The first morning in the dungeons was a lesson in how Slytherin worked. Kaelen woke up before the watery green light filled the room, his mind already sharp. He lay still for a moment, listening to the soft sounds of the lake and the breathing of the other boys. Malfoy was already moving around, making a lot of noise, as if trying to prove he was important.
As they dressed, Malfoy started trying to get his power back. He boasted loudly to Crabbe and Goyle about his huge house and how important his father was at the Ministry of Magic. He made a point of ignoring Kaelen, treating him like he wasn't even there. Theodore Nott was just as quiet as Kaelen, watching Malfoy show off with a smart, bored look.
"My father says Dumbledore is the worst thing to ever happen to this school," Malfoy announced, pulling on his perfect robes. "Too much love for Mudbloods and riff-raff. It's a good thing our Head of House knows how things should be run."
Kaelen, tying his tie perfectly, spoke without looking up. "Basing your entire view of the world on what one man says isn't a sign of strength. It just means you can't think for yourself. What happens when your father is wrong? Or when he's gone?"
The question hung in the cold air. Malfoy's face went pale, then red. He had no answer. Crabbe and Goyle just looked confused. But across the room, Kaelen saw Theodore Nott's eyes flick toward him for a second. He looked interested. The first crack in Malfoy's power had been made.
Breakfast in the Great Hall was a time to watch everyone. Kaelen ate, his gaze sweeping the room. He watched the Gryffindor table, where Harry Potter was surrounded by other kids, looking awkward. He saw Hermione Granger, already reading a book, sometimes telling a red-haired boy next to her what he was doing wrong. He saw Daphne Greengrass at his own table, sitting quietly, her eyes missing nothing. For a moment, their eyes met across the table. It wasn't friendly. It was like two hunters spotting each other.
Their first class was Potions, in the cold dungeons. The room was lined with jars of floating animals and strange ingredients. It smelled like bitter herbs. Professor Snape swept in like a ghost, his black robes billowing.
His welcome speech was meant to be scary. He spoke of the "subtle science and exact art" of potion-making. His eyes lingered on the Gryffindors, especially Harry Potter. He began to pepper Potter with questions he couldn't possibly answer, trying to embarrass him.
"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Potter stammered, clueless. Hermione's hand shot into the air, waving wildly. Snape ignored her.
"Let's try again. Where, Potter, would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
More silence from Potter. More frantic hand-waving from Hermione. Snape's sneer got deeper. "Clearly, fame isn't everything." He finally looked away from Potter. "Can anyone tell me the difference... between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Hermione was practically standing on her chair. But Kaelen, who had been sitting perfectly still, answered. His voice was not eager or loud, but calm and clear.
"There is no difference," he said. "They are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. As for the bezoar, it is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and will save you from most poisons. And asphodel and wormwood, when mixed, create a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death."
The entire class turned to stare at him. Hermione lowered her hand slowly, her mouth open, a look of shocked respect on her face.
Snape's black eyes narrowed on Kaelen. He had expected to make his point using Potter's dumbness. He had not expected to be answered so perfectly by another first-year. There was a long, tense silence.
"Correct," Snape said finally, his voice a soft hiss. He took five points from Gryffindor for Potter's ignorance, then gave five points to Slytherin for Kaelen's answer. He didn't sound happy about it. He sounded suspicious. For the rest of the class, Kaelen felt Snape's eyes on him. He ignored it and focused on his work. His Boil Cure potion was perfect.
After Potions, as they were packing up, Hermione Granger walked up to his desk. "That was brilliant, how you knew all that. And the way you crushed those fangs… that's not in the textbook. Where did you learn it?"
"I read," Kaelen said, putting his supplies in his bag. "Not just the school books."
"Right, but which ones?" she pushed, too curious to be shy. "I've read almost every book on the list and I've never seen—"
"Then you haven't been reading the right books," he cut her off, his voice cold. He turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, looking frustrated but also interested. He had given her nothing, but he had also given her a new challenge: a rival.
The day continued. In Charms, he made his feather float on the first try, making Professor Flitwick squeak with delight. In Transfiguration, while most of the class struggled to turn a matchstick into a needle, Kaelen made a perfect, sharp silver needle. Professor McGonagall watched him, looking both proud and very worried. He wasn't just a good student; he was too good.
That evening, the Slytherin common room was buzzing. Kaelen sat in a dark corner, reading a hard-to-find potions book. The first-years were afraid of him, and the older students were curious.
Eventually, a seventh-year prefect, a tall wizard who looked important, walked over. "You're Kaelen," he said. "You made an impression in Potions. Snape doesn't award points for nothing."
Kaelen looked up. "Being good at something should be rewarded."
The prefect smirked. "It should. Being good is everything in this house. My name is Lucian Bole. Remember it." He paused, looking Kaelen over. "I hear you put Malfoy in his place on the train. Good. The boy relies too much on his father's name. It's boring."
"A name is a tool," Kaelen replied. "But a tool is useless in the hands of someone who doesn't know how to use it."
Lucian's smirk got wider. "Well said. Very Slytherin." He nodded once and walked away. Kaelen was no longer just the strange orphan; he was the smart one.
A little later, a new shadow fell over his book. He looked up to see Daphne Greengrass.
"You enjoy making enemies," she said. It wasn't a question, just a fact. Her blue eyes were cool and smart.
"Enemies are just what happens when you do things," Kaelen replied, closing his book. "If you have no enemies, it means you've done nothing important."
"An interesting thought," she said, her voice soft. "You are not like the others. You have no family name, no history. Yet you act like you belong here more than any of us."
"Belonging doesn't matter," he said. "Being good at things is what matters."
"Is that what you believe?" she asked, a small, curious smile on her lips. "Or is that just what you want us to think?" She didn't wait for an answer. She nodded and glided away, leaving him with the feeling that she saw far more than anyone else.
That night, lying in the dark, Kaelen began his mind exercises. He went deep into the cold, stone castle of his mind, making his walls stronger. He locked away the tiny bit of annoyance he'd felt at Hermione, and the small bit of pride he'd felt at Snape's respect. Feelings were a weakness. They had to be controlled.
As he was building a new wall of ice around the memory of Elara's smile, he felt it.
It was a gentle, soft touch against the outer walls of his mind. It was nothing like Snape's pushy stare. This was much, much more powerful. It felt old and huge, like the pressure of a deep ocean. It felt kind, like a grandfather, but it was backed by an incredibly strong will. It was a quiet knock on a door the visitor planned to open, one way or another.
Dumbledore.
Kaelen's entire mind focused. He poured every bit of his will, all the cold, hard control he had built since Elara's death, into his defenses. The walls of his mind-castle turned from ice to diamond. The gentle pressure increased, as if asking a question.
Kaelen slammed the gates shut. He pushed back with a single, powerful wave of pure, cold energy. A mental scream of get out.
The pressure vanished instantly, as if it had never been there. The silence of his mind returned, but it was a different kind of silence now. It was the silence of a castle that knows it is being watched by an enemy.
He lay in the darkness, his heart beating a slow, steady rhythm. The most powerful wizard in the world was watching him.
A slow, cold smile, invisible in the dark, touched Kaelen's lips. The game had truly begun.
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