The days following our arrival at Hogwarts blurred into a rhythm that few could keep up with. For most students, it was already a lot—new classes, magical history and homesickness. For me, it was the beginning of an orchestrated transformation of Slytherin House… and the foundation of something even greater.
My routine was precise: up before dawn, training my body and mind. A run through the grounds to clock in another 5 miles, followed by squats, push-ups, and mana meditation while the sun broke the mist over the hills. Then a return to the dorms, a cold shower, and a change into my uniform.
When I descended into the Slytherin common room, I always found Nikita Ash waiting with her books and two or three other students—some sleepy, some terrified I'd burn their beds again. Even Draco Malfoy, groggy and sour, was there. He never looked me in the eye, but he showed up, and that was enough.
I taught them things from my studies—material I remembered from the future, hints from my system, and patterns that most Hogwarts students wouldn't learn for another year or more. I tested their memory retention and spellcraft like a personal tutor, driving them forward with praise and pressure.
Each morning in the Great Hall, I became the center of attention for another reason. Owls delivered howlers—red, flaming letters from angry Slytherin parents, howling through the castle with threats, insults, and declarations.
"HOW DARE YOU HURT MY SON—"
"YOU LITTLE FOREIGN BRAT, WE'LL HAVE YOU EXPELLED—"
"CALLUM TESFAYE DAWN, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE—"
Each one burst into sound, rage, and fire… until I raised my hand and burned them to ash with the black flame. Not a trace remained. Every time it happened, the Hall went silent. By the third day, the Howlers stopped. The fear had been replaced with a different kind of respect. Then came Flying Class. We were outside with Madam Hooch, the winds of the highlands brushing against our robes as the brooms lay neatly in rows before us.
Draco's smugness returned the moment he saw Ron, Hermione, and Harry. It didn't take long before he made a comment about bloodlines or broom handling, and I was already watching him from the corner of my eye. Then it happened.
Neville Longbottom, trying to get on his broom, lost control. He soared twenty feet into the air screaming, zigzagged erratically, and slammed into the ground with a thud that silenced everyone.
Hooch gasped and rushed to him, barking orders and flying off to the infirmary with Neville in her arms. The moment she was out of sight, Draco started poking around Neville's things and plucked up the Remembrall.
"Look what we have here," he sneered. Everyone froze. In canon, this was Harry's moment—but I wasn't about to let it happen the same way. With a flick of my hand, I snatched the Remembrall from Draco using telekinesis and floated it to me.
"Let's make this fun," I said, holding it up.
Harry blinked. "Callum…?" I turned to Draco. "Race for it."
Gasps from every side. Even Hermione stepped forward, whispering urgently, "Are you insane? Hooch said—" "I know what she said," I answered calmly. "But I also know that this is Hogwarts. People fly."
I stared at Harry. "This is for you. Show me what I know you can do." Then I turned to Draco. "If you win, I'll leave Hogwarts forever." That got everyone's attention. Even Ron choked on his spit.
Draco's eyes gleamed. "You're serious?" "Very. But if you lose…" I narrowed my eyes. "You're getting a punishment tonight. Slytherin punishment."
He laughed nervously. "You're mad."
> "Ready? Set—GO!"
I launched the Remembrall high with my magic, fast and hard—straight toward the castle's second-floor window just like in the books.
Harry kicked off, swift and smooth, chasing it like a born flier. Draco hesitated just a second too long, too afraid of crashing into the stone wall. Harry leaned forward and snatched it mid-air, twisting into a sharp landing as a figure stepped out from the shadows near the castle steps.
Professor McGonagall. She blinked, then focused her eyes on Harry. "Potter… follow me." Harry's eyes widened, but I gave him a thumbs-up. "Go," I whispered. "You just earned your broom."
As he followed her, I turned back to Draco, whose face had gone a shade paler. "Be ready tonight," I said coldly. He swallowed and didn't answer.
Later that evening, the Great Hall buzzed with the usual hum of clinking silverware, bubbling cauldrons of pumpkin juice, and conversations drifting from table to table. I sat with my plate half-eaten, scrolling through a stack of mail with one hand while the other was finishing my homework from each class. Another death threat. A few letters from more concerned parents demanding apologies and threatening expulsion. I sighed, burned each one with the black flame, and kept reading.
One letter, however, shimmered subtly with magic, sealed in a soft red wax etched with the symbol of a lioness with flames. I knew it was Aster.
The enchanted message whispered into my ear like wind through a forest, her voice sharp but affectionate:
> "You've made quite the name for yourself already, my little nephew. I've received no fewer than eleven complaints about your first night. Your mother and father have heard whispers, and they're expecting to speak with you. Use the mirror—tonight. Before a howler shows up tomorrow morning."
I smirked, slipping the folded parchment into my cloak's inner pocket.
> "Noted, Aunt Aster."
Then came the ones I was truly waiting for.
One from Amelia Bones, sealed in deep violet wax—likely a follow-up to her earlier gift. Another from Flamel, neat script and gold trim. But what froze me, made my fingers twitch with excitement, was a thick, matte-black envelope sealed with a silver crest that hadn't been seen in the public eye for decades.
Grindelwald.
I hadn't even opened it yet, savoring the anticipation when Nikita appeared beside me with her usual calm stride, holding a folded parchment of her own.
> "Here you go," she said flatly, "This is the list of students across Years One through Seven who are actively bullying Muggleborns… or just being sadistic pricks. I also listed how many points each cost us."
I raised an eyebrow and took the paper. Names. House year. Behavior type. Points lost. Even their class rankings. My eyes widened slightly.
> "How did you compile this so fast?"
She tilted her head. "I know where to look and how to talk to people. You should try it sometime, instead of just forcing your way through problems."
I chuckled, rubbing my chin. "You're not wrong."
Flipping to the bottom of the list, I scowled. My efforts, answers in class, helping others, and keeping a tighter leash on discipline—had earned Slytherin over 40 house points in three days.
But thanks to some of these names? We were sitting at 20.
Unacceptable. I reached into my bag and pulled out a small pouch, opening it and slipping 20 Galleons across the table. She stared at the shining gold coins like I'd just handed her a Dragon's egg.
> "I wasn't expecting money—especially not this much."
"You earned it," I said simply. "You did real work. If you don't want coin, I can offer you something else—knowledge, connections, private spell lessons, access to my family's vault of enchanted items or old grimoires. Whatever works." She paused, holding her palm out. "Hey, we're eleven and twelve, remember? I appreciate it, but this isn't why I helped."
I gently pushed her hand back. "Take it. Because I see what you're capable of, Nikita. Know your worth. I do this to show you my respect not because I want to buy your loyalty." She smiled—shy, then bright—and nodded. In that moment, I didn't just see a clever second-year.
I saw a potential ally that could watch my back in the future. Leaning closer, I dropped my voice to a whisper. "Spread the word. Talk to the First and Second Years you trust. Tell them: if they report any housemate breaking the rules I set, there are rewards. Money. Knowledge. Special privileges. If they protect the future of our house, then they earn their place."
She blinked, surprised by the sheer confidence in my voice. "You think that'll actually work?" "I have enough Galleons to light the bloody lake on fire. What I don't have is enough time to watch everyone. That's where you and others come in."
She grinned. "Sounds insane." I stood. "Good. Insanity works when brilliance backs it."
One hour later…
Nikita, Draco, and fifteen others from the list stood in a shadowed hallway near the unused East Wing of Hogwarts—a corridor most had never walked before.
"Okay…" one of the Fourth Years said with a sneer. "What the hell are we doing here?"
I turned slowly, stepping to the blank stone wall at the far end. Calmly, I reached into my inner coat, placed my hand against the cold brick and closed my eyes: "I am in need of a room with space to unite my house"
The stones shimmered, trembled, then began folding in on themselves. A glowing line of magic carved an archway into existence where none existed before. The group gasped as the stones retracted to reveal a grand door.
"We," I said, turning to face them, "are going to become a true House of ambition. A new Slytherin—united, feared, respected. And this is where we start."
The massive double doors creaked open, their blackwood frames glowing faintly with emerald tracery. The serpents etched into the wood slithered apart, hissing as if welcoming me. With deliberate steps, I crossed the threshold, the soft soles of my shoes echoing through the vast chamber.
Torchlight shimmered to life along the walls, casting green and silver hues over what appeared to be a great, empty dueling hall—smooth obsidian floors, high vaulted ceilings, and banners of House Slytherin lazily drifting along the rafters. It smelled of old parchment and magic.
Everyone followed. Nikita's voice broke the silence. "What is this place?"
I turned slightly, not stopping. "The Room of Requirement—a secret magical chamber that appears only to those in great need of it. It transforms into whatever is required."
Draco scoffed behind me, arms crossed. "Doesn't look like much. Just a big empty room." I turned, facing him. "Because I needed space." My voice echoed, carried by the chamber itself. With a flick of my wrist, the parchment appeared, unfurling midair and hovering beside me.
I read aloud:
> "Lazlo Nott – three incidents of intimidation against Muggleborns.
Marissa Bulstrode – hexing a Second Year Hufflepuff unprovoked.
Grant Travers – deducting 15 house points in two days for insubordination, disruption, and skipping morning study."
Each name called made the students shift uncomfortably. "Now," I said, eyes scanning them, "here's the proposal." My voice sharpened like steel. "Every one of you—minus the First Years, who don't know enough spells—may fight me right here, right now. All of you against me. I won't even use a wand."
The silence turned thick. A few glanced at each other, gauging the room, gauging me. Someone scoffed. "Why would we do that and what happens if we win?" I smiled coldly. "You get revenge for that first night and I'll pay reparations."
One boy raised a brow. "What's 'reparations'?" Nikita, standing behind the group with a few First Years, answered crisply. "It means he's gonna pay you for everything that happened—compensation."
I nodded. "And more than that… if you win, I'll leave Hogwarts immediately. I'll issue a public apology in front of the whole school, on my hands and knees." The smug smirks, the sudden glints in a few eyes—I could see the hunger for vindication forming. A girl in the back folded her arms. "Oh yeah? And what if we lose?"
I let the words drop like stone.
> "You get your ass beat. Again.
You tell your parents to back off.
And you fall in line.
You follow my rules.
And in return?
You'll get money, rare items, spell access, potion ingredients—actual growth. Power, properly earned."
A few looked tempted. Others skeptical. One sneered. Draco tilted his head. "How do we know you'll keep your word?"
Without missing a beat, I responded, "We'll swear an Unbreakable Vow." A few gasps. Several backed up immediately. "I'm not putting my life on the line for something like this!" a girl yelled, her eyes wide.
I looked at her without malice. "Then don't. You can leave. But know this—I'm not going to stop. I will either break this house into discipline, or get expelled trying." I turned to Nikita, gesturing. "Take the First Years back against the wall. You're not part of this."
She nodded silently, guiding the handful of wide-eyed younger students to the far side, safely out of range.
I stepped forward. "So, what's it going to be?" The parchment vanished and for a moment silence.
Then one voice: "No vows and no rules. We'll just beat you unconscious and bring you to the hospital wing." A Sixth Year—tall, broad-shouldered, wand already in hand. A few more stepped forward. Wands drawn. Eyes gleaming. " and If you die," he added with a smirk, "we'll just say it was an accident I'll families will help cover it up?"