The tables groaned beneath the sudden weight as platters and bowls appeared, overflowing with food. Roast chicken, sausages, mashed potatoes, peas, Yorkshire pudding—more than Cain could even name. The scents hit him all at once: rich, savory, and mouthwatering.
Cain stared, stunned. In the Lands Between, food had never been easy to find, and seasoning was a rare luxury he'd scarcely known. Here, both were present in overwhelming abundance.
Draco was already piling his plate high, while Crabbe and Goyle grabbed greedily at anything within reach. Cain swallowed, then served himself a modest portion of roast beef and potatoes. He took a bite—and the flavor struck him like a wave, rich and deeply comforting.
He ate slowly, savoring each mouthful. Around him, laughter and chatter filled the hall. Students compared Sorting results, boasted about their Houses, and teased one another with easy familiarity.
As he ate, Cain glanced at Draco, who was animatedly praising Quidditch and the superiority of Slytherin. Cain's gaze drifted upward to the enchanted ceiling, where stars shimmered against the illusion of night, mesmerizing him every time he looked.
He took another bite, letting the warmth of the feast settle into his bones.
The feast ended in a blur of laughter, clinking goblets, and the gradual dimming of floating candles. Cain pushed his plate away—he'd eaten until his stomach ached, full in a way he hadn't felt in a very long time.
---
Dumbledore rose once more, dismissing the students with a few cheerful words. The prefects of each House gathered their first-years, leading them out of the Great Hall and into the castle's winding corridors.
Cain followed the Slytherin prefect, with Draco walking beside him, smugly recounting how Slytherin had won the House Cup multiple times in recent years. Crabbe and Goyle lumbered behind them, whispering enthusiastically about the food.
The group descended deeper into the castle, passing torchlit corridors and narrow stone staircases. Cain felt the air grow cooler, the walls damp with the scent of the underground. The sensation was familiar—like descending into a catacomb.
At last, they reached a bare stretch of wall deep within the dungeons. Snake carvings coiled along the stone floor, their eyes gleaming faintly in the torchlight.
"The password is Aspiration. Remember it. Without it, you won't get in," the prefect said firmly.
He spoke the word aloud.
The wall shuddered. The serpent emblem on the floor stirred, rising upward as stone shifted and parted, forming a doorway where none had been before.
They stepped inside.
The Slytherin common room was vast and shadowed, lit by greenish lamps that glowed like submerged lanterns. The ceiling arched low, carved from ancient stone, while the walls were lined with dark wood and silver accents. Long couches and armchairs clustered near a grand fireplace, its flames casting emerald reflections across the room. Tall windows stretched along one wall, revealing the dark, shifting depths of the Black Lake beyond.
The air smelled of damp stone, polished leather, and faint traces of smoke. It wasn't warm in the way Gryffindor's common room—something he vaguely remembered from the films—was meant to be. Instead, it felt cool, deliberate, and watchful.
Draco flopped onto a couch with a satisfied sigh. Crabbe and Goyle followed, already half-asleep within moments. Other first-years scattered through the room, exploring corners, testing chairs, whispering excitedly as shadows drifted across the lake outside.
Cain remained standing, his gaze fixed on the windows.
He thought of the Roundtable Hold—its solemn halls, flickering torches, warriors gathered in quiet resolve. That place had been a refuge… but also a burden. This room felt similar, yet different. Less sacred. More patient.
At last, he sat, choosing a chair near the fireplace. The green flames danced softly, casting shifting shadows across his face. He rubbed his hands together, staring into the fire, wondering what Hogwarts would demand of him—and what it might take from him in return.
Draco leaned over, smirking.
"You'll see, Cain. Slytherin is the best House. We're destined for greatness."
Cain nodded faintly, though his thoughts were far away.
Soon enough, the prefect dismissed them to their dormitories. Cain followed the others down another corridor into a chamber lined with green curtains and cold stone walls. He sat on his bed, listening to the muffled sounds of water pressing against the walls—slow, heavy, and endless.
As the green glow of the common room lingered in his mind, Cain's thoughts drifted, tangled and quiet, until sleep finally claimed him.
---
Cain woke early the next morning. The dormitory lay dim and quiet, green curtains swaying faintly with the slow currents of the Black Lake beyond the walls. He dressed quickly, eager to explore the castle before classes began.
As Cain stepped into the corridors and made his way through the castle, sunlight streamed through tall, arched windows, painting shifting patterns across the stone floors. Suits of armor lined the halls, their visors glinting faintly as he passed. Portraits murmured among themselves—some chatting animatedly, others still half-asleep in their frames.
One portrait, depicting an aloof witch dressed in a beautiful gown, called out, "Lost, are you? The Great Hall is two corridors down—left at the troll's armor portrait."
Cain nodded politely, surprised by the helpfulness. He had assumed the portraits were merely decorative.
As he reached the Grand Staircase, a jovial wizard wearing a feathered hat chuckled from his frame. "Mind the staircases, lad. They've a habit of changing when you least expect it."
Venturing deeper, Cain stumbled upon several soot-blackened fireplaces, each carved with intricate marble designs. A faded plaque explained their abandonment:
FLOO STATION — CLOSED SINCE THE ATTACK ON HOGWARTS BY RANROK, 1891
Who's Ranrok? Cain wondered.
On his way back, his thoughts drifted. Hogwarts wasn't as vast as the Academy of Raya Lucaria—an entire city devoted to sorcery—but both places shared something unmistakable. Magic lay so deeply embedded within their walls that it felt less like a tool and more like a living presence, woven into the very stone. But if one were to compare in size and capacity, Hogwarts and Stormveil Castle were similar.