A Summoner in the Wizarding World

"...Longbottom, Neville."

At the mention of his name, a plump and blonde boy with a rosy complexion stepped up confidently. His scar, the one recognized by any in the Wizarding World, sat proudly on his forehead, uncovered by any fringe hair.

According to the rapid-firing brunette next to me, it was supposedly a trophy for his defeat of the fearsome You-Know-Who. Neville's parents managed to survive and thrive, though his grandmother was not so lucky for she was found next to the Dark Lord's corpse that fateful night, by the cot that held the now-famous Boy-Who-Lived. I suppose growing up famous in a loving family would explain the boy's borderline Malfoy-ish arrogance.

Not flinching under the expectant gaze of all students, Neville put on the Sorting Hat, which barely touched his head, before bellowing a decision to surprise and upset no one, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Those in red and gold looked on smugly as Neville made his way towards their table. Percy the Prefect offered a handshake, while others eagerly introduced themselves, clamouring for signatures. Apart from the enthusiastic "WE GOT NEVILLE!", the twins merely settled, in no hurry to involve themselves with the suckups.

The boy's manufactured smile and uncanny amusement looked quite out of place in an eleven-year-old. His eyes flitted here and there, curiously not more than a glance lingered at Slytherin or myself. Which is a shame, because this Neville bore semblance to a certain annoying ponce from that house. No matter. It seemed unlikely that either would pay attention to a half-blood like myself.

While pondering that, I deftly wolfed down plates after plates of delicious fattening food that earnt me a glare from Hermione and possibly a talking-to also, if not for the 'Sonorus-ed' words of one Albus Dumbledore.

"First years, please note that the Forbidden Forest is, as aptly named, off-limits to all pupils, of which -" with a stern glance at both redhead twins who looked suddenly interested in their forks, the Headmaster continued, "some of our older ought to remember. Your caretaker, Mr. Filch, would like to remind students for the 73rd time that use of magic in the corridors is strictly prohibited. Those who wish to see the full list of banned items should pay a visit to the Caretaker's office, where all 1663 and counting can be found. The third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is not recommended to all who do not wish to die a horrible death."

"Harry, you don't think he's serious, isn't he?", asked Hermione worriedly.

"Last I checked, the Headmaster's a Dumbledore", at her confused look, I changed subjects, "and no, he seems quite sure of himself."

She squinted warily, though did not contradict me.

"Well, painful death or not, I'd finish the food quickly before it's cleared off the table."

Ignoring Hermione's irritated mumbles, I helped myself to another serving of roasted boar. She also reluctantly began cleaning her plate afterwards.

After dinner, we were led to the Griffindor common room, located in the West Towers after passing countless moving stairs and corridors. In front of the path, the portrait of the Fat Lady lay lightly asleep, quickly woken up by Percy as he told her the password.

The windows offered a breathtaking view of the school grounds and Quidditch Pitch. Gold and velvet silk adorned the fireplace, adding to the warm and cozy atmosphere. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

With the prefects leading us, the male and female students split into their respective dormitories. Hermione mouthed a silent 'Good night' to me before heading to hers. It turned out that I would be sharing the room with the Chosen One, Ron, Seamus, and Dean.

None felt like starting a conversation stuffed and doozy, so we each selected a bed and settled down, retrieving our luggage likely carried up by the diligent house elves. I closed my own curtains, laying still in bed and waited for sleep to come. Outside sounds slowly quieted as my dorm mates did the same.

Before long, I could only hear my breaths. Blinking back my grogginess, I sat up, my shadow expanded to fill the space in an inky darkness. It felt oddly comforting as it did, and with its dependence on my magic, the shadow should not harm me in my sleep.

As I tried morphing it for a while, an unexpected notification interrupted me. The voice sounded in my mind, announcing, "+15 Shadow Magic Affinity. 15/100 until the next upgrade." 

'Just a bit more, then.'

The night wore on, and I continued to try and find the limits of my shadow. It responded to my commands with increasing precision, mirroring most of my thoughts and intentions - though switching places and acting instinctively is still impossible.

However, this exertion took quite a toll. Fatigue seeps into my body, dampening the initial excitement. Realizing that I could only push myself so far in one night, I reluctantly decided to call it quits.

Noises slowly became a distant hum, and the enchanting moonlight faded as my eyelids grew heavy. Soon enough, I knew no more of the night.