HP:Prodigal Wizard

The weight of a hundred eyes seemed to follow me as I moved through the crowded hall. I made my way towards the Slytherin table, trying to maintain an air of composure despite the unfamiliar territory.

Leaving the echoing hall, I followed a robed first-year along a winding corridor, the stone walls cold against my touch. The air was thick with whispers and secrets, a tangible reminder that I was entering a different world.

We reached a dark, narrow doorway concealed by an intricate tapestry depicting a snake rearing its head. The girl in front of me tapped a small obsidian carving on the wall, and the tapestry swung inwards, revealing a dimly lit chamber.

Music drifted from within, along with the sound of laughter and hushed conversations. I stepped through the archway, my eyes taking a moment to adjust to the gloom.

A fireplace roared in the corner, casting flickering shadows on the walls lined with dark wood panelling. Comfortable armchairs and settees were arranged in a semi-circle around the hearth, where students were sprawled out reading, playing cards, or discussing their first impressions of Hogwarts.

A detached air of effortless sophistication permeated the room. Even in the enriching atmosphere of such a grand hall, the Slytherin common room felt different. It pulsed with a quiet, magnetic energy, a sense of cunning and ambition that both intrigued and unsettled me.

The chill of the dungeons seeped into my bones, a constant reminder of the Slytherin common room's location. I settled into a plush armchair by one of the large, arched windows, the cold stone floor unyielding beneath my feet.

Beyond the thick glass, the Black Lake stretched out before me, a vast expanse of inky blackness. The surface was still, reflecting the dim light from the torches that lined the walls. The only movement came from the occasional ripple, disturbed by unseen creatures lurking beneath the surface.

I traced patterns on the condensation clinging to the windowpane, lost in contemplation. Above, the chatter of my fellow Slytherins faded into a distant murmur. Here, by the window, the silence was almost tangible, broken only by the occasional splash or the mournful cry of a distant bird.

The lake held a strange allure. Its depths remained largely unexplored, shrouded in mystery. Legends whispered of a giant squid, lurking monsters, and ancient magic.

I wasn't drawn to the thrill of danger, nor the allure of forbidden knowledge.

I simply felt a pull towards the unknown, a fascination with the secrets hidden beneath the surface.

The sound of hushed voices and articulated laughter surrounded me, but none pierced my introspective silence. My gaze remained fixed on the Black Lake, its dark surface mirroring the swirling anxieties within me.

A sudden, melodic voice broke the quiet, "Well, hello there." I turned to see a pale face framed by sleek, blonde hair, eyes like polished emeralds fixed on me with a curious intensity.

She was stunning, truly, and carried herself with a grace that bespoke a certain power. "I'm Pansy Parkinson," she said, a slow, seductive smile curving her lips. "It appears we're fellow Slytherins. You new here?"

"Duke Carter," I replied, offering a curt nod.

"Carter," she mused, her voice a musical murmur. "That's a rather…unique name. Not many Carters in the wizarding world."

"It presents its own set of challenges, I'd concur," I admitted, meeting her stare unflinchingly. There was an edge to her gaze, a hint of something calculated behind those captivating eyes.

I had a feeling Pansy Parkinson wouldn't be just another airhead face in the crowd. She seemed more aware, more…deceptive.

"Don't worry, Carter," she purred, her voice softening slightly, "being a little different often works to your advantage." She paused, a playful glint in her eyes. "Especially in Slytherin."

Our conversation was interrupted by the heavy thud of footsteps nearing the table. I raised my chin slightly, my gaze following the approach of three imposing figures.

At the head of the group stood Draco Malfoy, his silvery-blonde hair gleaming under the flickering light of the torches. His icy grey eyes swept over the room before locking onto mine.

He was followed closely by Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe, their stony faces and bulkier physique a stark contrast to Malfoy's more refined hauteur. Goyle's vacant stare held a lazy menace, while Crabbe's jovial grin seemed to promise trouble.

Malfoy stopped a few feet away, his lips curling into a smirk.

"—You must be Carter," he declared, his voice cool and condescending.

"Carter," he echoed, his voice like chipped ice. I recognised the Gilded Cage. Satin shoes glimmered under the soft candlelight, each movement purposeful, meticulous.

My fingers tightened unnoticeably around the armrest, my neutral expression unwavering.

"Correct," I replied, meeting his gaze head-on. My chest tightened, a familiar knot of apprehension twisting within me. Even before the Sorting Hat had nudged me towards Slytherin, I had heard whispers of Malfoy.

The boy carried a weight with him, an aura of expecting servitude and deference. People walked around him, ever-aware of his presence. It was like a chill, a kind of nervous energy you couldn't quite escape.

"Been watching you from across the hall," Malfoy continued, his smirk widening. The light cast details into sharper relief - the perfectly sculpted eyebrows, the arrogant tilt of his chin.

"I'm sure," I replied, my voice smooth and level. I refused to let him see the unease that gnawed at my edges.

He turned to his companions, his voice dropping slightly. "Goyle, Crabbe, pay attention. The new boy, Carter," he continued, his eyes returning to me with a coolness that made my skin crawl. "He's the half-blood."

The word hung in the air, heavy and charged. The casual air in the common room seemed to solidify, air thickening with the weight of his statement. It was a label, carefully placed, designed to trigger a reaction.

The murmuring amongst the Slytherins around us grew louder, but silent eyes turned towards me. The weight of their examination was palpable, invasive.

But.

I held his gaze steadily. "Half-blood is a condition, not a measure of worth," I stated calmly. The words felt small against the surge of defiance rising within me.

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He opened his mouth to retort, but hesitated. Curiosity clouded his features, a rare vulnerability that betrayed his carefully constructed facade of arrogance.

…

"Intriguing," he finally said, his voice regaining its usual icy composure. "Most half-bloods I've encountered are rather... eager to prove their worth. Indeed, a little eager to please."

His gaze swept over me, lingering for a beat too long on my plain robes, my unnecessarily practical shoes.

Goyle, predictably, snorted. "Yeah, they're always sucking up to the pure-bloods, trying to earn their approval."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Common sense told me to remain quiet, let the compliment slide off my back like water off a duck's feathers. But the undercurrent of his words, the veiled accusations, ignited something within me.

"Approval isn't something I seek," I stated, my voice devoid of inflection. "And frankly, I find your assumptions rather tiresome."

The quiet hum of the Slytherin Common Room seemed to intensify, the chatter dying down as every pair of eyes turned towards me. The weight of their scrutiny was suffocating, yet oddly exhilarating. A thrill of defiance coursed through me. They expected subservience, deference. They expected me to shrink, to apologize, to plead for acceptance.

But I wasn't one to be controlled by expectations, by the prejudices of others. I tilted my chin up, my gaze meeting each pair of accusing eyes with unwavering resolve. I wasn't here to earn their approval.

I was here because I had chosen this place, this house. I was here to carve my own path, unapologetically, unyieldingly.

A ripple of surprised murmurs travelled through the crowd. Malfoy, momentarily thrown by my defiance, stared at me, his brows furrowed. Then, a cruel smile spread across his lips.

"Bold words for a half-blood, Carter," he conceded, his tone laced with condescension. He gestured languidly toward Goyle and Crabbe. "Perhaps your bravery stems from their lack of presence, hmm? Maybe that's all you're capable of – words, and nothing more.

A wave of nausea rolled over me. Their names, whispered venomously, punctuated the silence that followed. "Goyle? Crabbe? Those names echo through the corridors, steeped in fear and… intimidation," I countered, meeting his gaze directly. My voice remained calm, measured.

A flicker of amusement danced in Malfoy's eyes. "Fear? Where's your proof, Carter? Are your words simply guesses, plucked from thin air? Or do they stem from the whispers you undoubtedly hear, praising their…unique talents?" He savoured my silence, watching my reaction, gauging the extent of his influence.

I knew these tactics. Tried-and-tested methods for intimidation, designed to provoke, to expose any weakness. His words, meant to provoke a reaction, triggered a familiar sting of anger, but I kept it in check.

"I judge individuals, not reputations," I stated, ignoring the snorts and muttered remarks from Goyle and Crabbe. Their animosity, palpable in the air, seemed to rise and fall like a tide, ebbing away as quickly as it surged.

"Oh, you judge?" Malfoy's eyebrows shot up. "A noble pursuit, indeed. But don't underestimate the weight of history, Carter. Some lineages carry a darker stain, regardless of individual deeds. Some scars run deeper."

"History can't dictate individual worth," I countered, a tremor of ice running through my veins. Their words, venomous and sharp, aimed to provoke, to plant seeds of doubt.

"History provides context, Carter. It provides understanding," Malfoy corrected, tilting his head.

"A context your half-blood heritage seems ill-equipped to grasp, wouldn't you agree?"

His words hung in the air, laced with venom. Each syllable seemed a calculated barb aimed to wound. I refused to flinch.

"History is a tapestry woven with countless threads, Malfoy. Judging individuals solely based on lineage ignores the complexities, the nuances that shape who we become."

His smirk widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Ah, but isn't that the beauty of history, Carter? Its ability to shape destinies, to predetermine paths?"

"Destiny isn't predetermined, Malfoy. It's forged. Through choices, actions, consequences. You can't simply inherit greatness, nor can you inherit shame."

Goyle snorted, a guttural sound that echoed through the common room. Crabbe, silent until now, simply stared, his expression blank.

"Brave words, Carter. But actions speak louder than words, wouldn't you agree?" Malfoy's voice dropped, a challenge laced beneath his words.

I held his gaze, refusing to waver.

"Actions, indeed. Perhaps you'd like to demonstrate?"

A beat of silence stretched between us, thick with tension. Malfoy's eyes narrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features.

"I'm hardly interested in proving myself to someone like you, Carter," he finally retorted, his voice laced with disdain.

"You're not exactly known for your humility, Malfoy," I countered, my voice even.

A smirk curled his lips. "Humility is for the weak, Carter. And you, well, you're a half-blood. You should be grateful for any scraps of attention you receive from someone of my standing."

"I find it helpful to avoid handouts," I said, meeting his gaze without flinching.

He laughed, a hollow, humourless sound that echoed through the room.

"We'll see who's laughing when you're kneeling before us, begging for a place at our table," he predicted, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.

Before I could retort, a voice cut through the tension. It was Pansy Parkinson, her expression studious as she observed us.

"Now, now, DRACO." Her voice was a carefully controlled purr. "Let's not be so dramatic."

She walked towards us, her movements graceful and predatory, her pale skin practically glowing under the gloomy light of the torches. She stopped beside Malfoy, her gaze flicking between him and me.

"What's going on here? I haven't found a potted plant in this room capable of spouting such strong opinions, yet—" Her eyes narrowed, fixing on me for a long moment. "is it just me, or is someone teaching the new boy some rather unconventional… etiquette?"

Malfoy turned away from me, his smirk back in place. "Just a friendly discussion, Parkinson," he replied casually, resting a hand on step.

have the prefect say it time to go to your rooms and have duke go to a nice room. He is rooming alone because he is in Slytherin he as his own luxurious room.

"Friendly discussion?" Parkinson scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Her eyes lingered on me, assessing, judging. "More like a verbal sparring match. Though, given Carter's… enthusiasm, perhaps Malfoy simply needs to refine his techniques."

A flicker of annoyance crossed Malfoy's features, but he masked it quickly. "Don't waste my time, Parkinson. Some individuals simply crave attention, seeking validation through confrontation. Carter seems particularly adept at garnering unwanted notoriety."

"Oh, drama, drama, drama!" Parkinson sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes.

Soon a prefect called out saying it was close to lights out and to head to the room with are name on it

A collective groan swept through the common room, quickly silenced by the prefects pointed glare. I watched, noting the subtle shift in atmosphere. the prefect hadn't actually threatened detention, but her mere suggestion had instantly quelled the boisterousness.

"Carter," Parkinson addressed me directly, her tone neutral, devoid of any hint of mockery. "Enjoy your… solitude. Slytherin rooms are quite luxurious, I hear. Don't worry, the walls should be thick enough to dampen any outbursts.

I nodded curtly, feeling her gaze. "Thank you, Parkinson," I replied, my voice measured.

I turned and headed towards the dormitory, navigating the crowded common room with ease.

Reaching the designated door, I pushed it open, stepping into the quiet sanctuary.

The dormitory was dimly lit, the flickering light from a single, ornate brass lamp casting long shadows across the room. Six four-poster beds, draped in crimson velvet curtains, lined the walls. Mine, the one at the far end, felt strangely empty, devoid of personality. It wasn't that the furnishings were particularly austere. Everything was meticulously crafted: the smooth walnut nightstand, the polished silverdressing mirror, the thick, plush rug. It was more the feeling, the stark absence of anything personal, anything that felt like mine.

I sunk into the plush mattress, letting out a sigh of exhaustion. A feeling of profound loneliness settled over me. Hogwarts, for all its grandeur and wonder, felt vast and daunting. Even within the confines of Slytherin House, a place that, on paper, should have felt like a haven, I felt utterly alone.

The air was thick with the scent of old wood and something faintly lavender, a peculiar combination that seemed to permeate the entire room. It was a sensory overload after the bustling chaos of the common room. Stretching out my arms, I let my limbs relax, a wave of tension draining from my body.

Beneath the hustle, I know the easy way out: to blend in, to become another nameless face in this sea of ambitious Slytherins. To navigate this social minefield with calculated neutrality, avoiding any unnecessary attention.

But something inside me, a stubborn spark, refused to extinguish. Perhaps it was the injustice of Malfoy's pronouncements, the casual cruelty woven into his words. Perhaps it was the unsettling feeling of isolation, the realization that despite sharing a house, I was utterly alone.

Whatever the reason, I couldn't stomach the thought of becoming invisible.

I wouldn't become another pawn in their twisted games.

I rose, feeling the crisp sheets rustle beneath my fingers. Pulling on the thick, wool robe hanging from the back of my chair, I walked towards the window.

Moonlight spilled across the floor, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Beyond the window, the grounds lay bathed in silver, Hogwarts silent and slumbering.

A sense of peace settled over me, a stark contrast to the simmering tension in the common room.

I leaned against the windowsill, gazing out at the sprawling grounds.

A lone owl hooted softly, its mournful cry echoing across the stillness.

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply, letting the quiet wash over me.

Sleep, elusive as it often was, finally claimed me.