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Darkness shattered.
The first breath I took was like swallowing knives—cold, sharp, brutal. My chest heaved violently, lungs burning as if I'd been dragged from the depths of a frozen lake, gasping for air that had forgotten how to fill me. My fingers twitched against something soft—sheets, thin and smooth, sliding under my clawing grip. My back arched off the bed, muscles seizing as my body remembered how to exist. My heart pounded like a war drum, each beat sending tremors through my ribs, blood roaring in my ears like a distant tide.
Then—silence.
The haze receded. My breathing slowed. The world sharpened.
"Okay..." I whispered, voice rough, unfamiliar to my own ears. "I'm alive... again?"
I sat up slowly, feeling the weight of a cotton blanket slip from my shoulders, pooling around my waist. The air was cold, carrying the faint scent of damp stone and something metallic—like ambition soaked in ink.
Where the hell was I?
The room was dim, lit only by flickering green lamps shaped like serpents, their brass coils wrapped around sconces embedded in black stone walls. Shadows slithered across tapestries of silver embroidery—crests, family sigils, dark castles shrouded in mist. The ceiling arched high above me, ribbed stone stretching like the belly of some ancient beast, emerald light filtering through the gloom like moonlight through murky water.
I was in a four-poster bed, its dark green velvet curtains partially drawn, revealing a semicircle of identical beds, each draped in silver sheets with monogrammed trunks resting at their feet. Ornate sconces decorated every corner, their flames casting reptilian shapes onto the walls, twisting and flickering as if alive.
This wasn't a dream.
Before I could even begin to process that particular brand of madness, a voice cut through the air like a blade:
"You're late, Sainz. Unless you plan to spend the entire day sleeping there."
I turned.
He stood tall, his platinum blond hair slicked back with immaculate precision, as if he'd stepped straight from the pages of some gothic fashion spread. Pale skin, sharp cheekbones, lips curled in a permanent sneer of disdain. His grey eyes—cold, calculating—raked over me like a judge surveying a particularly disappointing defendant. His uniform was flawless: emerald and silver tie knotted with military precision, black robes billowing slightly with every step, the fabric whispering of old money and older arrogance.
Draco Malfoy.
I stared.
"So it's real," I muttered under my breath. "Wow... I thought this was all just a bad dream."
Draco arched a single, perfectly groomed brow. "The bloody hell are you talking about? Maybe that fall in the bathroom cracked your brain."
He smirked, the expression razor-sharp, then turned on his heel and strode out without waiting for a response, his robes swirling behind him like a living shadow.
I watched him go, mouth slightly open.
"This is the fucking god-game," I whispered to myself. Then louder, laughing bitterly: "COME ON! Out of all the worlds... I'm starting this damn thing in Hogwarts?! In Slytherin?!"
I dragged a hand down my face, fingers pressing hard against my temples. "Okay, fine. It's not that bad... I mean, magic is cool. Potions. Wands. Quidditch. But still—who starts a system quest in a school?! This isn't a shonen anime!"
Then something Draco said hit me like a Bludger to the skull.
"Wait... did he say fall in the bathroom? And—Slytherin? I'm in Slytherin?!"
I laughed again, this time darker, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Perfect way to start a new life."
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet hitting cold stone. A tie—black and silver, Slytherin colors—was draped over a nearby chair. I grabbed it, looping it around my neck with clumsy fingers, the silk sliding against my skin like a serpent's whisper.
Stepping out of the dormitory, the view hit me like a Stunning Spell to the chest.
The common room was beautiful. Hauntingly so.
The ceiling arched high above, smooth and dark like the inside of a cathedral carved beneath the lake. Giant windows lined one wall, their glass thick and warped, revealing the murky depths of the Black Lake beyond. Tentacles of giant squid drifted past lazily, shadows moving through the blue-green gloom like living ink. The water rippled with an eerie, magical glow, schools of enchanted fish darting by in shimmering bursts of silver and gold, like stardust given life.
Iron chandeliers shaped like serpent heads floated overhead, their green flames casting flickering light across the room. Onyx couches and leather chairs were arranged around a central fireplace, its emerald tiles gleaming in the firelight. Above the mantel hung a massive silver-framed mirror, its surface reflecting the room with ghostly distortions, as if it showed not just the present, but echoes of the past.
I stood frozen, my breath catching.
"Wow... this is cool," I murmured, running a hand along the stone banister. The rock was smooth under my fingertips, worn by centuries of hands just like mine. "I always made up descriptions in my head... but I never imagined it'd look exactly like this."
"Good morning, Mister Sainz," a girl's voice chimed from behind me, laced with amusement.
I turned to see a Slytherin girl walking past, her long braid swaying as she laughed under her breath.
I blinked. "Hell—why are you laughing? And how the hell do you know my name?"
She paused, looking me up and down with a smirk that said she knew something I didn't. "Surely that fall made you lose your memory. How can you forget yourself? The most stupid guy in Hogwarts—but somehow, annoyingly hot."
I narrowed my eyes. "Hurting then healing, huh? And what made you think I'm stupid?"
She gave me a dramatic sigh, as if explaining to a particularly slow child. "Everyone's known it since first year. You just never shut up."
Before I could retort, she added, "I gotta go—I'm late for Transfiguration. You should hurry too before McGonagall kicks you out again."
With a flip of her braid, she vanished up the stairs, leaving me standing there like an idiot.
I scowled after her. "How can I be stupid? I remember being top of my class... well, maybe just to impress Solane—but still. And yeah. I am ridiculously handsome."
Shaking my head, I started walking, following the stone hallway deeper into the castle.
Hogwarts was alive.
Not just in the metaphorical sense—though it certainly had a soul—but physically, viscerally. Staircases shifted underfoot, groaning as they rearranged themselves. Portraits muttered to each other as I passed, their painted eyes tracking my movements. Distant bells chimed in harmony with unseen clocks, their melodies weaving through the air like spells.
Students buzzed around me, their robes fluttering as they rushed to class, laughing, arguing, whispering. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows across the stone floors, staining the walls with gold and black. Stained glass windows painted the hallways in fractured light, their colors shifting like liquid jewels. Suits of armor clanked slightly as they saluted passing professors, their hollow eyes somehow watchful.
"Damn... Hogwarts really is a living thing," I muttered, staring like a tourist on another planet.
Then—
"You're late again, Mister Sainz."
The voice was crisp, sharp, and utterly unamused.
I froze.
Standing by a tall wooden door was a woman who could have been carved from steel and disapproval. Her green robes were immaculate, not a single thread out of place. Her hair was pulled into the tightest bun I'd ever seen, as if even her follicles feared her wrath. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her gaze piercing enough to split stone.
Professor McGonagall.
I grinned.
"And you are looking extremely beautiful today, Miss McGonagall," I said, sweeping into a half-bow. "Good morning to you, my lady. Apologies for my delay—I promise I won't do it again."
The silence that followed was so thick you could have Transfigured it into a brick.
McGonagall blinked. Once. Twice. Slowly. As if her brain had momentarily short-circuited.
No one—no one—dared speak to her like that.
She adjusted her glasses with deliberate slowness, her voice crisp and proper when she finally spoke. "You may go in. You are already late. And kindly do not make noise."
"As you command," I said with another small bow, pushing open the classroom door.
Inside, the room was a study in controlled chaos.
Rows of long wooden desks stretched across the floor, their surfaces polished to a dull sheen by generations of nervous hands. Quills floated beside rolls of parchment, their tips dripping ink like silent sentinels. Candles hovered midair, their flames steady despite the faint breeze from the open door. The walls were lined with shelves crammed with scrolls, animal skulls, and books bound in materials that looked suspiciously like scales and bark.
McGonagall swept past me, her robes billowing, and took her place at the front of the room. The class fell silent instantly.
"Today," she began, her voice ringing with authority, "we begin what is considered the highest and most dangerous branch of Transfiguration: the Animagus transformation."
A hushed murmur rippled through the students.
"Let me be absolutely clear," McGonagall continued, her eyes sharp behind her spectacles, "this is not a skill to be pursued lightly. A mistake in this art can result in the permanent loss of speech, disfigurement, or, in rare cases, death."
The room went dead silent.
"That said," she added, "you will not be attempting full transformation. However, under my supervision, those of you who demonstrate exceptional magical control may be permitted to practice partial shifts—ears, hands, vision, and later... instinctual focus."
She raised her wand.
A shimmer passed over her, like heat rising from pavement. In the space of a heartbeat, she was gone—replaced by a tabby cat with spectacle-shaped markings around its eyes. The cat blinked at us, its tail flicking once, before another shimmer returned her to human form, her robes settling around her as if she'd never moved.
"This," McGonagall said, adjusting her glasses, "is the result of years of study, patience, and discipline. Becoming an Animagus is not simply a spell. It is a binding of one's identity with magic itself."
I leaned back in my chair, a slow grin spreading across my face.
This was how my life started in Hogwarts.
And damn, was it going to be fun.
....
[ End of Chapter. ]
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