THE FIRST SPLINTER
The first years were commanded to follow their prefects through the chattering crowds.
It was easy to get lost. Ravenclaws streamed politely after a black-haired prefect, immediately climbing the grand marble staircase, and were shortly followed by the Gryffindors behind an obviously older Weasley.
We headed through the hall right behind Eoin MacMillan, towards a grand marble staircase leading both up and down.
I was gazing around again, taking in every gargoyle-lined ceiling. It was so scarily reminiscent of home yet entirely different, leaving me torn between comfort and nonplus.
Dinner had been a treat. I bordered sickness with how much food I'd managed to consume.
In some ways, I was relieved to be freed from that hall, from the closeness of the Bloody Baron who seemed to not even utter a word. My skin was still peppered with goosebumps. Who knew ghosts practically emitted waves of freezing cold? I didn't, and now I felt annoyed to have found out.
I'd never seen that many people in one room before. The loudness of their chatter rendered me burnt out. The long day had already drained me of all my energy. As we headed onward, I hugged myself, craving nothing but a warm bed.
"Where do you think our Common Room is?" Crabbe asked me.
Eoin wasn't saying much, just leading us through a maze of endless halls. Ever so often he'd make a comment about something notable, like a large statue of a sleeping dragon whose nose would spew plumes of smoke when you weren't looking.
"Apparently very far down," I remarked humourlessly. I'd lost count of how many flights of stairs we'd traversed by the time we levelled out on a level lined with darker stone walls.
Each hallway was different to the one prior, or so identical that I wondered how one would ever recall exactly where they were.
Perhaps through the portraits?
Each depicted a snapshot of an existence that once was. Milkmaids and cattle, old poets with fluffy feather quills, knights in shining armour holding sharp swords. I peaked with intrigue into each one, not even flinching when the various paintings stared back at me, pointing and whispering.
There was a benefit of having grown up in a wizarding home. When faced with a picture frame, you anticipated it was going to move. Unless it was one of those weird muggle ones that simply sat frozen in time without the luxury of a wand to bring it to life.
"All I know is, I'm going to sleep very well," said Goyle.
I nodded in agreement. My steps were becoming gradually more sluggish.
In fact, the entire group was gradually waning. Theo yawned, his arm draped over Blaise's shoulder, who looked displeased to be in such proximity to another.
I hadn't realised how deep the castle ran into the cliffside until we'd surpassed the third stairwell.
"This is where the Slytherin Common Room is. Just down here — come on," MacMillan beckoned us forward. We all followed with silent obedience as he lead us towards a wide section of the hallway, characterised by two large carved pillars and a winding snake mural on the floor that wrapped around the bases.
Promptly, MacMillan stopped in his tracks.
"Here we are!" He announced, his somehow uplifting energy dissipating as it landed on the heads of the tired students.
I blinked, wondering if my sleepiness had confounded me, "It's... a wall."
The large, grey slabs were as blank as a wall could be, besides two dimly lit torches that hung on both sides. I stared at it, anticipating it to suddenly burst into a grand entranceway.
"Obviously," Blaise quipped, "But not everything is what it seems. We're wizards."
I blinked. It was true. Maybe I really was tired.
"So... It's a magical wall," I corrected.
MacMillan snapped his fingers, sending me finger guns, "Exactly! You see 'ere..." He then turned his index finger towards the floor and we all looked down. Bordering the vast corners of the room was a divot of snake-textured stone.
"See this stone? It may look as plain as the rest of the hallway, but it's not. All you need is the magic word..." He paused for dramatic effect as we all waited curiously.
"Zealot."
There was a gentle grinding noise from somewhere far beneath our feet. I felt the vibrations right up to my palms. Then, through the air rumbled a distant rattling of a snake tail and a gentle hissing of an ancient language. Rapidly, from the floor sprang the body of the snake, whipping like a rope as it repositioned itself, recoiling into the shape of a large, arched doorway.
There was a collective ripple of "Oohs" amongst the group. To receive such a reaction only spoke to the spectacle of it all. Even we, a group of snobby little rich kids, were left dazzled by its grandiosity.
MacMillan smirked knowingly, expecting that sort of response, "It's always fun when you see others see it for the first time," He said, "Let's get inside. It's getting late, and I'm sure you're all tired."
There were a few silent nods in approval. I glanced back at the hall behind us, wondering how on earth I'd learn to traverse this place. And then we moved forward again, right through that doorway and into an entrance room with a spiral staircase.
The room had a noticeable change in scenery, toned green with a stone statue of two women right ahead, intricately-carved fish-like tails extending from their midriffs. They were both angled upwards as if launching themselves from the depths of the stone floor. Their hair was almost wet, like they really had just sprung from the ocean.
He paused for us to have a look. We admired the two creatures. They weren't like the mermaids I'd seen depicted in books. These resembled two beautiful women. Perhaps Sirens.
"This is incredible. It's just like my mansion," Pansy's tone was awestruck.
I was about to say something in agreement when MacMillan got there first, "Now come on. This is only the beginning."
Father had always told me never to boast about my wealth. That was for the middle-class and the newly wealthy. We had old money. We didn't have wealth. We were wealth.
I, however, rarely paid attention to that sentiment. I was a people pleaser. I did what I thought would upturn the lips of those around me.
In retrospect that was probably my biggest weakness.
He waved us down the staircase. Although my legs ached in protest at even more walking, my attention was now directed elsewhere. We passed a large tapestry of a dragon that hung behind a suit of armour, and then another two or three different tapestries that depicted more water themed images. A giant squid, the one I'd read about inhabiting the Great Lake, and a sinking ship.
Finally, the stairs came to an end, and the group levelled out at what must've been hundreds of meters below ground level. It didn't feel like it, however. The room we emerged in was as very well lit; doused in the greenish tinge we'd come to lavish in.
"Here we are! Welcome, folks, to the Slytherin Common Room."
My eyes keeled upwards, my head turning in every feasible direction as I attempted to take it all in.
My first impression of the place was its absolute vastness.
I couldn't have imagined such a large room existed down here. The atmosphere would've been described as almost airy if it hadn't been swallowed by a murky green light. It seemed to seep onto us from up above through various turquoise and green circular stained glass windows, drawing all attention up to the chiselled, carved, stone ceiling.
The other half of the light was drawn from one of the most notable features of the room. Three towering lead-lined windows provided a crystal clear view of the Black Lake. Although the dark waters seemed baron, the occasional passing fish only illuminated the brilliance of the feature, attracting a few students to gaze into its depths in hopes of spotting something mightier.
"I was once told if you look hard enough you might spot a mermaid in the lake," MacMillan explained, "Bollocks. In the five years I've spent here, I never have. They do it so you waste hours of your life. Don't even bother."
A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of us, sporting the skull of an unnamed creature mounted upon the stone. Situated throughout the room were even more detailed statues — the first of all being Poseidon wielding a trident — and also a wide collection of mounted skeletons of unknown creatures.
The floor was covered in old-looking green floral rugs, and throughout the space sat a variety of expensive black and green couches and armchairs, often accommodated by different forms of potted plants. The room was divided by tall stone pillars. Each section was round and sported a different variety of settings, such as wizard's chess tables, dining tables and coffee tables.
Near the stairs, sat next to a particularly large potted plant, was a notice board housing a variety of letters and posters — some still promoting Quidditch games from the year prior.
MacMillan stood beside the board, drawing all our attention towards it, "This is where students can promote their clubs, or just general notices are posted. Quidditch games, Exam timetables, Hogsmeade Trips — you name it. Oh, and of course, passwords. Every Common Room is protected by some sort of password. Ours changes every year at the end of First Term. It'll be posted here — so keep on top of it — you don't want to find yourself locked out at an ungodly hour..."
I raised my eyebrow. Zealot didn't seem too hard to remember, "The other Common Rooms have different passwords?"
MacMillan smiled, "I was a bit curious myself. Ravenclaw have some sort of riddle — nasty, time-consuming thing. Gryffindor has a portrait with a password — although it changes every other week. I never found the entrance to Hufflepuff, so I can't tell you, but I do know it's somewhere in the cellar... Now come on, this way are the dormitories."
It took a moment for everyone to react, eyes still wandering the grand space with amazement. My head was still whirring with the idea of what all of the other Common Rooms must look like.
If ours was this grand, what would theirs look like? Or was ours the best?
The best for Slytherin sounded fitting. I wasn't sure we'd settle for anything less.
As I turned around, I realised right behind me, through an archway with thick black curtains, was another staircase that branched off in two separate directions. Its bannisters were carved into two snakes. Upon the landing sat a statue of Salazar Slytherin himself, clutching a human skull in one hand and a scroll in the other.
"It's a little complicated, so do bear in mind it'll take some getting used to. Up the stairs are the 7th years, but you all are at the bottom. There are two sides. Down by the left of the stairwell is the boys, and on the right is the girls — and before you think it. Don't even bother using the other stairs. Unless you enjoy slip-and-slides..." MacMillan's eyes wandered away from the group, as if reminiscing his own experience with the contraptions.
I looked towards the girls' side. The stairs were metallic, silver and painted green. Part of me wanted to try it just for the fun of it. We were eleven, so most of us didn't really understand the implications of his suggestion yet.
"I... think that's all really, at least until tomorrow. Your doors are the first on each side. I'd head to your rooms now. I can see half of you aren't even paying attention," His statement was directed at Goyle, who looked like he'd fallen asleep standing up.
Goyle's eyes snapped open and he grunted. I could only roll my eyes.
"Can we not explore the castle?" asked Theo, looking rather annoyed. I wondered how he possessed the energy to even consider doing so.
"Unfortunately, there's a 9 o'clock curfew," He shook his head, "A month of detention is where you'll land. So, unless you feel like spending four hours with Professor Snape every Friday, I'd personally recommend against it... I'm in room five if any of the boys need me. If the girls need anything, knock on room seven and ask for Gemma Farley. Goodnight everyone."
And then he sauntered off towards the boys' side, leaving the group mulling with uncertainty.
Theo sighed indignantly, "So we come all the way here just to sleep?"
"We can explore tomorrow," suggested Pansy.
I yawned with a feeble nod, "Right, for one, I am exhausted."
I bid goodnight to Pansy, before taking it upon myself to initiate the first movement of the group. Up the stairs was a long U-shaped hallway which contained a few circular doorways, each numbered with small, wooden plaques. The boys headed through the first door and found a circular room bordered by five four-poster beds hung with green velvet curtains.
Immediately, the five dispersed in separate directions.
We all had been given our own set of mahogany drawers and a claw-footed bedside table. Sat upon the top was a small jug of water and a matching green glass.
Our trunks had already been brought down for us, avoiding the inevitable argument of who slept where.
I pulled on my pyjamas and sank into the large, green bed. The mattress was soft and squashy, the silk bed covers were smoother than satin. I spent a little time running my fingers over the embroidered swirls, thinking of home.
I wondered how my mother was fairing. Was she in the library, mulling over one of her books? Or was she asleep by now?
She had bouts of insomnia when I was young. Lightly explained away by simple "motherly fears", but I was certain there was more to it.
My bed back there was a lot bigger, and probably quadruple the price tag, but I wouldn't have argued it was any better. My Hogwarts bed was warm and inviting.
The room I'd grown up in always seemed to have a chill about it, no matter how many logs were lit in the fireplace.
Ten minutes later, Theo was still standing, gawking at Crabbe incredulously as he spurted some argument about the bed situation — Through my tiredness, I gathered he was grieved by having to be right next to the door.
"What if you wake me?" He argued.
"I have dainty feet, Vincent!" Theo snapped back.
I threw a pillow across the room, groggily pulling the sheets over my head. That was my way of saying 'Merlin, some people are trying to sleep over here!' without all the effort of using my voice.
There were a few soft footsteps before I heard the pillow hit my headboard and land squarely on top of me. I pulled it off, smiling to myself.
Already, I felt as if I belonged here — with these stupid boys, in this very grand room. I knew, deep down, I'd do anything to keep things just like this.
Soon enough, the entire room stilled.
And I slipped into a quiet, dreamless sleep.
. . .
Hogwarts was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. Every corner housed something new and unexpected. A mysterious passageway, a moving object.
From the moment I left the common room I was already lost.
I could navigate the Malfoy Manor with my eyes closed, but in comparison to the castle, the four-story mansion was nothing but a garden shed in an allotment of prickly bramble.
Hogwarts was magnificent.
There were a hundred and forty-two staircases: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump.
Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending.
You couldn't even rely on notable landmarks to navigate. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and sometimes coats of armour would wander the halls as they pleased, settling down next to that statue you thought was on the other side of the castle.
Resultedly, there were a few times I'd been very late to my lessons.
Such as the time Blaise and I were redirected on the stairs, clinging onto a bannister for dear life as a platform quite literally swung off its hinges. When the staircase came to a standstill once more, we shakily hurried on our way, barging right into a door that refused to open.
"What the hell is wrong with this thing?" Blaise asked, shaking the loose handle.
In annoyance, I slammed a fist into the door. There wasn't an echo. No rattling of the door on its hinges, "Must be one of those walls playing a prank on us—"
"STOP, RIGHT THERE!"
We both froze, sending each other a frightened stare. From behind us came thudding footsteps, and the panting of an exhausted old man.
Although he smelt relatively clean, his long hair was slathered in grease and his clothes were full of holes. His face was moulded with hundreds of angry lines, morphing his features into a reproachful look of hatred.
"What?" I furrowed my eyebrows stupidly.
"YOU'RE—" It took a moment for him to catch his breath, "—TRESPASSING ON THE THIRD FLOOR!"
Argus Filch, I was quick to find out, wanted nothing but to punish every student he could get his dirt-crusted fingers on.
"Oh, well. You could've at least sign-posted it," Blaise replied, bored.
"Don't play foolish with me!" He narrowed his eyes, "I've had enough of you children traipsing these halls like you own the place! You will not get away with it, not under my watch!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," I sniffed. I was already anticipating the glare I'd receive from Snape as I barged into Potions fifteen minutes late.
"Wait, you're the squib caretaker Filch, aren't you?" Blaise asked impatiently. I glanced at him. I didn't know what he'd meant until it dawned on me very suddenly.
How was that even allowed?
"Hogwarts has a squib as a servant?" I muttered, perhaps too loudly. I didn't hide my snort of amusement. It felt almost too humorous to be true.
Filch definitely didn't need the reminder — especially from two bratty, insufferable children. His jaw tightened, his eyes practically popping out of his skull. He didn't reply, nostrils flaring as he pondered over the right punishment for us.
"I WILL HANG YOU TWO BY THE ANKLES FROM MY CEILING!" He bellowed so loudly it attracted the attention of nearby Professor McGonagall who came to our rescue.
Most of the teachers were fairly amicable about the late students — unless it was the loathsome Professor Snape, who seemed to enjoy dishing out punishments.
He was arguably the strictest of all, squarely due to his lack of compassion. The other teachers would follow up their glances of disapproval with sorry smiles. Snape would scowl across the Potions classroom, his black eyes following the late student to their chair with plain annoyance.
I didn't really mind him, although I thought he could at least care to take a shower.
My father had already told me about Snape. He'd said he was the best man in the school, and that I should trust him before any other lousy teacher. I wasn't so certain, until I quickly found out during our first lesson together that he was more than willing to overlook Slytherin misbehaviour.
Instead, he spent the entire hour nitpicking the Gryffindors — mostly Harry Potter — who had the unfortunate pleasure of sharing our lessons.
"Ah yes," He drawled, "Harry Potter. Our new — celebrity."
I couldn't help but snicker into my palm. Flitwick earlier had stopped at his name in the register, too, but instead sang his praises. I'd rested my head on my hand, feeling utterly bored by it all.
I failed to recognise why he got so much attention.
He was an accidental hero. His blood was as tainted as every other inferior I was surrounded by. And what was worse is they still thought of him as some sort of hero, or villain.
I stuck my nose up at it all, pretending I hadn't been recycling my father's rhetoric. I didn't realise how uncreative it was. Crabbe and Goyle only blindly hummed in agreement — not even listening to me.
"Potter!" said Snape, suddenly. My head snapped in his direction. The boy shrunk into his chair, aware of the twenty eyes that had landed on him.
"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Draught of the Living Death. I'd been taught that by a tutor. I smirked to myself as the boy's timid expression turned blank.
A Gryffindor girl with extremely frizzy brown hair raised her hand eagerly. I didn't recall her name but recognised her from Charms class, where she'd levitated a feather first try.
"I don't know, sir."
Snape's lips curled into a sneer, "Tut, tut — fame clearly isn't everything."
The girl's hand was waving lightly, trying to attract Snape's attention, who was trying his best to not even glance at her.
"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
I was laughing at this point. A very jittery, suppressed chuckle that left me shaking with silent amusement.
A murmur rippled throughout the class. The Gryffindor girl stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat.
"I don't know, sir," He replied, sounding rather despondent.
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" quipped Snape.
I wondered if he'd simply not even bothered doing his research before he arrived. I'd been told he'd be like that. Stuck up, self-righteous.
If he'd had any idea of the weight of his name in this community he would be.
"Prissy little Potter is too self-important," Theo muttered so quietly only I could hear it.
I snorted so loudly I drew some stares. Even Blaise raised his eyebrow, and he was sat on Theo's other side. But none of them were as hateful as Weasley's. If glares could cause explosions, the entire castle would've been rumble by now. He looked at me heatedly as I attempted to contain myself.
"What's the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Snape continued.
At this, the Gryffindor girl stood up, her hand stretching towards the dungeon ceiling. I was staring at the back of her arm as it gently swayed tiredly. He was clearly not going to pick her, but she was not giving up.
"I don't know," said Potter quietly, "I think Hermione does though, why don't you try her?"
A few people laughed; mostly the Gryffindors. I heard Pansy scoff.
Hermione... No surname came to mind, despite the fact I'd probably heard it on multiple occasions since I'd arrived here. I never really paid much attention outside of my own house. Pure-blood? Half-blood?
She was deft enough in basic magic to have been brought up in the magical world — but then again Crabbe and Goyle were supposedly pure.
Snape scowled, clearly not impressed by his antics, "Sit down," he snapped at Hermione, "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite — Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"
I immediately dipped my quill in my pot of ink and began writing. From the way everyone else had sprung into life, rummaging for parchment, it was clear none of them had thought to make notes either.
"And a point will be taken from Gryffindor house for your cheek, Potter."
. . .
"He's not that awful, is he?"
After an hour of attempting to brew a cure for boils — to which, in all fairness, I had a decent attempt — we were all beginning to tire.
It wasn't easy to be criticised so heavily. I argued it was my speciality, but I'd somehow evaded the worst of it.
"Snape?" I turned to Crabbe, "No. Not at all."
"You're one to talk. He clearly likes you," said Pansy. She sighed, probably reminded of how he poured out her first draft after the second ingredient.
"All wrong, start over." Snape had barked, leaving her with an expression that appeared as if she'd smelled something foul.
I'd figured I wasn't doing half bad when Snape glossed by, his dark eyes staring into the depths of my cauldron before he emitted a grunt of approval before telling the class to come and have a look at whatever I'd been doing.
"It's called talent, dearest Pans," I drawled humorously.
"Cheer up, Parkinson, at least you didn't get a warty nose like Longbottom," Theo smirked.
"Gross, actually," She grimaced, "That boy is an insult to wizards everywhere."
"But at least Potter took the fall for it," Blaise piped up, "Snape really doesn't like him, does he?"
"He sees right through him, just like my father," I shrugged, "At least someone does in this place."
Just as I spoke, the boy in question walked past with his red-headed sidekick, looking miserable. Wherever he went, a crowd of whispers followed. A group of second-years were gawking at him.
"Is that him?"
"Harry Potter? — Do you think he has the scar?"
We continued on our way, bitterly. Somehow we'd expected a little more praise here. All six of us had surnames from the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Surely that came with some prestige?
It seemed no one really cared for blood status outside of Slytherin house.
To us, it was simply out of question, a foreign concept. Entirely the opposite of how we all grew up.
Everything was about blood status. Every single thing.
How could wizarding society function without it?
A lot better. I would come to realise.
But there was a long way to go until then.
"That Hermi-own girl," I brought up out of the blue, the next morning over breakfast.
Pansy looked at me with sour grapes again, as she always seemed to whenever that girl even breathed in class. I poked at my yoghurt, feeling uninterested in getting involved with girl drama.
I didn't realise at the time, but she was somewhat jealous of her, peeved by her abilities. Despite all circumstances, Hermione's wit shone through like streams of sunlight. In Charms, in Herbology, in Potions, even Defence Against the Dark Arts.
She excelled in theoretical and practical work like she'd lobbied with it her entire life.
"The Gryffindor girl? Bushy hair?" Theo chipped in, "What about her?"
I nodded, "What's her surname?"
"Granger," Pansy answered quietly. She sounded like she could spit venom. I sent a confused glance at Goyle who only shrugged and shovelled a spoon full of blueberries into his mouth.
I didn't see a reason to envy her. Well, she was quite plain looking, and somewhat a know-it-all. Pansy was fairly pretty, and beyond all extremely rich.
"Oh," I said simply, "Half?"
"Mud."
"Oh."
Well that changes things, doesn't it?
It made no sense. Muggle-borns were supposed to be babbling babies, stumbling into a world they didn't belong with all the class of a giraffe wearing roller-skates.
"Impossible," Theo argued, "She knows... like... literally everything."
"She's not that smart," Pansy interjected bitterly, "I think she just reads."
"Well she's smarter than everyone else, then," I replied stiffly.
There was something foreboding about the idea of someone liker her, who was born outside of the wizarding world, outdoing everyone who'd grown up inside it.
"Again, impossible, right? That's not how it's supposed to work," said Theo.
"Well..." I began, but I didn't have an answer for that. None at all, "My father said that..."
My thoughts swam back to that book. The stupid poem mother would always read in the most lulling of voices.
But what shortly was clear, and caused the wizards to frown,
was these children were were born weakened. Their abilities watered down.
My sentence fizzled into thin air. What could I say? What I'd seen as fact had never been challenged before.
At the time it was insignificant. A small splinter to a glass, not hazardous enough to effect the use of the object.
I went quiet, shrugged it off, returned to eating my breakfast.
Of course there were exceptions, there always were.
It was tiny, microscopic, undisputedly irrelevant. Yet, looking back, it signified something much bigger than I ever could've anticipated.
The beginning of those lingering, uncontrollable doubts. An irrefutable proof there was a flaw to the system.
Who knew how many more cracks would bring everything tumbling down?