After dinner, the noise in the Great Hall slowly settled as the students finished eating.
One by one, the house prefects rose from their tables and gathered the first-years. Each group formed up beneath their respective banners before being led out into the corridors of Hogwarts.
Victor followed the Slytherin prefects, leaving the warmth of the Great Hall behind.
They descended deeper into the castle, the air growing cooler with every step. Torches burned lower here, their green-tinged light reflecting faintly off the stone walls. The chatter around him quieted as the passageways narrowed and sloped downward.
At last, they reached a stretch of bare stone wall.
The prefect stopped and spoke the password.
The wall slid aside smoothly, revealing the Slytherin common room.
Victor stepped inside and took it in at once.
The room was long and low-ceilinged, carved entirely from stone, with an austere elegance to it.
Greenish light filtered in through tall, arched windows set directly into the wall of the Black Lake. Dark water pressed against the glass, shadows drifting slowly past—sometimes a ripple, sometimes something larger.
Leather armchairs were arranged neatly around low tables, and the house colours—silver and green—were woven subtly into banners and furnishings. It was quiet, composed, and watchful.
Very Slytherin.
"This will be your home for the next seven years," the prefect said. "The dormitories are this way. First-years—boys to the left, girls to the right. Boys are not permitted in the girls' dormitories."
Victor arrived at his dormitory.
The trunks had already been placed neatly at the foot of each bed, uniforms laid out on the covers. One glance around the room was enough for him to recognise the occupants.
Draco was there—along with Crabbe and Goyle.
Victor chose an empty bed nearby and set his trunk down. There was no surprise in his expression. Being in the same house, it was only natural they would share a dormitory.
Draco glanced over, a crooked smile forming.
"Looks like we're in the same room, elder brother."
"Yes," Victor replied evenly. "And if you want to feel superior to the other first-years, don't do anything foolish. Be first in academics. After that, you can afford opinions."
Draco scoffed and launched into a muttered complaint about how everyone else was beneath him, but Victor didn't listen. He had already turned away, uninterested in indulging the rambling.
Some lessons, he knew, Draco would only learn on his own.
***
The next morning, Victor woke early.
He took a quick bath, dressed in his Slytherin uniform, and fastened his tie neatly. By the time he finished packing his books, the day had barely begun.
Draco, meanwhile, was only just stirring, tangled in his bed curtains and blinking groggily at the ceiling.
Victor picked up his first-year Transfiguration books and paused by the door.
"Draco," he said calmly, "don't be late to class."
Draco groaned and rolled over, mumbling something unintelligible.
Victor didn't wait for a response. He stepped out.
The Great Hall was nearly empty when Victor arrived for breakfast.
Only a handful of students were present, scattered across the long house tables, most of the castle clearly still asleep. Given the hour, that was hardly surprising—Hogwarts ran on a remarkably forgiving schedule.
Only two classes a day, each an hour long. Plenty of time to learn, and even more time to procrastinate.
Victor approved of such arrangements.
He took a seat at the Slytherin table. The moment he settled, plates and bowls began appearing as if by magic—toast, eggs, porridge, fruit, and a teapot placed precisely within reach.
He paused, then nodded once.
Good timing.
Hogwarts meals never disappointed. The house-elves, though rarely seen, took their work seriously—perhaps a little too seriously. There was always far more food than strictly necessary, as if they assumed every student might suddenly decide to eat for three.
Victor helped himself calmly.
'Now that I'm in Hogwarts,' he thought while spreading butter on his toast, 'I should probably deal with Voldemort's Horcruxes.'
Unlike his father, Victor felt no particular reverence—or fear—for the bald, noseless Dark Lord. In Victor's opinion, the title greatest dark wizard was doing a lot of heavy lifting. Compared to Dumbledore, Voldemort simply didn't measure up.
The real reason the wizarding world feared him wasn't raw power—it was organisation. Followers. Influence.
An army willing to do terrible things on command. Remove that, and what remained was a clever but deeply unpleasant man with an unhealthy obsession with immortality.
History had seen worse.
The first Dark Lord's crimes had been so severe they'd been quietly erased from records. The second had nearly dragged the magical world into open war. Voldemort, by comparison, had barely managed to terrorise Britain.
Impressive, perhaps—but not legendary.
Still, cruel and cunning were dangerous enough traits. Victor swallowed and decided it would be best if Voldemort stayed firmly in the past.
'I should find the Ravenclaw diadem and deal with it when the time is right.'
As for the diary, that was not yet his concern. His father had hidden it away, and until it found its way to Hogwarts—as it did in the original course of events—there was little Victor could do without drawing unnecessary attention. Interfering too early would only complicate matters.
The Chamber of Secrets, the Basilisk, the diary—those could wait for second year.
Basilisk venom was one of the few substances capable of destroying a Horcrux. In the original course of events, Harry had used a fang torn from the creature itself.
Victor paused mid-thought.
'Wait.'
He lowered his cup slowly.
'I can transform into a Basilisk.'
The idea settled in his mind, unexpected but logical.
'If my Animagus form truly is a Basilisk…'
Then in theory, he could obtain the venom himself.
'I should try this '
A hand landed lightly on his shoulder, pulling Victor from his thoughts.
Victor looked up to see Hermione standing there, her expression somewhere between tired and mildly offended.
"Good morning, Hermione," Victor said with a small smile.
"Bad morning for me," Hermione replied, dropping into the seat beside him.
"Why?" Victor asked calmly.
"Because I thought we'd be in the same house," she said. "And you ended up in another."
Victor nodded, unsurprised. "That was always a possibility."
Hermione huffed softly. "I know. Still disappointing."
"There is a good thing, though," Victor said, pushing a plate slightly aside to make room for her. "Slytherin and Gryffindor share most of their classes."
Hermione looked at him. "We do?"
"Yes. Almost all core subjects—Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Herbology. Different houses, same classrooms."
Her expression brightened a little. "So… even if we're in different houses, we still attend classes together?"
"Exactly," Victor said. "You won't get rid of me that easily."
That earned a faint smile.
The reasoning behind it was simple enough. Hogwarts didn't separate students entirely by house when it came to lessons. Mixing houses kept rivalries from turning into isolation, encouraged competition without complete division.
"So, did you make any new friends in your house?" Victor asked.
Hermione shook her head. "Not yet. But I'm sure I will, eventually."
"Keep up the good work," Victor said lightly.
Hermione gave him a puzzled look, then returned to her breakfast.
Victor, however, was less optimistic. He knew Hermione well enough already to be certain of one thing—she wasn't the type to make friends easily. Not because she lacked kindness, but because she cared too much about being right, about learning, about rules.
*****
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