"Why not?" the boy returned, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "You seem... interesting. And I'm always open to knowing interesting people."
Sean studied the speaker. He was a brown-skinned boy, taller than average for their age, with features that already promised striking handsomeness. But it was the air of refined composure, tinged with a subtle cynicism far beyond his years, that truly caught Sean's attention. This one, Sean thought, is definitely interesting.
Extending his own hand, Sean met the boy's grip. "Sean Bulstrode. And you are?"
"Blaise Zabini," the boy replied smoothly. "But please, call me Blaise."
Sean nodded, a genuine smile touching his lips as their hands parted. "Sean, then. But tell me, Blaise, aren't you concerned about… repercussions? From Malfoy and his crew?"
Blaise arched an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. "Trouble me? How so? By placing a snake in my bed? Or perhaps a particularly slimy frog? We are Slytherins, after all. Such theatrics are rather… beneath us, wouldn't you agree?"
Sean had to agree. As Blaise implied, such juvenile pranks were hardly the Slytherin way. More serious retribution, like cursing someone from the shadows, was a different matter entirely. But the Hogwarts rules weren't mere suggestions. Such an act, if discovered, could lead to expulsion at best. At worst? A trial before the Ministry of Magic, or even a one-way ticket to Azkaban. Few, especially pragmatic Slytherins—who were a far cry from the famously impulsive Gryffindors—would risk their entire future for a fleeting moment of anger.
Of course, Sean mused, if one believed their magical skills were truly exceptional, subtle enough to evade detection, then casting a discreet hex wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility. But that level of finesse and daring was unlikely to be found amongst the lower years.
Blaise Zabini, Sean quickly decided, was indeed a fascinating individual. He possessed a dry wit and a mental maturity that seemed to far outstrip most wizards their age. For Sean, whose own mind often felt older than his eleven years, Blaise presented himself as a prime candidate for genuine friendship.
A soft, almost inaudible hiss emanated from within Sean's robes. He gently loosened his collar, and Kulkan, his stunning white serpent, glided out. The snake coiled gracefully around Sean's neck, its ruby-red eyes taking in the vastness of the Great Hall with regal curiosity.
Blaise's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his usually composed features. "Is that… your pet?"
"She is," Sean confirmed, reaching up to gently stroke Kulkan's smooth head. The snake responded with an affectionate nudge against his fingers. Blaise watched the interaction, a hint of something akin to envy in his gaze. He tentatively extended a hand, clearly wanting to touch the beautiful serpent.
The instant Blaise's fingers came near, Kulkan's demeanor shifted. Her head snapped up, body tensing, those ruby eyes now fixed on Blaise with unwavering, wary intensity. Her forked tongue darted out, tasting the air, a silent warning of her readiness to strike.
Blaise wisely retracted his hand, a rueful smile touching his lips. "Magnificent," he conceded, his voice tinged with disappointment, "but undeniably fierce."
Sean gently stroked Kulkan's head again, soothing the snake. "She took some convincing," he admitted to Blaise. "Let's just say our initial introduction was… memorable. I still bear a few faint reminders of her initial scepticism."
Blaise's gaze lingered on Kulkan, open admiration now mixed with that earlier envy. For a Slytherin, Kulkan's aesthetic was undeniable. A pure white serpent, a creature of near-mythical rarity in the wider world, was practically the quintessential familiar for their house.
Though Sean and Blaise had found seats towards the end of the long Slytherin table, slightly apart from the main throng, Kulkan, draped elegantly around Sean's neck, inevitably drew curious glances. Some of the older Slytherin boys, while acknowledging the snake's beauty, feigned a nonchalant disinterest; procuring a similar, if not as rare, serpentine companion was well within the means of their influential families. It was the girls, however, whose eyes seemed truly captivated by Kulkan's ethereal grace.
Just as a few of the bolder girls seemed poised to approach, the clear, ringing tap of Dumbledore's goblet cut through the ambient chatter. Instantly, the remnants of the feast vanished from the house tables – plates wiped clean, platters empty. Well, almost empty. Goyle was still resolutely clutching a greasy turkey leg in one fist and a half-eaten slice of treacle tart in the other, while Crabbe, his face a veritable canvas of smears, wrestled with a substantial pork knuckle. The other Slytherins, having long since finished their meals, sat with varying degrees of composure, awaiting the Headmaster's customary end-of-feast pronouncements.
Dumbledore surveyed the gradually quieting Great Hall, his gaze sweeping over the sea of young faces. He rose slowly from his ornate chair at the high table, coughed lightly into his fist, and began to speak, his voice carrying effortlessly to every corner of the hall. "While everyone is still… relatively energetic and receptive," he began, a familiar twinkle in his eyes, "I have a few customary start-of-term notices. Firstly, new and old students alike are reminded that the Forbidden Forest is, as its name suggests, strictly out of bounds. Any student found entering the Forest without explicit permission will face appropriate disciplinary measures. Secondly…" he paused, as if ticking off a mental list of usual school rules regarding punctuality and conduct, before his tone grew more serious. "And finally, I must impress upon you all a most important warning. If you do not wish to meet a most unpleasant and painful end, then please, I implore you, do not venture into the corridor on the right-hand side of the fourth floor."
"There we are," Dumbledore concluded with a cheerful clap of his hands. "The necessary notices have been duly noted. Now, before you all retire to your respective common rooms for a well-deserved night's rest, let us join our voices in the traditional singing of the Hogwarts school song!"
A collective groan, subtle yet unmistakable, rippled through the older students of all four Houses at the mere mention of the school song. Expressions of pained resignation and utter helplessness bloomed across their faces. Even at the high table, several professors developed suddenly rigid countenances, their polite smiles strained; their resistance to the infamous Hogwarts school song was a poorly kept secret. However, the Headmaster had spoken, and there was little to be done. Led by Dumbledore's enthusiastic, if somewhat off-key, conducting, a cacophony of various tunes and tempos erupted throughout the Great Hall. At the Slytherin table, most students merely opened their mouths, dutifully mouthing the words with zero audible output.
Goyle and Crabbe, however, were a stark contrast. Having finally, reluctantly, finished the last remnants of their food during Dumbledore's announcements, they now bellowed the school song with astonishing lung capacity. Their rendition, a mournful dirge that sounded suspiciously like a funeral concerto played backwards, assaulted the ears of everyone in their vicinity. Their large faces, still liberally smeared with grease and cream, contorted with the effort. They sang so loudly and so appallingly out of tune that Malfoy, seated nearby, looked as though he was genuinely questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment. The unfortunate first-years seated closest to the duo appeared on the verge of a collective breakdown. Sean had no doubt that if they weren't in the sanctity of the Great Hall and particularly if they weren't directly under the steely gaze of their own Head of House, Professor Snape, at least a dozen Slytherin wands would have been surreptitiously drawn to cast silencing charms—or something far less pleasant—upon Goyle and Crabbe.
When the last, soul-crushing note of the school song finally faded (mercifully drowned out by Dumbledore's final flourish), Sean and Blaise exchanged a look of profound, shared suffering. The auditory assault from Goyle and Crabbe had clearly taken its toll.
Blaise leaned closer, his voice a low murmur. "I genuinely question the Sorting Hat's criteria sometimes. How those two ended up in Slytherin is a mystery for the ages. Could it be that the Hat truly only considers bloodline and disregards all else? Honestly, I believe their… particular talents might be far more appreciated in Gryffindor."
Sean shook his head, a wry chuckle escaping him. "And I think, Blaise, that might be the most severe insult Gryffindor has ever unwittingly received."
Blaise's lips curved into a genuine, appreciative smile. "An astute observation, Sean. Most astute."
As the last echoes of Dumbledore's closing remarks faded, the Prefects from each House rose with practiced authority. One by one, they began to lead their respective contingents of students out of the Great Hall towards their common rooms. The newly appointed fifth-year Prefects went first, looking slightly self-important, followed by the more seasoned sixth-years, and finally, the seventh-year Prefects, who carried an air of quiet command. Sean noted that the female seventh-year Prefect from one of the houses also wore the gleaming badge of Head Girl, a clear indicator of her outstanding capabilities and leadership.
***********
✨ 300 gems = 1 bonus chapter
✨ 500 gems = another bonus chapter
Get access to advanced chapters at my P@treon.
[email protected]/meowthtl