The sky outside the train window had already turned a deep, inky black. Inside the compartment, the lamps had long since been lit, casting a warm glow over the students.
Damian was quietly flipping through a wizarding travelogue. In his spare time, he loved reading miscellaneous books, occasionally stumbling upon interesting magical clues hidden within their pages.
Neville had fallen completely asleep, clutching his toad tightly to his chest. Meanwhile, an increasingly frantic Hermione sat nearby, frantically flipping through a textbook and muttering under her breath.
Jerry shot Damian a look of absolute disdain. The Slytherin loved messing with the first-years—a fact Jerry knew intimately, having fallen for the exact same mind-games back in his own first year.
"We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes," a magically amplified voice echoed through the train. "Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately."
The train's rhythm gradually slowed until it finally shuddered to a halt. After a long, ten-hour journey, they had arrived at their destination.
Despite the loud announcement, Neville was still snoring softly.
"We're here," Damian said, gently patting the boy's shoulder to wake him up.
As Neville blearily opened his eyes, Damian stood up and smoothed out his robes. "Time to get off. Someone will collect you first-years for your entrance test shortly. We'll part ways here—good luck."
Neville snapped completely awake, his round face draining of all color. He frantically grabbed his textbooks. "Oh no! The entrance test! I fell asleep, I didn't memorize anything!"
Would they expel him before he even started? He'd be the first Longbottom in history to be kicked out on his first day. He had no idea how he'd ever face his terrifying grandmother.
Hermione completely ignored the panic, her nose buried deep in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. Her lips moved rapidly as she tried to cram the entire book into her head at the last possible second.
Damian hid a sly smile. He hadn't technically lied to them; there was a test. But it was just the Sorting Ceremony. All they had to do was wear a dusty old hat for a few seconds.
Damian and Jerry slipped out of the train, joining the sea of older students walking along the dark platform toward a line of horseless carriages.
Over the din of the crowd, a booming voice echoed out. "Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!"
The man calling out was practically a giant, towering so high that the nearby eleven-year-olds barely reached his knees. He held a massive lantern, swinging it above the crowd like a beacon.
It was Rubeus Hagrid, the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts.
Jerry approached an empty carriage, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Doesn't anyone clean these things? Half the seats smell like mold." He pulled out his wand and hit the interior with a quick Scouring Charm.
Damian raised an eyebrow as he spotted a familiar blond boy jogging toward them.
"Yo, Geralt!" Jerry called out. "Shouldn't you be accompanying your newest girlfriend?"
Geralt rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he climbed in. "Pansy is a first-year. She has to cross the lake with Hagrid and do the Sorting Ceremony."
Damian found the name vaguely familiar.
"You're even going after girls who haven't been sorted yet?" Jerry teased ruthlessly. "Your tastes are certainly broad, mate."
With a sudden lurch, the invisible Thestrals pulled the carriage forward. As they swayed along the dirt path, Geralt excitedly recounted the details of his highly active summer romance.
Before long, they pulled to a halt beside the grand stone steps leading to the castle's oak front doors.
Geralt was the first to jump down, groaning. "I'm absolutely starving, and we still have to sit through the Sorting." Apparently, Pansy had eaten all of his train snacks on the ride over.
"I still have a few sandwiches left," Damian offered. He thoughtfully pulled three wrapped bundles from his pocket, tossing one to each of his roommates.
"Oh! Damian, you're a lifesaver!" Geralt devoured the food in huge bites, clearly ravenous.
The trio strolled through the entrance hall, finishing their quick meal before heading inside.
Jerry laughed. "Which family is this new girl from, anyway? What are you gonna do if she gets sorted into Gryffindor?"
Geralt stuffed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. "She's a Parkinson," he mumbled around the food. "And it's not like I haven't dated a Gryffindor before. But there's no way she goes anywhere else—she's a guaranteed Slytherin."
Pansy Parkinson? Damian's memory clicked. Wasn't she destined to be Draco Malfoy's little shadow?
Jerry snorted. "I remember when you and your last Gryffindor ex broke up. She dumped a whole bottle of black ink over your head in the middle of the courtyard."
Geralt swallowed hard and lifted his chin proudly. "That's because I was young and naive. A shrewd Slytherin doesn't trip over the same stone twice."
Since that messy incident, Geralt strictly made sure to officially break up with a girl before pursuing the next one.
Entering the Great Hall, the three boys found seats near the middle of the Slytherin table. Geralt immediately began enthusiastically greeting the older girls sitting nearby, smoothly sliding right into a flirtatious conversation.
Damian casually glanced up at the staff table on the raised platform. Instantly, his gaze met the eyes of the white-bearded Headmaster.
Behind his half-moon spectacles, Albus Dumbledore's azure eyes were remarkably bright, practically sparkling with a piercing intelligence.
Seeing that he had been caught staring, the old wizard offered a small, kind smile. Damian politely returned the gesture, offering a slight nod.
A few seconds later, Dumbledore calmly withdrew his gaze, turning to say something to a scowling Professor Snape.
Damian's heart skipped a beat. He felt as though he had just been placed directly onto Dumbledore's radar. It didn't make sense—why would the Headmaster pay special attention to him? To the school, he was merely an exceptionally talented student who consistently topped his year.
Sure, he'd had violent conflicts with his housemates in the past, but in Slytherin, dominance displays were practically a tradition. The house was heavily divided between blood-purist zealots and the rest of the student body; natural clashes were entirely expected.
A sudden commotion at the entrance drew everyone's attention. Professor McGonagall was leading a long, single-file line of terrified first-years into the Great Hall.
The kids looked completely pale, fully convinced they were marching toward a grueling physical ordeal.
At the exact same moment, a twitchy man with a large purple turban wrapped around his head hurried through a side door. Professor Quirrell was late.
Damian's eyes lingered on the oversized fabric. He knew exactly what was under there. Lord Voldemort's parasitic face was currently grafted onto the back of Quirrell's skull, hidden away in the dark folds of the turban.
Scurrying to the staff table, Quirrell deliberately took the seat furthest away from Dumbledore.
Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged wooden stool in front of the gathered first-years. On top of the stool, she set a frayed, incredibly ancient wizard's hat.
The Sorting Hat actually used to be much dirtier, right up until it encountered Damian two years ago.
He had ruthlessly blasted it clean with the Water-Making Spell, Aguamenti, right before putting it on his head.
At the time, the magically soaked artifact had shrieked: "Azkaban! Azkaban! You should be sorted straight into Azkaban!!!"
The Great Hall fell completely silent. A tear near the brim of the hat opened wide like a mouth, and it began to belt out its newly composed song—a tune it had undoubtedly spent the entire year drafting in the Headmaster's office.
"Look," Jerry whispered, pointing discreetly toward the front. "The messy-haired one with the glasses. That's Harry Potter."
Harry was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Ron Weasley. However, Hermione and Neville were standing completely apart from them. Thanks to Damian delaying them on the train, the iconic trio hadn't even been introduced yet.
Damian was genuinely curious about the butterfly effect this would cause. Would the "Golden Trio" even form this time around?
As the Sorting Hat finished its final, ringing note, the hall burst into applause. Professor McGonagall unrolled a long scroll of parchment.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she announced clearly.
She looked down at the top of the parchment. "Abbott, Hannah!"
Every 100 stones = 1 EXTRA CHAPTER