The final pulse of mana dimmed behind my eyes as I opened them, breath slow, heart steady. The old brass clock above the door ticked softly—3:30 a.m. The boys in the dorm were still asleep, some lightly snoring. Nyx lay curled at my feet, chest rising and falling gently. I ran a hand through her silky fur, whispering a silent "Stay."
She twitched an ear and resumed sleeping. I moved like a whisper through the room, pulling on a dark green set of sweatpants, a training shirt, and black runners enchanted with cushioning charms. My wand was tucked into the inside of my waistband, just in case. After one last look around the room, I exited silently.
The Slytherin common room glowed faintly with low sconces, the lake casting gentle ripples of light across the stone walls.
> "AIA," I whispered. "Start recording distance. I want every mile tracked."
> "Of course, Callum. Tracking initialized."
Outside the dungeons, the castle was cold and mostly silent. I passed a few portraits and then reached the main castle entrance. With a flick of my wand and a quiet charm taught to me by Aster, the lock unlatched.
I stepped into the cool night air of the outer courtyard, fog rolling low along the cobblestones. My breath fogged the air. The moon hung pale above the spires. I began with dynamic warm-ups—high knees, lunges, hip circles. Then dropped down for 100 push-ups, then 100 squats, deep and controlled, then the run began.
I moved through the inner grounds first, weaving past familiar landmarks I recognized from the films and the games. The greenhouses, the paddocks, even the Whomping Willow in the distance, still and dormant in the moonlight. Then I pushed outward, circling the lake, heading toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It was surreal. A perfect blend of the fictional world I knew—and the real, enchanted danger it always hinted at.
By the time I looped around Hagrid's Hut, the sky was starting to gray. > "Distance: 4.5 miles," AIA said in her smooth tone. I smiled through the sweat dripping down my brow and knocked out another 100 squats and 100 push-ups, then jogged back toward the castle's outer steps. There, under the torchlit archway, I finished my final set. One last group of 100 push-ups and squats.
> "Total distance: 5.64 miles," AIA reported. "Mana levels are stable. Physical fatigue: moderate." "Thanks," I whispered, panting, grinning despite the soreness.
Returning inside, I slipped back into the castle before dawn broke fully. The boy's showers were dim and ancient. "Definitely needs a renovation," I muttered as the freezing cold water finally warmed under my charm.
Clean, dressed in full uniform—tie, vest, robes pristine—I returned to the dorm. It was 4:30 a.m. Perfect with a flick of my wand and a whisper of Electro-Flick, I shocked the room with controlled jolts—low voltage, just enough to rouse the boys.
"Wake up. Time to study." "Bloody hell, what? "What time is it!?"
"Who cast lightning?!" They stumbled, grumbled, and cursed softly. I didn't care.
> "Get dressed. Get the others. You've got twenty minutes." Then I turned and left.
(Slytherin Common Room) The common room was still quiet. Torchlight flickered from the green-glass sconces, throwing shadows across the snakes carved into the stone columns. Nyx had already slinked down from the dorms and made her way to a high shelf, curling up again and watching me with lazy interest.
I set my books on the large round table near the hearth and started reviewing first-year Transfiguration theory, flipping through Magical Drafts and Potions, and re-reading my intro to Ancient Runes notes.
The room was so quiet I could hear the crackle of the lake water moving behind the stained glass windows. That's when I heard footsteps a girl's.
She descended the stairs from the girls' dorms, yawning behind one hand and holding a stack of parchments and books in the other. Her hazel eyes half-lidded but curious. She had warm tan skin, delicate features, and dark brown hair that hung in thick, loose curls just past her shoulders.
When she reached me, she nodded once and sat down across the table.
> "Nikita Ash," she said, her voice soft but confident. "Second-year. I figured I should at least know the name of the crazy first-year who threw half the common room against a wall last night."
I smirked. "Callum Tesfaye Dawn. Nice to meet you."
She gave me a long look, then smiled slightly. " I know who you are after last night. You made a big impression. I've been here a year, and I've never seen someone shut up that many people so fast. Though I don't completely agree with your methods. "
I shrugged. " Understandable, not everyone will but I promise every action I take will be worth it in the end. These elites needed to but knocked down a peg or two."
She nodded. "You're not wrong just be careful the rumors about them being related to death dealer or dark wizard or witch some are true."
"Noted" I said
Her notes were neat—color-coded and organized. She had a natural calm to her presence, despite the wild magic flying just hours before.
When I asked about her family, she lit up a little.
> "My dad's Caribbean and Korean. Mom's half-Filipino, half-Korean. Fourth generation witches and wizards on both sides. They just got the Ash family officially recognized as an established wizarding line."
I raised my brow. "That's a big deal."
She nodded. "We're known for natural remedies that are good for almost anything. My great-grandmother had a lot of magical pets like a phoenix, or dragon that helped maintain her potions but unfortunately they are not as famous as some wizards."
My eyes widened. "I'd love to see her work someday." "You keep trying leading like this?" she said with a faint smile, "You probably wont have a choice."
The stone walls of the Slytherin common room echoed faintly with groans, dragging footsteps, and scattered curses. I sat in the high-backed leather chair near the emerald-lit hearth, robe crisp, wand idle in my hand, and Nyx curled in my lap like a coiled shadow.
Nikita sat across from me, cross-legged and composed with her notes spread before her. A few eager first- and second-years gathered beside her, scribbling with focused energy, clearly more intrigued than intimidated.
A few stragglers between 1st to 4th years arrived but no one higher and I didn't see the prefects or head boy. I sighed, standing.
"Watch my seat, Nikita. I'll be back." "Callum," she said, hesitant. "Please don't go into the girl's dorms."
"I'm not going in technically . Just making sure they understand the expectations," I said with a smirk. " I believe in true Equality. Besides only when you act like a lady do you get treated like one."
She blinked, unsure whether to laugh or stop me. I turned on my heel and strode down the boy's dorm hall. Within 30 seconds, the peace shattered. Crashes. Clattering trunks. Wands sparking as students scrambled. Doors flew open. Shouts rang out.
"Oi! What the bloody hell?!"
"My hair!"
"Put me down, you psycho!"
I emerged from the hallway, dragging a kicking, pajama-clad Draco Malfoy by the collar like a sack of laundry. His wand lay forgotten somewhere behind him. "Let go of me! Wait until my father hears about this!"
I smacked the back of his head lightly—not hard, just enough to silence him.
> "Right now, I'm your daddy. So wake the bloody hell up, Malfoy," I said coldly. "Get dressed. Get your people dressed. If you're not all out here in five minutes…"
I let the words hang. "…I start burning things."
He paled, yanked free, and sprinted down the hall like a scalded kneazle. I returned to the center of the common room.
"Nikita," I said smoothly, "escort me." "To the girls' dorms?" she said, frowning. "Callum…" "They'll understand better this way," I said calmly. "It's gender equality. No exceptions."
Before she could stop me, I turned to the dorm doors, raised my wand, and flicked it three times in a practiced rhythm.
> Splash.
A wave of ice-cold water shot through every girl's door simultaneously.
Screams echoed.
> "My robes!"
> "My hair! You arse!"
> "WHO CAST A WATER CHARM?!"
I lifted my wand to my throat and used the Voice Amplification Charm.
> " Good Morning Boys and Girls of Slytherin. You have five minutes to be in the common room. Or I start burning things. Clock's ticking."
Nikita gawked. "You're insane."
"Effective," I said with a wink, dropping back into my chair.
By the eighth minute mark, every Slytherin first- to seventh-year stood in the common room. A few older students, curious (or suspicious), leaned against the walls or took seats along the stone steps. Some looked half-asleep, others meticulously dressed. The splashed girls looked murderous.
> With a snap of my fingers, all uniforms dried and pressed. Faces cleaned. Hair styled neatly.
Even Nikita looked shocked.
"Created that one for Harry," I said casually. "Waking up with bedhead was becoming an international crisis."
The students blinked in surprise. I stood, wand in hand. A soft gold-and-white flame ignited in my palm, hovering gently, casting flickering reflections across the Slytherin sigils. I waved it around to room nothing burned but everyone eyes opened up. I could tell people were starting to wake up and their moods were improving.
"Thank you all for joining me this morning," I said smoothly. "Today, we start simple."
Nikita handed out the study parchments I'd drafted the night before—each tailored by year and general subject focus. Some bore the actual material we'd learn today. Others were extrapolated guesses based on the curriculum. I took my memories from my past life from the books and from what mom told me about Hogwarts. I organized it all by year, mixing spell practice, charms theory, and potion basics.
> "These," I said, "will give you an edge. Use them. Work in groups. Take notes. Discuss spells. If you're clever, today's classes will be a joke."
Someone in the crowd scoffed. "Why should we care about this?" "Because the house system rewards excellence," I said. "And I don't know about you lot, but I like winning. Where is your pride as a witch or wizard that people respect and fear because your smart and powerful If you follow my lead you will have all that without using your family name."
A few murmurs of agreement. Draco, now dressed and pouting near the back, grumbled, "Still sounds like bloody homework. "
> "No, Malfoy," I said, smiling. " Knowledge is power. The dark lord, Dumbledore, Merlin and others have it. When you know how to use it people will fear crossing you and respect you your power and knowledge."
I sat again one hand held Nyx, now purring lazily in my lap. The other held the softly swirling tricolored flame—gold, white, and black—rippling with quiet heat.
> "So study," I said calmly. "Or go back to bed and wait to fall behind. Your choice." Some students did go bac to their beds others reluctantly gathered into groups and decided to study
Nikita didn't say a word, but I caught the glance she gave me—half skeptical, half impressed. She brought over a cluster of first- and second-years, took out her own notes, and began helping them cross-reference spells from their books with the study parchments. She taught calmly, patiently, and clearly knew her material. Useful, I thought.
As I watched the house begin—slowly—to learn together, a soft ping echoed in my mind.
> [Quest Update: "Zero to Hero" – Progress: 9%]
The air was filled with the rustling of parchment and whispered review. My first morning at Hogwarts was a quiet thunderstorm of discipline, precision, and leadership. In the One hour into the study session, I'd moved from group to group—helping, correcting, redirecting, always keeping an eye on the whole. Even the older students, at first skeptical, now treated me with quiet curiosity and caution.
I joined the 4th through 7th years, settling into their circle with my own notes and a neutral expression. A sixth-year, lean and wiry with spectacles slipping down his nose, glanced at me sideways.
> "What was that spell you used to block and attack us without a wand I never seen anything like that?"
" That's a secret but I can promise if you follow my lead and help I will help you do what I did and more right now I need to learn this formula."
"I thought you knew everything already?"
I smiled. "Of course not I'm only 11. I am I'm humble enough to ask for help and smart enough to keep learning."
He blinked. Then nodded. "You bloody mental."
I clapped twice. "Prefects, Head boys and Girls ," I said. "Line them up. Seventh years at the front, first years at the back. We are heading to breakfast in a single file formation" The prefects and heads paused for a moment before they saw my eyes and decided to do it anyway.
The murmur of questions died instantly.
We entered the Great Hall in perfect single file. Heads turned. Forks paused halfway to mouths. Teachers stared. Students whispered.
One of the Patil twins muttered, "What the—?"
"I thought Slytherins slept through breakfast," Dean Thomas added.
I stopped in the center of the hall, lifted my wand to my throat again, and calmly amplified my voice. "You are all dismissed to eat and go about your day. But breakfast will be eaten with dignity."
Everyone scattered some sat at the Slytherin table. Others joined family and friends across houses. It wasn't about separation—it was about unity, control, and choice.
I sat down at the Slytherin table, Nyx curling around my feet like a shadow eating a bowl of cooked fish. Nikita sat beside me, nibbling on toast. I filled my plate with , soft-boiled eggs, and a sliver of salmon and my coffee piping hot in an elegant cup I transfigured to match home.
That's when Harry, Hermione, and Ron slid in beside me.
"Alright, mate," Harry said, glancing at the Slytherins eyeing me while whispering to others at table. "Why does it feel like you went full Aster already?"
I sipped my coffee with exaggerated grace. "Because I did." Nikita blinked. "You're drinking coffee? You're eleven."
> "Until Hogwarts learns how to import proper Eastern green tea," I said, swirling the mug, "I will subject to this horror every morning. It's tragic." Ron muttered, "You're mental." "I been told that a lot lately"
Hermione, still processing the pristine line formation from earlier, shook her head. "No. He might be on to something if he got them all to listen to him."
The ceiling dimmed. Owls burst through the rafters like a flurry of feathers and scrolls—dozens descending, letters and packages clutched in talons. At the same time, the great double doors of the hall opened with an official clang.
> "Oh no…" I muttered.
The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, waddled in with his green bowler hat tucked under one arm, flanked by a half-dozen Ministry officials, Madam Amelia Bones, and trailing behind and Rita Skeeter.
That horrid Quick-Quotes Quill floated beside her, already scribbling. Professor McGonagall and Snape—both mid-step toward me—halted, their faces contorting with equal parts confusion and dread. Dumbledore walked behind them, serene as always, hands folded like he hadn't orchestrated the entire thing himself.
> Dumbledore doesn't look to surprised but doesn't look to happy either. Fudge's voice boomed magically through the hall.
> "Students of Hogwarts! Today we honor a young man whose brave actions helped uncover a terrible miscarriage of justice!" Every eye turned to me. Hermione gasped. Ron's jaw dropped. Even Nikita blinked slowly like she hadn't expected this level of spectacle on the first day.
Fudge continued.
"For his instrumental role in proving the innocence of Sirius Black, and exposing the deceit of one Wizard" I stood slowly, posture perfect, heart steady. Every movement was deliberate. I refused to look surprised. "We present Callum Tesfaye Dawn with the Order of Merlin, Third Class—the youngest recipient in modern magical history."
A green and silver ribbon holding a bronze star floated over and pinned itself to my robes.
Click Rita Skeeter's camera flashed. Clap-clap-clap. Slow applause spread. A few Gryffindors clapped louder than the rest. Some Slytherins stared like they'd never seen an eleven-year-old stand straighter than the Minister himself.
Madam Bones stepped forward as Fudge finished the formalities. She leaned down, whispering quietly.
"Sorry, Callum. The gift and letter I sent explain why this had to happen." Behind her, Rita slithered forward with a grin. "Callum, darling, a quote for the Prophet? What does it feel like to make history?"
Before I could open my mouth, Snape's voice slashed the air. "He is a child, Miss Skeeter. Interviews require the consent of a parent or guardian. Neither are present." Rita pouted, twirled her quill, and turned. "Such a shame," she said. "So mysterious. You'll owe me one, Mr. Dawn."
She sauntered away, but her eyes lingered just a little too long. Snape watched her go, then turned to me, his face colder than ice. "Thank you professor." I said.
"Don't thank me, Mr. Dawn. Not yet. You still owe me an explanation for what occurred last night in our common room."