Chapter Text
The castle buzzed with the typical start of term energy, cool wind sweeping through the corridors as if Hogwarts itself was exhaling in anticipation. The Great Hall glowed in late afternoon gold, enchanted ceiling mirroring a sky streaked with oranges and purples as the sun set. Candles hovered in midair, already flickering to life in the dimming light, casting soft shadows across rows of polished wooden tables.
Headmaster Scott Smajor stood at the podium, waiting for the hall to settle as the students found their seats. "Welcome back, everyone," he called, voice commanding but with a warmth that softened its edges. "Let’s welcome another school year at Hogwarts!”
Pearl walked around the staff table, large owl wings tucked neatly to her back. She was carrying a four-legged stool, and the Sorting Hat. Pearl set the hat in front of the hall, sending a reassuring smile towards the nervous looking first years huddled by the door.
As it had for as long as anyone could remember, the Hat opened a mouth-like seam and began to sing.
Oh, I’ve sat upon a thousand heads,
I’ve seen the brave, the sly, the wise,
From dungeon dark to tower red,
Beneath these ever-changing skies.
Four founders built this hallowed place,
With wit and pride and courage bold,
And though they’re gone, I guard their grace
Their stories still are told.
And still I sort with ancient art,
And place you where you’ll grow
For every house has played its part
In triumph and in woe.
Be bold, dear Gryffindors, and fight
For what is just and true.
The fire inside must burn so bright
The world will need your view.
To Ravenclaws with minds so vast,
Seek answers no one knows.
But caution, some truths from the past
Are buried deep below.
Oh Hufflepuff, so full of grace,
Your kindness holds us fast.
The fiercest strength is found in place
Where others would not last.
And Slytherin, with silvered tongue,
And eyes upon the stars
Your legacy is far from done
Be careful who you are.
Now listen well, oh young and old,
For times are strange and stars grow dim,
There’s more to you than what you’re told
Than blood or name or whim.
The walls have watched. The eyes have stirred.
The wind has whispered change.
But still I sort, and speak the word,
Though fates may yet rearrange.
So place me now upon your crown,
Let fear and doubt depart,
For I don’t sort by name alone
I sort you by your heart.
As the Sorting Hat’s song winded down, Grian frowned, wondering what on earth it was talking about now. There was something off about this year’s song, some instinct in him stirring. He shook it off, the Hat was always quite strange. He refocused his gaze towards his sister, as she opened the scroll full of the First Year’s names.
“When I call your name,” Pearl began with a familiarity more than what would be expected from someone who’s only done this once before, “you will sit on the stool and place the hat on your head. The hat will sort you, and you will join your housemates at your table.”
The sorting went swiftly, other than a small girl’s hatstall, where she eventually went to Ravenclaw. As the last student joined their table, Pearl whisked the hat and stool away, sitting in the Deputy’s seat at the staff table, next to Grian.
“Thank you Headmistress Moon!” Scott said brightly, addressing the students once more, “Before the feast, we have your normal start of term announcements. Times for Quidditch tryouts will be posted in your common rooms within the week. Those that wish to continue student organizations, please check in with your staff sponsor this week. If you require potion treatments, check in with Madame Shadow before you turn in for the night. Additionally, and this is important, endermen, creepers, and other dark creature sightings have grown over the summer, so the forbidden forest is, as it should be, forbidden to students, unless with a member of staff. The Lake is currently free of drowneds, but we will make an announcement if the merpeople have an update. And with that, let’s eat!”
Scott waved his hands and the platters filled themselves with steaming roasts, shining golden carrots, piles of baked potatoes, and shimmering jellies in house colors. The hall filled with chatter as the students reconnected with their friends after the summer apart. The staff too, started speaking amongst themselves, with a noticeably more worried air than the students.
Grian leaned around Mumbo to speak to Impulse, frowning, “Did you know about the rise in Dark creatures?”
Impulse nodded, “Scott let me know, said I should shuffle my curriculum a bit to cover defending against them first thing.”
“It's not been in the papers, how bad really is it?” Mumbo asked then, looking concerned.
"Not bad yet, but enough that we should be prepared,” Gem piped up then, “I’m going to talk to the ministry about getting more cats and kneazles for the school grounds to ward off the creepers.”
Scott came to his seat then, passing by the group’s conversation, “Xisuma said the ministry’s keeping an eye on it. I wouldn’t worry yet.”
Worries not dissipated yet, the group shifted conversation topics to something more lighthearted as they filled their plates.
“Hey Tim, pass the potatoes?” Grian asked, looking down the table at his cousin.
Jimmy, hands busy with keeping Joel from stealing his plate, sent a desperate look to Tango, who passed the platter of potatoes to Grian, “you know, a ton of the students actually think your name is Timmy,” he commented idly, grinning at the offence spreading across Jimmy’s face.
“Grian!” Jimmy squawked, “What have you done!”
Grian only laughed, any remaining worry from the news and the hat’s song gone for the moment.
Soon enough, the feast came to an end, Scott dismissing the students to their common rooms. A small number of the students split from the crowd, heading to the hospital wing instead, to collect their wolfsbane and hemsol potions. Mumbo and Ren shared a look, before moving to rise and follow them. Before they got far, however, a student approached the table, heading straight to Grian.
“‘Ello Xelqua!” Tommy, one of the Slytherin sixth years, said brightly, looking up at his head of house, “Professor Jumbo,” he added in a far more respectful, nearly awe-struck tone.
Mumbo chuckled, patting Tommy on the shoulder awkwardly as he passed by.
Grian waved his friend goodbye before returning his attention to his student, “what can I help you with Tommy?”
“Professor, are we continuing the dueling club this year?” Tommy asked, tone much more polite than his initial greeting.
Grian raised a brow, "It depends. You planning to duel or cause trouble?"
Tommy grinned, "Bit of both, probably."
“I’d expect nothing less,” Grian smiled back at the student, “I think Professors Beans and Tay will be running the dueling club this year. Speak to them about it during one of your free periods tomorrow. Hurry down to the common room now, I’ll just be a bit.”
The dungeon corridors of Hogwarts had a chill to them, one that crept up through your shoes and wound its way into your spine if you weren’t used to it. The air was thick with stone and silence, and the only sounds were the soft footsteps of new students and the occasional echo of dripping water.
But when the ornate green and silver doors of the Slytherin Common Room creaked open, warmth flooded in.
Lamps with emerald glass flickered to life as the students entered, casting rippling light like sunlight seen from underwater. Plush leather sofas sat in wide arcs around a low-burning fireplace, its flames tinged with green. The stone walls were carved with serpentine patterns, and a massive window looked out into the dark depths of the Black Lake.
The first-years stood silently in the middle of the common room, wide-eyed and awkward in their fresh robes, uncertain whether they were supposed to speak or stand or bow to someone. The older Slytherins were spread about, lounging against columns and sitting cross-legged on the rugs, some chatting idly while others inspected the newcomers like hawks eyeing potential teammates.
From the stairwell that led down from the staff corridor, Grian descended with the loose-limbed, careless grace of someone who looked like they might trip at any moment, but never did.
He clapped once, loudly, and the chatter cut off.
"Welcome to Slytherin," Grian said, smiling at the first years as he stopped just beside the fireplace. He’d rolled up his sleeves since dinner, ink smudges staining his forearms. "Don’t look so nervous. We’re not going to bite. Except maybe Atlas, you never know"
A ripple of laughter spread through the room, Atlas bared his teeth at the first years, before smiling jokingly.
Grian leaned a hip against the arm of one chair. "Now. I know what you’re thinking. Slytherin. That house. The one everyone glares at in the corridor like we’ve personally cursed their grandmother and sent her to Australia."
He gave an exaggerated grimace, then shrugged. "Look, I won’t lie. We’ve got a bit of a reputation. Historically? Not... spotless. But who’s actually perfect?"
From the corner of the room, Tommy raised a hand and pointed to himself smugly. Grian rolled his eyes.
"Yes, yes, Tommy likes to say he’s perfect. But the rest of us, well it doesn’t matter. The truth is, Slytherin isn’t the house of villains, no matter what the storybooks tell you. It’s the house of ambition. Resourcefulness. Determination. We’re the people who get things done. The ones who see the system, study it, and figure out how to twist it just the right way to make it work in our favor."
He smiled sharply. "We’re not here to play by everyone else’s rules, we’re here to write our own."
A few of the older students nodded, and Grian could feel the room warming slightly, not from the fire, but from familiarity. Unity.
"But," he said, lifting a finger, "with all that cleverness, with all that drive, comes something even more important. Honor."
That one made a few of the first-years frown, and Grian stepped forward, hands folding behind his back as his voice softened.
"Honor isn’t about being perfect. It’s not about playing nice or following orders. It’s about knowing who you are. Owning it. Standing for something, even if that something isn’t what everyone else believes in. It's about having pride in yourself, in your work, in your house. Because we don’t claw our way to the top just for glory, we do it for the people we bring with us. It’s about making a legacy for yourself, your house, that doesn’t make people want to sneer at you in the corridor."
He gestured around the room. "Look around. These are your housemates. Your allies. Your rivals, maybe, but also your team. In this house, we look out for each other. We sharpen each other. Steel and stone, serpent and fang."
The green light from the lake shimmered across his glasses as he smiled again, this time a little softer. "And yes, we are ambitious. Ambition isn’t a bad thing, it’s a torch. One that can burn, or one that can light the way."
Grian leaned forward, hands on his knees, as he looked the first-years in the eye.
"If you’ve got a dream, chase it. If you’ve got a goal, build toward it. If someone says you can’t, prove them wrong. But do it with your chin up and your head clear. We don’t stoop. We don’t grovel. We move forward. Together. I am here to support you. Your house is here to support you. Don’t forget that."
A hush hung in the air, the first years processing what he’d said.
Then Grian clapped again. "Right! Now that I’ve properly terrified you all with my big speech…"
He turned on his heel and pointed dramatically toward the curling staircases on either side of the room.
"That’s where your dorms are, the prefects can show you which rooms are yours. Try not to explode anything tonight."
He paused, eyes sparkling.
"Unless it’s on purpose. Then I want notes."
Grian grinned as he saw the first years fear start to fade as they made their way towards the stairs, prefects pointing out directions. He made his own way out of the common room, satisfied with the start to the year.
By the time Grian reached the staff lounge, the party was already in full swing.
Someone had enchanted the chairs to drift lazily through the air like gondolas, the fireplace roared with technicolor flames, and music filled the room. Platters of food hovered around like obedient pets, and a stack of Butterbeer bottles was already suspiciously lower than it had been an hour ago.
Scar caught sight of Grian immediately and bounded over, nearly tripping over a rug in his enthusiasm.
"There he is!" Scar crowed, throwing an arm dramatically around Grian’s shoulders, leaning onto his friend instead of his cane, "The serpent king himself!"
Grian laughed, "Alright Badger Boy, how’d you three finish up so fast?" He directed the question to Cleo and Etho as well, who were standing behind Scar.
“I don’t give speeches to the Ravenclaws, they don’t need it,” Etho said simply.
“The Gryffindors wouldn’t have listened to me for any longer,” Cleo said with a grin, “But personally, I just think you talked too long.”
“Half of what I said was all Scar! There’s no way he finished before me.”
Scar gasped in mock offense, “Are you telling me you didn’t appreciate my hard work?"
"Maybe so," Grian teased, plucking a Butterbeer from a passing tray. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping so only Scar could hear. "Seriously, though. Thanks. I would’ve sounded like a very panicked history textbook without you."
Scar beamed, wide and pleased, squeezing Grian’s shoulder before letting go. "Anytime, G."
Across the room, Pearl and Scott were seated on one of the floating chairs, a massive bowl of popcorn between them that they were systematically demolishing.
Scott nudged Pearl. "How long, you reckon?"
"Hmm?"
Scott tilted his head meaningfully toward Grian and Scar, who were still laughing about something near the fireplace.
Pearl grinned, wolfish. "Three weeks, tops."
Scott scoffed, “Pearl, they've been dancing around each other for years, there’s no way.”
“You wanna wager?”
“I’ll win”
"You’re on," Pearl said, shaking his hand solemnly. "Loser gets to monitor all detentions for a month."
Scott visibly paled. "That’s evil."
"Exactly."
Meanwhile, Cleo was dragging a large cauldron into the center of the room, sloshing with something neon pink.
"Alright, you lot!" she announced, brandishing a ladle like a weapon. "It’s time for Veritaserum Shots!"
A collective groan and a few cheers rose up.
"Absolutely not," Etho said immediately from where he lounged near the bookshelf, sipping calmly at a regular drink.
Impulse elbowed him. "Come on, you made the potion"
"You just want to watch me spill state secrets," Etho muttered.
"You’re right," Impulse said brightly.
Cleo began serving shots gleefully to everyone who made eye contact with her. Grian eyed his suspiciously.
Scar bumped his hip against Grian’s. "What's the worst that could happen?"
"Famous last words," Grian muttered, but downed it anyway.
The effect was instant, his face flushed, and he felt the distinct, floaty pull of honesty bubbling under his skin.
Ren raised a glass to his mouth, before it was plucked out of his hand, “Not while you’re on Wolfsbane, sorry,” Lizzie said apologetically, “Too close to the full to risk messing with your potion.”
“Nothing in veritaserum will interfere with the wolfsbane,” Etho called out, “Let the man have fun.”
“Cheers Etho!” Ren took the shot glass back, downing it immediately.
"Alright!" Tango called, grabbing a Butterbeer to chase down his own shot. "Truth or dare. You drink, you answer. You don’t answer, you drink again."
Jimmy, who had taken two shots without realizing the rules, raised his hand and shouted, "I volunteer as tribute!"
Scott laughed, "Alright, Canary Boy. Truth: Got your eye on anyone?"
Jimmy wobbled dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "I guess," he said a bit confused, but enthusiastically, "I’m already dating someone."
The room exploded in chatter immediately.
"WHO?!" Scar shrieked.
Jimmy grinned lopsidedly and gestured lazily across the room.
"Tango," he said.
Tango, who had been sipping Butterbeer innocently, spluttered and turned pink to the tips of his ears, hair flaming brighter in his embarrassment.
Cleo dropped her ladle into the cauldron with a splash. "You WHAT?!"
Impulse roared with laughter. "I knew it! Tango isn’t subtle at all!”
Grian gaped, pointing an accusatory finger at Jimmy, "You-!" he choked. "Timmy, you didn’t tell me ?! I thought we were family!"
Jimmy raised his hands, his bright yellow wings flaring in defense, "I was gonna! I just, you know, forgot!"
" Forgot? " Grian shrieked, "I was giving you relationship advice last week, and you nodded like you were still single!"
"I panicked!" Jimmy said defensively. "You started talking about ‘finding the right person’ and I thought it would be weird to say ‘oh yeah it's our coworker.'"
Tango buried his face in his hands.
"Unbelievable," Grian muttered, crossing his arms but smiling in spite of himself. "I’m hurt. Betrayed. Devastated."
Scar leaned in and said, in a stage whisper, "You’re being a little dramatic"
Grian shot him a glare. "Says the man who threw himself into a fountain last year because someone beat him at Wizard’s Chess."
"Grian you once made a shrine of my face because I was gone for a week, you cannot be talking about dramatics,” Mumbo chimed in.
Pearl then raised her cup, “Alright now, does anyone else in a secret relationship want to confess?”
No one else stepped forward, to her own disappointment, half certain her brother was actually dating Scar.
The evening unraveled into card games and enchanted fireworks, more rounds of Butterbeer, and a long, competitive argument over which staff member could ride a broomstick upside down the longest. Etho won, but only because Jimmy falling had distracted Tango.
Later, when most of the party had slumped into a comfortable, messy sprawl across chairs and rugs, Grian found himself flopped next to Scar again, head lolling on the back of the sofa, Scar’s arm around his shoulder.
Scar nudged him gently. "You falling asleep on us G?"
Grian smiled faintly, exhausted but warm. "Maybe a little bit"
Almost immediately after he’d said that, the clock chimed once, letting the room know that they’d been awake far longer than they should be.
“We’re going to hate ourselves in the morning,” Scott groaned, dragging a hand down his face, “Let’s head to bed everyone.”
Scar removed his hand from around Grian, standing up before offering a hand up. Grian accepted, stretching his wings out as he got up.
The group started slowly trickling out of the staff room, bidding each other good night as they parted ways to their respective rooms.