[Chapter Size: 1900 Words.]
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After everyone had eaten their fill, desserts appeared. The platters filled instantly with ice creams of every flavor, jam-filled doughnuts, strawberry jelly, rice pudding, chocolate trifle.
Harry rubbed his stomach with a groan, but his eyes still sparkled as he reached out, grabbed another treacle tart, and devoured it.
Amanda suspected his stomach might be enchanted, like a bottomless pit.
"Ah!"
Harry had just taken another bite when he suddenly cried out, dropping his tart to the floor. His hand flew to his scar, pain etched across his face.
"What's wrong?"
Gemma jumped, quickly setting down her goblet and staring at him in alarm.
Amanda and Draco helped Harry to his feet.
"Honestly, Potter, did you overeat? Are you trying to die from stuffing yourself?" Draco muttered.
Harry shook his head weakly. "No…"
He turned his eyes toward the staff table. Amanda followed his gaze and asked softly, "Who did you see?"
Of course, she already knew why Harry's scar hurt. Every time it burned, it was tied to Voldemort, and this time was no exception. The pain came from Voldemort, hiding like a parasite beneath Professor Quirrell's turban.
But if memory served, Harry wouldn't notice Quirrell just yet. Instead, he'd see Snape looking his way and jump to the conclusion that Snape was responsible.
Snape: the eternal scapegoat.
If she didn't intervene, Harry would waste months chasing shadows and blaming the wrong man. It seemed Amanda would have to clear Snape's name herself.
Harry finally pointed. "Him, the professor speaking with Professor Quirrell."
Gemma glanced over. "Ah, the one in black with the hooked nose, that's Professor Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House. He may look intimidating, but he's an excellent head of house."
She introduced him matter-of-factly, then frowned at Harry. "What's wrong, Potter?"
Harry rubbed his scar, his voice low. "I don't know. It's just… when I looked at him, it suddenly burned. It felt like it was on fire."
He swallowed hard, uncertain. "I think that hook-nosed professor might have done something. His stare, it makes me uncomfortable…"
Amanda tapped Harry lightly on the head.
"Harry, Snape is our Head of House. Why would he harm us?"
"…You're right, Amanda. But still… maybe it was just a coincidence."
Harry sounded doubtful. He touched his scar again, frowning. "Strange. The pain's gone now. Did I imagine it? But just a moment ago it really…"
Amanda leaned closer, her voice low. "Did you notice there was someone else standing beside Snape?"
"Professor Quirrell? No, it can't be him. I met him at the Leaky Cauldron."
Harry shook his head firmly, dismissing the thought at once.
Amanda sighed inwardly. Our sweet, trusting Harry had not the slightest suspicion of Quirrell. Perhaps she would have to plant the seed of doubt.
Her eyes glinted mischievously as she whispered, "Really? You're not curious what he's hiding under that enormous turban?"
Harry froze, shuddering slightly. Amanda leaned in, her tone conspiratorial: "And don't you wonder why he always seems so nervous and afraid?"
Harry turned toward Quirrell again. The longer he looked, the stranger the man seemed, his trembling hands, his darting eyes, his unease so strong he could barely hold a fork. He looked like someone concealing a terrible secret or living in constant fear.
Draco cleared his throat, breaking the heavy mood.
"Actually… Severus Snape is my godfather," he said evenly, startling both Amanda and Harry.
"What? You never mentioned that!" Amanda blinked in surprise. The original story had never hinted at such a detail, but knowing Lucius and Snape's close relationship, it made sense.
Draco sighed. "Because… he doesn't wash his hair."
「...」
Amanda and Harry were left speechless.
A Potions Master loathed for nothing more than greasy hair.
To be fair, it was hard to blame Draco. His own gleaming platinum hair shone so brightly Amanda could hardly look directly at it.
"But isn't your hair oily too?" Amanda teased.
"There's a difference between not washing hair and carefully styling!" Draco snapped, glaring as Amanda smirked.
Ignoring her jab, he continued, "Still, despite his appearance, I trust my godfather. Don't worry, Harry."
Harry exhaled in relief. "That's good to know. Oh!"
He reached for a jelly pudding, but it vanished just six inches from his hand. In fact, every dessert on the table disappeared at once.
The feast was over.
As chatter faded, silence spread through the hall. Dumbledore rose once more from his high golden chair.
"Now that everyone is well fed and pleasantly drowsy…"
"I'm not drowsy…" Harry muttered under his breath.
Amanda jabbed him with her elbow as Dumbledore's sharp eyes flicked their way.
"I have a few reminders for this term," the Headmaster continued. "First years are forbidden from entering the Forbidden Forest. Spells are not to be cast in the corridors between classes. Quidditch trials will begin in the second week."
Amanda mentally noted: So first years will obviously end up in the Forbidden Forest, cast spells in the hallways, and sign up for Quidditch in week two.
"And finally," Dumbledore's voice sharpened, "anyone who does not wish to suffer a most painful death would be wise to avoid the corridor on the right-hand side of the third floor."
Amanda scribbled another mental note: Visit the third-floor corridor as soon as possible.
"Before you all return to your dormitories, let us sing the school song together!"
Golden words streamed from Dumbledore's wand, floating high above the tables.
When the last note of the Hogwarts anthem faded, Gemma Farley stepped forward once more.
"First-year Slytherins, follow me. I'll take you to our common room."
…
Amanda followed Gemma out of the Great Hall, through a bronze door to the right of the marble staircase, and down a dark corridor that branched in every direction.
Harry trudged after her, yawning every few steps.
"I'm so tired… how much farther is it?"
From the portraits lining the walls came faint whispers. A knight drew his sword for a lady, who only giggled behind her hand.
Gemma led them confidently through the maze of corridors until they stopped before a plain gray stone wall.
"Remember," she said, "you'll need the correct password to enter the Slytherin common room. Tonight's is: Power."
As soon as the word was spoken, the stone serpent carved into the wall seemed to come alive. It slithered aside along a groove, and the wall split open to reveal a narrow spiral staircase leading down into shadow.
"Keep an eye on the notice board," Gemma added as they descended. "The password changes every two weeks."
She pointed to a bronze board at the bottom of the stairs, crowded with scraps of parchment.
But Amanda doubted Harry heard a word. The moment he stepped into the common room, he ran straight to the tall glass windows set into the walls.
"Merlin's beard, we're underwater? This is brilliant!"
His awestruck voice carried as he pressed his face close to the glass. Beyond it, the green depths of the Black Lake stretched endlessly. Long strands of weed drifted in the current, and a giant squid drifted into view, pressing a slick tentacle against the window. Harry yelped and stumbled back.
Amanda and Draco joined him at the glass.
"My father once told me about the Slytherin common room," Draco said with quiet pride, "but seeing it is far better than any description."
"The murky depths of the lake…" Amanda murmured, brushing her fingers against the enchanted glass where faint runes pulsed. "Mysterious and beautiful."
A sharp, mocking laugh cut through the moment.
"Well, well. Who would've thought the Boy Who Lived and our precious Miss Merlin could act so otherworldly?"
Pansy Parkinson lounged on a dark green suede sofa in the center of the room, flanked by several boys and girls who eyed Amanda and Harry with suspicion.
They were clearly of some standing, confident, with names and families that carried weight. Around the room, other Slytherins looked on, but no one stepped forward. Their earlier enthusiasm had cooled into wary silence.
"Amanta Merlin," Pansy sneered. "The Merlin line vanished centuries ago. How do you prove you're one of them? For all we know, you're just a filthy Mudblood pretending."
Her companions snickered.
"And Potter, look at you. Dressed like some ragged little Muggle pauper. Did the Potters go so poor you've had to dig in trash bins for your clothes?"
Laughter echoed around the room.
「...」
Amanda's eyes narrowed. She had hoped the hostility had ended after the Sorting Feast, but clearly Pansy wasn't finished.
She didn't like making trouble—but she had no intention of backing down either.
This battle would be fought.
"Really?" Amanda said evenly. "And why, exactly, is Miss Parkinson questioning my bloodline?"
She tugged Harry, already bristling, behind Draco and stepped forward into the center of the room.
"What proof do you have?"
Her gaze locked on Pansy's, unflinching.
Pansy didn't answer her directly. Instead, she looked around at her little court, smirking with disdain.
"Don't think I don't know the truth. You're nothing but a Mudblood from some pathetic Muggle orphanage, pretending to be a Merlin to make yourself important. A disgusting, revolting little fraud."
A boy made exaggerated retching noises. A girl rolled her eyes.
Amanda smiled faintly, though her eyes were cold enough to chill the room.
"Really? Then you're claiming I've deceived Professor Dumbledore, the Sorting Hat… and even Salazar Slytherin himself?"
She let the silence hang before adding, "I never thought Slytherin would admit a Muggle-born. If I've broken that precedent, it must mean Salazar himself judged my strength worthy."
Amanda walked steadily toward the fireplace. The aura she carried was so commanding that even the older students shifted uneasily. No one expected such force from an eleven-year-old girl.
The hearth crackled with sparks, but the room itself felt icy. Amanda drew her wand.
"Tell me," she said softly, "was Voldemort stronger than me when he first entered Hogwarts?"
She flicked her wand. "Incendio."
Flames roared to life, bursting beyond the fireplace as if it could no longer contain them. Firelight blazed across the walls, and in the flickering glow, fear spread across more than one face.
"By the way," Amanda added, her voice like a blade, "Voldemort, Tom Riddle, whom so many of your families followed, was also a half-blood."
Gasps echoed through the room.
Raising her left arm, Amanda displayed the Philosopher's Ring, its gleam unmistakable in the firelight.
"And you dare doubt the House of Merlin? You don't even recognize the Ring of the Sage when it's before your eyes."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Several students exchanged uneasy glances, then stepped forward one by one.
"The Sorting Hat would not have chosen wrongly."
"Their parents' deaths were tragic—but questioning their bloodline over that is absurd."
Gemma appeared then, twirling a bone bracelet idly around her wrist.
Faces paled around Pansy. Two girls exchanged reproachful looks, stood abruptly, and stalked away from the sofa.
The fire's heat flushed Pansy's cheeks scarlet. Her composure broke, and she spat:
"You, both of you! You filthy little bastards! Just wait, my parents will have you investigated, and then the truth will come out!"
Draco's voice cut through her shrillness, calm and deliberate.
"Pansy, shall I write your parents a letter myself?" He tilted his head. "And tell them their precious daughter openly challenged Slytherin's most promising heir, right here, in our own common room?"
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