The Great Hall was louder than usual. Students poured in after winter break, filling the room with endless conversations and laughter. At the Slytherin table, however, nobody dared to sit too close. Mattheo Riddle lounged in his seat, clearly bored. Beside him sat Theodore Nott, looking just as uninterested. Blaise was busy annoying Draco. Lorenzo silently watched the room. The usual. The familiar. The boring.

Before anyone could continue their conversation, the doors to the Great Hall opened. The room gradually fell silent. Professor McGonagall stepped inside. A girl followed behind her.

Mattheo's attention shifted instantly. Not because she was loud. Or dramatic. Quite the opposite. She walked into the hall with an unsettling kind of confidence. As if hundreds of staring students meant absolutely nothing to her. For a brief moment, her eyes swept across the room. Then they met his. The contact lasted less than a second. Yet something about it felt deliberate. Strange. Ancient.

Beside him, Theodore had straightened slightly. Lorenzo was watching. Even Draco looked interested. Well. That was new.

Whispers immediately spread through the hall. A transfer student. Halfway through sixth year. Nobody transferred to Hogwarts halfway through sixth year. Nobody.

The Sorting Hat barely touched her head before it shouted.

The whispers grew louder. Interesting. Very interesting. Without hesitation, Y/N made her way toward the Slytherin table. Not nervous. Not intimidated. Not even slightly uncomfortable. As though she already belonged there.

Mattheo couldn't explain why, but something about her felt wrong. Not weak. Not fragile. Wrong. Dangerous. Like she was hiding something beneath that calm expression. Something most people would never notice. Something old.

For the first time in weeks, the Slytherin boys weren't bored anymore.

Y/N slipped into an empty space at the table with the same quiet ease she'd carried up the aisle. The older students nearest her exchanged glances but said nothing. A few leaned away. Others pretended not to stare. Across the table, Pansy Parkinson looked her over with open suspicion, while Daphne Greengrass offered a small, unreadable smile.