...
Dyroth muttered to himself, "I should have known better than to expect good things from these little brats."
He glanced at the magazine in his hand. "This? Any bikini will reveal more than this!" he scoffed, though, considering the more conservative nature of the era, he decided to just stuff it under his pillow and get some sleep.
He slept soundly.
However, elsewhere in the castle, someone wasn't able to sleep...
---
In the headmaster's office, Dumbledore sat in silence, holding several pieces of parchment. He read them over and over again, his hands trembling, revealing the turmoil in his heart.
"Gellert... I'm sorry. I never expected your life would turn out like this," Dumbledore whispered to himself. His voice was laden with regret. "If I had known... If I could have changed things..."
He leaned back in his chair, feeling utterly defeated, as though all his strength had been sapped. In this moment, he was not the mighty wizard revered by so many but just an old man, longing for the company of lost friends and loved ones.
After a long while, he broke his silence, his voice barely audible.
"You've truly left me with an impossible dilemma." His eyes shimmered with old pain. "This boy... he's exactly like you once were... No, even better than you were back then!"
Dumbledore's hands clenched the letter tightly. "What am I supposed to do, Gellert?"
---
At the same time, far away in the towering fortress of Nurmengard
An old man with white hair and piercing eyes lay back in a recliner, bathing in the moonlight, enjoying a peaceful night under the stars.
---
The next morning, Dyroth awoke earlier than he'd wanted. Resigned, he freshened up and headed for the Hogwarts Great Hall.
As he entered the hall, he waved briefly to Draco and the others before making his way toward Carlo and the Slytherins.
"Dyroth !" A voice called from the Gryffindor table. Harry waved energetically at his friend.
"Harry, relax," Dyroth replied with a chuckle. "Now's not the time for best-friend greetings!"
Percy, seated nearby, interjected, "He's right, Harry. This is serious business!"
"Why?" Harry asked, his curiosity piqued.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Fred and George Weasley suddenly appeared, shoving Ron aside. "Every year, on the night of the freshman admissions, Slytherin holds a duel to determine the freshman perfect," George explained, excitement evident in his voice.
Fred continued, "The top freshman competes in a ranking battle with upperclassmen, and the results get announced the next day, right here in the Great Hall."
Fred pointed discreetly toward the professors' table. "Even the professors are paying attention."
Harry noticed Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick whispering, their eyes frequently flicking toward the Slytherin table.
Fred sighed, "But your good friend is so strong that even trolls know he'll be the Slytherin perfect." He made a funny face, causing a ripple of laughter among the students.
"I wonder if there'll be any shake-ups in the rankings this year?" George mused aloud.
Fred nodded. "Dyroth is a powerhouse. I heard Diderot had to stay in the hospital wing overnight after facing him."
Fred then turned to Ron, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Care to make a bet, Ron?"
Ron eyed his brothers warily, remembering how many times they had tricked him before. "What's the bet?"
Fred grinned. "Let's bet on what position Dyroth will reach in the rankings. If you win, I'll write your potions homework for the week."
Ron frowned. "And if I lose?"
"Just let me borrow Scabbers for a couple of days," Fred replied innocently.
Ron clutched his pockets. "Just for two days? Are you sure?"
Fred smiled widely. "Absolutely. Just two days."
Percy, sitting nearby, coughed pointedly, reminding them he was still listening.
Ron, suspicious of his brothers' motives, kept his hand firmly over his pocket. He knew Fred and George's history with "borrowing" pets for their experiments.
But Fred and George were relentless. "Think about it, Ron," Fred coaxed. "That's a whole week of free time! And if I help with your potions homework, you'll get big O's on all your assignments. Imagine the envy of your classmates when you show off your grades!"
Ron glanced at Dyroth , now walking toward the Slytherin table, then remembered Fred's comment about Diderot spending the night in the hospital wing. A sly grin spread across his face.
This time, I'll win!
He slapped the table confidently. "Alright, deal!" Ron declared. "I bet Dyroth will stop at the second-year position."
"You can't choose the same as me!" Ron added quickly, catching onto Fred's usual tricks.
Fred and George exchanged knowing glances, barely suppressing their grins.
"Of course!" they chorused. "We bet Dyroth will make it to third-year!"
They turned to Harry. "Harry, you be the notary!"
"Uh… okay," Harry agreed hesitantly, not wanting to get caught up in another Weasley prank.
---
Meanwhile, Dyroth remained oblivious to their discussion as he walked straight toward Carlo's seat at the Slytherin table. A hush fell over the hall as students and professors watched intently, curious to see how far he'd go.
At the professor's table, McGonagall and Flitwick were also watching.
"Where do you think Dyroth will place?" McGonagall asked, her eyes focused on the Slytherin table.
Professor Flitwick pondered for a moment. "Well, I've heard from one of the Ravenclaw students that he performed a Summoning Charm flawlessly during the train ride. Quite impressive for a first-year."
McGonagall nodded. "He seems exceptionally talented."
"I'd say he'll make it to third year," Flitwick continued. "He's young, and while his skills are advanced, his magical reserves are still limited."
---
Dyroth continued walking past the first-year perfect's seat, then past the second-year perfect's seat. Gasps and murmurs spread through the hall.
Ron's confident grin faltered.
"Third year! He's still going!" Harry exclaimed.
Dyroth passed the third-year seat without stopping.
"Is this real? A first-year can't be this strong!" one student whispered in disbelief.
"Where is Slytherin's head of house in all this?" another questioned.
The hall fell silent as Dyroth finally reached the seat across from Carlo, the second-ranking student in Slytherin, stopping only at the seat below the absent sixth-year perfect.
Everyone stared in stunned silence. Could it be? Could a first-year really be this powerful?
.
.
.