The next morning dawned bright and crisp, the early autumn sun filtering through the narrow windows of the Slytherin dormitory. Desmond stirred awake, momentarily confused by the distant chatter of his housemates in the common room. With a groan, he pushed the covers aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, mentally prepping for the day ahead.
Today, they had Potions first. As he pulled on his robes, he mentally revised the syllabus. **Potions. The one subject where even the most inept wizards could shine, provided they didn't blow themselves up in the process.**
When he stepped into the common room, the atmosphere was already buzzing with energy. He caught snippets of conversations, but his attention was drawn to Narcissa Black, who was perched elegantly on one of the plush sofas, flipping through a fashion magazine. Her long, silvery-blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing her delicate features in a way that suggested both grace and a hint of superiority. She was undeniably striking, and Desmond noted that the way she held herself hinted at something deeper than mere vanity—there was a quiet confidence about her.
As Desmond approached the table, her eyes flicked toward him, and for a brief moment, he felt the weight of her gaze, assessing him. "Severus," she said, a slight smile gracing her lips, "I heard you had quite the impressive display in Charms yesterday. You've certainly changed."
Desmond smirked, adopting a mock-serious tone. "Why, thank you, Narcissa. I suppose I've finally realized that scaring first-years isn't a viable life goal."
She laughed lightly, a musical sound that felt oddly infectious. "Oh, come now. Surely there's more to you than just scaring children." Her gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary, and for a fleeting second, he wondered if she was interested in more than just the surface-level charm he projected.
With an internal shrug, he decided to play it cool. "Well, I do have other talents, but I wouldn't want to overshadow your brilliance. We can't have you feeling inadequate now, can we?" He raised an eyebrow, letting a teasing smirk play across his lips.
Narcissa's smile widened, and she rolled her eyes in a playful manner. "How generous of you. I suppose I'll just have to manage."
The two exchanged a few more lighthearted jabs before they fell into a comfortable silence. As Desmond prepared to head out, he caught the fleeting glimpse of something in her eyes—a spark of interest, perhaps? But before he could analyze it, Lucius Malfoy sauntered over, his presence casting a shadow over their light banter.
"Cissy," he drawled, his tone slick with charm, "I've been looking for you. Come on, we need to discuss that little gathering at the Manor this weekend."
Desmond felt a twinge of annoyance but masked it behind a mask of indifference. Lucius was charming, in that self-satisfied way that made Desmond's skin crawl. He brushed past them, muttering under his breath about the privilege that flowed like the blood of the Malfoys.
"Enjoy your gathering," he called back, injecting a hint of sarcasm into his words. "I'll be sure to send a card—'Congratulations on your inevitable enslavement to the dark side.'"
Lucius shot him a narrowed glance, but Desmond merely shrugged it off. He had bigger fish to fry. As he made his way to the Potions classroom, he felt the prickle of Narcissa's gaze still lingering on him, a warm presence amidst the coolness of their house.
In Potions, Professor Slughorn was in fine form, regaling the class with stories of his former students and their spectacular achievements. Desmond half-listened, his mind racing with thoughts of Horcruxes and how to save their DADA professor.
The lesson focused on the Draught of Living Death, which Desmond found both fascinating and slightly terrifying. As they worked, he found himself seated next to Millicent Bulstrode, who was meticulously measuring ingredients and glaring at anyone who dared to approach their station.
"Careful, Bulstrode," he warned with a mock-serious tone. "That's not how you brew a potion; you're supposed to mix, not summon the undead."
She shot him a glare but then cracked a smile, surprising him. "Shut it, Snape. You're one to talk. Just don't blow anything up."
With a roll of his eyes, Desmond concentrated on his potion, deftly stirring it while tossing in a few well-timed comments to keep Millicent on her toes. He was aware that today's class was more about proving themselves to Slughorn than mastering potions.
By the time the class was over, Desmond felt like he'd successfully navigated a minefield. He'd made decent progress with the potion, and even better, he hadn't ended up on the floor with a face full of potion. As he stepped out into the hallway, the familiar banter of his housemates filled the air, and he felt the momentum of the day pushing him forward.
After Potions, he had History of Magic, which was as dull as ever. He half-heartedly jotted down notes about goblin rebellions, occasionally doodling a caricature of a very angry goblin yelling about something that was definitely not historically accurate.
Lunchtime rolled around, and Desmond rejoined his housemates at the Slytherin table. As he filled his plate with food, he overheard whispers about his earlier interactions with Narcissa and Lucius.
"Severus and Narcissa are practically inseparable now," one girl whispered, clearly relishing the gossip.
Desmond choked on his pumpkin juice and shot a glance at Narcissa, who was seated with Lucius at the other end of the table, her expression serene but with a flicker of something that might have been amusement.
"Honestly," he muttered to himself, rolling his eyes. "People need to get their eyes checked."
As he settled into his meal, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was at the center of some kind of unwitting drama. But whatever the case, he decided he wouldn't let it distract him from his ultimate goal.
After all, he had plans to hatch—schemes to save professors and perhaps build an empire of pranks. He would remain an enigma, the dark horse of Slytherin, while he plotted his ascent in the wizarding world.
As the day wore on and classes came to an end, Desmond returned to the common room, a sense of satisfaction washing over him. The buzz of laughter and chatter filled the air, and he couldn't help but smile.
Once in the dormitory, he prepared for bed, the soft light of the common room illuminating his thoughts. He was determined not to let the weight of the future crush his newfound confidence. He was Desmond Grey, and he would forge a legacy all his own.
With that thought, he pulled the covers up and drifted off into the world of dreams, ready to confront whatever awaited him when the sun rose again.