Steelalbatross5000: Nice try, but no. :D (Not Merlin Line)
EduardBlack: Interesting choice, but no :) (Not Grindewald Line)
Uvuv1.comment: No, no — it's completely fine, I take it that way. I'm glad you're actively discussing the magic :). Hah, I also imagine myself as the protagonist from time to time — that's actually why our MC Patrik exists.
Uvuv2.comment: Thank you very much. Each chapter takes me roughly four hours to write, and since I have a broken leg and it's the holidays, I've had time to write every day. I actually enjoy it quite a bit — I'm fulfilling a childhood dream. So far, I have about 350 followers, and honestly, I'm not really interested in dealing with Patreon right now. I only recently started writing, so we'll see how it goes in the future. Thank you very much for your support!
***
The day of departure for Hogwarts had finally arrived. Finally, real power would be within my reach. I couldn't wait. Interestingly, September 1st fell on a Sunday this year. In the Muggle world, the first day of school would likely have been pushed to Monday, but different rules applied in the wizarding world.
At the orphanage, I said my goodbyes to Matron Benson. I won't lie; I felt a bit sad. With a promise that if I didn't return to live at the home, I would at least visit sometime, I set off for the platform.
I left as early as nine in the morning, even though the train didn't depart until eleven. I wanted peace, to avoid stress, and to choose a suitable compartment in tranquility.
I arrived at King's Cross station by taxi at 9:20. I headed straight for the barrier, but I didn't see anyone nearby who looked even remotely wizard-like. I certainly didn't plan on slamming into a wall if the passage happened to be closed. I tested it with my hand first and felt only hard, cold brick.
"The passage isn't open yet," I thought to myself.
I still had a few Muggle pounds left in my wallet, so I decided to make use of the time. A nearby café wafted a thick mist of roasted beans and hot milk. I headed toward it, took a seat in a corner by the window—where I had a perfect view of the brick wall between the platforms—and ordered a green tea. I watched the streaming crowd of Muggles and waited for the first sign of something... magical.
I didn't see anyone interesting, so I had time to relax in peace. My thoughts wandered until they settled on Harry Potter. I pondered his situation—I wasn't sure if he lived in a cupboard under the stairs in this world too, or if he had a normal upbringing. My father, after all, wasn't dead but in Azkaban, which confirmed that this world was different in many ways. I decided, however, that if I was wrong, I wouldn't lose anything by acting.
I pulled out a pen and paper and began to write:
To whom it may concern,
I have a strong suspicion that Vernon and Petunia Dursley are abusing their nephew. The boy admitted at school that he lives in a cupboard under the stairs and, until the age of seven, didn't even properly know his own name. His relatives call him a "freak" and have forced him to clean the house and cook since he was small, even though he couldn't reach the kitchen counter without a chair. He always wore huge, hand-me-down clothes that he disappeared in, while his cousin Dudley Dursley always had everything new. I ask you to investigate this situation. No child deserves to grow up in such conditions.
The address is: 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey
Sincerely, Anonymous
I folded the paper in half. The advantage of large stations is that you can usually find postal services there. Without hesitation, I purchased an envelope and a stamp. I placed the paper inside and wrote a terse: "Police – Request for Help" on the front.
I hoped the letter would reach the right hands. I didn't know the exact address of the police station and didn't want to draw attention to myself by asking the staff. I dropped the envelope into the mailbox and, with a sense of having done a good deed, headed back to the barrier between platforms nine and ten. It was high time—people in inconspicuous robes and carrying trunks that certainly didn't look like Muggle luggage had begun to appear in the crowd.
I had more than forty-five minutes before the train set off for Hogwarts. That gave me plenty of time to claim a compartment all for myself.
As soon as I settled in, I put on my robes. Back at the home, I had already thought about what I would do first; I was inspired by the first-year charms textbook. Among the basic spells were Alohomora and Colloportus.
For the first time, I could cast real spells with my yew wand, and it was a great feeling. I aimed at the door and clearly intoned: "Colloportus." The door closed, and a muffled click of the lock echoed through the corridor.
Thanks to my previous wandless training and meditations, I had a fairly good overview of my magical core. I realized how much energy this spell required—it wasn't much. Magic was about concentration, will, and the amount of power a wizard puts into the spell. It made sense to me that if I used only a minimum of power, a common Alohomora from another first-year would open my door without trouble.
"Alohomora," I unlocked the door effortlessly. The spell drained approximately the same amount of energy from my core.
"Colloportus," this time I put more power into the spell.
"Alohomora," I tried again with minimal output. The spell failed.
"Alohomora," I pushed harder. The door finally gave way.
I decided that for maximum privacy and peace during the entire journey to Hogwarts, I would put more of my power into it.
"Colloportus," I uttered, directing a full quarter of my current magical core into the lock.
I settled back contentedly with Morgana's book and could finally relax. The train ride passed peacefully; I even managed to get some sleep—the seven-hour journey was truly exhausting. Occasionally someone tried to open the door, and there was some knocking. Some even tried the Alohomora spell, but they failed. They were likely just amateurs; any capable mage should know how to put more power into a spell. Or they simply thought it wasn't a standard Colloportus, but some more advanced magic that wasn't worth forcing.
***
The train finally began to slow down. I had my things ready and, I admit, I was starting to get quite impatient. Suddenly, a booming voice echoed from outside:
"First years! First years, over here!"
I unlocked the door—using Alohomora—and stepped out at a calm pace. Crowds of teenagers were pushing everywhere. "This is going to be annoying," I thought with a hint of distaste.
Outside, a huge bearded man in a long dark coat with a massive lantern was waiting. I must admit, he didn't look exactly as I had imagined Hagrid; he looked more like some overgrown powerlifter—a mass of muscle "coated" in fat.
"C'mon now, move it! Anyone else? Watch your step! First years, follow me!" he shouted.
I set off after him, observing the other children. I noticed that I was likely the tallest among them; only one boy with dark skin, whose name I didn't know yet, was similarly tall. I also saw Harry Potter with those iconic round glasses. He was truly tiny and looked malnourished, though he was no longer ragged—he wore a new robe like the rest of us. I also caught a glimpse of Draco Malfoy with his slicked-back blonde hair and a Weasley, whom I recognized only by the color of his hair and the fact that he was glued to Potter.
We all followed him until we reached the Black Lake, where boats were prepared.
"Iconic," I thought with a smile.
"No more than four to a boat!" Hagrid called out.
As soon as he said it, I headed for the nearest boat. I was apparently the boldest, because the others only started moving when I was already sitting in the craft.
I heard appreciative whispers from the crowd: "He'll definitely end up in Gryffindor."
It was funny. They'll certainly be surprised when I end up in Slytherin. It wasn't courage; I just didn't want to squeeze in with the others and claimed a good spot.
Soon I was joined by a shorter ginger-haired girl with blue eyes, that tall boy with dark skin, and a slightly stout, shorter boy with a haughty look. No one introduced themselves, everyone was silent, and that suited me just fine.
When the boats were full, we set off for Hogwarts. I must admit, it was a magical moment—the dark atmosphere, the black surface of the lake, and the massive castle that looked truly perfect. The high, sturdy walls built in a strategic location clearly showed that this structure was prepared for conflict and designed for effective defense.
Immediately after crossing the lake, as we stepped onto the shore, I felt some magic "jump" onto me. It settled firmly in my magical core. I looked around in surprise, but I seemed to be the only one; no one else felt a thing.
"I have to find out what that was," I thought concernedly. It occurred to me that it might be some kind of magical tracking of students, so they would know if we used magic outside of school. "If that's it, I'll try to get rid of it as soon as possible."
Walking behind Hagrid, we passed through huge oak doors. On the staircase, a witch in a pointed hat was already waiting for us. She had a stern look, but an almost imperceptible, gentle smile flickered on her face. She looked authoritative—exactly how I had imagined McGonagall.
"Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term feast will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses..." McGonagall announced. "Wait a moment, I will check if everything is prepared, and then I will come for you."
As soon as the doors closed behind her, the other first years began to whisper nervously. After a moment, ghosts erupted from the walls and the floor. They radiated a cold, "rotten" magic; they didn't seem natural at all. Internally, I recoiled from them. Some first years looked at them in terror, and instead of whispering, fearful squeals now echoed through the room.
They were extremely annoying. Of course, at that moment, Malfoy with the slicked-back hair had to speak up.
"I heard that Harry Potter is here with us," he called out in a haughty voice.
Naturally, it ended exactly as in the book. A lifelong enmity, an insulted Malfoy, and a disgusted Potter. I expected them to perhaps even start fighting—both were flushed with nerves. Just then, however, McGonagall returned. With a voice reminiscent of a war general, she immediately commanded respect.
"Follow me now," she ordered curtly.
We entered the Great Hall behind her. The enchanted ceiling with floating candles looked nice, but somehow didn't blow me away; the view of the Black Lake and Hogwarts had set the bar too high. Silence reigned in the hall, and students from the long tables watched us with interest.
We stopped in front of the table that stretched across the entire width of the hall. The teachers sat behind it, whom I scanned with only a brief glance.
"When I call your name, you will sit on the stool and the hat will sort you into your houses," McGonagall informed us.
"Hannah Abbott!" McGonagall called out. After a moment of sitting, the hat shouted: "Hufflepuff!"
"Dean Thomas!" It was that tall boy with dark skin who had sat with me in the boat. It didn't take long before the hat shouted: "Gryffindor!"
The sorting went relatively quickly. Malfoy ended up in Slytherin as expected—the hat had barely touched his head. Harry Potter, on the other hand, sat there a bit longer, but in the end, it was Gryffindor.
Only the last three of us remained in the hall. Coincidentally, they were the same two who had traveled with me in the boat.
"Sebastian Sallow!" It was that shorter, stout boy with the condescending look. I assumed it would be Slytherin, and so it was. "Slytherin!"
"Patrik Rosier!" It was my turn. Calmly and without haste, I sat on the stool and felt McGonagall place the hat on my head.
"Impressive shields, Mr. Rosier. You have talent," a voice spoke in my head.
"Thank you. Does that mean you're having trouble getting into my mind?" I asked with delight.
"Haha, no. You're still too young for that, perhaps in the future. For now, I read you like an open book," I felt its amusement. "But let's get to the house selection. Hm, you are exceptionally mature, Mr. Rosier. I see you've lost your memory and have undergone an interesting magical development since then."
"Can you see my memories from the period before?" I asked mentally.
"Unfortunately, no. It doesn't happen often, but it seems you've lost your memories permanently. You are far too interesting! But we really must choose a house for you now, or Minerva will have my head!"
The hat went silent for a moment, as if sifting through my soul layer by layer.
"I see you are extremely decisive and have no problem taking risks. You don't lack courage, but based on the incident in Knockturn Alley, I judge that you are far too dark for Gryffindor. You are hardworking, but you treat loyalty very selectively. You aren't friendly, and you're only fair when it suits you, though you value reliability. You lack neither intelligence nor wisdom, yet you aren't overly creative and don't learn for the sake of knowledge itself. But let's see what we have here... ambition and focus. Hm, such an original goal hasn't been here in a long time. I must admit, the desire to be one hundred percent free is immensely ambitious. You are cunning and desire to succeed. Slytherin, Mr. Rosier, that is the right house for you."
"Slytherin!" the hat shouted to the hall.
With a calm motion, I headed for the table. Slytherin was applauding me, and I saw Malfoy looking at me with interest. I sat a bit apart, I think near Bulstrode and Parkinson.
Only the last person remained—the ginger-haired girl who had sat with me in the boat.
"Agnes DeMille!" A quiet, angry whisper rose from the Slytherin table. After a moment, the hat shouted: "Slytherin!"
"Three times Slytherin in a row, a magical number," I thought and started to applaud.
After a moment, I realized that I was the only one at our table applauding. Only muffled applause echoed through the hall, mainly from the teachers. I didn't mind; I kept applauding.
"Interesting that you of all people, Rosier, are applauding DeMille," said who was presumably Parkinson.
I didn't want to show ignorance, so I looked at her silently. I didn't expect her to know Occlumency, so I tried to dive into her mind. Without a wand, I couldn't directly read thoughts, but I felt a muffled interest, surprise, and saw flashes of memories.
"...Maynard DeMille is a traitor, he deserves to die in agony just like Karkaroff..." "...Rosier, Rookwood, Mulciber, Snape..."
"Interesting. Did her father betray mine?" I thought. Truthfully, I didn't care—I didn't know my father, and though I didn't like traitors, his daughter wasn't responsible for her parent's actions.
"A child is not responsible for the actions of their father," I said coldly.
Parkinson turned away from me in silence and continued whispering with who was presumably Bulstrode.
After the sorting ended, Dumbledore stood up. He spread his arms as if to embrace the entire hall, and his voice carried through the space with unexpected strength: "Welcome! Welcome to the start of a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you."
As soon as he finished, the empty gold platters on the tables ceased to be empty. In a single instant, piles of food appeared before us, the likes of which the children in the orphanage could only dream of. The air filled with the scent of roasted meat, herbs, and sweet syrup.
On the table before us were piled succulent roasted chicken legs with golden skin, beef steaks, Yorkshire puddings, bowls full of buttery boiled corn, and roasted potatoes that were crispy on the outside and soft as cream on the inside. There were also deep bowls of thick gravy and silver dishes with minty peas.
With a smile, I served myself beef steaks with roasted potatoes and green beans in butter. It was an excellent and nutritious meal that tasted perfect—though by orphanage standards, it was far too luxurious.
"I'll be in shape," I thought with a smile and dug into the food.
After about forty-five minutes, practically no one was eating anymore. Dumbledore stood up again and began to speak. It was practically what we all already know. The Forbidden Forest is off-limits to students, anyone who wants to die should go to the third floor... and so on. Truthfully, I wasn't really paying much attention to him anymore.
As soon as everyone began to rise, I stood up too. The prefects of the individual houses began calling the students: "First years! First years, over here!"
Our prefect was a tall, blue-eyed brunette with pleasant eyes, attractive and with a pleasant voice.
"Hi, I'm Prefect Gemma Farley, and I welcome you to Slytherin. We are the best house at Hogwarts and have rightfully won the House Cup seven times in a row. This year we want to repeat that. Follow me."
We set off after her. She led us down the marble staircase deeper into the school, where I began to feel increased humidity. There were no windows on the walls, only moving portraits of important-looking wizards and lit torches casting a green light. We stopped in front of a stone wall, which was a dead end, so to speak.
"Listen carefully," Farley said. "The password changes every two weeks and is posted on the noticeboard in the common room. At the moment it is: Ambition."
At that moment, the outline of a giant stone serpent formed on the floor. Its body rose with a rumble, revealing wide wooden doors that opened with a creak.
We followed the prefect into the Slytherin common room. It looked noble, almost like a salon in an old noble manor. The walls were paneled with dark wood, silver chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, and only the deep, dark water of the lake could be seen through the thick glass windows.
The common room was truly massive. Armchairs and sofas were arranged by the fireplace, and in the corner was a library with massive oak tables and plenty of chairs. A bit further away was a large open area, likely intended for practicing spells.
After a short tour, Farley stopped us in front of spiral staircases.
"Girls on the left, boys on the right. First years, you are right on the first floor. You will find the names of the students living in the room on the doors. I will wait for you here at half past seven in the morning; be punctual. Breakfast is from eight to nine, so don't miss it. Professor Snape will give you your timetables tomorrow. I wish you a good night and you can approach me anytime if needed," Farley concluded.
Immediately, without saying goodbye to the prefect, I set off to find my room. I wanted to choose the best bed. Behind me, I heard the rushing and rustling of the other boys.
My room was the very first at the beginning of the staircase. The nameplate read: Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Sebastian Sallow, and Patrik Rosier. I burst into the room first and immediately headed for the bed at the back right.
In the center of the bedroom lay four piles of our things. I found mine and, without hesitation, began moving it toward the bed using levitation. Just then, the door flew open again and three breathless boys burst in.
I calmly levitated my pile to the bed. As soon as it touched the ground, a silver label appeared on the headboard: Patrik Evan Rosier.
It seemed to wake the other boys from a trance. They immediately ran to the back-left bed, which was strategically just as advantageous as mine. The battle was ultimately won by Theodore Nott. Both Sallow and Zabini were visibly unathletic compared to him.
When we had all settled on our beds, silence fell. Sallow was still looking at Nott with a scowl, while Zabini enjoyed Sebastian's defeat with a mocking expression.
"This is going to be an interesting seven years," I thought.
Tension hung in the bedroom that could be cut with a knife. I wasn't in the mood for childish silence, so I broke it.
"I'm Patrik Rosier. And you?" I threw the question into the silence of the room.
For a moment no one answered, until the one who won the battle for the bed spoke up: "Theodore Nott. Pleased to meet you," he introduced himself calmly, almost detached.
"Blaise Zabini. The best-looking guy in the year," Blaise added with a self-assured smirk, checking his cuffs.
Sallow just gave a contemptuous chuckle. "Death Eaters' brats and the son of a Black Widow... I've hit the jackpot," he declared and threw himself onto the bed.
"That you of all people are talking, Sebastian," Nott noted coldly.
"Even a Muggle has enough manners to introduce himself properly," I added with a slight hint of insult in my voice.
"Sallow. Sebastian Sallow," he introduced himself haughtily through gritted teeth.
"See, you can do it, Sebastian," I smiled at him, but my gaze remained icy.
"Pfff," he snorted huffily and looked away.
I didn't feel like wasting any more time on pointless talk. I unpacked my things into the wardrobe, brushed my teeth, set my alarm, and threw myself into bed with relish. All the while, I ignored Nott's argument with Sallow and Zabini's mocking laughter.
Without a goodbye, I pulled my curtains shut. A short practice of the Incendio spell without a wand followed—until exhaustion—and then I mentally arranged the events of the day into my mental library. With a feeling of satisfaction, I finally fell asleep.
***
Finally, we're at Hogwarts, and we even have some new students who weren't in the original! A new story is opening up in the background. The fact that our MC will be in Slytherin probably didn't surprise anyone.
It's already the new year, and I've got some work to do, so the release of chapters will slow down a bit.
I also changed the book cover image. Since we're already at Hogwarts, it felt like the MC should look older on the cover :D. What do you think of the new cover image for the story?
For those interested in Patreon, you can donate money to animal shelters in your area. Right now, after the New Year, dogs and cats are having a harder time. Many of them were scared by fireworks and celebrations. My girlfriend and I also donated some food, blankets, and money, so you wouldn't be alone in donating :).
If you like the story, I'll be grateful for every comment, like, or discussion. Your interaction is what motivates me most to continue creating! :)