My Dark Lord

Chapter Six: The Serpent's Circle

By the end of our first week at Hogwarts, it was clear: the war for influence had begun.

Not with wands or curses-- but in whispers, glances, and carefully chosen alliances. The professors thought we were settling in. What we were really doing was building empires.

And I had no intention of ruling a broken one.

I began simply.

Eileen was my shadow-- quiet, brilliant, unwavering. She knew things. Saw things. If I planted a word in her ear, it grew through the entire dormitory by morning. She never betrayed a confidence, and her silences made her dangerous. She was my first and most natural lieutenant.

Mara Selwyn came next. Her family was old money with minor blood ties to the Blacks. She had a gift for nonverbal hexwork and a penchant for subtlety. I praised her work on a curse-breaking essay during Transfiguration, and the deal was done.

Dahlia Mulciber took more effort. She distrusted flattery. She responded to proof. So I made sure she saw me best her older brother in a hallway duel demonstration-- without lifting my wand more than once.

Cassia Travers was the wildcard. A talkative, flirtatious tornado of ambition, she was too brash to lead, but too connected to discard. She gossiped like it was currency-- and I made sure she owed me a debt.

Thus, the Circle began.

Five witches. Five bloodlines. One purpose.

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Professor Flitwick was fussing with a stack of books nearly taller than himself, arranging them in a teetering column on his desk. The rest of the class milled about awkwardly-- first-years adjusting robes, comparing quills, reciting wand movements under their breath.

I, of course, already had the spell memorized.

"Today," Flitwick squeaked, climbing onto a stack of spellbooks for height, "we'll begin with Lumos! A foundational spell-- but don't let its simplicity fool you! Mastering light is mastering focus!"

I took my seat at the front, naturally, Eileen beside me. But just before Flitwick could pair us off, a voice to my right drawled, smooth and irreverent:

"Partnered already, Grindelwald? Or is this seat reserved for snakes only?"

I turned to see Cadmus Diggory-- a Hufflepuff.

Tall for his age, with windswept blond hair and that annoyingly perfect posture that suggested he'd never once tripped over his own shoelaces. He wore his tie too loosely and his confidence like an afterthought.

"You're not subtle," I said coolly.

"Neither are you," he replied, dropping into the seat beside me as if invited. "But at least you make it look elegant."

"I don't sit with Hufflepuffs," I said, flicking my gaze back to my notes.

"I'm flattered you noticed my House," he said. "Most Slytherins just look for the nearest mud puddle and pretend we crawled out of it."

"And did you?"

He grinned. "No. I was born on polished marble floors with monogrammed towels. Corvus Diggory was my grandfather's name. Maybe you've heard of him?"

I blinked once. I had.

A long line of loyalists-- Diggorys had fought in the last war, all pure-bloods. Noble. Dull. Tragic.

"Faintly," I murmured. "Didn't he die for something idealistic and doomed?"

"Allegedly," Cadmus replied. "Or maybe he was just the best of us. Depends on who you ask."