The festive banquet at Hogwarts was a real whirlwind of lights, sounds, and aromas. But for Gregory Goyle, who suddenly became another person, it was hell. The world around spun, voices merged into a hum, and the smells of food, magic, and the ancient castle mixed into a mess. His head was splitting, and he barely held on not to fall face-first into the table.
"Where am I? What is this place?" these questions raced through my mind, but there were no answers. Instead, alien memories came. Memories of a boy named Gregory Goyle. They crashed over me like an avalanche, filling my consciousness with fragments of scenes from someone else's childhood.
The Goyle family manor stood on remote land, surrounded by dense forests that always seemed to little Gregory to harbor monsters. The house itself, with its massive stone walls and narrow windows, was like a living organism, watching and listening. The corridors were cramped, and the air in them was stagnant, imbued with dampness and something else—perhaps fear. Massive portraits of ancestors hung on the walls, their faces frozen in eternal displeasure.
Gregory's father was the embodiment of strength and cruelty. His figure filled any space he was in. When he entered a room, it seemed even the air became denser. He rarely raised his voice, but his quiet, threatening tone was worse than any shout. Gregory knew fear from childhood. His father was his first teacher. Every blow, every punishment carried a lesson—weakness is unforgivable. Once, when Gregory was about five, he spilled soup on the dinner table. It was an accident, but his father didn't tolerate accidents. The punishment was severe and unforgettable. The memory of the cold stone floor of the basement, where he spent the night shivering from fear, still poisoned the boy's soul.
His mother was a different person. She was a shadow—quiet and inconspicuous, as if afraid to exist. Her long blonde hair was always neatly styled, her face impeccably pale, like a statue. But in her eyes was light—weak but constant. Sometimes, when father was away, she told Gregory fairy tales, whispering them quietly so the walls wouldn't hear. She was the only one who gave him something like love. Once, when he was about seven, his mother tried to protect him from another punishment. For that, she received a blow that put her in bed for several days. After that, Gregory never saw the former light in her eyes. She soon withered in their gloomy manor, dying during the birth of Goyle's little sister.
The estate held its secrets. One of the most creepy parts was the basement. Gregory only went down there with his father. There, in the shadows, strange rituals were performed. Father said it strengthened their family magic. Little Gregory didn't understand what was happening, but he felt the power—ancient, crude, and cold. That's when he first felt what it meant to be part of something greater.
But there were memories that were brighter and more tormenting. The Goyle family was in huge debt to the Malfoys. This debt became not just financial—to cover the interest on the debt and keep at least the manor and part of the family library, Gregory's father made a deal. His son had to become Draco Malfoy's bodyguard.
From an early age, Gregory was trained in obedience as a bodyguard. His day started with training on an empty lot at the back of the estate, where his father personally watched every movement. "You must be strong," he said, "otherwise you're just a burden. The Malfoys don't tolerate weaklings." Every mistake turned into pain—verbal or physical. Father wanted to see in him a weapon, obedient and reliable.
On the eve of departure to Hogwarts, Gregory was called to his father's study. Lucius Malfoy was already there with his son. "Extend your hand," father's voice was like a blade. Gregory obeyed, feeling his heart pounding wildly in his chest.
Lucius looked at Gregory like a thing or empty space. His voice was cold and confident: "You will give the Unbreakable Vow. You will swear to protect my son at any cost. Even at the cost of your life."
Gregory felt his hands trembling, but he didn't dare refuse. He looked at his father. In his eyes was anger, but also something else—resignation. He nodded, as if asking him to submit. Gregory clenched his fists and pronounced the words of the vow. Bright magical light enveloped him, like a chain binding his hand. Now he was bound by this vow forever.
These memories flooded over me, formerly Victor, now already Goyle, with inexorable force. Now I knew what the real Gregory Goyle was like. A child who was broken, trying to forge a blunt tool, but not destroyed. This broken personality now intertwined with my own—memories, emotions, fears, and rare glimpses of joy mixed with my own experience.
Barely holding back from falling face-first into the plate with beefsteak, I stealthily tried to examine my new face in the mirror-polished goblet with pumpkin juice. The sight didn't please me. Dull and mean little eyes, puffy cheeks, and big ears. Hmm, clearly not a handsome guy, even now it's obvious, but not quite an ugly one, like Crabbe, for example.
"Hey, Goyle, are you okay?" Draco Malfoy's voice pulled him out of the whirlpool of memories. The tone was contemptuous but not malicious.
"Yes," I muttered, first realizing I was speaking in a voice not my own. It was childish and thin, clearly not my former hoarse baritone.
Deciding to look around, I froze in admiration for a moment. The hall was lit by thousands of candles floating in the air above four long tables where the students sat. The tables were laden with gleaming golden plates and goblets.
At the other end of the hall, the teachers sat at a similar long table. In the very corner sat a huge man, about three meters tall, who looked quite dangerous. In the center of the table stood a large golden chair resembling a throne, on which sat Albus Dumbledore. I remembered this character from the movie; he had too vivid an image. So here, Dumbledore's silver hair shone brighter than the ghosts floating among the students, brighter than anything in the hall. And his robe reminded me of either an evening dress or pajamas with its colors. But the director felt completely different compared to that old movie—not a harmless eccentric, but a truly experienced and dangerous wizard. Even the air around him seemed thicker due to the emanating power.
I also noticed a nervous young man with a large purple turban on his head, so this professor looked even stranger than the others.
Trying not to look too surprised at the sparkling ceiling of the Great Hall and not stare at the teachers, I lowered my gaze to my hands. They were thin and a bit puffy, what to think—childish. The hands I now owned were alien. But that wasn't the worst. The worst was the desperate, all-consuming feeling of weakness. In my life, I was used to being strong, dangerous. And now I found myself in the body of a teenager known for stupidity and clumsiness. Yes, I vaguely remembered this world; after all, long ago I watched a few movies with my girlfriend. Movies about the world of the Boy-Who-Lived. I couldn't remember much substantial, but I remembered a boy named Gregory Goyle, whom I had now become. A pathetic dumb brute who would probably die without even growing up. That's what the fate of his current body should have been.
Pretty soon the plates suddenly emptied—roast beef, fried chicken, pork and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steaks, boiled potatoes, fried potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, various sauces disappeared, leaving the dishes perfectly clean and shining so brightly in the candlelight as if there had been no food on them. But literally a moment later, sweets appeared on them. Ice cream of all imaginable kinds, apple pies, fruit cakes, chocolate eclairs and jam donuts, biscuits, strawberries, jellies, rice puddings...
Well, at least they don't starve us, that's good—I decided, but I wasn't in the mood for food right now, no matter how appetizing it looked; instead, I glanced at Malfoy. He was confident in himself, in his power, even sitting among hundreds of students. A typical spoiled brat, I thought with a smirk. But Malfoy was useful. If you need to survive in this new world, allies will come in handy. And going against the Unbreakable Vow? No thanks, I remembered what Gregory's father told him before the trip to school. Even the slightest violation of the vow would hit me with backlash. Malfoy gets hurt, I'll feel his pain; he dies—I die too. Moreover, even thinking about harming him was painful.
Alien memory burst into my consciousness again. Hogwarts. Magic. Potter. The name flashed, evoking an echo of the old movie, a vague memory of a boy with glasses and a scar. Hero, enemy, or just an obstacle? I didn't know. But this world was alien and dangerous. Greg—the real Gregory Goyle—saw magic as a tool of power but didn't understand it. The new Greg was going to figure it out.
When everyone had their fill of dessert, the sweets disappeared from the plates, and Professor Dumbledore rose from his throne again. Everyone fell silent.
"Ahem!" Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well..." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
Laughter came from the Gryffindor table from a black-haired boy, but there were very few such merrymakers as him. Something in the director's figure, despite his eccentricity, made it clear that it was better not to joke with him.
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore.
I immediately noticed that all the teachers had frozen smiles on their faces. Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.
"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"
And the whole hall bellowed:
Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling
With some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot.Everyone sang as they wanted—some quietly, some loudly, some cheerfully, some sadly, some slowly, some quickly. It was a real cacophony; for me, with a decent musical ear, it was torturous, but I decided to stay in the mask of a dumb schoolboy, so I continued shouting the song words along with Crabbe, although a significant part of the Slytherins were silent. Malfoy was silent too, making a contemptuous grimace on his pale face.
Naturally, everyone finished singing at different times. Everyone had already fallen silent, but the Weasley twins were still singing the school song—slowly and solemnly, like a funeral march. Dumbledore began conducting, waving his wand, and when they finally finished, he clapped the loudest.
"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes: apparently, Dumbledore was moved to tears. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
The dinner ended, and we headed to the dungeons, our steps echoing through the corridors. The Slytherin common room greeted us with soft greenish light. I wanted to sit and close my eyes, but I understood that this moment was the beginning. I need to learn how this world works, what it's like.
Gathering in the common room, the first-years froze, waiting for the prefect to start speaking. The big guy, similar in build and facial expression to a troll, scanned all present with his gaze. His voice sounded even but demanding:
"Welcome to Slytherin. We have rules here that you must follow. First, we don't take disputes and conflicts outside our common room. Any problem is solved within the house. Slytherin is a family, and the family must be strong. Second, we don't tolerate failures. Study, show yourself, achieve results. If you disgrace our house, consequences will follow immediately."
He paused, scanning the first-years with his gaze.
"Third, we have a strict hierarchy. Respect the upperclassmen and prefects. They will help you if you prove yourself worthy. Here, ambition and determination are valued, but not stupidity. If you have questions, ask them wisely."
The young man paused, as if giving time to absorb what was said, then continued:
"Rooms are distributed by age. First-years live together. Your year curator is Prefect Hanna Rosier. Contact her if there are problems."
Hanna, a fragile girl with sharp features, nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. Her gaze burned all the first-years, as if she already expected trouble from them.
Finishing the introductory instructions, the prefect stepped aside, making way for another person. Severus Snape appeared in the center of the room, his figure as if carved from shadow, making everyone freeze without exception. The gloomy professor, folding his hands behind his back, scanned those present with an icy gaze.
"Good evening," his voice was even, but it carried a threat. "I am your head of house, Professor Snape. From this moment, your successes and failures will reflect on Slytherin. You are part of this tradition, and I expect you to uphold it."
He took a step forward, drilling one of the first-years with his gaze, who jerked under it.
"Studying in Slytherin House requires discipline. If you do not meet the standards, you will be punished, and more severely than students from other houses might be. But those who prove themselves will receive my protection and support."
His gaze warmed and lingered on Draco Malfoy, then paused a bit on me and Crabbe. A fraction of interest flashed in Snape's eyes, as if he saw something behind our massive for eleven years figures.
"Some of you already bear certain obligations. Do not fail those to whom you owe. Otherwise..."
With these words, Snape turned and headed for the exit, his robe billowing like a black cloud. The atmosphere in the room, already tense, now seemed palpably heavy.
When the prefects dismissed the first-years to their rooms, I realized there were many difficult nights ahead. The world of Hogwarts turned out to be much darker than one could imagine, and making mistakes here was deadly dangerous.
Late at night, lying in bed, I plunged again into alien-my memories. Father. Mother. Rituals in the basement. Waiting for my turn to prove my usefulness. Fear of becoming a burden. But along with this came a new resolve. This world was gloomy, dangerous, but it had opportunities. If I could survive in the past, I'll survive here too. Gritting my teeth, I promised myself one thing: next time I won't die so easily.