Amaechi's second day at Hogwarts began before dawn, the familiar lull of lakewater against stone blending with her breathing. She'd already completed her morning routine—meditation, stretches, a few silent wand movements to test her control—and now stood before the tall mirror in their shared dorm.
Her reflection stared back—steady, unreadable, yet beneath her composed exterior was a growing excitement. She was here. In this world, in this castle, wielding real magic. Alive.
Her fingers brushed the pendant resting against her collarbone, a gift from her grandmother. It pulsed faintly with protection magic and old family enchantments. There were more gifts: a self-writing quill from her uncle, a tiny silver mirror that showed the face of whoever last spoke your name, and a water-summoning bracelet from her mother. Useful, thoughtful things. They reminded her of the love she came from—and the legacy she carried.
The schedule posted in the Slytherin common room sent the first-years buzzing: their first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson would be mid-morning, preceded by History of Magic.
Amaechi was unimpressed by History. Professor Binns' monotonous drone was enough to lull half the class into a stupor. She remained alert, jotting quick notes and using the time to map out her study priorities. The ghosts of Hogwarts might have been fascinating, but not when presented like a laundry list of battles and names.
What truly caught her interest was what came next.
Defense Against the Dark Arts
The classroom was dim, curtains drawn, a single lantern flickering at the front. Amaechi entered, immediately scanning for threats out of habit more than fear. The other students followed more slowly, whispering.
Professor Quirrell stood at the front, twitching slightly as he greeted the class.
"W-welcome, f-first-years. I—I'm P-professor Quirrell, and this is D-Defense Against the D-dark Arts."
Amaechi blinked once. This man is afraid of his own subject.
Quirrell launched into a stammering lecture on basic protective spells and creatures like Grindylows. He smelled faintly of garlic, and every time someone sneezed or whispered too loudly, he flinched.
Amaechi listened, but her mind wandered. She knew how to defend herself. Her grandmother had drilled into her the importance of magical boundaries and protection charms. Her father had taught her dueling basics, and her mother had shown her how to shield her spirit.
Still, she observed.
She noted who paid attention and who slacked off. Hermione, of course, sat ramrod straight, absorbing every word. Harry watched Quirrell like he wasn't sure what to make of him. Ron dozed a little. Draco leaned back lazily but had a sharpness in his eyes that belied his posture.
Quirrell demonstrated the Knockback Jinx—Flipendo—but his wand movements were jittery. When he called for volunteers, Amaechi raised her hand.
"You, Miss... Orakwue?"
She stood, wand in hand. Her stance was confident, spine straight.
"Flipendo!"
The spell flared from her wand and knocked a practice dummy into the wall with a sharp thud.
Quirrell blinked. "V-very good. Five p-points to Slytherin."
She sat down to a few impressed glances. Even Draco gave her a nod. Ron looked grumpy. Hermione scribbled furiously.
Harry looked at her for a long moment. Curious. Measuring.
Lunch: The Great Hall
Amaechi sat with the Slytherins again, but this time the space beside her filled with more ease. Blaise sat to her left, offering a quiet "Nice spellwork."
Draco sat across from her, arms folded, eyes cool.
"You've had wand training before," he said, not a question.
"Yes," she replied simply.
He tilted his head. "We'll see how long you keep up that precision."
Amaechi smiled. "We'll see who needs to catch up."
Blaise chuckled. Pansy Parkinson narrowed her eyes.
Draco leaned forward slightly. "You don't act like someone new to this world. It's like you're—"
"Prepared?" she offered.
He paused. "Something like that."
There was a beat of silence. Not hostile. Not yet friendly. But charged with potential.
"Tell me," Draco said, casually slicing into a piece of roast chicken, "what's your aim? Power? Prestige?"
Amaechi didn't answer immediately. "Knowledge," she said at last. "Everything else follows that."
Draco's mouth twitched in what might have been the beginning of a smirk. "A proper Slytherin answer."
She tilted her head. "I wasn't aiming to impress you."
"I didn't say I was impressed."
Their eyes held for a moment longer.
Across the hall, she caught Harry watching her again.
The pieces were moving.
And Amaechi was not just on the board—she was already playing the game.