Sire of the Den of Snakes || Slytherin House

September 1st, 1920
Hogwarts Castle, Slytherin Common Room
9:30pm
After the feast

"Good evening, Snakes."

Emil sat on a conjured chair at the head of the common room near the fireplace that had just been lit for the first time since school was let out. Underneath the carving of the serpent, the main calmly crossed his legs and leaned back to take in the several students who had gathered around. There were those who had chosen, or course, to skip his mandatory meeting tonight. In his esteemed duties, he had learned the name of all those whom he'd been made responsible for.

The ones who skipped tonight would have their own, personal meeting with him. It would be twice as boring, and thrice the length. Poor souls.

As he looked around the dark-green tint of the common room, the magic in his eyes had returned to full strength. The colors of each student were alive and well in his eyes, each Slytherin child sporting their own, unique aura. It was a sight to see, more tolerable than the lightshow that was the feast in the Great Hall. Years in jungles and low-population villages had spared his mind of stimulation at a time where he needed the rest, say nothing of his magical malady. But now that his mind had been somewhat cleared, it was good to see the forest for the trees.

He was, dare he say, almost glad to be here.

"We were all somewhat introduced during the feast, but let us dispense with the fluff and poetry of our magical hats. My name is Emil Roan, Potion Master and your Head of House for the forseeable future."

He glanced around once before continuing.

"I know there's some... chatter, about your previous Head of House. Rest assured, most of the rumors are true. Those who want to reach out will have to write him an owl. Although, I will say the Ministry does frown upon students writing to the longer-term residents of Azkaban." His hand shifted to his pocket watch, opening it and confirming just how late it really was. These kids needed to get to bed.

"I am a simple man. I will do my job to take care of you. If you need something essential or find yourselves in a spot of serious trouble, I will be there for better or for worse. Any other professor gets you in trouble, I can assure you I will take note of it. If you get caught rule breaking, I will dole out appropriate punishment. The easier you make my job, the easier I will make your lives. That works the other way around, of course."

He checked his pocket watch once again before closing it firmly, looking up at the collection of pre-teens and teenagers gathered around him.

"Are there any questions?"

Corbin had settled into a green leather armchair in an alcove by the portholes. It had been his since first year, a spot in the common room that other snakes would not dare to claim. Smoke, his gray tabby, had already claimed his lap, a warm weight against his legs.

The alcove had its own bookcase - mostly old dry volumes, but with some of his own mixed through. A small writing desk sat wedged beside his chair, scarred from two years of late-night essays. The serpent carvings on either side of the nook had always reminded him of the ones in his father's study, though these were smaller and less menacing.

Through the thick glass portholes, the lake pressed black and heavy against the castle. Dark swirls churned past from the storm above.

The common room stretched behind him, half-empty chairs casting long shadows in the firelight. Familiar faces were missing - the usual group that claimed the corner by the chess set, older students he'd grown used to seeing by the fire. Some families had probably decided Hogwarts wasn't worth the risk anymore.

Corbin shifted deeper into his chair and loosened his collar. The train ride felt like it had happened days ago, though his legs still ached from sitting cramped in the compartment. Tomorrow he could change out of this stiff formal uniform into more regular school robes.

A few more students trickled in before Professor Roan cleared his throat. The new Head of House was younger than Corbin had imagined, with sharp eyes that seemed to take in everything. No flowery speeches about Slytherin pride or ancient traditions. Just facts and expectations. Corbin could appreciate that.

When Professor Roan mentioned Azkaban, even the fire seemed to quiet. So the rumors about their former Head of House were true. The idea of writing to someone in wizard prison was almost amusing - his father would burn the letter before the ink dried.

Professor Roan checked his pocket watch and asked for questions. Corbin stayed silent in his chair, one hand absently stroking Smoke's fur. Better to listen first, speak later. If at all.

The common room had been his refuge for two years - not home, but closer than anywhere else at school. He wondered if the empty chairs would fill up by Yule, or if this scattered handful was all that remained of Slytherin House.