Vale slipped the parchment containing his schedule into his pocket, his gaze lingering on the disappearing figure of Snape.
He suspected that lesson — obedience to authority was just the first layer of appeal of this house.
Controlling failures like that dimwitted Crabbe, manipulating those like Malfoy, keeping low players scurrying underfoot like Griffyndor's little girl… that was the language Slytherin spoke.
However, Vale had more strategic ingredients to bring to the pot.
A career path opened up, a subtle blend of principle and control. If one adapts the thoughts of a Slytherin:
To rise within these walls wouldn't be about brute force like those in the Hufflepuff dung heap, nor about flaunting misplaced morals like Gryffindor's fool's rush. No, this was about building an empire, stone upon stone, a legacy.
Vale's footsteps were silent, measured. His brown eyes, reflecting the gloom of the walls, studied the peculiar habits of his fellow first-years. Their anxieties, their hopes, their fears—they were all open books to him.
He noted how they drifted apart as they approached the Transfiguration classroom, casting nervous glances over their shoulders and shuffling their feet.
The classroom itself was a bastion of serenity in the storm of Hogwarts. The sharp scent of parchment and polished wood mingled with the faint scent of magic, creating a heady mix. The windows, arched and high, offered a glimpse of the bustling grounds beyond.
But Vale wasn't distracted by the scenery. His gaze was drawn to the front of the room, to the imposing blackboard covered in intricate diagrams and the professor's desk, polished to a dark gleam.
There, a cat was sitting, its calm and detached gaze was quite the sight.
He felt a familiar chill settle in his bones.
'The Animagus form of Professor Mcgonagall…'
Sleepless yet alert, Vale settled into a seat near the back of the Transfiguration classroom, carefully positioning himself with a clear view of both Professor McGonagall's desk and his fellow Slytherins.
The Gryffindors had already claimed the left side of the room, their red-trimmed robes clustered together like a wall of defiance.
After causing a stir when transforming back into human form, the students had no choice but to settle down under McGonagall's strict gaze.
"Transfiguration," McGonagall began without preamble, her Scottish burr crisp in the quiet classroom, "is among the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts."
Vale watched as she transformed her desk into a pig and back again. The display elicited gasps from several students, though the Slytherins maintained their composed facades.
Only their eyes betrayed their wonder.
Malfoy sat two rows ahead, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. He'd positioned himself prominently, his posture suggesting he already owned the classroom. Occasionally, he'd whisper something that made his bodyguards snicker.
"Mr. Windrow."
McGonagall's voice cut through Vale's observations. Her eyes, sharp behind square spectacles, fixed on him with unexpected intensity.
"Perhaps you could tell us the first principle of elemental transfiguration?"
Vale felt the immediate shift in the room's atmosphere. The Slytherins stiffened collectively—this was a test, not just of Vale's knowledge, but of house pride.
Failure would reflect on all of them.
"The first principle," Vale said evenly. There was a reason he hadn't slept, "is that mass must be conserved or accounted for in the transformation equation. Magic can change form but not fundamental existence."
McGonagall's eyebrows rose slightly. "Correct. Five points to Slytherin."
Vale noticed the subtle reactions around him: Malfoy's shoulders tensing slightly, Parkinson's calculating sideways glance, Blaise Zabini's barely perceptible nod. The points themselves mattered less than what they represented — Vale had just proven himself useful to Slytherin's ambitions.
As McGonagall continued her lecture, a folded piece of parchment slid onto Vale's desk. He opened it discreetly.
Not bad for a nameless. Still doesn't make you one of us. —P
Vale glanced toward Pansy, who was studiously avoiding eye contact, a small smile playing at her lips. The message was clear: they were watching him, measuring him, deciding his place in their hierarchy.
Vale didn't bother responding to Pansy's note.
Instead, he observed the Gryffindor side of the room where the famous trio sat together.
Harry Potter looked overwhelmed, frantically scribbling notes while occasionally glancing up at McGonagall with a mixture of awe and confusion. Ron Weasley appeared half-asleep already, his quill barely moving across his parchment. Hermione Granger, predictably, sat with perfect posture, her hand shooting into the air at every opportunity.
When McGonagall handed out matches to transfigure into needles, Vale completed the task on his third attempt, earning another approving nod from the professor.
He noticed Hermione's frustrated expression when her match had only turned silver but remained blunt.
"Mr. Windrow, excellent work. Another five points to Slytherin," McGonagall announced.
Pansy's face twisted with annoyance. Vale met her gaze directly this time, allowing a flicker of his power to surface — just enough to make the shadows around his desk deepen momentarily.
It was a clear threat. Her eyes widened, and she quickly looked away. McGonagall sensed this as well, but having been briefed by Dumbledore beforehand, wasn't caught unaware.
She simply raised a brow, and Vale recalled his magic.
After class, Vale deliberately brushed past Pansy in the corridor. "I'd be careful about passing notes to people whose limits you don't understand," he whispered, his voice carrying just enough edge to make her step back. "A name is useless when you're dead."
He continued walking, aware that Malfoy had witnessed the exchange. The blonde boy's expression shifted from contempt to cautious reassessment.
"…How fun," Vale couldn't help but chuckle.
***
After more corridors and a flight of stairs, Vale entered the Charms classroom with measured steps, scanning the room for optimal positioning as usual.
Professor Flitwick, barely visible behind his desk, was arranging feathers in neat rows. The diminutive professor's enthusiasm was almost palpable in the air, a stark contrast to McGonagall's stern discipline.
Slytherins and Gryffindors still shared this period, and Vale noticed Hermione Granger had already claimed a front-row seat, textbook open and wand at the ready. Their eyes met briefly—hers curious and competitive, his calculating and cold.
"Welcome to Charms!" Professor Flitwick squeaked, climbing atop his stack of books. "Today we'll begin with the fundamental Levitation Charm. The incantation is Wingardium Leviosa, with a nice swish and flick of the wrist."
Vale had positioned himself near the middle of the room, close enough to observe everyone but not so prominent as to draw immediate attention. Malfoy sauntered in late, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, and deliberately chose the seat beside Vale.
Malfoy whispered, his voice carrying just enough for those nearby to hear. "Don't get comfortable. Some of us have been practicing magic since before we could walk."
Vale didn't respond, focusing instead on Flitwick's demonstration.
When they began practicing, Vale deliberately held back, watching Granger's technique.
Her pronunciation was perfect, her wand movement precise—yet her feather merely twitched. Frustration coloured her cheeks as she tried again and again.
Vale waited until Flitwick approached their section before raising his wand. With a casual flick and softly spoken incantation, his feather rose steadily into the air, hovering six feet above the desk.
The Obscurus within his body suddenly clouded his mind with a waterfall of emotions, fuelling his intent.
"Oh, marvellous! Look here, everyone — Mr. Windrow has done it!" Flitwick clapped his tiny hands. "Ten points to Slytherin!"
Seconds later, Granger's feather shot upward, rising slightly higher than Vale's. "And Miss Granger too! Ten points to Gryffindor!"
Granger's gaze searched for Vale. However, the latter didn't care. He was busy examining his state while casting spells. Calming the churning emotions he had unintentionally invoked.
'This… I see…' he closed his eyes. 'I understand why Professor Snape kept harping about control in front of me.'
Vale was going to work on this as he went.
Meanwhile, Malfoy's attempt sent his feather spinning wildly before catching fire.
"This is ridiculous," he hissed, face flushing with humiliation. "My father says Flitwick's teaching methods are outdated anyway."
Vale simply raised an eyebrow at Malfoy's failure, letting the silence speak for itself.
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