"Ding-a-ling—"
The alarm clock had barely begun to sway before Slytherin pressed it down with one hand and yawned.
It had been a long time since he'd spent an entire night in a dream.
Although he arrived in that world through dreams, his physical body wouldn't rest unless he also slept within the dream itself. Only then could he truly recover.
So Slytherin had stayed up late the previous night—right before his meeting with a professor from Hogwarts.
He examined his reflection in the mirror. Since he rarely did so, the sudden close-up revealed heavy dark circles under his eyes—not ideal for a first meeting.
Professor McGonagall's appointment was at eight-thirty in the morning, and clearly, there wasn't enough time for him to catch up on sleep.
This would be his first impression on Hogwarts...
Slytherin ate his sandwich gloomily. Even if it weren't about first impressions, he had wanted to present a radiant image when stepping into the magical world for the first time.
But when he glanced at the small green sparks dancing across his fingertips, he realized he wasn't actually all that unhappy.
After all, this was his choice—sacrificing sleep to study Life Magic Flame.
Slytherin picked up a stack of manuscript paper and a quill, then sat down to hastily draft his story in the living room. Under his pen, the scenery of the Kingdom of Eternal Winter gradually unfolded, but since he hadn't yet seen the beginning of the story, the narrative itself lacked an introduction.
As he wrote, he kept glancing at the clock on the wall. When he finally lost patience and began doodling snow monsters on the manuscript paper, the hands pointed precisely to eight-thirty.
A sharp "pop" sounded at the door.
This was followed by a few gentle knocks and a crisp, Scottish-accented greeting.
"I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor of Hogwarts. I believe we arranged a meeting for today?"
Slytherin scurried to open the door. The moment his hand touched the doorknob, he felt no anxiety—only anticipation and curiosity for the new.
"Good morning, Professor McGonagall!"
The lady standing before him wore an emerald green robe and had her hair in a tight bun, exuding a meticulous and stern air that made Slytherin unconsciously straighten his posture.
Of course, Professor McGonagall noticed this detail. Her tightly pursed lips curved slightly upward into the faintest smile.
"Good morning, Mr. Page. Are your parents home? I need to provide them with a brief introduction to Hogwarts."
Ah... Slytherin could already sense the Professor's efficiency. She truly lived up to her title as Deputy Headmistress—just as he had imagined.
He stepped aside and gestured her in. "My guardian has been very busy lately. I mean, I can make many decisions myself. Of course, I've informed him—he fully supports me taking initiative."
McGonagall's expression carried a subtle trace of disapproval. In her view, this guardian might be a bit too hands-off, entrusting such major decisions to a child... But it was their family's matter, and she wouldn't interfere.
In truth, this level of independence could be beneficial—young minds were far more open to the world of magic than adults.
"Oh? Then you must have already noticed signs of magic, haven't you? Something levitating, vanishing, or acting strangely?"
Slytherin nodded and held up his quill. With a subtle flick of his fingers, it transformed into a bright sunflower.
"Mr. Page...? This..."
Professor McGonagall's gaze flickered between the boy and the sunflower. For a moment, she felt disoriented—was she so overworked that she was hallucinating?
He had just demonstrated Transfiguration, the exact magic she had planned to show him!
And not just any attempt—it was clean and precise. The sunflower bore no trace of the quill's former identity. Even for a first-year's final exam, this would easily earn an "Outstanding."
"Exceptional talent, Mr. Page. I never expected to see such accomplished Transfiguration from a student who hasn't even enrolled yet. I think you'd be an excellent fit for Gryffindor—or perhaps Ravenclaw."
"Professor, what are Gryffindor and Ravenclaw?"
Professor McGonagall finally saw a familiar, puzzled expression on his face—this was what a young wizard should look like.
"Those are two of the Houses at Hogwarts," she explained. "Let me tell you more about the school. I suspect there's no need for me to further explain the existence of magic."
She pulled out her wand and tapped a cookie on the table. With a shimmer, it transformed into four exquisite, metallic-sheened badges.
A red lion, a yellow badger, a green snake, and a blue eagle.
"Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw," she said, pointing to each one.
Slytherin's eyes were fixed on her wand.
"This is a wand," she smiled. "A wizard's companion for casting spells. You'll get your own when we go shopping."
"I imagine you can hardly wait—"
She paused. Slytherin's eager eyes said it all. Yes, he was probably a Ravenclaw, with that pure thirst for magical knowledge.
Since he'd be learning all the details in his textbooks anyway, she decided to skip ahead.
"Everything on your acceptance letter can be purchased in Diagon Alley. The entrance is hidden behind a pub on Charing Cross Road, called the Leaky Cauldron—invisible to Muggles, of course."
"Normally, you'd walk there. But today, for efficiency, we'll use something more magical."
She stood and extended her hand to Slytherin.
"Hold on tightly. Don't let go, or there could be... complications."
"A spatial teleportation spell?" Slytherin asked, gripping her arm without hesitation.
"Yes, it's called Apparition. You'll learn it in sixth year. However, for a first-timer..."
Minerva smiled faintly and turned.
Slytherin's vision blackened. It felt like he was shoved into a tiny, shaking box, unable to breathe—like being flushed down a pipe.
"Pop!"
He stumbled twice and leaned against a wall. A floating rubbish bin appeared in front of him.
"Yes, it can be a bit rough."
Without looking, he knew Professor McGonagall was smiling.
Apparition, he thought, was far inferior to Maleficent's flame teleportation—which was warm and smooth.
Slytherin took a deep breath, composed himself, and declined the floating bin offered by McGonagall.
"That was... unpleasant."
She pulled a small bottle of pale blue liquid from her sleeve. "Here. A calming draught—it'll help."
As he sipped the bitter potion, she circled him, checking for anything missing.
"Professor? Is something wrong with me?"
"Not at all," she replied. "You followed instructions perfectly. If you hadn't held on, we might now be searching for your hand or your eyes. That's the danger of failed Apparition—dismemberment. Never attempt it alone."
Losing a limb? Suddenly, it seemed better than the consequence of failed flame teleportation.
Last night, Maleficent had shown him—dramatically—what happened when flame teleportation went wrong. Let's just say nothing would live in that area for decades.
Compared to instant death, losing a hand wasn't so bad.
Professor McGonagall clapped her hands, snapping him back to attention. With a flick of her wand, the rubbish bin returned to its spot.
"Mr. Page, do you see the wall you're leaning on?"
He joined her side and followed her gaze.
The rubbish bin again?
She tapped a brick that was noticeably different in color from the others.
"Start here. Three bricks up, then two across."
She placed the tip of her wand on the spot, then handed it to Slytherin.
"In my experience, letting young students open the door themselves makes it all the more magical. Go on—tap it a few times."
Slytherin took a deep breath and tapped it three times.
The brick trembled violently and sunk inward. Then, one by one, the surrounding bricks rotated and disappeared, forming an archway large enough for two people to walk through side by side.
Slytherin stared at the winding cobblestone path that stretched into the distance. He clutched the black feather on his chest and stepped forward.
His first step into the magical world.