The whistle blew one last time, its sharp note cutting through the misty air as the train came to a complete stop. Steam rolled across the platform in thick, curling waves, mingling with the breath of hundreds of students eager to begin, or return to, another year at Hogwarts. Lanterns flickered against the evening sky, casting long, dancing shadows on the damp wooden planks.
Richard stepped down, his trunk in one hand, his posture as composed as ever. Around him, the platform was a blur of noise and movement: first-years clinging nervously to each other, older students shouting greetings across the crowd, owls hooting irritably from their cages.
On his shoulders, Ceous and Hera clung to his coat with ease, their glossy black feathers glinting faintly in the lantern light. Their twin violet eyes surveyed the throng with a mixture of cold curiosity and predatory sharpness. Whispers rippled among a few first-years who caught sight of the strange two-headed familiar. Some pointed timidly. Others simply stared, wide-eyed.
"Look at that thing…" a first-year whispered, tugging at his friend's sleeve.
"Don't stare," the other hissed, though neither looked away.
The twins gave them a look so menacing that it sent them scurrying.
Behind Richard, the familiar voices of his friends approached. Colin weaved through the crowd with his usual grin, followed by Arjun, calm and confident, while Malcolm carried a bag of sweets already half-eaten, and Elliot walked a step behind, quiet as always.
They fell into step beside him without needing to speak, the small group naturally falling into formation. Their presence together turned a few heads—not just because of Richard's familiar, but because of the subtle air of purpose that surrounded them.
"Feels different coming back," Colin said, his voice laced with excitement as he glanced toward the waiting carriages. "Like the place is already a second home."
A slight smirk touched Arjun's lips. Malcolm popped a sweet into his mouth and added, "Guess the first-years will be the ones getting lost in the staircases this time."
"Malcolm, you shouldn't throw stones from a glass house," Richard said simply, and with that, he began to walk toward the waiting carriages, the crowd instinctively parting around them. The night air smelled of rain and smoke, and above them, the sky stretched wide and starless. This year, he thought, the game begins anew.
The cool night air sharpened every sound, the murmur of students, the crunch of gravel underfoot, the creak of carriage wheels as they shifted in place. Lanterns swayed on hooks, casting pools of golden light that barely reached the shadows beyond. As Richard and his friends approached, the shapes of the carriages loomed ahead, their outlines ghostly against the mist rising from the damp ground.
Richard's steps slowed, his gaze lifting toward the creatures waiting patiently at the front. Unlike most of the students who walked past without a glance, he could see them clearly now: the Thestrals. Their skin clung tight to their bones, the ridges of their skulls sharp beneath leathery flesh, yet there was a strange grace in their gaunt forms. Their wings, folded close, shimmered faintly when the lantern light caught the thin membranes.
They were both terrifying and beautiful, death incarnate, yet alive.
Richard stopped mid-step, the night air cold against his face. For a moment, he simply observed them, his sharp eyes meeting theirs. The nearest Thestral turned its head slightly, as if sensing him, its milky, glowing eyes locking onto his with eerie intelligence.
Colin's footsteps slowed, too. He glanced at Richard, confusion flickering across his face. "You… see them?" His voice was hushed.
"Yes," Richard said quietly, his tone as unreadable as ever.
The simple word hung between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. Colin didn't ask more, though he looked at Richard with a newfound curiosity, perhaps even a trace of unease.
Richard stepped closer to the lead Thestral. The creature's breath misted faintly in the air, smelling faintly of rain and leaves. Slowly, deliberately, he raised a hand and laid it against its neck. The skin was cool, the muscle taut beneath it, but the Thestral didn't flinch or shy away. Instead, it leaned fractionally into the touch, as if recognising something in him.
Richard held the touch a moment longer, something unspoken passing between him and the creature, a quiet acknowledgement of what they both understood: loss, survival, and the thin line between life and death.
Without a word, he withdrew his hand and climbed into the nearest carriage. The motion was smooth, practised, as if he had done this countless times before.
His friends followed after a brief hesitation, glancing at the empty air where they assumed ordinary horses stood.
The door shut with a soft click. As the carriage lurched forward, the Thestrals pulled it effortlessly, their movements silent and fluid. Richard leaned back slightly, eyes still glinting with the reflection of the lanterns. Outside, the skeletal creatures carried them through the misty night, their presence unseen by most, but deeply felt by him.
The carriages rolled to a slow halt, their wheels crunching over the gravel path that wound up to the towering gates. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint musk of the Thestrals. As students poured out in clusters, their voices rose into a lively hum, echoing across the open grounds. The castle loomed above them, immense and unyielding, its spires clawing at the night sky. Every window glowed with warm, golden light, each one like an eye watching the newcomers approach.
Richard stepped down from the carriage. The cold wind tugged faintly at his robes, carrying with it the smell of the lake and the faint rustle of wings fading into the night behind him. His friends fell into step around him, the group moving as a unit amid the chaotic crowd.
Inside, the Great Hall opened before them like a living cathedral. The enchanted ceiling reflected the heavens, a deep navy sky scattered with stars that shimmered as if they hung just out of reach. Candles floated in midair, their flames flickering and casting pools of light on the polished tables below.
The Sorting Hat sat on its stool, its brim curling like a sly smile. Its eyes glinted as it prepared to decide the fate of a hundred-odd first-years.
Richard's gaze swept across the line of nervous first-years. He watched how they stood, who fidgeted, who met the hall's gaze without flinching. Every name called was another piece on the board. The hat deliberated, sometimes long, sometimes short, before shouting the names of houses. Each time, cheers erupted from the respective tables.
When the Sorting ended and the applause subsided, Dippet rose to speak. His calm voice carried easily, welcoming them back, reminding them of the year ahead and the rules that must not be broken. Then, with a clap of his hands, the feast appeared.
Platters of roast meats, steaming vegetables, and golden breads filled the tables. Students gasped, laughed, and reached eagerly for the food. At the Slytherin table, the chatter rose quickly, Malcolm talking about the Quidditch season, Colin joking about the first-years' wide-eyed stares, Arjun making quiet predictions about who among them would stand out.
Arjun pointed out that the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was the same as well as the flying one. He then went on to complain about the inaccuracy of the rumour that had been spread.
Richard ate little, his movements precise. He sipped his drink, cutting into his food with deliberate care, but his mind was elsewhere. His eyes roamed the hall, catching small details.
Everything was the same as last year on the surface. But beneath it, Richard could feel the shift. His network was stronger and his influence stretched further than anyone realised.
When the feast ended and the students rose to head to their dormitories, Richard moved with his friends through the winding halls. The dungeons of Slytherin were cold and damp as always, lit by the greenish glow of the lake beyond the walls. Their dormitory awaited them, as dark and polished as he remembered.
Colin flopped onto his bed with a grin. "Feels good to be back."
Arjun smirked. "Feels like home."
Richard simply placed his trunk neatly at the foot of his bed and said, "Don't get too comfortable."
That night, the familiar sound of water lapping against the walls lulled the dormitory into quiet. Richard lay awake only briefly, staring at the dark ceiling, mind already mapping the year ahead, before finally letting sleep claim him.
Later, in the Slytherin common room, the green glow from the lake cast shifting patterns across the ancient stone walls, making the entire room seem alive with a quiet pulse. The fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth subdued against the cool damp of the dungeons. Students lounged in clusters, some first-years whispering nervously, upper years discussing Quidditch or homework, but in the far corner, Richard and his friends sat apart, their own pocket of calm amid the chatter.
Colin sprawled on the couch, tossing a quill in the air while Arjun leaned back with his usual easy confidence, arms crossed. Malcolm munched on a handful of sweets he'd stashed away, and Elliot sat upright, listening to the others while occasionally jotting something in a small notebook.
They spoke in low voices, trading remarks about the Sorting, predictions for classes, and idle observations about the changes in the castle.
The next morning came quietly. The dungeons were still dim when Richard opened his eyes, his internal clock precise as always. While the rest of the dormitory breathed in the steady rhythm of sleep, he moved with purpose.
His routine was flawless, every motion practiced to efficiency: a series of stretches to loosen his body, slow and controlled; a brief run along the castle corridors, boots silent against the cold stone; and finally, wand drills performed in perfect silence, each spell movement precise and fluid, the magic humming faintly in the early air.
By the time the others began to stir, Richard was already dressed, his tie neatly knotted, hair smooth.
Colin groaned from his bed, rubbing his eyes. "You never sleep in, do you?"
Richard glanced at him briefly. "No."
Malcolm pulled the covers over his head with a groan. "Too early…"
Arjun, already sitting up, smirked. "Might as well get used to it again. He was like this all of the first year as well."
When Elliot finally sat up, blinking against the dim light, Richard was already at the door. "Come on then, I'm going to get some breakfast, I'll meet you guys at the Library," he said simply, his voice even.
After breakfast, the group made their way to the library. The day had only just begun, but Richard was already setting the pace.
The library smelled of parchment and dust, its high ceiling casting a cathedral-like stillness over the rows of towering shelves. Light streamed in through the tall windows, broken into fractured beams that illuminated the motes of dust hanging in the air. Every whisper, every turning page seemed to echo in the vast space.
Richard led his friends through the aisles with measured steps, the group moving until they reached a secluded table tucked into the far corner. It was a spot shielded from the main flow of students, half-hidden by the arch of a bookcase, private enough for conversation.
They settled into their seats just as the others began to arrive. Lisa hesitated at the edge of the table at first, her hand clutching the strap of her bag, but Richard's calm nod pulled her forward. Martin appeared moments later, hugging a book to his chest as if it were a shield, his eyes darting between the faces at the table. Poppy followed, already reaching into her satchel for notes she had been scribbling. Caroline came last, her steps sure and unhurried, her chin tilted slightly higher than it had been the year before.
The newcomers exchanged brief glances, measuring one another, until Richard broke the silence.
"I thought I would use this time to introduce you guys. I know you already know of each other, but as you're all my friends, I thought it would be better if everyone became closer as well," he said simply. "You'll be seeing more of each other this year."
The introductions were brief, but they were enough. Lisa offered Martin a kind smile that softened the boy's nervousness. Caroline greeted the Slytherins with quiet confidence, her eyes meeting each of theirs steadily. Poppy, ever curious, asked Lisa about her interests, and soon they were comparing notes on potions and charms.
Arjun leaned back in his chair, his brow raised as he studied the dynamics forming, but he said nothing. Colin grinned openly, already teasing Malcolm about how he'd better behave with the "guests." Malcolm rolled his eyes but looked intrigued, his posture relaxing as he joined the conversation. Elliot, quiet as ever, gave a small nod to everyone who met his gaze, his hand already resting on the spine of a book he'd pulled from his bag.
The table slowly filled with the hum of chatter. Pages turned, quills scratched, and voices blended into an easy rhythm. Lisa laughed softly at something Colin said; Caroline leaned in closer to hear a detail about a new charm. What had started as a meeting of strangers began to feel like something resembling a friend's gathering.
Richard leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable as he turned a page in the book before him. The corners of his mouth curved faintly, the slightest acknowledgement of satisfaction.
This was how power grew. Not always with force, not always with fear, sometimes with connection, with threads carefully woven until they formed something unbreakable.
And it was only the second day.
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