
"Did you see how they marched?"
"Is he trying to take over Hogwarts?"
The title spread like wildfire, even beyond Slytherin walls.