House Table

He handed the hat back to Professor McGonagall and walked over to the Slytherin table, trying to keep his expression neutral. Inside, his thoughts were racing. He had made it into Slytherin, just as he had planned. As he took his seat, several faces turned to greet him. There were polite smiles, firm handshakes, and curious glances.

"So, you're a Black?" one boy asked, his eyebrows raised. "We thought all the Blacks were either dead or locked up in Azkaban."

Damian gave a small smile and nodded. "My mother left me in an orphanage before she died. She must have known something about the war and thought it was safer for me." It was a vague explanation, but it would do for now. The truth, after all, was a lot more complicated.

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud cheer from the Gryffindor table. He glanced over to see the infamous Harry Potter being sorted into their house, just like in the stories. Of course, the golden trio would end up in Gryffindor. The whispers about Potter spread through the hall like wildfire, and for a moment, he just watched.

Daphne and Tracey had managed to get into Slytherin and were sitting beside him, talking softly and listening to conversations around them.

Not long after, Blaise Zabini was sorted into Slytherin, and the sorting ceremony finally came to an end. The hall quieted down as Dumbledore stood up, his arms wide, a gleam in his eyes as he spoke.

"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

The hall erupted into excitement and laughter as the food appeared on the table, but Damian just stared. He'd read about Dumbledore's eccentricity, but hearing it in person was something else. The man was brilliant, yes—but he was also playing a deeper game than most people realised. He couldn't shake the feeling that every move Dumbledore made was calculated.

Damian turned his attention to the food that appeared on the table. Plates filled with all sorts of delicious dishes, and he started serving himself when a boy across the table spoke up.

"Draco Malfoy," he introduced himself, holding up his hand, his eyes flicking over to Damian with curiosity. "My mother was a Black before she married. She'll be interested to know one of the family's still alive."

Damian nodded and took his hand for a firm handshake. "I'd be glad to know more about the family." That made Draco happy, maybe thinking of the rejection he faced on the train by Harry Potter.

As he ate, Damian couldn't help but notice the spectacle at the Gryffindor table. Ronald Weasley was shovelling food into his mouth at a pace that made Damian wonder if he'd ever seen a meal before. Had his mother taught him nothing about table manners? The books hadn't been exaggerated. Weasley was talking with his mouth full, bits of food flying onto the plates of those around him. It was revolting.

He focused on his own meal, ignoring the whispers of disgust from the other Slytherins. The food was good, and he was determined to enjoy it without thinking too much about Weasley's poor manners.

After dessert, Dumbledore stood up again. This time, his tone was more serious.

"A reminder: the Forbidden Forest is forbidden, as its name suggests. And for those who do not wish to die a painful death, I must also warn you to avoid the third-floor corridor to the left."

Damian raised an eyebrow. That wasn't exactly subtle. Well, now he would have everyone curiously looking there to find something valuable. Dumbledore truly was a manipulator.

"Off you go, then!" Dumbledore finished, waving them away with a cheerful smile.

Damian stood, ready to head to the Slytherin common room, eager to rest after the journey.

Dumbledore POV

As Dumbledore stood at the staff table, watching the sea of students being led away by their prefects, his usual twinkle dimmed slightly. His eyes lingered on one student in particular, who had just been sorted into Slytherin—Damian Black. A new variable, he thought, one that could either tip the scales or disrupt everything he had meticulously planned.

A Black, in Slytherin no less. Dumbledore's brow furrowed for a moment. The Blacks had always been a powerful, pure-blood family with deep ties to the dark arts. And now, another Black had appeared, this time the son of Sirius, who, though loyal to the Light, had always been a wild card. Damian had been unknown until now. Dumbledore had kept an eye on him, but the boy's placement in Slytherin had complicated things. This wasn't part of the plan.

He stroked his long beard thoughtfully, leaning on the lectern, his gaze absent from the room as his mind drifted. The bait had been laid, and Tom had taken it, exactly as Dumbledore had hoped. Now, the next step would be critical: orchestrating the meeting between Tom and Harry Potter.

Harry. The chosen one. He was still so young, so innocent, but Dumbledore had no choice but to begin shaping him all for the greater good of course. Tom Riddle had to be stopped, and Harry would be the one to do it. He would have to be moulded carefully—turned into the symbol of hope for the Light, the saviour of the wizarding world.

But with Damian Black, a complication had entered the field. A Black in Slytherin, a house where ambition and cunning thrived, and where Tom Riddle had risen to power. If Damian inherited even a fraction of his family's talent for magic and darkness, he could be a threat. Or perhaps... an ally? No, too soon to say. Dumbledore's blue eyes sharpened. The boy would have to be watched closely. 

Dumbledore's thoughts darkened for a moment, manipulating events from the shadows was a necessity—there were sacrifices to be made. Even Harry, one day, would understand. For now, though, Damian Black would need careful observation. 

He straightened his robes and began to make his way back to his office. For now, the chessboard was set. Tom Riddle had returned, Harry Potter was here, and Damian Black—well, Dumbledore would soon see where that piece fit. One way or another, the game was about to begin.