The Snake in the Lion’s Skin
Chapter 2: The Snake in the Lion’s Skin
The whispers in the Great Hall echoed in Harry’s ears as he slowly rose from the stool. His body felt strange, heavy, as if the Sorting Hat’s proclamation had turned him to stone.
Slytherin.
His wolf whimpered inside him. He felt its unease, its rejection. This isn’t where I belong.
Still, he forced himself to steady his breathing and kept his gaze fixed on the floor. His hood was pulled low over his face, hiding the white strands of his hair from prying eyes.
He heard Ron curse. Hermione whispering his name, as if she couldn’t believe what had just happened. Ginny, who didn’t move at all.
But that was it. No one came to him. No one protested.
He was alone.
Slowly, he made his way to the Slytherin table. The hall had fallen silent, only a few students whispering, their eyes locked onto him.
Every step felt heavier, as if the floor was sinking beneath him.
Then he saw Malfoy.
The blond Slytherin was leaning forward, a smirk playing on his lips. His grey eyes glinted with amusement, but also a hint of skepticism.
"Well, well, Potter," Malfoy drawled as Harry approached. "Did I miss something? Since when are you a snake?"
"Since today," Harry murmured, dropping onto an empty seat at the very edge of the table. He kept his head down, his shoulders tensing unconsciously.
He wouldn’t let himself be provoked.
"Hmph," Malfoy scoffed, leaning back with a quiet snort. "I don’t know whether to laugh or cry."
"Then just do nothing," Harry shot back dryly.
Blaise Zabini, seated beside Malfoy, raised an eyebrow. "Is he really our new housemate? I thought it was a bad joke."
"Oh no, it’s real," Pansy Parkinson said with a sarcastic smile. "And now we have the Chosen One sitting at our table. What an honor."
Harry felt the Slytherins’ eyes on him—some filled with suspicion, others with curiosity.
He said nothing. He didn’t care.
But then…
"Potter!"
Harry’s head snapped up. The voice was unmistakable—sharp as a blade, cutting through the murmurs with impatient irritation.
Professor Snape.
Harry felt his stomach twist. Slowly, he lifted his gaze and found the Potions Master standing at the staff table, his black eyes gleaming with undisguised exasperation.
"I have just been informed that I am now required to tolerate your presence in my house," Snape announced, his tone as sour as ever. "You know, Potter, I had already anticipated that this school year would be taxing—but this development surpasses even my worst expectations."
A quiet chuckle rippled through the Slytherin table.
Harry said nothing.
He expected a comment about his father, a sneering remark about how he didn’t belong in Slytherin—but none came.
Instead, Snape merely sighed in irritation. "I expect you to behave. Slytherin may have gained a new black sheep, but that does not mean I will grant you any special treatment. Do I make myself clear?"
Harry gave a curt nod.
Snape scrutinized him for a moment longer, then swept his robes dramatically as he turned away.
And that was it.
No questions. No comments about his hood, no remarks about his behavior.
He didn’t know.
No one knew.
Harry took a slow breath, keeping his head down.
Maybe that was for the best.
But one thing was certain: This was only the beginning.
_______________________________________________
The Great Hall was still buzzing with hushed conversations as the feast began. But Harry tasted nothing. He sat quietly at the edge of the Slytherin table, plates of steaming food appearing before him, conversations around him continuing as if nothing had happened.
But everything had changed for him.
The Gryffindors still cast glances in his direction—some subtle, others blatant. He could see Ron, face red with anger and confusion. Hermione, biting her lip as if debating whether to do something or leave him be.
Ginny didn’t even look at him.
His wolf growled softly inside, frustrated and hurt. Its instincts screamed for a nest, for safety, for something familiar—but nothing about this was familiar.
His cloak was wrapped tightly around him, a protective cocoon. The hood hid his white hair, his new self. No one could know. Not yet.
He just wanted to sit here and be ignored.
But this was Slytherin. And Slytherins ignored nothing.
"So, Potter."
Draco Malfoy’s voice pulled Harry’s attention. He barely lifted his head, but he could feel Malfoy’s scrutiny.
"I’m not sure if you’re here because the Hat really wanted you, or because it decided to punish all of us."
A few Slytherins laughed quietly.
Harry didn’t respond.
"Not even a retort?" Blaise Zabini raised an eyebrow. "Where’s that famous Gryffindor temper?"
"Maybe he is a snake after all," Pansy murmured with a smirk.
Harry exhaled steadily.
"I’m here because the Hat decided it," he finally said, voice calm. "I don’t care whether you like it or not."
Malfoy’s mouth twitched. "Oh, I don’t mind. I just find it… amusing."
Harry met his gaze without flinching.
He was tired. Too tired to fight.
Luckily, the conversations soon shifted elsewhere. The Slytherins accepted his presence—perhaps not with open arms, but with the pragmatic nature their house was known for.
Harry was Slytherin now. That was a fact. And Slytherins worked with facts.
The feast dragged on, but eventually, it ended. Students began making their way to their dormitories. Harry stayed as inconspicuous as possible, trailing behind the Slytherin procession as Snape led them through the castle halls.
The corridors darkened, the air grew cooler.
Then, they reached the concealed entrance to the Slytherin common room.
"The password is Shadow Song," Snape announced before swiftly turning away.
He didn’t spare Harry a single glance.
Perfect.
The entrance opened, and Harry followed the others inside.
It was different from Gryffindor. No warm red tones, no comforting fire—only cool shades of green, dark leather, and an atmosphere that wasn’t oppressive, but… quiet.
Harry was almost relieved.
The other Slytherins dispersed—some lounging on the sofas, others retreating immediately to their dorms.
Harry hesitated.
He didn’t know where his bed was.
Luckily, Theodore Nott solved that for him. The quiet boy gestured subtly toward one of the doors.
"Boys’ dormitory. Third years and up."
Harry nodded gratefully. "Thanks."
Nott shrugged. "As long as you don’t start singing Gryffindor songs in your sleep, we’ll get along."
Harry let out a quiet snort. For the first time that evening, he felt something close to relief.
He stepped into the dormitory.
It was silent.
His bed stood in the corner—dark green curtains, neatly made. It was… not so bad.
But his wolf resisted the coldness of the room. No familiar scent. No safety.
Harry closed the door behind him and slowly sank onto the bed.
His body screamed for rest, but his mind was too restless.
He pulled the hood lower over his face, pressing his forehead against his knees, taking slow breaths.
He was in Slytherin now.
He was alone.
And he would find a way to deal with it.
____________________________________
The night in the Slytherin dormitory was silent. Too silent.
Harry lay on his bed, but sleep never came. His wolf was restless. The air smelled unfamiliar, the room was too cold, the darkness too suffocating. Everything in him screamed for a safe place, a warm den—but there was nothing here that offered him comfort.
His body was heavy with exhaustion, but his mind was alert.
He should have known they wouldn’t let it go so easily.
He heard the movement too late.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed his arm, yanked him from his bed. He gasped, his heart skipping a beat as he hit the cold stone floor.
"What the—"
"Enough with the secrecy, Potter."
The voice belonged to Draco Malfoy. Calm, but laced with impatience.
Harry blinked, his body still sluggish, still too tired.
Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson stood in the room as well, forming a loose half-circle around him. Their faces were barely illuminated by the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the window.
"What the hell is this?" Harry’s voice was rough.
Malfoy crossed his arms. "We want answers, Potter."
Harry growled internally. His wolf reacted instantly to the confrontation. Instinctively, he tensed, his body preparing for either flight or fight.
"You heard it yourselves," he hissed. "The Hat made its decision. What do you want from me?"
"The truth," Zabini said smoothly. "No one gets resorted, Potter. And no one spends an entire night walking around with their hood up unless they have something to hide."
Harry’s jaw clenched.
He didn’t want to fight them. Not now.
But his silence was already an answer.
Pansy scoffed. "Well? Why did the Hat change its mind?"
Harry met her gaze. Her expression was skeptical, but not openly hostile.
"Because I’m not the same anymore," he muttered finally.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"
"It’s none of your business."
"Wrong."
It was Zabini who said it.
And then—before Harry could react—Zabini reached out and ripped his hood back.
A rush of cool air touched his skin.
Silence.
Deep, shocked silence.
Harry’s breath caught. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
They were staring at him.
His hair—once raven-black—was now silver-white, almost glowing under the dim light. Soft strands fell into his forehead, the texture finer, smoother than before.
He felt exposed.
His wolf snarled inside, wanting to run, to hide, to retreat.
But it was too late.
"Bloody hell…" Nott murmured.
"What the…" Malfoy started, but his voice trailed off.
Pansy’s hand flew to her mouth, while Zabini studied him with wide eyes.
"Your hair…" Pansy finally whispered.
Harry ripped himself out of his shock, jumped to his feet, and yanked his hood back over his head.
"Forget what you saw," he hissed.
But they had already seen.
Zabini blinked. "What the hell happened to you, Potter?"
Harry took a step back, his muscles tense.
"That…" Malfoy gestured toward him. "That’s not a normal change."
"I don’t owe you an explanation."
His breathing was heavy.
He needed to get out.
He turned to the door—but Nott stepped in his way.
"Potter," he said slowly. "This… isn’t just some coincidence, is it?"
Harry’s fingers tightened around the edges of his cloak.
"Move."
"We’ll find out one way or another," Malfoy said.
"Then have fun figuring it out."
With a final, sharp glare at the group, Harry turned and strode out of the dormitory.
He could still hear their whispers behind him.
His secret was no longer safe.