After the meal, Dumbledore led everyone through the school song, issued one final reminder about the fourth-floor corridor on the right-hand side, and then released them. The prefects took over from there, shepherding the new students off toward their respective dormitories.
Hermione found her way to Altair's side in the shuffle. She kept her voice low and told him they should have breakfast together in the morning, then huffed as if she'd said something embarrassing and disappeared back into the Gryffindor group.
The Slytherin students went down. And then further down, until the air turned cool and damp and the stone walls pressed in close, and Prefect Gemma Farley led them through the entrance to the common room in the dungeons.
She talked the whole way. The serpent emblem, its history, what it stood for. Then she moved on to the rumors: that Slytherins were all Dark wizards in waiting, that they were obsessed with the Dark Arts, that the house only accepted pure-bloods. All slander, she said. Jealousy from the other houses, nothing more.
She didn't deny that Slytherin had a preference for notable wizarding bloodlines. But she was clear that half-bloods and Muggle-borns were part of the house too, and always had been.
Once they were inside, she assigned the dormitories. Boys from girls, then rooms from there. Altair's turned out to be shared with Malfoy and his two shadows, Crabbe and Goyle.
He found that faintly interesting.
Gemma finished with a speech about house solidarity and putting Slytherin's honor first, which ran longer than it needed to, and then let them go.
...
Altair walked into the dormitory first and took the best bed.
Malfoy came in a step behind him and went still. He looked at Crabbe and Goyle. The three of them crossed the room together and stood over Altair with the specific energy of boys who had practiced this kind of thing.
"Shelby." Malfoy's chin was up. "Listen carefully. Everything in this dormitory answers to me. You said you'd never heard of the Malfoy family. Believe me, you'll learn soon enough."
Altair looked up at him. "I do know what Malfoy means, actually. That Death Eater family, isn't it? I heard your father was one of the leading ones. I've always been curious why he wasn't sent to Azkaban." His gaze moved to Crabbe and Goyle. "What is this, then? A junior Death Eater club?"
"What did you say?!"
Malfoy was shaking. He turned to the other two. "Hit him. Let this Mudblood who grew up in the Muggle world see what a real wizarding family can do."
Crabbe and Goyle moved. Malfoy stepped back, pulled out his wand, and set himself to cast.
Altair didn't bother with words. He drew his own wand and pointed it at all three of them.
"Dementor's Kiss."
The core of his wand was a Dementor's nerve. Through the Necromancer spell Soul Drain, he could draw on a Dementor's power and produce something that worked very much like the real thing.
A pale, icy light left his wand. A Dementor materialized inside the dormitory.
Frost crept across the floor in slow, branching lines.
The creature drifted toward the three of them and opened its mouthparts. Altair watched the color leave their faces, one after the other, as it began to feed. Then he withdrew the spell.
Three thuds in quick succession.
All three dropped to the floor and lay there shaking, eyes vacant, expressions slack. Not quite unconscious. Not quite present either.
Altair looked down at them. "So now you know what Shelby means." He let the silence sit for a moment. "Since we're roommates, I'll give you one piece of advice. Never provoke a Shelby." He turned toward his bed. "And I don't ever want to hear the word Mudblood again."
He got undressed and climbed into bed.
...
Morning came. Malfoy opened his eyes first.
After the Dementor had gone the night before, none of them had managed to get up. They'd gone under where they lay, right there on the stone floor, and slept through till morning. Even now, with a full night behind him, Malfoy's legs felt hollow and unreliable.
Altair was already dressed. He tucked his wand at his waist and glanced over at the three of them.
"Remember what I said. I'm the one in charge of this dormitory now. As long as you don't provoke me, I won't bother with you."
Then he left for breakfast.
Malfoy's mouth opened. Nothing came out.
He sat with what the night had left in him and knew he would never fully shake it. The feeling of happiness becoming something he could not imagine ever having again. The darkness and the cold pressing in from every direction. No thought, no struggle, only hope leaving him in slow, steady increments.
Crabbe drew a huge, ragged breath, like a man who'd only just broken the surface of deep water. "I think that was a Dementor," he said, his voice not quite steady.
Malfoy turned on him with a glare. "No. No first-year can control a Dementor."
Goyle swallowed and looked between them. "Maybe it was some kind of Dark magic. Should we tell a teacher?"
"Tell a teacher." Malfoy's fists tightened. "You want me to humiliate myself? It wasn't a Dementor. And how could a Muggle-born first-year know Dark magic?"
But the cold was already spreading through him again, just from the memory of it.
He pushed the thought away. At Christmas he would go home and tell his father. Until then, the sensible thing was distance.
"Stay away from him," he told the other two.
He checked the time, stood, and steadied himself against the bedpost before he trusted his legs.
"Get dressed. We're going to breakfast. And not one word of this to anyone. If I find out otherwise, they'll regret it."