Thank you everyone for waiting
A minor edit has been made to Chapter 16. The title of one of the main character's books has been changed from Game of Thrones to Stardust.
This change was inspired by a reader's thoughtful comment, highlighting that it felt unrealistic for an 11-year-old to have written Game of Thrones. We agreed with this observation and made the adjustment accordingly. Thank you for the feedback!
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Chapter 20: Dinner and the common Room
After Ashton took his seat at the Slytherin table, he calmly surveyed the vast expanse of the Great Hall. The room buzzed with excitement and awe from the new students, the enchanted ceiling mirroring the night sky above. As soon as the sorting ceremony concluded, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore returned to his golden chair at the center of the staff table. Before sitting down, he lifted his arms dramatically and exclaimed, with a twinkle in his eye, four curious words:
"Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
The room was silent for a moment, confused murmurs rippling through the first-years. Then, as though the peculiar utterance had been a magical key, the golden platters on each house table filled themselves in a flash of enchantment. With that, the welcome feast officially began.
The spread was nothing short of magical—a spectacular banquet that seemed too grand to be real. Heaping trays of golden-roasted chicken, creamy mashed potatoes, fluffy Yorkshire puddings, and rich gravies appeared in abundance. Bowls of buttered peas, glazed carrots, and jugs of spiced pumpkin juice accompanied the main dishes. The enticing aroma of roasted meats, fresh-baked bread, and comforting spices filled the hall, making every student's mouth water. Laughter and cheerful chatter echoed off the high stone walls, mixing with the occasional clinking of goblets and silverware.
Yet, even amidst the joy and celebration, whispers still lingered—quiet conversations filled with speculation about the unusual occurrences during the Sorting Ceremony.
Ashton, seated across from Daphne Greengrass at the Slytherin table, remained composed on the outside, but his mind was anything but still. He observed his surroundings with calm detachment, analyzing every detail with the sharpness of someone far more perceptive than he let on. His magical senses extended beyond the physical, taking in the ambient magical energy that seemed to hum within the walls of the ancient castle. Hogwarts breathed magic, and Ashton could feel it, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Among the many faces of the staff seated at the high table, his attention lingered briefly on Professor Quirinus Quirrell. To most, Quirrell appeared as a timid, stuttering man wrapped in an awkward purple turban. But Ashton saw more. His unique magical vision revealed two separate auras surrounding the professor—one faint and uncertain, undoubtedly belonging to Quirrell himself, and another far more sinister, coiled like a shadow behind the man's form.
He may think he's hidden, but I can see you, Ashton thought, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly as he returned his attention to his meal.
He also noticed, with some curiosity, that Headmaster Dumbledore occasionally cast subtle glances in his direction. Ashton could feel the man's eyes—not probing or intrusive, but quietly observant, as though Dumbledore was evaluating something only he could see.
Despite the festivities, Ashton remained mostly silent, choosing not to engage in small talk with the others around him. He wasn't particularly interested in making friends at the moment. Several students were glancing at him every now and then, whispering behind their hands. Some did so with curiosity, others with suspicion, and a few—like Draco Malfoy and his usual entourage—looked at him with barely concealed disdain.
As he continued eating in silence, his thoughts drifted to what had transpired earlier. The Sorting Hat, rather than engaging him in a lengthy discussion like it did with many students, had suddenly cast him into Slytherin house without much of a choice. Then there was the sword—its sudden appearance still puzzled him.
No one else seemed to notice, but when the ancient sword materialized in his hand, something peculiar happened. As he held it, a deep resonance had echoed through his very core. It was as if the sword had recognized something within him—acknowledging him, submitting to his presence. It was not just a magical object—it had responded to his power, as though forming a silent pact.
While he mulled over these thoughts, the hall was suddenly filled with an eerie, translucent glow as the house ghosts made their entrance. From the Gryffindor table floated Nearly Headless Nick, and near the Ravenclaw table glided the Grey Lady, Helena Ravenclaw. The Fat Friar floated jovially near the Hufflepuffs, while the Bloody Baron, draped in bloodstained robes and a sullen expression, loomed ominously beside the Slytherin table.
Using his enhanced magical vision, Ashton examined each ghost with deep interest. This was the first time he had ever encountered spirits of the dead so openly. In the outside world, such apparitions were rare. Only witches and wizards could return as ghosts, and even then, only if their souls were tied to the mortal realm by unresolved regrets or deep emotional attachments.
Through his eyes, Ashton could perceive not just the ghosts' ethereal forms, but also the mystical energy that clung to them—faint traces of magic intertwined with something darker: the energy of death itself. It confirmed a truth he had long suspected—no living being could fully hold the energy of death. It was corrosive to life, yet ghosts, bound by lingering emotion, bore its mark permanently.
As the feast came to an end, Dumbledore once again rose from his seat. The hall quieted almost instantly as he raised his hands, and his voice, though soft, carried effortlessly across the room.
"Let me remind you all—students new and returning—that the Forbidden Forest is strictly off-limits to all students. Magic is not to be used in the corridors without proper cause," he said, his eyes briefly flicking toward the Weasley twins, who grinned unrepentantly.
Then, his tone shifted slightly—becoming more mysterious, more somber.
"Also… I must warn you: the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is strictly forbidden to all who do not wish to meet a most painful end."
A chill seemed to ripple through the room, though some laughed nervously, thinking the Headmaster might be joking. But Ashton noted the seriousness in his eyes. Dumbledore's warning was not idle.
With a clap of his hands, Dumbledore concluded, "Now then, off you go!"
The prefects stood up at once, gathering the first-year students from their respective houses. For Slytherin, the prefects were Felix Rosier—a tall, well-groomed older student with an air of superiority—and Gemma Farley, who had a more composed and dutiful demeanor. The two led the new Slytherins out of the hall and down through the winding staircases into the depths of the castle.
The journey to the Slytherin common room took them deep beneath the ground, eventually bringing them to a stone wall in the dungeons. The corridor was dimly lit, with flickering torches casting long shadows on the cold stone.
Felix turned to face the group and declared, "The password for the entrance is 'Glory of the Blood.' If the password ever changes, it will be posted on the notice board inside the common room."
"And the password is just as ridiculous as the people in this house," Ashton thought to himself, though he kept the comment buried behind his calm expression.
As Felix spoke the password aloud, the wall shimmered and dissolved, revealing the entrance to the Slytherin common room.
The space inside was dark but oddly enchanting. The common room was located beneath the Black Lake, and the murky greenish light filtering through the underwater windows gave the room an eerie, otherworldly atmosphere. Through the glass, shadows of creatures—sometimes the giant squid—could be seen swimming by. The furniture was elegant and old-fashioned, with high-backed chairs, silver lamps, and a fireplace framed by serpentine carvings.
It was both haunting and beautiful.
To Ashton, the design was tolerable. "At least the aesthetics are feasible," he muttered under his breath as he glanced around, not particularly impressed, but not entirely dissatisfied either.
The night was winding down, and as the first-years were led to common room, Ashton saw that all slytherin students were gathered in there and everyone was waiting for the house head.
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Author's Note:
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