Following Dumbledore's words, nearly everyone in the Great Hall erupted into a chaotic chorus:
"Selfish, warty Hogwarts, please teach us—
Whether we are old or bald or a young lad with twitching knees—
Let our heads be filled with new and curious things,
For they are now stuffed with air, dead flies, and bits of fluff.
Teach us what's useful, help us recall what's been forgotten,
Make us strive, care, and learn until our brains decay."
At that moment, Phineas finally understood why the professors had looked so pained when Dumbledore had announced the school song.
With no fixed tune, each student chose their own rhythm and tempo—some slow, some fast—resulting in a dreadful medley of clashing melodies. It was less of a song and more of a full-on auditory assault.
He wasn't sure how long the performance lasted, but when the last warbling voice trailed off, Dumbledore applauded with what looked suspiciously like tears in his eyes. Phineas strongly suspected those were tears of suffering rather than sentiment.
"Ah, music," Dumbledore said, smiling, "A magic beyond all we do here! Well, it's time for bed now, children."
Phineas rose with the Slytherin students and followed the older prefects out of the Great Hall. They descended the marble steps, past murmuring portraits, into the castle's depths.
Of the four Houses, only Slytherin and Hufflepuff had underground dormitories, with Slytherin's being the deepest. The kitchens lay directly beneath the Great Hall, Hufflepuff's dormitories were adjacent to them, but Slytherin's common room was deep within the dungeons, reachable only by navigating a series of dim corridors and descending stone staircases.
Eventually, they arrived at a stone wall etched with the house symbol: a snake, its tongue flicking outward.
"Pure-blood," the prefect declared, and a door appeared in the wall, revealing the Slytherin common room.
It was a long, low chamber with walls and ceiling of ancient stone, bathed in a deep green hue. Gothic-style decorations lined the space—twisting sculptures, rich tapestries depicting Slytherin legends, and flickering fireplaces. But most striking of all were the tall windows revealing the inky waters of the Black Lake beyond, distorted by shifting currents. Occasionally, the silhouette of the giant squid or other lake-dwelling creatures swam past, casting shadows over the room like specters.
"Quiet!" said the female prefect. "I'm Gemma Farley, and it's my pleasure to welcome you to Slytherin House. Our emblem is the serpent—cunning, intelligent, and resourceful. Our colours are emerald green and silver. As you can see, our common room is hidden in the dungeons, and its windows open to the lake depths. It may seem eerie now, but we find its peace quite magical."
She gestured around them. "Before turning in, there is one final task. Here in Slytherin, we maintain an ancient tradition abandoned by the other Houses. The first-years must determine among themselves who will serve as the year's prefect."
Before she could explain further, Professor Snape entered silently, his black robes billowing behind him.
"First-years, to the centre of the room," he commanded in a cold tone. "I don't care how you do it, but only one of you will remain standing. That student will be the first-year prefect. Begin. Now. Don't waste my time."
Just as he'd expected, Phineas stood motionless while the others began to quarrel and cast clumsy spells at one another.
It was pitiful, really. Eleven-year-olds, barely past their first magical outbursts, trying to duel with spells they barely understood. Their control was minimal, their magic weak. Phineas, by contrast, had the advantage of the System. His mastery was on par with upper-year students.
Some of the more reckless first-years attempted to target him directly, hoping to catch him off guard. It didn't go well. With fluid movements, Phineas silently transfigured nearby chairs and tables into ropes, binding each attacker effortlessly.
In the end, it was just as he predicted—Adrian Pucey remained the last standing.
"So," Phineas said casually, walking over, "do you still want to fight me for it? Or shall we stick to our agreement?"
Adrian looked from the magically-conjured ropes to Phineas and gave a slow shake of his head.
"You can have the dormitory," he said, his voice steady but with a note of reluctant admiration. "A deal is a deal."
Unlike the others, Adrian didn't harbor much resentment. He understood that the enmity with the Black family had little to do with Phineas personally. The events surrounding the fall of the Death Eaters would have unfolded with or without him.
As the only heir to the Black name, and with magical skill far exceeding his peers, Adrian knew better than to make an enemy of Phineas. He extended an olive branch, hoping for an alliance rather than rivalry.
Phineas didn't care much for the politics behind Adrian's gesture. He simply hoisted his suitcase and turned to Snape.
"Professor, where is the prefect's single dormitory?"
Snape's lips twitched, as though suppressing a remark. But he pointed silently to a corridor branching from the common room.
Phineas stepped into his new quarters. The prefect's dormitory was far more spacious than a standard room. It included a private bathroom—with its own bathtub—decorated with green marble and polished silver fixtures.
He exhaled slowly, dropped his suitcase by the bed, and looked around.
Privacy. Peace.
In Slytherin, that was worth more than gold.