Hylan walked down the steps toward the Slytherin table.
Eyes followed him.
Complicated stares, tracking his every move.
Professor McGonagall held the Sorting Hat in her hands, turning it over and over, sighing.
She had never imagined Hylan would land in Slytherin.
Hermione lifted her head high, searching through the gaps in the crowd for his figure.
Her expression was tangled.
She’d thought they might end up in the same house.
Dumbledore drew his gaze back, rose, and spread his arms wide.
“Welcome.
Welcome to Hogwarts.
A new year, and nothing brings me more joy than seeing you here.”
He spoke a charm, and the empty tables groaned under mountains of steaming food.
Roast beef, pork chops, sausages, steaks.
Piled high.
Boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips.
Three dishes from one vegetable.
British cuisine, living up to its reputation.
Hylan forked some steak and sausage onto his plate, then sliced the meat slowly with his knife and chewed with care.
Unlike some ravenous first-years who grabbed with both hands, his movements were unhurried and precise.
Pureblood bearing.
He hadn’t always liked this.
Starving, but still holding a pose, eating slowly.
Who was that for?
But he’d learned that only this made people believe.
Only this set you apart.
Only this built presence.
So even at the orphanage, wearing the same ragged clothes as the others, chewing the same tasteless bread, the other children still thought, Hylan is different.
That difference was what made them trust him.
Sometimes you have to act like you can, until you can.
He’d trained himself at the orphanage.
Manners, courtesy.
Tools, like any other.
“You’re a Prewett?” An unpleasant voice cut in.
“I heard the Prewett line was dead.
You wouldn’t be a fraud, would you?”
Theodore Nott hadn’t taken Hylan’s bet earlier.
Word had spread among the younger students.
He’d earned the title “Slytherin Coward.”
It stung.
Now, seeing Hylan sorted into Slytherin, he figured he was on home ground.
He’d rushed over, eager to reclaim his pride.
Hylan didn’t look at him.
He sliced a piece of sausage and chewed slowly.
“You like eating, do you?”
Feeling ignored, Theodore’s temper snapped.
He swung a leg over the bench, grabbed a nearby knife, and stabbed it into the sausage on Hylan’s plate.
“Mr.
Nott, if you’re hungry, sit down and eat.
There’s plenty.” Hylan spoke only after swallowing.
“Eat, eat, eat.
Are you a pig?”
At the Gryffindor table, Hermione was eating, but her eyes never left Hylan.
The commotion caught her attention fast.
Hylan gave her a small smile.
I’m fine.
Theodore, still being ignored, caught the glance.
He sneered.
“What, looking at your Mudblood girlfriend?
That little b-”
He never finished.
A sharp pain shot through his foot.
Before he could scream, Hylan’s hand shot out, seized his wrist, and slammed it onto the table.
He grabbed the knife in front of him and drove it down hard between Theodore’s fingers.
“You should be very glad you didn’t say that word.”
The smile was gone from Hylan’s face.
Nothing but cold blankness remained.
“Otherwise this welcome feast would have become a painful memory.”
Hylan pressed the knife handle down slowly.
The blade bit into the skin between Theodore’s fingers, opening a cut.
Theodore cried out, but Hylan’s warning cut him off.
“Quiet.”
“Or I’ll cut off your fingers and feed them to the dogs.”
The cold words made Theodore’s body jerk.
Pain was screaming through him, but he didn’t dare make a sound.
“Miss Granger is a genuinely kind person.
I won’t allow anyone to insult her in my presence.” Hylan’s face softened into warmth only when he said her name.
When he spoke again, his voice slid smoothly back from warmth to ice.
“Do you understand?”
“Y-yes…”
Theodore’s answer came out shaking.
Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
The knife pressed against his knuckle.
Blood from the cut ran down the blade and onto the table.
He’d only come over to run his mouth, claw back some respect.
He hadn’t expected Hylan to move straight to violence.
His eyes flicked toward the staff table.
If he yelled for help, maybe Hylan would get detention right now.
Hylan caught the glance.
His expression turned almost playful.
“Thinking of calling for the professors?”
Theodore’s heart skipped.
Cold terror flooded him.
He’d barely glanced at the staff table.
How did Hylan know what he was thinking?
He was a first-year.
He couldn’t possibly know Legilimency.
“Go ahead and try.
See who’s faster.
Them, or your fingers snapping.”
“Want to bet?”
“You win, I get detention, and you get your pride back.
You lose, it’s just a few broken fingers.”
“Well?
Want to try?”
Hylan’s smile was deeply amused.
Theodore’s gaze dropped, trembling.
He lowered his head.
Calling for help might work.
But only after his fingers were already broken.
And looking at that half-smiling face, he couldn’t shake the feeling there was another trap waiting.
I’m not stupid.
I’ll find another chance to deal with you.
Theodore didn’t know there was no backup plan.
If he shouted for a professor right now, Hylan would simply let go.
Theodore only had a cut on his hand.
Hylan could call it an accident.
Or say the guy had been running his mouth, and he’d lost his temper.
Detention at worst.
And Hylan had already sized him up.
A coward.
The same kid who’d been too scared to take the bet with Neville was now in his grip.
Even less likely to try anything.
Sure enough, Theodore folded immediately.
He stammered out an apology.
A nearby student noticed something odd between them and craned his neck to look.
Hylan pulled the knife free and sliced a piece of sausage.
“Mr.
Nott, have a taste.
It’s excellent.”
“Th-thank you.”
The other student heard Nott say thank you and thought his ears were broken.
The arrogant, swaggering Mr.
Nott, suddenly this agreeable?
Had Prewett’s charm worked some kind of magic?
Seeing Hylan’s smile, Theodore broke out in cold sweat.
His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the bench.
Hylan had sliced the sausage.
He ate it himself.
“Since Mr.
Nott doesn’t care for it, don’t let him disturb my meal.
The sight of you makes me sick.”
Theodore didn’t react at first.
He just sat there, dazed.
“Get lost.”
When the boy still didn’t move, just sat there, Hylan kicked him again.
Nott limped away.
His eyes stayed venomous.
Hylan didn’t care what he thought.
With his gift for spellwork, his Mending Charm was flawless.
His Severing Charm and Fire-Making Spell were on another level entirely.
He liked power.
And power required force.
Every offensive spell in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, he had practiced until it was second nature.