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#### A New Beginning in Slytherin
The murmurs still lingered in the air as I walked toward the Slytherin table. The sound was a low, persistent hum, like the distant buzz of bees, and it followed me like a shadow. Some students stared at me with open curiosity, their eyes wide and unblinking, as if they couldn't quite believe what they were seeing. Others exchanged knowing smirks, their lips curling in a way that suggested they thought they had me figured out. They didn't. Not even close.
I could feel Harry's eyes on my back, burning into me with a mixture of confusion and something else I couldn't quite place. Betrayal, maybe? Disappointment? I didn't turn to look. This was my choice. My path. And I wasn't going to let anyone—not even my brother—dictate how I walked it.
As I took a seat at the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy leaned forward, his smirk widening. His platinum-blond hair gleamed under the candlelight, and his pale, aristocratic features were sharp and calculating. "A Potter in Slytherin?" His voice was amused, but there was something else there too—something probing, as if he were testing me. "Didn't see that coming."
I met his stare without hesitation, my expression calm and unreadable. "Guess the Sorting Hat knows something you don't."
Draco chuckled, a low, satisfied sound that made it clear he was pleased with my response. "Maybe you're not as bad as I thought."
Across from him, a girl with dark hair and sharp features—Pansy Parkinson, if I remembered correctly—snorted. Her voice was sharp and cutting, like the edge of a knife. "Potters are supposed to be in Gryffindor. Your brother's probably having a breakdown over there."
I didn't respond. Instead, I glanced toward the Gryffindor table. Harry was still looking at me, his expression unreadable. Next to him, Ron Weasley looked horrified, his freckled face pale and his mouth slightly open, as if he couldn't quite process what had just happened. And then there was Hermione. Her brows were furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line. She was analyzing me, I could tell. Her sharp, intelligent eyes were scanning me, trying to piece together the puzzle of who I was and why I had ended up in Slytherin. And she didn't like the conclusion she was reaching.
Good.
I wanted her to doubt me. I wanted all of them to doubt me. Because no one—not her, not Harry, not even Voldemort—was going to predict what I would do next.
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#### A Meeting with a Legend
The Slytherin common room was unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was a place of shadows and secrets, where the air felt heavy with the weight of centuries of ambition and cunning. Dark green tapestries hung from the walls, their intricate patterns weaving stories of power and legacy. The entire room had an eerie, underwater glow, the light filtering through the windows that looked out into the depths of the Black Lake. It was beautiful in a way that was almost unsettling, like a dream that teetered on the edge of becoming a nightmare.
Most of the students had dispersed after the feast, leaving only a few lingering by the fireplace. Draco and his usual followers—Crabbe and Goyle—were laughing about something, their voices low and rough. Pansy lounged on a couch, flipping through a book with a bored expression on her face. I made my way to a quieter corner, away from the noise, my footsteps soft against the stone floor.
And that's when I saw him.
He was seated near a window, his silver-blond hair catching the dim light. His sharp elven features were unreadable, but his piercing blue eyes met mine the moment I approached. There was something about him—something ancient and otherworldly—that made the air around him feel different, like the world itself bent to his presence.
"So," he said, his voice smooth as flowing water. "You are different."
I tilted my head, studying him carefully. "You don't seem surprised."
A small smile ghosted across his lips, so faint it was almost imperceptible. "I have seen many things in my lifetime. A Potter in Slytherin is unusual, but not the strangest thing I've encountered."
I took a seat across from him, my movements deliberate and measured. "You don't belong here, do you?"
"Neither do you," he replied, his tone calm and matter-of-fact.
For a moment, we sat in silence, measuring each other. Then, he extended a hand, his movements graceful and precise.
"Legolas Thranduilion."
" Daniel Potter. "
I shook it without hesitation, my grip firm and steady. This was the beginning of something important. I could feel it in the way the air seemed to shift around us, in the way his eyes held mine with an intensity that spoke of unspoken understanding.
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The first day of classes arrived with a mixture of anticipation and tension. The castle felt different in the daylight, its ancient walls humming with the energy of hundreds of students rushing to and fro. Harry and I barely spoke at breakfast, the distance between us palpable. Ron ignored me completely, his face set in a stubborn scowl as he shoveled food into his mouth. And Hermione? She was watching me like a hawk, her sharp eyes tracking my every move.
It didn't take long for the first confrontation to happen.
It was in Potions, of course.
Professor Snape's presence cast a heavy silence over the room as he swept past the tables, his dark robes billowing behind him like a shadow given form. His cold black eyes scanned the room, lingering on Harry for a second too long before shifting toward me. There was something in his gaze—something calculating and almost approving—that made my skin prickle.
"As there is little foolish wand-waving in this class," Snape drawled, his voice low and silky, "I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science of potion-making."
His gaze locked onto mine, and for a moment, it felt like he was looking straight through me, peeling back the layers of my thoughts and intentions. "However," he continued, "I expect at least one of you to understand."
I didn't blink as his gaze lingered on me. He knew. Knew that I wasn't like Harry. Knew that I saw things differently. And I knew that, for some reason, he approved.
Beside me, Draco smirked, his expression smug and self-satisfied. Across the room, Hermione scowled, her lips pressed into a thin line as she glared at me.
Snape waved his wand, and ingredients appeared on the blackboard. "Let's see if any of you have a brain."
I picked up my quill, my mind already calculating the process before he even finished speaking. And then Hermione's hand shot up, her movement sharp and precise.
I smirked.
Here we go.
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#### A Battle of Wits
"Miss Granger," Snape said, his tone dripping with disdain. "Since you seem so eager, enlighten us."
Hermione launched into an explanation, her voice clear and confident as she detailed every aspect of the potion in perfect clarity. She was brilliant—there was no denying it. Her knowledge was vast, her understanding deep, and her ability to articulate it all was nothing short of impressive.
But she wasn't the only one who knew things.
Before Snape could move on, I leaned back in my chair, my posture relaxed and confident, and added, "Actually, there's a more efficient way to prepare the ingredients. If you crush the Valerian root before adding the powdered bicorn horn, the reaction stabilizes faster."
Hermione turned to me, her eyes narrowing as she processed my words. "That's not in the textbook."
I smirked, my expression calm and unbothered. "Maybe you should read beyond the textbook."
Her lips parted slightly, but she quickly recovered, her sharp mind already working to counter my argument. "There's no proven evidence that method is more effective."
I shrugged, my movements casual and deliberate. "Then I suppose we'll just have to see for ourselves."
Snape watched the exchange with an expression that was almost amused, his dark eyes flicking between us as if we were pieces on a chessboard. "Very well," he said, his voice smooth and measured. "Let's see which of you is correct."
And just like that, our rivalry began.
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#### End of Chapter 3.
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