The sky outside the train window had already turned completely dark, and the magical lamps inside the compartment had long been lit.
Damian sat quietly, reading a travelogue. In his spare time, he occasionally read miscellaneous books, hoping to find interesting historical clues or hidden magical theories within their pages.
Across from him, Neville had fallen asleep clutching his toad. Nearby, an anxious Hermione sat perched on the edge of her seat, muttering frantically to herself while gripping a heavy textbook.
Jerry shot Damian a look of sheer disdain. This guy absolutely loved terrorizing the first-years. Jerry still remembered the day Damian had fooled him with the exact same prank.
"We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes," a magically magnified voice echoed through the train. "Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately."
The train's speed gradually slowed until, with a final hiss of steam, it came to a complete halt. After a ten-hour journey, they had finally reached their destination.
Despite the loud announcement, Neville was still sleeping soundly.
"We're here." Damian leaned over and patted Neville's shoulder to wake him up.
As the boy blinked groggily, Damian stood up and straightened his robes. "Let's go. A professor will be along to collect you first-years for your entrance test shortly. We'll part ways here. See you around, if fate allows."
The bleary-eyed Neville snapped awake instantly. He scrambled to grab his textbooks, his round face turning deathly pale. "Oh no! There's an entrance test! I just fell asleep and didn't memorize a single thing!"
Would he be expelled before he even started? He might be the first unlucky child in the long, proud history of the Longbottom family to be kicked out of Hogwarts on the very first day. He had no idea how he would ever face his grandmother if he had to take the train straight back home tomorrow.
Hermione completely ignored his panic. She was clutching a copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, muttering to herself as she desperately tried to cram the entire book into her short-term memory.
Damian smiled slightly as he stepped out into the corridor.
Technically, he hadn't lied to them. There was an "entrance test"—it was just the Sorting Ceremony. They only needed to sit on a stool and put on the Sorting Hat to pass.
Damian and Jerry were among the first to disembark. They walked along the dark, chilly platform toward the dirt road where a line of horseless carriages awaited the older students.
Behind them, a booming voice echoed over the heads of the crowd: "Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!"
The man shouting was unusually massive, so tall that the nearby first-years barely reached his thighs. He held a large magical lantern, making him a conspicuous beacon in the dark. It was Rubeus Hagrid, the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts.
Jerry picked an empty carriage and wrinkled his nose in dissatisfaction. "Does anyone ever clean these? The upholstery is practically moldy."
He pulled out his wand and cast a quick Scouring Charm over the seats before climbing inside.
Damian was about to follow when he raised an eyebrow. A blond boy was jogging toward them through the gloom.
"Yo, Geralt," Jerry called out, having spotted him too. "Don't you need to escort your new girlfriend?"
Geralt rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Pansy is a first-year. She has to cross the lake in the boats and attend the Sorting Ceremony first."
Pansy? Damian found the name somewhat familiar.
"You won't even spare the girls who haven't officially enrolled yet?" Jerry teased ruthlessly. "Your tastes are certainly broad."
After the three of them settled in, the carriage lurched forward and began to sway as it rolled up the path. Geralt spent the ride excitedly recounting his incredibly busy, drama-filled summer.
Before long, the carriage clattered to a halt beside the grand stone steps leading up to the castle's main oak doors.
Sitting closest to the door, Geralt was the first to jump down. "I'm starving," he complained, rubbing his stomach. "And we still have to sit through the whole Sorting Ceremony before the feast."
He had brought plenty of snacks on the train, but Pansy had eaten all of them during the ride.
"I still have a few sandwiches left." Damian thoughtfully pulled three wrapped sandwiches from his pocket and tossed them to Jerry and Geralt.
"Oh! Damian, you're a lifesaver!" Geralt tore into the food, taking massive bites. It was clear he was genuinely ravenous.
The three of them walked into the cavernous Entrance Hall while finishing off their impromptu dinner.
Jerry laughed, clapping Geralt on the shoulder. "So, which family is this new girl from? What are you going to do if she gets sorted into Gryffindor?"
Geralt stuffed the remaining half of his sandwich into his mouth and spoke around it. "She's from the Parkinson family. And it's not like I haven't dated a Gryffindor before! But there's no way she's going into the lion's den. She'll definitely be a Slytherin."
Pansy Parkinson? Damian finally placed the name. Wasn't she Draco Malfoy's future lackey and girlfriend in the original timeline?
Jerry immediately went back to mocking him. "I remember when you dated that Gryffindor girl. Didn't she dump a cauldron of ink over your head in the middle of the courtyard when you broke up?"
Geralt swallowed his food and puffed out his chest proudly. "That's because I was still young and naive back then. A shrewd Slytherin doesn't trip over the same stone twice."
Ever since that incident, Geralt had strictly adhered to a new rule: he only started pursuing a new girl after officially breaking up with the current one.
Entering the Great Hall, the trio found seats near the middle of the long Slytherin table. Geralt immediately began enthusiastically greeting the older girls sitting nearby. Within seconds, he was completely engrossed in charming conversation.
Damian leaned back and casually glanced up toward the staff table on the raised platform.
He immediately locked eyes with a white-bearded old man sitting in the center chair. The headmaster's eyes, framed by half-moon spectacles, were piercingly bright, his azure pupils twinkling with an almost physical weight.
Upon making eye contact, Albus Dumbledore offered Damian a kind, knowing smile.
Damian maintained his composure and offered a polite smile in return.
A few seconds later, Dumbledore seamlessly withdrew his gaze and turned to speak with Professor Snape, his expression perfectly relaxed.
Damian frowned internally. He felt like he had just been put on Dumbledore's radar. He had no idea why he would attract the Headmaster's personal attention; on paper, he was merely an exceptionally talented student who happened to be at the top of his year.
As for his past conflicts with his classmates, intra-house fighting wasn't exactly a rare occurrence in Slytherin. The House was full of pure-blood supremacists, but it also housed many half-bloods. Natural, violent conflict between the two factions was practically a tradition.
A sudden commotion at the entrance of the Great Hall drew his attention. Professor McGonagall was leading the line of terrified first-years into the room.
The new students looked pale and anxious, clearly having no idea what kind of brutal ordeal they were about to face.
At that exact moment, a man with a large purple turban wrapped tightly around his head hurried through a side door and slipped into the Great Hall. He was late.
Damian's eyes locked onto Professor Quirrell's turban. He knew exactly what was hiding beneath it. Lord Voldemort was currently attached to the back of Quirrell's skull like a parasite, using the thick fabric to conceal his monstrous face.
Quirrell scurried along the staff table and quickly found a seat as far away from Dumbledore as physically possible.
Down on the floor, Professor McGonagall brought out a four-legged wooden stool and placed it before the line of first-years. Upon the stool, she carefully set a frayed, incredibly ancient wizard's hat.
The Sorting Hat used to be incredibly dirty, stiff with centuries of grime and sweat—at least, until it had encountered Damian.
During his own Sorting, Damian had casually drawn his wand and blasted the Hat with a Scouring Charm and an Aguamenti spell before putting it on his head.
The Hat had shrieked in outrage the moment it touched his wet hair: "Azkaban! Azkaban! You should be sorted straight into Azkaban!!!"
The Great Hall fell dead silent. A rip near the brim of the Hat opened wide like a mouth, and it began to sing the brand-new song it had spent the entire year composing.
"Look, the skinny one with the scar on his forehead. That's Harry Potter," Jerry whispered, pointing discreetly toward the front of the line.
Harry was standing next to a red-haired boy—Ron Weasley. However, Hermione and Neville were nowhere near them. Because of Damian's interference on the train, the iconic trio hadn't actually met yet.
Damian was somewhat curious to see what butterfly effect this would cause. Would the 'Golden Trio' be broken up entirely before it even formed?
After the Sorting Hat finished its song to a round of applause, Professor McGonagall stepped forward, a long roll of parchment in her hand.
"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 parchment.
"Abbott, Hannah!"
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