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Dinner in the Great Hall was its usual noisy self. For Aiden, though, it came with a secret bonus—someone slipped him the Slytherin password. The challenge was on.
Later, at exactly eleven, Aiden stood in the chilly, echoing basement corridors near the Slytherin dungeons. Just as he was about to go to the hidden door, he felt a cold stare on his back.
He didn't need to turn. He knew it was Professor Snape, lurking in the shadows. Typical Snape. Aiden decided to ignore him. Let the Head of Slytherin House watch. It might be fun.
Aiden whispered the password—"Pureblood Purity," how original—and the damp stone wall slid open. The Slytherin common room.
It was very… Slytherin. Dark stone walls, partly covered with heavy, silver-green tapestries. The tapestries showed Slytherin history—snakes, battles, and grumpy-looking ancestors. Dim, flickering torches and a crackling fireplace lit the room, making shadows dance.
The firelight glinted on dark, carved wooden furniture. Deep green velvet cushions on armchairs and sofas looked comfy but also super fancy. The whole place smelled of old money and ambition.
It was obvious Slytherin House was expecting him. And they were ready. Most of the furniture was pushed to the sides, making a big open space in the middle—a makeshift duelling arena.
Aiden looked around. Marcus Flint, the big Quidditch captain, was there, arms crossed, looking like a thug. Miles Bletchley, Peregrine Derrick, Lucian Bole—all familiar, sneering Slytherin Quidditch players.
Blaise Zabini leaned against a wall, looking cool and bored, but his eyes missed nothing. Gemma Farley, a stern-faced prefect, stood near the front. And, of course, Draco Malfoy was there with his usual bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle. Lots of other Slytherins, older and younger, filled the room. They looked scared, angry, and a bit curious.
"Quite a welcome party," Aiden said. A small, knowing smile touched his lips. He sounded totally calm.
"Aiden Prewett," Gemma Farley said, her voice sharp. Her eyes were like ice. "Before we start this… show… I'll ask again. Is this just between you and Malfoy, or are you challenging all of Slytherin House?"
She paused, letting her words sink in. "If it's just a private fight, some of us"—she waved a hand at a few older students—"won't join in. But if this is about our House's honour, then don't blame us for ganging up on you."
"It was a private grudge, Lady Gemma Farley," Aiden replied politely, but his voice was like steel. He tipped his head slightly. "But now that I'm here, and you've all gone to so much trouble… we might as well have a real match, right? I bet many of you want a chance."
He narrowed his eyes. His mismatched pupils—the ice-blue and the vertical, slitted gold—seemed to glow in the torchlight, like a predator's.
"Why waste words, Gemma?" Marcus Flint sneered. "This guy hangs out with those Weasley blood traitors. He's probably one of them now."
"Oh, pure bloods," Aiden said, raising an eyebrow. He sounded amused, almost bored. "Such noble thoughts. Are you saying you're better than everyone else?"
"And why not?" Theodore Nott, another pure-blood, puffed out his chest. "We have noble blood! We're stronger and better at magic! We're born to lead the—"
Aiden's smile turned sharp, dangerous. "So, if I'm much stronger than all of you tonight… does that mean I get to lead you?"
Some younger Slytherins looked uneasy. Gemma Farley quickly stepped forward. "We'll see about that in a proper duel. We'll go one by one—we'll give you that much respect." She stepped back, motioning for the others.
The crowd parted, clearing the duelling space.
Draco Malfoy, looking pale and really unhappy, stepped forward first. His wand was shaking in his hand. Before he could even say a spell—before he even properly raised his wand—Aiden just flicked his fingers. Expelliarmus! The spell shot out, totally invisible and silent. Malfoy's wand flew from his hand like a ghost had snatched it.
It clattered on the stone floor. At the same time, Malfoy was thrown backwards into the crowd. He landed hard, lips pressed tight in pure shame, and didn't look at anyone. One down. Pathetic.
Goyle, his face red with anger, charged forward next. He looked like an angry hippo. He barely raised his wand before Aiden's magic hit him again. With a sharp, almost lazy gesture, Aiden sent Goyle spinning across the floor. Goyle crashed right into Crabbe, who was already lumbering up. Crabbe's spell fizzled out as he got knocked off his feet. They both ended up in a heap, groaning. Two more down. Even more pathetic.
The Slytherin crowd started murmuring. They looked worried, scared even. This wasn't going as planned.
"His magic is strong—and fast. Be careful," Marcus Flint warned, his voice low. His earlier swagger was gone.
Lucian Bole, another of Flint's Quidditch mates, stepped into the arena. He narrowed his eyes and snapped his wand forward, shouting, "Stupefy!"
But Aiden's mind was already a step ahead. He'd brushed against Lucian's predictable thoughts. With a calm tilt of his head, he let the red light zoom harmlessly past his ear. He didn't even flinch.
"It's Legilimency!" Gemma Farley yelled, shocked and angry. "He's reading your minds!"
Aiden scoffed. "Tsk, such sneaky tricks are usually for insecure adults, don't you think?" He raised his hand—no wand needed—and with a quick flick, sent Lucian sprawling with a nonverbal Stupefy. Lucian's wand clattered away as he slumped, out cold.
The relay—or, more like, the systematic takedown of Slytherin's wannabe champions—went on. Cassius Warrington charged in, wand blazing, only to be disarmed before he could even cast. Graham Montague tried a sneak attack from the side, but a super-fast Protego and a quick Stunner left him twitching on the floor.
Terence Higgs, Miles Bletchley, Blaise Zabini (who actually put up a decent, short fight), and Peregrine Derrick—one by one, they stepped up, full of house pride and growing fear. And one by one, Aiden expertly knocked them aside with dazzling, often wandless, magic and graceful counters. He moved like a ghost.
A heavy silence fell over the common room. Aiden finally, finally, pulled out his own wand. He spun it idly in his fingers, looking almost… bored. The polished wood gleamed.
"Looks like it's just the prefects left, then?" Aiden said. His voice echoed in the tense quiet. He sounded a bit disappointed.
"Let me try," Marcus Flint growled, his face a mask of fury. He stomped into the ring, practically radiating anger. He didn't bother with a duelling bow—too fancy for him. He just snapped his wand up and roared, "Expelliarmus!"
Aiden's wand was a blur. "Protego!" The Shield Charm flashed, deflecting Flint's spell with a loud crackle.
"In Slytherin, any trick is fair, Prewett!" Marcus sneered. Without warning, he shot a jet of roaring fire at Aiden. Dangerous, uncontrolled flames.
Aiden didn't miss a beat. "Aguamenti!" A powerful blast of water exploded from his wand. It hit the flames with a loud hiss, filling the room with thick, swirling steam.
Hidden in the white mist, Aiden moved like a shadow. He silently cast a Disillusionment Charm, vanishing into the fog. As the steam slowly cleared, Marcus Flint spun around, eyes darting, desperately looking for Aiden. He was a confused bull.
"Expelliarmus!" Aiden's voice suddenly came from right behind Flint.
The spell hit Marcus in the back. His wand flew across the room. Furious and disarmed, Marcus roared and lunged, his huge fist raised, ready for a brawl. But Aiden was ready. He thrust his left hand out. A pulse of invisible force slammed into Marcus, sending him crashing into the stone wall with a sick thud. He slid to the floor, groaning.
The remaining Slytherins gasped. Gemma Farley, her face pale but her eyes blazing with fierce determination, stepped forward. She was the last one with any real chance.
"Aiden Prewett," she said, her voice steady. "We Slytherins don't want to be your enemy. This all started with Malfoy's stupid stunt. But now… now we need a proper, honourable match." She raised her wand, her stance perfect.
Aiden nodded, a hint of respect in his eyes. He gave her a formal duelling bow. Gemma returned it. Then, the duel began.
"Petrificus Totalus!" Gemma struck first.
"Protego!" Aiden's shield flared, easily blocking the Body-Bind.
Gemma didn't stop. She swept her wand, and nearby furniture—chairs, tables, a heavy footstool—lifted into the air, flying at Aiden like a deadly storm.
Aiden's eyes flashed—his golden one burned. "Bombarda!" The Blasting Curse exploded from his wand, shattering the flying furniture into splinters.
Gemma was fast. With another wand movement, she transfigured the falling splinters into thick, green vines. They shot up from the floor and wrapped around Aiden's legs like snakes, holding him tight.
Impressive, Aiden thought. Adrenaline pumped through him. She can actually use battlefield transfiguration. Not bad.
He slashed his wand down. "Diffindo!" The Severing Charm cut through the vines, freeing him just as Gemma, pressing her attack, fired a powerful Stupefy.
"Protego!" Aiden blocked again, but her spell was strong. It staggered him. She was good.
Gemma attacked relentlessly, spells flying. But Aiden's eyes—those unsettling, mismatched eyes—locked onto hers. He focused his will, his intimidation. For a crucial second, Gemma froze. Her spell faltered. Her mind was caught by what felt like a terrifying, ancient dragon. Her wand wavered. Her concentration broke.
Aiden didn't waste the moment. "Expelliarmus!" The Disarming Charm hit Gemma's wand perfectly, ripping it from her hand. It spun across the floor, out of reach.
The duel was over.
"Anyone else?" Aiden's voice echoed in the now dead-silent room. He looked at the stunned Slytherins.
No one moved. No one spoke. After that terrifying display, no one dared. Slytherin House had a new, undisputed emperor—at least for tonight.
"No one? Then I suppose I win," Aiden said, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face.
He turned to leave. But as he took his first step, a sudden, evil surge of magic hit his senses. Danger.
[Ding, Host, incoming hostile—]
"You filthy blood traitor—die! Avada—" A senior Slytherin, face twisted with insane rage, lunged from the crowd. His wand aimed at Aiden's back. But the last word of the Killing Curse died on his lips. Aiden reacted with inhuman speed.
He spun, his eyes narrowing to slits, his ice-blue and golden irises burning with dragon-like fury. The world slowed.
"Rampage (Frenzy)," Aiden said, his voice suddenly cold, flat, deadly.
He didn't cast a spell. He reached out with his mind and detonated the attacker's own emotions—his hate, his fear, his rage—turning them inward, making them explode. The student's mind shattered. He shrieked horribly and collapsed, unconscious, foaming at the mouth, his body twitching.
Aiden's gaze, now empty of any warmth, swept over the silent, wide-eyed, terrified Slytherins. "Take care of your… friend," he said softly. Then, without another word, he strode from the Slytherin common room. The echo of his brutal victory hung in the cold dungeons like the taste of fear.
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