Morning light filtered in through the enchanted lake-facing windows of the Slytherin dormitory, painting moving ripples of green-blue across the stone floor. Amaechi rose before the others, her internal clock already sharpened by a life lived in discipline and quiet determination. She moved with silent purpose, already dressed in her freshly pressed robes, her wand holstered and her long curls cascading down her back like liquid onyx.
As she entered the common room, she paused by the glass, watching a shoal of silver fish glide past. They shimmered like spells in motion. A whisper of memory from her Siren blood stirred in her chest—an echo of ocean calls and deep currents.
But there was no time to dwell. Today would set the tone.
The Great Hall buzzed with energy when she arrived. The older students were loud with laughter and chatter, but the first-years were a quieter mix of nerves and curiosity. Amaechi's eyes scanned the Gryffindor table—Harry, Ron, and Hermione were already seated. Hermione was eating while reading a thick book propped on her goblet. Ron looked half-asleep. Harry was watching everything, eyes darting around like he was trying to memorise the layout of a battlefield.
Amaechi sat at the Slytherin table, three seats from Draco Malfoy.
He glanced at her, nodding once. Not friendly. Not hostile. Acknowledging a rival or... a potential ally.
Breakfast was a spread of warm porridge, toast, eggs, pumpkin juice, and sliced fruit. Amaechi ate methodically, refuelling. She listened as the other first-years talked excitedly about what classes they hoped to get—Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration.
She said nothing. But her mind was already sorting priorities: learn the professors' weaknesses, map the classrooms, find the library's restricted section.
First Class: Transfiguration
When the students filed into the Transfiguration classroom, it appeared empty—no sign of a teacher. At the front of the room sat a perfectly ordinary tabby cat.
Amaechi narrowed her eyes. Something about the way it sat—rigid, observant—felt uncanny.
Students whispered, exchanging glances. Then the door creaked open again—Harry and Ron stumbled in, red-faced and breathing hard.
"We beat her," Ron panted with a grin.
The tabby cat leapt from the desk and midair, transforming into Professor McGonagall.
"No, you did not," she said coolly. "That was a foolish thing to say."
Both boys went pale. She raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps I should transfigure one of you into a pocket watch. That way, you might be on time."
"We—we got lost," Harry said quickly.
"Then perhaps a map would be more useful. Sit down."
They scrambled to find seats as the rest of the class stared.
"Transfiguration," McGonagall continued briskly, "is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back."
With a flick of her wand, she turned her desk into a plump pig. It oinked once before she reversed the spell. The class gasped.
Amaechi's lips curved slightly. That was impressive.
The day's task: turning a matchstick into a needle.
Amaechi concentrated, holding her wand lightly but with purpose. Her matchstick began to shimmer by the end of the lesson—its wood dulled, its end tapering to silver.
Not perfect, but progress.
Hermione's needle gleamed flawlessly, and Professor McGonagall gave her a rare nod.
Amaechi received a subtle glance of approval as well, though McGonagall said nothing.
Draco's matchstick barely changed, and his scowl deepened.
Next Class: Charms
Professor Flitwick stood atop a stack of books behind his desk, cheerful and bright-eyed.
"Today, we'll be practicing the Wand-Lighting Charm—Lumos! A very useful spell, especially if you find yourself sneaking around Hogwarts in the dark."
The class chuckled.
Amaechi was partnered with Blaise Zabini, who gave her an amused look. "Think you'll get it first try?"
"Watch and see."
Her wand tip glowed faintly on her second try. Steady, warm light. Controlled.
Blaise got his on the third.
"Not bad," he muttered.
Across the room, Hermione's wand lit quickly, of course. Harry's followed soon after. Ron struggled, his tip flickering like a dying firefly.
Flitwick made his rounds, praising those who succeeded and offering tips to those still trying. He paused at Amaechi's desk.
"Excellent control, Miss Orakwue. Rare precision for a first-year."
Amaechi inclined her head politely.
She caught Draco watching from behind two other Slytherins, silent, focused.
Break Between Classes
Walking through the corridors, Amaechi overheard passing conversations. Her name was being whispered already.
"Did you see her eyes?" "Reckon she's part Veela?" "No, no, something else—creepy, but cool."
She let it wash over her. Let them talk.
As she crossed a courtyard, she locked eyes with Harry. He didn't look away. Neither did she.
A silent exchange.
I see you. I'm not afraid.
Neither of them smiled.
Evening: Back in the Common Room
The first day had gone as expected—clean execution, careful observation, controlled presence.
She sat near the window, her wand rolling between her fingers.
Her mind replayed the events—McGonagall's strict poise, Flitwick's praise, the way Draco watched her like a chess player sizing up a queen.
She was doing more than surviving.
She was beginning to tilt the board.