"Draco, that Hayden kid doesn't seem to respect you much, huh?"
Inside the Slytherin common room, a pure-blood wizard named Theodore Nott teased Draco Malfoy with a smirk.
Malfoy's brow furrowed as he leapt off the stool.
"Exactly! That guy had the nerve to ignore me! he said, fuming. "He's the first person ever to disrespect the Malfoy name. I'm going to teach him a lesson he won't forget!"
"Draco, did you already forget what happened on the train earlier?" Goyle waddled over and whispered in his ear.
"Yeah, you tried to shake hands with the famous Harry Potter," Crabbe added with that trademark vacant honesty. "But he ignored you."
The two chubby henchmen thought they were whispering—but their booming voices carried across the room with ease.
Every nearby Slytherin student, including the prefects, turned to look at them with knowing amusement. Theodore Nott even burst out laughing with a snort.
"What? Why are you all staring at us like that?" Crabbe and Goyle blinked in confusion, still utterly clueless.
Malfoy: "…"
He kicked both of them in frustration.
"Shut up, you blithering oafs!"
---
While Malfoy and his lackeys bickered, Lycos had already made his way into the boys' dormitory area. He followed the brass nameplates on the doors until he found his room:
"Lycos Hayden, Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, Draco Malfoy."
A four-student room—sorted alphabetically, just like the Sorting Ceremony. Malfoy and his two goons had conveniently landed together, and Lycos, unfortunately, had been squeezed in between them like the unwanted fifth wheel.
He sighed and resigned himself to fate, pushing open the door.
Despite his lack of inherited memories, it was easy enough to identify which bed was his.
The other three beds were surrounded by piles of elegant, custom-crafted luggage, glinting in the firelight from the nearby hearth.
Only the bed by the window had a single, modest bundle—two worn-out tablecloths tied together to make a makeshift pack. It looked pitifully out of place beside the pure-blood wealth surrounding it.
"Classic Tom Riddle or young Snape starter pack…"
Lycos shrugged and tried to console himself.
He untied the bundle and began taking inventory:
A few second-hand robes, a used wizard's hat, a pair of worn-out dragonhide gloves, and a full set of old textbooks and supplies…
Every item practically reeked of the word "used." It was the definitive starter kit of a poverty-stricken, half-blood student.
And yet, Lycos didn't mind. In fact, he felt slightly relieved.
These hand-me-downs were even worse than what the Weasleys had. It likely meant his admittance to Hogwarts was entirely funded through financial aid.
Which ruled out the possibility that his previous self had come from any sort of loving family.
Sure enough, buried under a battered cauldron, he found an ID tag from Wool's Orphanage.
Lycos couldn't help but think—for a transmigrator, this kind of background is ridiculously convenient. No wonder so many fictional protagonists were orphans…
As for why Voldemort hadn't offered financial support?
It made sense too—an undercover agent must avoid any suspicion. A financial link could be dangerous.
Once finished sorting, Lycos moved on to check his clothing.
He clearly remembered that during the Sorting Ceremony, when facing Malfoy and his lackeys, he'd had an overwhelming urge to reach into the inner pocket of his robes—
His wand pocket. Or rather, wands.
Two of them.
Identical in material, shape, and pattern. The two wands were practically indistinguishable.
It didn't take long for Lycos to figure out the logic behind it.
One wand was for casting forbidden spells. The other for everyday schoolwork.
This setup would allow him to evade detection from Priori Incantatem—the spell used to reveal a wand's last spells cast.
One wand to cast curses, the other for normal spells. Simple. Efficient. Dangerous.
It was also a useful failsafe in case of disarming or wand breakage.
Excited by the discovery, Lycos eagerly raised one of the wands and decided to test what spells he could cast.
"Expelliarmus!" he cried, mimicking the most famous incantation in the series.
Nothing happened.
The wand trembled slightly, but that was it.
"Stupefy!" he tried again, unwilling to give up.
Still nothing.
The room remained dead silent, save for the occasional crack and pop of logs burning in the fireplace.
"Maybe these are too advanced? Maybe I haven't 'learned' them yet?"
He frowned and pointed the wand at a nearby book.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
The most basic of spells. A staple of every first-year's education.
The book didn't move.
Not a single page fluttered.
Lycos: "…"
He could hardly accept this.
He was Voldemort's handpicked spy, the so-called "successor"… and he couldn't even cast a basic Levitation Charm?
Did that mean… magic in this world didn't work like it did in the books and movies?
Was he really going to have to start from scratch, just like every other student?
Groaning in defeat, Lycos collapsed onto the bed, staring sullenly at the wand in his hand.
Its surface was etched with intricate carvings—runes he couldn't quite decipher.
"So much for crossing over and instantly becoming powerful…" he muttered.
Half out of boredom, half in frustration, he casually pointed the wand at the door, imagining how satisfying it would be to just fire off a Killing Curse and be done with Voldemort.
He even whispered it aloud.
"Avada Kedavra."
The moment the words left his lips, Lycos knew he had messed up.
The wand in his hand jerked violently, trembling in his grip.
Then—
A brilliant green light exploded from the tip, so blinding he had to squint, accompanied by a shrieking roar—like some invisible monster had just torn through the air.
His mind went completely blank.
He had just cast the Killing Curse.
Successfully.