Got Hisoka template in Harry Potter World - Chapter 8
Chapter 8: The First Night in Slytherin
The Slytherin first-year dormitory was colder than the common room, the stone walls leaching warmth like a living thing. Jack lay atop his four-poster, fully dressed, listening to the others’ breathing even out.
Theodore Nott’s voice cut through the dark, barely audible.
“You’re not asleep.”
Jack didn’t move. “Neither are you.”
A rustle of sheets. Theo’s silhouette sat up in the bed opposite. “Why’d you really get Sorted here?”
Moonlight through the lake water cast shifting patterns on the ceiling. Jack flexed his fingers, watching the shadows warp across his knuckles. “Hat said I was too mean for Hufflepuff.”
A snort. “Try again.”
Jack rolled onto his side, meeting Theo’s gaze across the gap between their beds. The other boy’s eyes were eerily sharp in the gloom.
“You first,” Jack murmured. “Why do you care?”
Theo’s pause was calculated. “I don’t. But if you’re going to explode, I’d like warning before the shrapnel hits me.”
Before Jack could retort, a floorboard creaked in the hallway.
Both boys went still.
—
The door burst open with a bang that shook the bedframes.
“Surprise, mudblood.”
Draco’s silhouette filled the doorway, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle’s hulking forms. Blaise leaned against the doorframe, twirling his wand lazily.
Theo sighed and lay back down. “Idiots.”
Jack sat up slowly. “Past your bedtime, Malfoy?”
Draco’s smirk gleamed in the dark. “We thought you might be… homesick. Wanted to tuck you in.”
Crabbe cracked his knuckles. Goyle hefted what looked like a sock filled with coins.
Jack’s pulse jumped—not from fear, but something far more dangerous.
Excitement.
He slid off the bed, landing soundlessly. “Four against one? Bit cowardly, even for you.”
Blaise’s wand tip flared to life with Lumos, casting sharp shadows. “Who said anything about fair?”
—
They lunged.
Crabbe swung first—a meaty fist aimed at Jack’s face.
Jack moved.
His body bent sideways like a sapling in wind, the punch whistling past his ear. Before Crabbe could recover, Jack’s palm jabbed into his solar plexus—1% strength—just enough to fold the larger boy in half with a whoosh of expelled air.
Goyle’s coin-sock whistled toward Jack’s skull.
Jack ducked, swept Goyle’s legs, and tapped his temple as he fell—a mock-killing blow. Goyle hit the ground like a felled tree.
Blaise’s hex came next: “Flipendo!”
Jack twisted, feeling the spell graze his sleeve. He closed the distance before Blaise could react, snatching his wrist and squeezing until the wand clattered to the floor.
“Ow! What the—”
Jack leaned in, whispering: “Wands are crutches.”
Then he threw Blaise into Draco, sending both crashing into Theo’s trunk.
Silence.
Theo, still lying in bed, clapped slowly. “Bravo.”
Draco scrambled up, wand raised—but his hand shook. “You—you can’t—”
Jack stepped into his space, close enough to count Draco’s panicked breaths. “Say it.”
Draco’s throat worked. “What?”
“Say, ‘I yield.’” Jack’s voice dropped to a purr. “Or I’ll show you what happens when I stop playing nice.”
The words hung in the air like a guillotine blade.
Draco’s wand arm lowered. “…I yield.”
Jack stepped back, suddenly disgusted. They were children. And he’d enjoyed that.
“Get out.”
They fled, dragging Goyle between them.
—
Theo sat up, eyeing the dent in his trunk. “You could’ve used magic.”
Jack flexed his hand, watching the tendons shift under his skin. “Didn’t need to.”
“Mm.” Theo studied him. “That’s the problem.”
Jack froze.
Theo continued, soft as a knife-slide between ribs: “You liked it. The way your breath sped up when Malfoy pissed himself? That wasn’t just winning. That was hunger.”
Jack’s vision tinged gold at the edges. Ren flickered uncontrolled, rattling the bedposts.
Theo didn’t flinch. “Whatever’s inside you? It’s grinning.”
—
When Jack finally slept, the dream came in fragments:
A faceless wizard bleeding lightning.
His own laughter, high and unhinged.
The crunch of bones under his hands—
Jack woke gasping, his sheets tangled, his pillow shredded where his fingers had clawed.
Across the room, Theo’s voice slithered through the dark:
“Bad dream?”
Jack stared at his hands. They trembled—not from fear, but anticipation.
“No,” he lied.
Theo hummed. “Liar.”
Outside, the lake’s creatures circled.