The Hogwarts Express chugged along, and Alexander Hunter found himself in a compartment with a blind pure-blood aristocrat and his hyperactive, soon-to-be-a-handful best friend. It was, he mused, a perfect microcosm of the wizarding world: old money, unchecked ambition, and a glaring vulnerability he could potentially exploit.
Ominis Gaunt was surprisingly perceptive for someone who couldn't see. "You're very quiet, Hunter," he remarked, his milky eyes aimed vaguely in Alex's direction.
"Just taking it all in," Alex replied smoothly. "It's a lot to process. From a London orphanage to... this." He gestured around the compartment, though the gesture was lost on Ominis.
"Indeed," Ominis said, a hint of sympathy in his voice. "It must be a significant adjustment. Wool's, was it? I've... heard things." He said it not with snobbery, but with a tone of genuine distaste, as if the very concept of an orphanage was unpleasant.
You have no idea, Alex thought, but he just nodded. "It builds character."
Sebastian burst back into the compartment, followed by a girl who was his mirror image, save for longer hair and a more reserved, though equally mischievous, expression. "Success! Found her! Hunter, this is my twin, Anne. Anne, this is Alexender Hunter. He doesn't talk much, but he has a cracking good name."
Anne Sallow offered a small, polite smile. "Pleasure to meet you. Sebastian says you've already claimed our compartment. How forward of you." Her tone was light and teasing.
"I prefer to think of it as efficient asset acquisition," Alex said without thinking. The three of them blinked. He quickly covered, "I mean, it was the first empty one I saw. Seemed efficient."
Sebastian laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Asset acquisition! I like it! You're going to fit right in in Slytherin."
The rest of the trip was a whirlwind of Exploding Snap (which Ominis somehow always won, likely due to Sebastian's terrible cheating tells), and Sebastian enthusiastically explaining everything about Hogwarts as if Alex were a tourist who'd never read a book. Alex listened patiently, filing away every nugget of information. Sebastian's favorite teacher was Professor Ronen for Charms; he found Professor Hecat scary but brilliant; he thought the Headmaster, Phineas Nigellus Black, was a "pompous git." Ominis mostly sighed and corrected Sebastian's more outrageous claims.
As they changed into their robes, Alex noted the easy camaraderie between the three. It was a unit. A package deal. To get to Sebastian, he'd need to get through Ominis and Anne. A challenge, but a manageable one.
The sight of Hogwarts from the lake wasn't just impressive; it was a strategic marvel. Defensible location, towering walls, probably a myriad of secret passages. His inner crime lord was already drawing up blueprints.
The Great Hall was everything he'd imagined and more. The enchanted ceiling, the floating candles, the four long tables packed with students. But his eyes weren't on the spectacle; they were on the people. He was categorizing them: potential allies, obvious threats, useful idiots.
Professor Weasley stood by the stool with the ragged old Sorting Hat. One by one, first-years were called up.
"Gaunt, Ominis!"
The hat had barely touched his head before it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!" The Slytherin table clapped politely, a few with knowing nods. Legacy admission. Predictable.
"Sallow, Anne!"
The hat debated for a moment, whispering on her head before announcing, "SLYTHERIN!" She hopped off and went to sit with Ominis.
"Sallow, Sebastian!"
"Come on, come on, Slytherin..." Sebastian muttered as he marched up. The hat chuckled audibly.
"Another Sallow! Plenty of ambition, I see! A thirst to prove yourself! But also a great loyalty... could be HUFFLEPUFF?"
Sebastian looked horrified.
"No? Quite sure? Well, better be... SLYTHERIN!"
Sebastian punched the air and practically skipped to the table.
Finally, "Hunter, Alexender!"
He walked forward with a calmness that unnerved the whispering first-years. He sat on the stool, and the world went dark as the hat dropped over his eyes.
Hmm, a small voice whispered in his ear. Now, this is interesting. Very interesting. Not a mind I was expecting to find in an eleven-year-old.
Let's get on with it, Alex thought back, his mental voice flat and businesslike.
Oh, my! Such impatience. And such... intricate thoughts. A desire for control. A belief that order is imposed, not grown. A fascinating mind, shaped by experiences I dare not fully delve into. You have the cunning for my own house, oh yes. The ambition to build an empire. You could be great, you know. You could tear this world down and rebuild it in your image. It's all here, in your head...
Slytherin, Alex thought, impatiently. The answer is Slytherin. It offers the best network for long-term influence.
The hat actually laughed. *You're trying to sort yourself! I love it! Very well. You're right, of course. Better be... SLYTHERIN!"
The table cheered as he joined Sebastian, Anne, and Ominis. Sebastian slapped his back. "Told you! Welcome to the house of the ambitious and the shifty!"
Ominis offered a small, genuine smile. "It's not all that bad. Mostly."
And so it began.
Time Skip: The Foundation Years (Years 1-4)
The next four years were the most productive of Alexender Hunter's life—both of his lives.
Hogwarts wasn't a school; it was a resource. And Alex was its most ruthless entrepreneur.
Academics: He was, predictably, a top student. Not the obvious swot like some Ravenclaws, but effortlessly brilliant. He mastered charms with an elegant flick, transfigured objects with ruthless precision, and his potions were always perfect—a holdover from his old life's understanding of chemistry and logistics. He asked professors advanced, theoretical questions that sometimes left them stuttering. It wasn't a thirst for knowledge; it was a need to understand the rules of the system he intended to dominate.
Extracurriculars:
Crossed Wands: He joined in his second year and became the club's undisputed champion within a month. He didn't duel; he dismantled. Lucan Brattleby, the club leader, viewed him as a minor deity.
Quidditch: By Fourth year, he was Seeker and Captain of the Slytherin team. Slytherin started winning. Consistently.
The Allied Imperium:
He started small. First, it was just a study group with Sebastian, Ominis, and Anne. Then, he began offering "tutoring" services for a fee—a favor, a few sweets, a interesting piece of castle gossip. By fourth year, "Allied" was a well-oiled machine. It wasn't a gang; it was an "information and procurement network." He had:
Runners: First and second-years who could slip places older students couldn't. Their payment? Protection from bullies and help with homework.
Procurement Specialists: Students who could "acquire" ingredients from the greenhouses, books from the Restricted Section (via carefully forged notes), and sweets from the kitchen.
Informants: The gossip was the real currency. Alex knew who had a crush on whom, which teachers were in a bad mood, and which seventh-years were planning a secret party.
If you crossed him, your social life mysteriously died, your potions ingredients went missing, and you suddenly found yourself on the receiving end of a plethora of minor, humiliating hexes. Everyone knew it was better to be with Allied than against it.
The Personal Touch:
And then there was Dahlia Black. From the ancient and most noble House of Black. She had the family's trademark dark hair, striking grey eyes, and a arrogance that could curdle milk. She was also sharp, witty, and the only person who saw through Alex's charming student facade almost immediately.
They were paired in Potions in second year. She criticized his stirring technique. He countered by pointing out her inefficient preparation. It was intellectual warfare. By the end of class, they had produced a perfect Draught of Peace and a simmering, intense rivalry that exploded into a secret romance by third year.
She was the only one he trusted with the full extent of Allied. She became his right hand, his chief strategist. "Allied Imperium?" she'd said, one evening in the Room of Requirement (books knowledge). "How dreadfully dramatic. I love it."
The Ashwinder Problem:
In fourth year, a new element emerged: the Ashwinders. A group of thuggish poachers and dark wizards who started causing trouble in the surrounding hamlets. They were an affront to order. A rival operation on his turf.
So, Alex started hunting them. On weekends, under the guise of "visiting Hogsmeade," he'd don a simple, featureless black mask.
He'd transfigure rocks into projectiles, using the principles of Weapon Arts for perfect throws. He'd use the environment, luring them into traps with a Capoeira-inspired agility that made him seem like a phantom. He'd cast a Descendo to drop a poacher to the ground, and before they could rise, a swift, precise kick—to the jaw would ensure they stayed down.
He didn't need Dark magic to be deadly. He was a surgical strike. He estimated he'd wiped out 60% of their local forces by the end of the year.
But then things got weird. Their leader, a nasty piece of work named Victor Rookwood, was seen fraternizing with a goblin. But not just any goblin. This one, named Ranrok, had a strange, red, metallic magic that made him far stronger than any goblin had a right to be. Alex had stumbled upon a mining operation they were protecting, digging for something. During a skirmish, he found himself cornered by Rookwood and Ranrok. Their forces were too many. So, he did what any good general does: he staged a tactical retreat. He used a combination of Reductor curses and smoke spells to cover his escape, taking down a few more Ashwinders in the process. He'd fought them to a standstill, but it was a clear message: this was a bigger fight.
He also found a solution to his Dark magic problem. He discovered a second wand, abandoned and weak, in a dusty corner of the Room of Requirement. It was a terrible conductor for his magic, but it was untraceable. If a situation absolutely required a harsher spell, he'd use the spare wand. The magic was weaker, messier, but it wouldn't link back to his wand or him.
The Beginning of Fifth Year
The Sorting Feast for their fifth year was in full swing. Alex, now taller, his features sharpening into a devastatingly handsome young man, sat with confidence at the Slytherin table. Dahlia Black was by his side, her arm linked with his. Sebastian was recounting his summer, while Ominis listened with a pained expression. Anne was quieter than usual.
As the desserts appeared, Dahlia leaned in, her voice a whisper only for Alex. "Something's happened. Anne told me. Over the summer, there was a goblin raid on Feldcroft. Their uncle was there... it was bad. Anne was... cursed. Some kind of dark magic. She's in constant pain."
Alex's eyes flicked to Anne. She was pushing food around her plate, her face pale. Then to Sebastian, whose bravado was a thin mask over a seething cauldron of anger and desperation.
A cold, calculating spark ignited in Alex's mind. A goblin raid. Red magic. Ranrok. This was no coincidence.
This was a crisis. And a crisis was an opportunity. A vulnerable, talented, and fiercely loyal Sebastian Sallow was now a prime asset, ripe for guidance. For control. Ominis's hatred of Dark Arts would be a complication, but every system has its bugs.
He looked at Sebastian, not with sympathy.
"Poor Anne," Alex said, his voice the perfect blend of concern and thoughtful gravity. He squeezed Dahlia's hand. "We'll have to be there for him. For both of them."
He took a sip of pumpkin juice, his mind already weaving the threads. Feldcroft. The curse. Ranrok. The mining. Sebastian's rage. It was all connected. And Alexander Hunter, the master of assets and information, was perfectly positioned to connect it all to his benefit.
The game had just gotten a lot more interesting.