The Usual

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The group reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, where the stone wall slid aside to reveal the dimly lit, emerald-accented space. As usual, once the new Slytherin students entered the common room, Harry began his routine. The stone walls shimmered faintly as green torches flared to life, casting the room in a dim, almost eerie glow. As Harry walked to the center, the murmur of conversations died down. A low rumble vibrated through the floor as his stone throne rose from the ground, smooth and imposing. Coiled around the base of it, as if carved directly into the stone, was the form of a massive serpent. Only this serpent wasn't stationary—it shifted, its eyes glowing faintly as it hissed softly. The moment Harry sat on the throne, it curled upward, wrapping itself around the chair's back, its head resting just beside Harry's shoulder like a silent guardian.

The new students stood stiffly, glancing nervously at one another. Whispers of awe and fear swirled among them, but none dared to voice their thoughts aloud. Those who had already spent time in the house remained silent, their faces serious, almost reverent, as they turned toward Harry.

Harry rested one arm on the throne's armrest and gestured lazily with his free hand. "Welcome to Slytherin," Harry's voice sliced through the murmurs like a blade.

He talked about his lofty ideas for the Slytherin house. He made it clear that the days of Slytherin House being a haven for arrogant pureblood ideology were over.

"There will be no room here for fools clinging to outdated nonsense about blood purity," Harry stated plainly, leaning slightly on the arm of his throne. "This house will be about ambition, intelligence, and success. If you think your bloodline gives you a free pass, let me be the first to disappoint you. It doesn't."

A few of the younger pureblood students at the back shifted uncomfortably. One boy, with the sort of face that practically screamed "entitled," muttered something under his breath, barely audible but enough to draw attention. Harry's green eyes flicked to him, sharp as a knife, and the room fell silent. The serpent coiled around his throne raised its head slightly, its glowing eyes locking onto the boy with a faint hiss.

"What was that?" Harry asked, his voice calm but carrying a dangerous edge.

The boy froze, glancing around nervously for support, but none of his housemates moved to back him up. If anything, they seemed to be leaning away from him. Every older Slytherin in the room remained standing. The boy quickly shook his head, stammering out, "N-nothing, Potter."

"Good," Harry said, his tone light but final. He didn't need to say more. The snake curled lazily back down the throne as if the situation wasn't even worth its attention. The boy sat down, looking pale, and Harry continued speaking as if nothing had happened.

"This house will be the strongest at Hogwarts," Harry said, letting his gaze sweep the room. "But that strength won't come from petty squabbles or fragile egos. The sound of the stone wall shifting open caught everyone's attention, and Severus Snape swept into the common room. His black robes billowed behind him as his sharp gaze landed on Harry.

"Mr. Potter," Snape said, his tone unreadable as always. He looked around at the assembled students. Then, with a single nod to Harry, he addressed the room. "You've all heard what Potter has said. I trust you'll take his warnings seriously, because I won't tolerate anything less."

His cold black eyes scanned the younger students, lingering on the pureblood boy who dared to mutter earlier. The boy looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. Without another word, Snape turned and left, the door sliding shut behind him with an audible thud. The message was clear: Harry's authority wasn't just a whim. It was backed by the head of the house himself.The new first-years were visibly wide-eyed. It was obvious that whatever they'd been told about Slytherin before arriving at Hogwarts was nothing like what they were experiencing now. They expected a house obsessed with bloodline superiority and cutthroat rivalries, but instead, they were seeing order, discipline, and a clear hierarchy—and at the top of that hierarchy sat Harry Potter. 

And with that, a new year at Hogwarts begin.

After the prefects took the first-years away, the older Slytherins naturally gravitated toward Harry. Daphne, Tracey, Pansy, Blaise, Theodore, Draco, and a few others formed a loose semicircle around him, the usual blend of curiosity and exasperation on their faces.

"So the secret you were keeping was the Triwizard Tournament?" Pansy said sharply, poking her finger against Harry's chest. She tilted her head, clearly unimpressed. 

Harry grinned, stepping back to avoid her jabbing finger. "Surprise," he replied with mock enthusiasm, spreading his arms.

The group collectively rolled their eyes, a wave of irritation passing through them. Daphne sighed, setting her hands neatly on her lap. "Well, even Harry can't participate, so this year, the spotlight won't be on him for once."

Astoria, perched on the armrest of a nearby chair, let out a small giggle. "You just jinxed it, Sis. And let's be honest, when it comes to Harry, things always turn out to be possible somehow."

Harry leaned back in his seat, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You lot give me far too much credit. I've got no intention of getting involved in the tournament."

"Yet," Blaise interjected, swirling the pumpkin juice in his goblet. "You've got no intention yet. Knowing you, Potter, you'll have a front-row seat to the chaos whether you like it or not."

"I like to keep things interesting," Harry replied with a chuckle.

Daphne gave him a flat look. "Interesting isn't the word I'd use. You have an annoying habit of stumbling into 'life-threatening.'"

"Stumbling?" Tracey chimed in, raising a skeptical brow. "More like sprinting headfirst and dragging the rest of us along for the ride."

Pansy crossed her arms and leaned against the nearest wall. "And don't act so smug, Potter. If there's trouble, it'll find you. The universe has a way of bending over backward to make you the center of everything."

"I'd say you're exaggerating," Harry replied with a defeated smile, "but you're not entirely wrong."

"See?" Astoria said with a dramatic flourish. "Even he admits it!"

The group groaned in unison, the sound filled with exasperation and inevitability.

Harry ushered them back toward their dormitories with a wave of his hand. "Fine, fine. Just go back to sleep. Tomorrow we start early with classes."

The group mock-saluted him in exaggerated gestures, a few of them grinning as they shuffled off toward the stairs. Blaise made a grand show of stretching and yawning loudly, muttering something about how hard it was to "take Harry Potter seriously when he's acting like the king of Slytherin." Daphne smirked but said nothing, while Tracey jabbed Blaise in the ribs before disappearing into the corridor with the others.

As the last footsteps faded, Harry was left alone in the common room. "Well, seems like your friends really know you, Harry," came Nigel's voice, smooth and sardonic, cutting through the silence like a knife.

Harry snorted. "What do you want, Nigel?"

Nigel's tone turned mock-offended, dripping with faux hurt. "Oh, so I can't just make casual conversation? It hurts, truly."

Harry smirked faintly, leaning back in his chair. "Sure it does."

Nigel's voice shifted more serious. "Do you really plan to participate? Despite knowing what waits for you in the end?"

Harry didn't flinch. He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands together as if in thought. His eyes focused on the flickering green flames in the Slytherin common room's fireplace. "What I plan to do doesn't concern you, Nigel."

"Ah, but it does," Nigel countered smoothly. "Considering I'm the one who'll have to listen to you whinge if things go south."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't whinge."

"You do," Nigel replied flatly. "And let's not pretend you don't already know how this ends. Voldemort. Resurrection. Portkey trap. Do I need to go on, or has your memory not completely rotted?"

Harry tapped the ground with his feet, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not underestimating Voldemort, Nigel. I've planted my men in his little clique. I know most of his plans, or at least the parts he's chosen to share with his followers. I'll be prepared. If something feels off, I'll scrap the whole plan, expose that the Cup is a Portkey, and let Amelia's Aurors deal with it instead."

Nigel responded with a sharp edge in his tone. "Oh, so now you're some kind of master strategist? Outmaneuvering the Dark Lord? That's bold. No—reckless. Stupid, even."

Harry tilted his head slightly, staring into the flickering green flames of the Slytherin common room's fireplace. "If you're done flapping your gums, I'll remind you that I'm not walking into this blind. Voldemort doesn't take chances; neither do I." He stood abruptly, brushing his robes down as if dismissing the conversation. "Now, if you're finished, I've got bigger concerns than listening to your whining."

The silence stretched long enough for Harry to realize that Nigel, for once, wasn't pushing back. He smirked faintly to himself. "Nothing to say? Unusual for you."

"Only because repeating myself would bore even me," Nigel finally muttered, the faint trace of his voice almost sardonic. Then, as if deciding that was enough, he went quiet again. Harry didn't bother responding.

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