Albus Potter awoke to the gentle hum of water behind the walls.
The Slytherin dormitories were silent in the early morning, the green-glass lanterns casting muted light across the stone floor. The other first-years still slept, their slow breathing rising and falling in unison, but Albus lay wide awake. He'd been awake for hours.
It hadn't been a dream.
He sat up slowly in the four-poster bed, rubbing his eyes. The emerald hangings swayed slightly in the draft from the underwater windows, where moonlight filtered through the lake, tinting everything a soft, ghostly green.
Slytherin. The word still felt foreign in his chest.
He'd half-hoped the Sorting Hat had made a mistake. That someone would burst in and announce they'd meant to place him in Gryffindor after all. But morning had come, and he was still here. No glowing lion emblazoned his chest—just a silver serpent, stitched carefully into the edge of his house robes.
Across the room, Scorpius snored softly, a book open on his chest. Dark Wizards and Their Downfalls. Albus stifled a laugh.
He rolled out of bed and began dressing quietly. Their class schedules would arrive at breakfast, and he wanted to avoid the inevitable stares.
The Common Room
The Slytherin common room was cavernous and still, lit by green fire that flickered in sconces along the damp stone walls. Strange aquatic plants pressed against the enchanted windows, glowing faintly as squid-like shadows drifted past outside. It felt like being inside the gullet of some ancient creature.
Albus wandered near the hearth, warming his hands, when a voice spoke behind him.
"You're up early."
He turned to see an older girl watching him from one of the long couches. Tall, dark-skinned, with sharp cheekbones and intelligent eyes. A silver prefect badge glittered on her chest.
"I guess I couldn't sleep," Albus said, suddenly self-conscious.
She nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You're Potter's kid. Albus, right?"
He nodded. She didn't sound judgmental—just curious.
"I'm Isadora Flint," she said. "Sixth-year prefect. You'll probably hear rumors about me. Most of them are true." She smirked. "Except the one about the cauldron fire in the dungeon. That was my brother."
Albus tried to smile, but it came out weak.
"You're not the first Potter to get put here, you know."
That made him blink. "I'm not?"
"Nope. Your great-grandfather—Fleamont Potter—nearly was, according to the archives. The Hat takes more risks than people think."
Albus frowned. "Why does everyone treat it like a curse, then?"
Isadora's expression turned unreadable.
"Because most people only know Slytherin from history books and bedtime warnings. They think we're all snakes." Her gaze darkened slightly. "Some of us are. Most of us aren't."
She leaned forward.
"Just remember, Albus: Slytherin doesn't make you anything. It reveals what you already are."
With that, she rose, robes swirling around her, and disappeared down a hallway without another word.
Albus stared into the fire for a long time.
Breakfast and Schedules
The Great Hall was buzzing by the time Albus and Scorpius arrived, side by side. Students from every house were already seated, talking and laughing over golden plates. Hundreds of owls soared through the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored the morning sky—pale blue, streaked with soft clouds.
As they sat at the Slytherin table, Albus felt eyes on him again. Some curious. Some confused. A few wary.
Rose Weasley, his cousin, waved from the Gryffindor table—then hesitated when she saw the silver crest on his robes. Her smile faltered. She looked away.
Albus's stomach twisted.
"Well," Scorpius said, attempting brightness, "this'll be fun."
A tawny owl dropped a scroll in front of him. Albus unrolled his schedule.
Monday:
Charms – with Gryffindor
Herbology – with Hufflepuff
History of Magic
Transfiguration – with Ravenclaw
"Charms with Gryffindor first," Scorpius said, squinting at his own scroll. "Brilliant. You can get ignored by your entire family and judged by the rest of the school at the same time."
Albus sighed. "Looking forward to it."
Charms Class
Professor Vesper was small, with wild grey hair and a voice like cracking ice. She stood on a stack of books at the front of the room, wand in one hand and a quill in the other.
"Today," she said, "we begin with the Levitation Charm. Wingardium Leviosa. Not Leviosaaa, as I'm sure at least one of you will say today."
There was a light chuckle across the room. Albus sat beside Scorpius, acutely aware of Rose two seats ahead. She hadn't even glanced at him.
The charm itself was straightforward, though getting the wrist movement right was trickier than he'd expected. Scorpius's feather floated easily. Albus's barely twitched.
"Swish and flick," Scorpius said, demonstrating again.
"I am swishing," Albus grumbled.
"Yeah, but you're swishing like someone trying to stir soup with a carrot."
By the end of class, his feather rose an inch off the desk. Barely—but enough. Professor Vesper gave him a curt nod.
"Acceptable. Keep practicing."
Albus exhaled in relief.
As they packed up, Rose turned to him briefly.
"You did alright," she said.
"Thanks," Albus replied, heart leaping slightly.
Then she turned and walked off.
A Stranger Beneath the Castle
After lessons, the first-years were given an hour of free time before dinner. Scorpius dragged Albus down into the lower levels of the dungeons to "explore"—though Albus suspected he just wanted to avoid the older students upstairs.
The halls down here were colder. Quieter. The walls were older too, covered in cracks and faded carvings half-swallowed by time. Scorpius ran a hand along the stone.
"Creepy," he said. "I like it."
"Yeah, it's great," Albus muttered. "If you like the feeling of being watched."
"I do," Scorpius said, grinning. "It makes everything feel more magical."
They rounded a corner and found themselves in a corridor they hadn't seen before. It was darker here, the torches dimmed, the air still.
A door stood at the end of the hallway—carved with symbols neither of them recognized. Circular patterns. Interlocking runes.
Albus stepped forward.
"Is this... part of the Slytherin common room?"
"No," Scorpius said, frowning. "This looks old. Really old."
The door didn't have a handle. Just a series of grooves and a small, black gemstone set in the center.
As Albus reached out, the stone pulsed softly under his fingers. Not warm. Not cold. Just... alive.
The torches flickered. The shadows shifted. Somewhere in the walls, something groaned—deep and distant, like a mountain exhaling.
Albus yanked his hand back.
Scorpius looked at him. "Did you feel that?"
Before Albus could answer, a voice echoed from behind them.
"What are you two doing down here?"
They turned to see Isadora Flint, arms crossed, eyebrow raised.
Albus tried to speak, but words failed.
"That corridor is sealed for a reason," she said, stepping past them. "It's not on any map. Not even the Marauder's one. No one goes near it. Understand?"
Scorpius looked ready to argue, but Albus put a hand on his arm.
"We get it."
Isadora looked at them both for a long moment—then nodded, satisfied.
"Good," she said. "Because that door hasn't opened in a hundred years. And the last time someone tried... well, we still don't talk about it."
She walked away.
Scorpius turned to Albus, eyes wide.
"Well, now I want to know everything."