honest—I was not a Gryffindor. I was strategic. I was calculating. I played the long game. And if I had to sit through seven years of this magical nonsense, I was at least going to surround myself with people who understood power, ambition, and subtlety. So, when the time came, and the Sorting Hat was plopped onto my head, I was ready. "Ah," it mused, "interesting. Very interesting. Plenty of courage, yes, but also cunning, strategy… and a rather unusual mind for an eleven-year-old." "I'll make this simple," I murmured in my head. "Put me in Slytherin, and I won't set you on fire." "That was… a joke, I assume?" "Was it?" A long pause. Then, with what I swear was a mental sigh, the Hat called out— "SLYTHERIN!" And just like that, I became the problem of the House of Snakes.
Malfoy. Annoying prat with peacock syndrome and a chronic case of daddy issues. Ron. Jealous, ill-mannered, and that bloody rat—both figuratively and literally. So basically, my house options came down to privileged aristocrats with superiority complexes or broke kids with inferiority complexes. Fantastic. The second I sat down at the Slytherin table, Malfoy leaned over, smirking like he owned the place. "So, Potter," he drawled, "finally realized your rightful place among the elite, did you?"n I blinked at him. "I literally just got here, man. Maybe let me eat a bread roll before we start the politics." He frowned like the concept of "waiting" offended him personally. "I was just saying, you'll find that not all wizarding families are as undesirable as the ones you've been forced to associate with." Ah. A Weasley jab. Straight out the gate. Now, did I like Ron? No. Did I like Malfoy? Also no. But that didn't mean I couldn't have a little fun. I put on my most thoughtful expression. "You know, Malfoy, for someone who hates the Weasleys so much, you sure do talk about them a lot. Are you sure you're not secretly in love with one?" The look on his face was priceless. "What—I—NO—" he spluttered. Blaise Zabini, sitting across from us, immediately choked on his drink. Pansy Parkinson gasped, scandalized. "Draco does not—" "No, no, it's okay," I said, smirking. "Malfoy's right. The Weasleys are fascinating. So many siblings. A strong moral compass. That effortless, windswept hair—" Malfoy looked ready to die. Blaise outright cackled. "Merlin's bloody beard, Potter." Malfoy turned red enough to pass for a Gryffindor before muttering something about blood traitors and dramatically focusing on his plate like I had personally ruined his evening. Mission accomplished. As for Ron? That was another problem entirely. Because the moment he saw me walk toward the Slytherin table, his entire face twisted like I'd personally kicked his puppy. "You're a Slytherin?!" he practically shouted across the hall. The entire room turned to look at me. I stared back at him, deadpan. "You say that like I chose to be born cunning and intelligent, Ron." I could practically see the gears struggling to turn in his brain. Before he could come up with a response, Hermione grabbed his arm and forcefully sat him down, whispering something about how the Sorting Hat knew best. She, at least, seemed interested in the idea of me in Slytherin. Ron, on the other hand, now looked at me like I'd personally betrayed him. Which was funny, considering we'd never actually been friends to begin with.
The cherry on top? Scabbers. That rat—that literal rat—was staring at me way too intently. I narrowed my eyes. Thanatos, curled invisibly around my arm, flicked his tongue. "That is no mere rodent." I barely held back a smirk. Oh, Peter Pettigrew, you poor, oblivious little traitor. You have no idea what's coming for you.
Useful ones. People who wouldn't make me actively lose brain cells every time they spoke. So, I had two options: Go full lone wolf and scare the hell out of everyone. Bribe a sentient hat to put me in my house—Slytherin. Because let's be real—there was no way in hell I was ending up anywhere else. I knew my parents were Gryffindors. I knew their legacy. And I knew that if I really wanted to, I could rig the game and get myself sorted there. But let's be
Back to the present, where my partners in crime—even if they don't know it yet—are: Blaise, my mischievous menace, always ready to stir up trouble with a well-timed smirk. Daphne, my resident ice queen, who somehow manages to look both unimpressed and mildly entertained at all times. Tracey Davis, the gossip queen, who is less of a nosy schoolgirl and more of a reconnaissance operative with a talent for extracting information that would make the CIA jealous. Small miracles. I sat at the Slytherin table, half-listening to the old coot with a non-functioning altimeter—otherwise known as Albus Dumbledore—give his welcome speech. Honestly, I had no idea how this man hadn't died in a broom crash yet. He had the energy of someone who misjudged his altitude long ago but just kept going out of sheer stubbornness. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!" he was saying, arms spread wide like a conductor about to lead an orchestra of utter nonsense. "Before we begin our feast, a few important announcements…" I tuned out most of it. Something about the Forbidden Forest being forbidden—which meant I was definitely going there at some point. Some nonsense about Filch banning literally everything fun. Oh, and— "Quirrell looks half-dead," Blaise muttered next to me, eyeing the stammering professor at the staff table. "What do you reckon? Cursed object? Failed ritual? Debt to the goblins?" i considered. "Either that or he lost a bet with a vampire." Daphne sipped her pumpkin juice, completely unfazed. "Or he's just terrible at his job." Tracey, meanwhile, was already whispering with the older Slytherins, no doubt collecting classified intel on every professor before dessert even arrived. I smirked. This was going to be a very interesting year. Ah, the old coot with an 80s fetish—I mean, Dumbledore—decided to grace us with his wisdom once again, this time warning us not to wander into the Forbidden Forest. As if we'd listen. "You see, children," he said, hands raised dramatically, as if preparing to announce the start of a magical fireworks show, "the Forbidden Forest is dangerous. Full of creatures, magical and otherwise, that are not to be trifled with." I exchanged a look with Blaise. We were already plotting our grand entrance. "Right, so we can't go in because of dangerous creatures, yeah?" Blaise murmured. "Isn't that like... the entire point?" "Exactly," I whispered back. "It's the mystery that makes it worth the visit. Besides, I'm pretty sure I could get a manticore to like me." Daphne, still looking entirely uninterested in whatever the old coot was rambling about, added, "It's like he's asking for us to break in. 'Don't g0 there. It's dangerous. But like, really, really dangerous.'" I snorted, looking up at Dumbledore. He had the kind of smug expression you only get from someone who's totally in on the joke but won't admit it. Honestly, I didn't even care that he was warning us. The only thing he was really succeeding at was planting the idea of exploring the Forbidden Forest into every first-year's head. "And," Dumbledore continued, as if we hadn't already tuned him out, "there's also the matter of the door…" My ears perked up. "A door of death," he added with a glint in his eye that I'm sure meant to be mysterious, but I was pretty sure it was just the 80s neon lights reflecting off his glasses. I raised an eyebrow. "Did he just say death?" Blaise smirked. "Totally setting us up for an epic trip. Maybe it's a portal. Or a trapdoor." Daphne narrowed her eyes, her voice low. "If it's a door of death, someone's definitely going to open it. And we'll probably be the first ones to figure out why." I smiled to myself. A door of death. Well, wasn't this just the kind of problem I could solve? Dumbledore wrapped up his announcement with a wry smile. "And so, children, be wise. And remember: curiosity may have killed the cat, but it will likely only make you a bit more interesting." I almost choked on my pumpkin juice. Curiosity, interesting? That was literally the motto of my life. As the old coot finally wrapped up his warning with his usual theatrical flourish, I turned to my newfound partners in crime. "Well, I guess we know what we're doing this year," I said, eyes gleaming. "I'll make a note," Blaise said with a grin, already flicking through his cards like he was planning our next heist. Daphne rolled her eyes, but even she had the faintest, dangerous smirk. "Door of death, huh? Sounds like my kind of Thursday." And just like that, we had a new mission: Find the door of death and figure out why Dumbledore decided to make it extra appealing to teenagers. This was going to be fun.
Alright, scratch the Forbidden Forest for now, because the real treasure was right here—the door. The door that Dumbledore had casually mentioned, as though it were just another charming feature of Hogwarts, like moving staircases or the ever-hungry ghosts. But no, this was a door with a purpose, and not the kind you find in your average school hallway. The door to the traps. The one that hid the Sorcerer's Stone behind layers of mystery and danger. Honestly, it sounded like a magical treasure hunt wrapped in death and riddles—and who wouldn't be down for that? So, I was already piecing things together in my head. Dumbledore's "door of death"? Oh, that was a red flag wrapped in a challenge. He didn't just mention it for nothing. It was there to catch the curious, and curiosity—well, that was pretty much my middle name. "Alright, let's break it down," I said, leaning in and lowering my voice, glancing around the table like I was about to give a highly classified briefing. "We know the Stone's hidden. We know there are traps. And we know that door—the door of death—is the gateway to it all. Dumbledore's basically handing us a treasure map with a big neon sign that says, 'Come find me. If you dare.'" Blaise grinned. "Sounds like your kind of party, Potter." Daphne looked less convinced but no less interested. "We're not exactly equipped for this, you know. We don't even know where the door is, let alone how to get past whatever's behind it." I leaned back, considering it. "True. But we've got brains, a bit of wit, and no shortage of resources. We'll figure it out."
Tracey, who'd been awfully quiet through this whole thing, suddenly spoke up. "There's probably more to the door than just stepping through it, you know." She twirled her wand idly. "The traps will test more than just bravery. They'll test your mind, your ability to think." Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that what a bunch of old runes are for? Brain puzzles? If we find the right ones, we'll have our way in." I nodded, the pieces starting to fall into place. "Exactly. The Stone's been hidden for centuries, so it's gotta be complex. There's no way it's just a door you can open with a simple Incendio or Alohomora. This will require a bit more than that." Daphne's eyes glinted with the kind of determination that matched mine. "Fine. But if it's too much trouble, I'm out." I grinned. "Fair enough. But let's see how far we can push before we hit that point." And just like that, it was decided. We would find the door. We would get through the traps. We would get to the Sorcerer's Stone—and if there was one thing I knew for sure, it was that we were not going to do it the easy way. "Let's start with the door," I said, standing up. "Once we find it, we'll figure out what's behind it." Blaise was already flipping his cards, his grin widening. "I'd like to see them try to stop us." "Me too," I said, already picturing the traps, the challenges, the twists in the road ahead. "This is going to be interesting."
And as for the Sorcerer's Stone? Well, it was only a matter of time before it was ours. Ah, yes, the grand door of death and the Sorcerer's Stone heist—a plan so ridiculously simple in its execution that it only took four 11-year-olds to get through it. The so-called "traps" were more like a series of magical speed bumps designed for toddlers. Let me break it down for you, because honestly, the sheer incompetence of these obstacles is mind-boggling. Three-headed dog guarding the door. Really? This was supposed to be scary? We walked in, saw it snoring, and basically just decided to play a little lullaby with its favorite tunes. The beast snoozed through the entire thing. What's a three-headed dog gonna do? It's not exactly trained for ambushes. It was like trying to scare a snoozing marshmallow. A plant that's allergic to light? Really? You've got a magical plant that can probably eat you, and it's weak against sunshine? Perfect. I just flicked a bit of light on it and watched it flinch like a toddler at a bright flashlight. Might as well have doused it in sunscreen and been done with it. A flying key. This one made me genuinely wonder if someone was just messing with us. We spent, what, a whole ten minutes chasing after a single flying key like it was a highly-priced collectible? I could've caught it in a heartbeat with a basic Wingardium Leviosa, but we did it the hard way for fun, because apparently the challenge was too easy. The chessboard. Okay, fine, maybe this was a little clever. But honestly, it was just a glorified game of wizard chess, which I'm pretty sure we all learned by the time we could read. So, Blaise and I just stood there, strategizing the whole thing like we were playing a game of checkers, except with actual stakes. The real fun part? The troll knocked himself out tripping over his own club. Real master of combat, that one. The troll—who literally knocked itself out by tripping over its own club. Can we take a moment to appreciate the genius of this? The most dangerous creature Hogwarts could throw at a first-year was a clumsy idiot who couldn't even keep their weapon in hand. I think I heard someone murmur something about "how did he even become a troll?" after he went down. The first-year potion puzzle. Okay, this one actually required some basic thinking, but let's be real. A first-year potion puzzle? Really? It was just some basic logic and common sense to get the right potion. I mean, honestly, I might as well have just brewed my own damn potion and walked through without a hitch. But no, I had to stand there and watch as everyone else "figured it out" while I kept thinking, How do they not get this already? The Mirror of Erised, the final "test" for the Stone. Apparently, the trick was not wanting the Stone, which I thought was hilarious. Who in their right mind, after going through all that crap, would just be like, Nah, I don't need this immortality and wealth. But hey, I get it. If you've got a mirror that shows you what you really want, why would you settle for more than that? In the end, four of us—11-year-olds, mind you—strolled right in, barely breaking a sweat, and snagged the damn Stone. If this is what the Dark Lord was worried about, I'm going to need him to recheck his evil overlord credentials.
So, after all of that, after barely breaking a sweat, we march back with the Sorcerer's Stone in hand, thinking it's the most epic thing to happen to us since we figured out how to bypass a three-headed dog. And then—then—we get lectured. Lectured. By McGonagall, of all people, who looked like someone stole her last cup of tea. She was practically shaking with disappointment and maybe a little rage as she stood there, hands on her hips, ready to give us a lecture that was probably longer than the entire journey we just took through the traps. "You four—four!" she bellowed. "Four 11-year-olds—without a single adult, mind you—decide to break into a secret trap-filled room, retrieve the Sorcerer's Stone, and barely—barely—survive a string of nearly fatal obstacles. Do you have any idea what you've just done? Do you?" I crossed my arms, giving her a look that said, Yes, I know exactly what I've done. We've just stolen the Stone, and you're the one who looks like you've been hit by a bludger. "A waste of adventure, Professor!" I said, fully aware I was about to step into shark-infested waters. "I mean, honestly, you call that an adventure? You're acting like we just raided a knitting club for a couple of scarves." McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "A knitting club? You think this is a joke, Potter? What do you call those obstacles, huh? A three-headed dog, a plant that eats you, a troll that kills wizards—and you still think this is funny? I tilted my head. "It's just basic problem-solving, Professor. It was like a magical obstacle course. If you're gonna be disappointed, at least aim that at the real problem—the traps were literally a beginner's guide to wizardry." Daphne snorted behind me, trying (and failing) to suppress a laugh, but McGonagall's glare turned into a laser. "You have no idea how much danger you put yourselves in, how close you were to being killed—how irresponsible this was—" "Yeah, yeah," I cut her off, suddenly feeling the weight of guilt (which, let's face it, wasn't much). "But we didn't die, did we? We won. We got the Stone, saved your precious school, and now we've got to sit through this dramatic performance. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were disappointed that we didn't die for the great cause of—what was it?—learning proper Hogwarts decorum." McGonagall looked like she was going to explode, and I couldn't help but feel a bit amused at how much I was pushing her buttons. "Honestly, all that drama for a door and a couple of traps? Seems like we're making way more of a fuss about it than the actual danger deserves." I smirked. "You can't tell me that was an adventure, Professor. That was more of a snack-sized version of what we could really do." "Potter," McGonagall said, now visibly fuming, "you're lucky you're all still standing here." "I know, right? It's almost like we're too good for the dangerous adventures you keep warning us about." She finally shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips. "You're incorrigible, Potter. Truly. If I didn't know better, I'd think you planned this whole thing to make the rest of us look foolish." "Me? Noooo," I said, mock-hurt. "I was just bored. No offense, but we didn't even break a sweat. Next time, make it more interesting." McGonagall opened her mouth, closed it, then turned to walk away. Her expression said it all: this was going to be one long conversation that I was going to be hearing about for the rest of my life. Well, at least I had the Sorcerer's Stone. The rest of this was just fluff.
Yeah, so after the lecture from McGonagall that felt more like a dramatic reading of her personal disappointments, I walked away with a sick sense of amusement. Somehow, I managed to avoid a detention—probably because Dumbledore was too busy throwing parties for the fact that a bunch of kids just saved the school and handed him the Sorcerer's Stone on a silver platter. But here's the thing that really got me: she forgot the Stone. The one thing that actually mattered out of all the insanity, and she didn't even acknowledge it. No mention of the Stone in her speech. No "Well done for not destroying the school in the process." Nothing. Just a lecture about how we were reckless and somehow defied the laws of common sense. I mean, at that point, I was honestly starting to think wizards were just plain stupid. Like, it wasn't even about magic anymore. These people were so caught up in their protocols, their old-school traditions, and their obsession with danger that they couldn't even see the big picture. I swear, it's like magic infested their brains, and now they're all walking around like half-baked ideas in need of a good "reality check." Magic, sure, it makes things easier—but is it contagious? Because I'm starting to wonder if being around this much idiocy might start rubbing off on me. Maybe that's why people around here can't seem to think straight. It's like some sort of weird magical disease. I mean, look at the way people react to things. You'd think they'd at least appreciate the Stone being saved, but no, it's all about the rules and order and whatever rubbish keeps their world so carefully regulated. It's a game of semantics, not real problem-solving. Was I just the exception in this madness? Or was it really just a case of common sense being replaced with magic and stupidity? I could've told them that half of the obstacles were pointless and could have been easily avoided if they just stopped overcomplicating things. But no.