After the banquet, Vale followed the Slytherin prefect down winding stone steps, deeper beneath the castle. The air grew colder with each turn, a dampness seeping through the ancient walls.
Around him, first-years whispered nervously while older students walked with practiced confidence.
When they reached a stretch of bare, damp stone wall, the prefect uttered the password ("Pure-blood") and revealed the entrance to their common room.
The Slytherin common room unfolded before Vale—a long, underground chamber with rough stone walls and greenish lamps hanging from chains.
"Hm, quaint."
Through the windows, dark water lapped against the glass, occasionally revealing shadowy aquatic shapes. The low ceiling and carved mantlepiece gave the room a grand, if somewhat oppressive, atmosphere.
Vale claimed a high-backed chair near one of the windows, watching as his housemates settled in. Some gathered in tight clusters, comparing family histories and summer adventures. Others lounged with practiced nonchalance, pretending the room wasn't impressing them.
Malfoy had established his court at the centre of the room, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him like stone sentinels. A dark-haired girl—Pansy Parkinson—laughed too loudly at something he said.
Vale observed them all with detached interest, cataloging relationships, hierarchies, and potential weaknesses. He'd barely settled in when a thin shadow fell across him.
Theodore Nott stood there, expression unreadable.
"You don't look like you belong," Nott said, voice neither accusatory nor friendly—just matter-of-fact.
Vale raised an eyebrow.
"The Sorting Hat disagrees."
Nott's mouth twitched—not quite a smile.
"That's not what I meant." He glanced around the room before continuing. "Be careful who you show weakness to here. Slytherin remembers."
With that cryptic warning, Nott drifted away, leaving Vale to consider his words.
From across the room, Malfoy's voice rose deliberately. "Father says standards have fallen at Hogwarts. It's obvious how certain people slipped through the cracks to get into Slytherin."
Though Malfoy didn't look directly at Vale, the target was clear. Several students glanced between them, gauging reactions.
Vale remained still, face impassive despite the tension coiling inside him. He felt Nott watching him closely, testing his composure.
Vale leaned back in his chair, watching Malfoy's performance with clinical detachment. The common room had quieted, students pretending to continue their conversations while straining to hear the brewing confrontation.
"Have you got something to say?" Vale's voice carried across the room without effort, calm and measured. "Or do you always talk about people instead of to them? Too scared to approach me?"
Malfoy's pale face flushed slightly. He straightened, Crabbe and Goyle instinctively moving closer to his sides.
"I was just wondering," Malfoy drawled, "what sort of Windrow you might be. I don't recall Father mentioning your family among the Sacred Twenty-Eight."
Several Slytherins exchanged glances. Blood status—the opening salvo in their house's oldest game.
Vale smiled, the expression never reaching his eyes. "How interesting that your first thought is about my lineage rather than my abilities. Is that insecurity I detect?"
A few gasps punctuated the silence. Parkinson's eyes widened at the direct challenge.
"You'll find," Vale continued, rising from his chair with deliberate slowness, "that names matter far less than what one can do."
He held Malfoy's gaze. "And I can do quite a lot."
—Rumble.
Something dark and cold seemed to pulse beneath Vale's skin—not visible, but felt by those nearest him. The lamps flickered briefly.
A wandless, magical influence.
The implications were clear.
Feeling the pressure, Malfoy hesitated, caught between backing down and escalating. "We'll see about that, won't we? Slytherin has ways of sorting out those who truly belong."
"I'm counting on it," Vale replied, his smile sharpening. "What would your father say if you were the one who couldn't last?"
A few chuckles sprouted from the crowd — mostly from the older students around. The younger ones were slightly clueless, creating another point for Vale in their subconscious minds.
Meanwhile, Nott watched from the shadows, his expression thoughtful as he observed the subtle currents of power shifting in the room.
*
Vale prepared to move toward the Great Hall for breakfast, savouring the relative quiet of the early morning common room.
He hadn't slept.
The events of last night still lingered in his mind—Malfoy's challenge, the flicker of his own power, the calculating eyes of his housemates. He'd made an impression, certainly, but impressions required maintenance.
He turned a corner and nearly collided with Nott. The thin boy stepped back smoothly, as if he'd anticipated Vale's trajectory perfectly. Vale noticed that despite the early hour, Nott looked perfectly composed, his uniform immaculate and his eyes clear.
"Windrow," Nott said, voice low. His gaze swept the corridor in both directions before settling back on Vale. "Quite the introduction last night."
Vale offered nothing but a slight incline of his head.
"I wonder if you understand what you've done," Nott continued. He leaned against the stone wall, casual yet somehow still maintaining perfect posture. "Malfoy isn't accustomed to being challenged. Especially not by someone with... unclear lineage."
"I didn't challenge him," Vale chuckled. "I merely refused to be dismissed."
A ghost of a smile touched Nott's lips.
"Semantics. The effect remains the same." He straightened, adjusting his sleeve with deliberate precision. "You should know that not all Slytherins like to march in lockstep behind Malfoy."
Vale studied the boy's face, noting the careful neutrality there. This wasn't idle conversation—it was calculation wrapped in casual words.
"Is that so?" Vale kept his tone light.
"Indeed." Nott's eyes met Vale's directly. "Some of us prefer to understand the board before moving our pieces."
With that, he stepped around Vale and continued down the corridor, leaving Vale to consider the subtle invitation that had just been extended.
"…"
Vale watched Nott disappear around the corner, mentally filing away the conversation.
A potential ally? Or merely someone looking to gather information? Either way, the interaction confirmed what Vale already suspected—Slytherin House was a complex web of alliances and ambitions, not simply Draco Malfoy's domain.
He continued his preparations for the Great Hall and the dungeon corridor was suddenly filled with the sound of purposeful footsteps.
Professor Snape emerged from the shadows, his black robes billowing behind him like liquid darkness. The Potions Master's eyes swept over the gathering first-years with clinical detachment.
"Slytherin," Snape began, his voice barely above a whisper yet somehow filling the entire corridor, "is not merely your dormitory for the next seven years. It is your legacy."
Vale noticed how the other first-years straightened immediately, even Malfoy's usual swagger subdued in Snape's presence.
"You have been chosen for your cunning, your ambition, and your potential for greatness. Whether you fulfil that potential..." Snape's gaze lingered momentarily on Vale, "remains to be seen."
The professor's eyes were tunnels of calculation, giving nothing away yet seemingly absorbing everything. Vale maintained his composure, careful not to reveal the storm of thoughts beneath his calm exterior.
"As your Head of House, I expect excellence. I expect discretion. And above all, I expect loyalty to Slytherin." Snape's lips curled slightly. "Whatever petty rivalries you nurture among yourselves, remember that the other houses already view you with suspicion. Outside these dungeons, you present a united front."
Malfoy smirked at this, shooting a challenging glance toward Vale.
"Your schedules," Snape continued, flicking his wand. Pieces of parchment materialized in front of each student. "Classes begin promptly. Tardiness will not be tolerated."
With another sweep of his gaze that seemed to penetrate each student in turn, Snape concluded, "Slytherin rewards those who understand power—not merely how to seize it, but when to wield it. Remember that."
He turned sharply, robes swirling around him, and strode away, leaving the first-years in contemplative silence.
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