The feast eventually came to an end, and one by one, the new Slytherins were led down into the dungeons by the sixth-year prefects. The torches lining the walls burned with a greenish hue, casting flickering shadows that danced across the ancient stone. The air was cool and heavy with the faint scent of the lake pressing against the walls.
We finally reached the entrance — a smooth stretch of wall that opened only when the prefect whispered the password: "Pure Ambition."
The wall slid open soundlessly, revealing the Slytherin common room. It was a vast, dimly lit chamber of green and silver, with black leather sofas, emerald rugs, and serpentine carvings curling up the pillars. The flickering light from the underlake shimmered through the windows, making it feel like we were deep within a serpent's lair.
As we stepped in, the older prefect — a tall, sharp-eyed sixth-year named Lucien Travers — raised his wand. With a simple flick, the furniture slid aside as though obeying a silent command. He turned to face us, his expression both cold and commanding.
"Welcome to Slytherin," he began. "You've been chosen because you have ambition, cunning, and the potential for greatness. But know this — here, power is everything."
He paced slowly before us, his boots echoing softly on the stone floor.
"We have a tradition — one that separates the strong from the weak. In Slytherin, every year has what we call a Shadow Prefect. The strongest student of each year — not by grades or charm, but by strength — leads their peers. If you want that title, you'll have to earn it."
A murmur rippled through the new students.
Lucien's eyes gleamed. "Who among you dares to fight for it?"
I stepped forward before anyone else could even think to move. "I'll take it," I said simply.
Lucien raised an eyebrow, amused. "Confident, are we, Riddle? Very well. Who will challenge him?"
Two boys stepped forward — both looking uncertain but determined. The prefect nodded, motioning us to take our places. "Wands ready. Non-lethal spells only. Begin."
The first boy barely got his wand up before I whispered, "Expelliarmus!" His wand flew across the room. Before the second could even react, I flicked my wrist, murmuring, "Confringo." The air exploded between us in a controlled burst, knocking him off balance.
He tried to counter with a stunning spell, but my shield rose instantly, a translucent emerald barrier that shimmered under the torchlight. My response was a precise, quiet incantation — "Ignis Orbis." A small sphere of flame erupted and hovered dangerously close to his robes until he yielded.
It was over in less than a minute.
Lucien's expression shifted from amusement to mild surprise. "Well," he said at last, "it seems our first-year Shadow Prefect has already been decided."
He raised his wand and pointed at me. "Tom Riddle — Shadow Prefect of Year One."
A few of the older students whispered to one another, glancing at me with a mix of respect and curiosity. Abraxas smirked from the sidelines, Orion nodded approvingly.
I gave a small bow, lowering my wand. "Thank you," I said calmly. "I'll ensure Slytherin's first-years don't tarnish our House's name."
Lucien chuckled. "You've got the tone right already. You'll fit in perfectly here."
With that, the furniture slid back into place, and the prefects dismissed us to our dormitories. I followed Abraxas and Orion down a side corridor to the boys' dorms — stone chambers lined with green curtains and black oak furniture.
As I lay in bed that night, the faint light of the lake rippling above, I felt a sense of satisfaction settle over me.
First day. First victory.
Already, I had claimed my place in Slytherin — not just as another student, but as a leader. The Shadow Prefect of Year One.
And this was only the beginning.