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The shriek of "SLYTHERIN!" echoed off the stone walls of the Great Hall, leaving a ringing silence in its wake. For a moment, no one moved. The Sorting Hat had not just announced a house; it had sounded a terrified alarm.
Then, from the table draped in green and silver, the applause began. It was not the proud, unified roar that had greeted other new members. It started near the head of the table, where the older, politically savvy prefects sat. Their applause was measured, calculating—a recognition of a new, potentially powerful piece on the board. The sound rippled down the table, a mixture of wary curiosity, grudging respect, and outright suspicion. They were not welcoming a brother; they were assessing a weapon.
Kaelen slid off the stool, his face an unreadable mask. He ignored Professor McGonagall, who seemed to snatch the Sorting Hat off his head with a sense of urgency, and Dumbledore, whose usually twinkling eyes were now sharp with a disturbing, focused intensity. He simply turned and walked towards the Slytherin table with the same measured, confident steps he had used to walk to the stool. He was an island of perfect calm in a sea of whispered confusion.
As he approached, he scanned the faces turned towards him. He saw the house for what it was: a collection of cliques and budding power structures. He saw leaders and their followers, the ambitious and the sycophants. This was a house of predators and politicians, and he felt no kinship, but a cold, logical sense of recognition. This environment would not just hide his true nature; it would sharpen it.
He chose an empty space on the bench, deliberately isolating himself from the established groups. Across from him, Draco Malfoy was staring, his face a mask of pale fury and humiliation. Next to Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass watched Kaelen with an unblinking, analytical gaze. Her expression was completely neutral, revealing nothing of her thoughts, yet he could feel the weight of her intellect, a silent acknowledgment of the game that had been played on the train.
"So, the orphan with no name ends up in the house of the noble and most ancient," Malfoy sneered, his voice low and vicious, trying to reclaim some of his lost authority. "Don't get comfortable. Blood will always tell in the end. It's the only thing that truly matters here."
Kaelen didn't even turn to look at him. He poured himself a glass of water, his movements economical and precise. "Is that what your father tells you?" he asked, his voice a soft murmur that carried no further than their section of the table. "A comforting lie to soothe the fear that your blood is the only thing you have? That without it, you are nothing?" He took a slow sip of water, his grey eyes finally flicking to meet Malfoy's. "You should be careful. Rely too much on your name, and you will never learn to build one for yourself."
A sixth-year prefect sitting nearby choked on his pumpkin juice, and a few of the older students exchanged surprised, impressed glances. Malfoy's face contorted with rage, but before he could retort, Dumbledore rose to his feet.
The Headmaster gave his usual eccentric welcome speech, but his jovial act seemed forced. Throughout the feast, his gaze kept returning to the small, dark-haired boy who ate his meal with a quiet, detached efficiency. More unsettling, however, was the stare of the man at the Head Table with greasy black hair and a sallow, unforgiving face. The Potions Master, Severus Snape, was observing Kaelen with a palpable, penetrating suspicion. It was a Legilimens's gaze, a subtle, passive probe searching for weakness.
Kaelen felt the slight pressure against his mental shields, the faintest whisper of an intrusion. He did nothing to betray it. He simply met Snape's stare across the hall, his own eyes as cold and empty as a winter sky, his mental fortress silent and impregnable. He held the gaze for a full ten seconds, a silent duel of wills, before Snape finally looked away with a faint, almost imperceptible sneer.
When the feast concluded, a tall prefect gathered the Slytherin first-years. "This way," she commanded, her voice sharp. "And keep up. We don't coddle stragglers in this house."
She led them down into the dungeons. The air grew colder, the path a winding descent into the bowels of the castle. While the other first-years huddled together, Kaelen felt a sense of rightness. They stopped before a bare, damp stretch of stone wall. The prefect turned to the wall and spoke a single, clear word: "Pure-blood."
A section of the wall slid aside, revealing a low, arched entrance. The Slytherin common room was a long, grand chamber under the Black Lake. The light was a shifting, eerie green, filtered through the water and reflected from the two massive windows that looked out into the murky depths. Now and then, the shadow of some vast creature would drift by, a silent, powerful guardian. It was opulent, powerful, and utterly devoid of warmth. It was perfect.
Professor Snape was waiting for them, his dark robes making him seem like a creature born of the shadows.
"Welcome to Slytherin," he began, his voice a low, silky drawl that commanded absolute attention. "Forget what you may have heard. We are the house of ambition, resourcefulness, and leadership. We have a certain… disregard for the rules that hold lesser wizards back. We do not tolerate failure. We do not tolerate public displays of weakness that bring shame upon us and give our rivals"—his lip curled in distaste—"especially the Gryffindors, an advantage."
His black eyes swept over the small group of first-years, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Kaelen. "The other houses will see you as dark. Let them. Their opinions are irrelevant. What matters is that you are strong. Here, you are a unit. Your triumphs are the House's triumphs. Your failures are your own. Protect your own, and never, ever give our enemies a reason to believe you are anything less than formidable." He gave a final, dismissive wave of his hand. "Your dormitories are up the stairs. Girls to the left, boys to the right. Do not be late for class tomorrow."
With that, he swept away.
The boys' dormitory was a circular room with five four-poster beds, each hung with green velvet curtains. Kaelen recognized his dorm mates immediately: a still-fuming Draco Malfoy, his two hulking shadows, Crabbe and Goyle, and another quiet, dark-haired boy named Theodore Nott, who had watched the proceedings with an intelligent, reserved air.
Malfoy immediately claimed the bed closest to the fire. "This one's mine," he declared, trying to establish a hierarchy.
Kaelen ignored him completely. He walked to the bed furthest from the others, in the darkest corner of the room. Solitude and defensible space were always the logical choice. He began to unpack his trunk with methodical precision.
"Don't you hear me? I said—" Malfoy started, stalking over to him.
Kaelen turned, his movement so fluid and sudden that Malfoy flinched. "I heard you," Kaelen said, his voice dangerously quiet. "I simply don't care. Your need to claim the best position is a display of insecurity. It is a pointless gesture."
He turned back to his trunk, his dismissal absolute. Malfoy was left standing there, his fists clenched, utterly defeated. Theodore Nott, watching from his own bed, allowed a small, almost invisible smirk to touch his lips before hiding it behind a book.
Later, lying in the darkness, Kaelen listened to the quiet sounds of the dormitory and the gentle lapping of the lake against the glass. He was not a boy in a new school. He was a strategist on a new battlefield.
Snape was a threat, but a manageable one. Dumbledore was a powerful player whose motives were unclear. Malfoy was a pawn, useful for provocation and little else. Greengrass and Nott, however, were unknowns—quiet, resourceful players to be watched. He had entered a house that valued ambition and cunning above all else. They prized leaders. They formed cliques.
He closed his eyes, a flicker of a plan already forming in his mind. The current hierarchy was based on blood and inherited wealth. An unstable foundation. A house built on such principles was vulnerable. It was waiting for a new leader, one who built his power not on a name, but on pure, undeniable competence. A slow, cold smile touched his lips in the darkness. He would not just survive in this snake pit. He would become its king.
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Want to read 10+ chapters ahead? Support me on Patreon! And here by donating powerstone
for every 50 power stone I will drop a bonus chapter.
https://www.patreon.com/c/kapa69
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