Welcome to Slytherin
The Great Hall was adorned with shimmering, star-like candles that floated—yes, floated—above Harry's head. The ceilings seemed to stretch for miles, opening up into the heavens.
Four long tables filled with students expanded across the room. Harry had never seen so many people in one hall. Among the students and floating candles were throngs of translucent ghosts.
Hundreds of heads turned toward the clusters of first-year students in an eerie, suffocating silence. Harry swallowed nervously. He was near the back of the group but not quite last, as he had been while climbing the stairs. He needed to rest; his legs felt like jelly, and stepping forward took too much effort.
Draco and Ron flanked him on either side, appearing just as nervous about the sorting ceremony. Professor McGonagall ushered the students closer to the front of the hall, where a single shabby-looking hat sat on an equally shabby-looking stool.
As Harry and the other first-years approached, the hat began to sing. These magical moments filled Harry with a sense of anxiety, yet oddly also with excitement. He wasn't used to excitement, which felt eerily similar to his anxiety; he almost couldn't distinguish between the two sensations. He imagined himself casting spells and brewing potions. It sounded wonderful.
The thought of spending nine months of the year away from the Dursleys was even more extraordinary—away from fists, slaps, prodding sticks, away from the cupboard.
Harry jolted as McGonagall called out a name: "Abbott, Hannah." The girl climbed up the steps to the stool and sat down. McGonagall then placed the hat on Hannah Abbott's head. It took only a moment before the hat yelled, "Hufflepuff!" And the girl scrambled to join the yellow table.
Many other names were called, and each student was sorted into their houses after only a moment with the hat on their head. Finally, McGonagall called out, "Harry Potter!"
The room fell instantly quiet, and whispers began to swirl around him. "That's Harry Potter?" "Bit scrawny, isn't he?"
Harry stumbled out of the crowd, which parted around him. He hobbled toward the stool and hat. Three steps up, and he could sit. One step up, Harry felt eyes on him from all around the room, his legs aching with the effort. On the second step up, his legs hurt more, and there was whispering around him. On the third step, his legs gave out. He crashed forward, slamming his face into the stone floor.
There were gasps, and a couple of stifled laughs followed. "Oh," McGonagall pulled Harry to his feet. "Oh, Mr. Potter, your nose."
Harry lifted his hand to his face, surprised to find it wet and sticky. He pulled his hand back to discover it was covered in blood. He wiped the blood on his sleeve, causing McGonagall to sneer slightly, though she said nothing.
"I'm fine," Harry said, plopping down on the stool. McGonagall gave him a pointed look but wordlessly placed the hat on his head.
Harry waited.
"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself. Now that's interesting… So where shall I put you?"
"Slytherin, please."
The hat seemed surprised. "You want to be in Slytherin?"
"Yes, sir, yes. My friends are in Slytherin. I haven't got a lot of friends."
The hat pondered this. "And friends is what you want?"
Harry paused, thinking. "What else could I have? I mean, what are the options?"
"Anything," the hat replied.
"Anything?"
"That's what I said."
"Being part of something would be nice. Better than solitude."
The hat chuckled softly, and suddenly, its voice rang across the hall, confident and resounding, "Slytherin!"
Harry had expected applause—not because of his supposed fame, but because all the other students had been met with applause and cheers after their sorting. Instead, there was a moment of silence, followed by a loud choking noise from one of the teachers sputtering behind Harry.
Then the twins burst up from the Slytherin table, clapping and cheering wildly. Draco stood as well, smiling and clapping politely. A few scattered applause broke out from others around the hall, but otherwise, it remained quiet and awkward.
Harry Potter wrenched himself upright, trying to escape the embarrassment. He heard McGonagall whisper, "Maybe you should go to the infirmary, Mr. Potter." But he ignored her.
He imagined how he must look to others: wearing robes that were too big, blood dripping from his face, his wild, ratty hair. He knew he looked shabby and not well put together. With the blood, he probably looked crazy. He wondered if they were thinking of Moldy.
Harry sighed, collapsing onto the bench across from Draco Malfoy at the Slytherin table. Draco gave him an incredulous look. "Honestly, Potter."
Harry wiped the blood from his face with the sleeve of his robe.
"Honestly, Potter," Draco repeated. "Are those even your robes?"
Harry looked sheepishly at the blood on the sleeve.
"Bleeding on my robes, now are you, Harry?" Fred said from behind Harry. "We Slytherin are known for the dramatics, but this is a bit much."
Fred leaned over Harry's shoulder, noticing the crimson stain on his robes. "Bleeding on your uniform, Harry?" he asked, his voice light and teasing but with a friendly smile. "You alright there?"
Harry nervously brushed at the stain, his face turning redder by the second. "Yeah... It was an accident. I tripped on a step. I didn't mean to..."
George chuckled, leaning in with a grin. "Tripped on a step? You're a Slytherin, mate! You're supposed to be smooth, not fall over your feet in front of the whole hall!"
Harry winced but managed a shy smile. "Yeah, well, I didn't plan on tripping. If I'd known, I would've been more careful."
Fred gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "Hey, don't worry about it. It happens to the best of us. Except for us, obviously, because we're graceful as swans." He winked at George, who nodded in agreement.
George laughed. "We'd never trip, mate, mostly because we always know where our feet are. But seriously, there's nothing wrong with a little fall. It's just a part of Hogwarts. First-year stuff."
Harry relaxed a little, though he still couldn't shake the blush on his cheeks. "I guess so... but it still feels pretty embarrassing. Tripping in front of everyone and getting a bloody nose?"
Fred waved it off. "Come on, mate. At least you didn't pass out. That would've been a bit dramatic, don't you think?"
Fred and George sat down, sandwiching Harry between them.
Dumbledore said a few words. Ones Harry didn't care to pay attention to, and before he knew it, the table burst to life.
More food than Harry had ever seen flooded the table: steak, potatoes, and a roast turkey. There were green beans and rolls with jam and butter. Everything was warm, with steam rippling off the food.
There were foods Harry had never eaten, strange orange drinks that smelled sweet.
"So," Draco began, filling his plate with food, "these are your Slytherin friends, Potter?"
Harry's face turned bright red, unsure how to respond. "I- uh..." he stammered. He hadn't time to ask the twins if they were okay with being his friends. Harry had just assumed they were being nice, but maybe they were just being polite or humoring him.
Before he could say more, Fred and George, looking as mischievous as ever, exchanged glances and smirked.
"Right you are, Mr. Malfoy," Fred said smoothly, leaning back in his seat. "These are our exclusive Slytherin friends. Privilege to be in our company."
George nodded, a twinkle in his eye. "We're a bit choosy about our alliances, but Harry's alright. Despite the tragic accident earlier, he's proven himself worthy."
Fred raised an eyebrow at George, a smirk playing on his lips. "Worthy enough to survive the Great Hall's attention without running off crying."
George grinned. "I'll give him points for bravery. It takes guts to walk into this place, especially with his... reputation."
Harry blinked, still a bit stunned by their confidence. "You guys don't mind…?" He trailed off, unsure if it was too presumptuous to ask.
"Of course not, Harry," Fred said, grinning wider. "We're not exactly a 'let's follow the rules' kind of Slytherin, are we, George?"
"Nope," George agreed, his eyes narrowing playfully at Draco. "And honestly, Draco, you'd be lucky to have us as friends, too. But I'm afraid we don't accept applications from people who think rules are the thing."
Fred and George shared another look, then turned back to Harry with mock seriousness.
"So, no need to worry, Harry. You're in good company," Fred said, leaning in as if telling him a secret. "Even if we're slightly more entertaining than the average Slytherin."
George chuckled softly. "And just so you know, Draco, we only do exclusivity if it's worth the hassle."
Draco, slightly thrown off by their casual confidence, narrowed his eyes but didn't respond immediately. However, Fred and George were already enjoying their food, seemingly unfazed.
Harry blinked, the tension in his chest easing a little. With friends like them, he probably didn't have to worry about fitting in after all.
The meal came and went, leaving Harry feeling stuffed and warm. He'd tried so many new foods, each more delicious than anything he had ever tasted—ten times more delicious than Aunt Petunia's bland dinners or even the meals he'd managed to cook for himself. Hogwarts food was a world apart.
As dessert was cleared away, the Slytherins were gathered up from the table, their chatter quieting as Gemma Farley, a sixth-year prefect, stood up and gave them a stern look. With a quick flick of her wrist and a polite "Follow me," the Slytherins began to file out of the Great Hall in an oddly ordered and uniform line. They moved in perfect sync, as though they had rehearsed this march hundreds of times before.
Harry hesitated momentarily, his hand resting lightly on the side of the table as he slowly pushed himself to his feet. The limp in his left leg made itself known immediately, the ache from earlier still lingering. He winced slightly but tried not to show it as he fell in line behind the others.
It wasn't the first time he'd had to deal with his limp, but the attention from the other students—and the unexpected exertion from walking—still made him uncomfortable.
As they made their way through the hall, Harry couldn't help but be distracted by the magnificence of Hogwarts. His eyes wandered from the flickering candlelight of the Great Hall to the moving paintings on the walls, the portraits that seemed to watch and whisper as they passed. His leg throbbed with each step, but he kept up with the group, determined not to fall behind.
The castle was like nothing he had ever imagined. The high and grand ceilings stretched so far above him that he almost felt like he was walking beneath the sky. The staircases seemed to have a life of their own, shifting positions as if they had their plans. He had seen a few moves, changing direction with a groan and a creak.
Harry's gaze wandered to the portraits lining the walls. One of them—a knight in shining armor—gave him a stern nod as he passed. He half expected it to speak, but the knight merely clanged its sword against its shield and grumbled about a duel. Harry gave a small smile, distracted by the magical world around him.
"Keep up, Potter," came a soft but firm voice from ahead—Gemma Farley, her sharp eyes catching him from the front of the line. "We don't have all night."
Harry quickly adjusted his posture, trying to straighten up despite the ache in his leg. He quickened his pace, his limp more noticeable as they passed a particularly steep staircase. He caught himself, trying not to stumble as he struggled to keep in step with the others. The other Slytherins were walking with smooth precision, but Harry's uneven gait made him feel like an outsider.
As they passed another set of moving portraits, a woman in a flowing gown winked at him, and he was sure he heard a faint giggle. Before he could glance back, Gemma's voice cut through his thoughts again.
"Stay with the group, Potter," she said, her tone more of a gentle reminder than a reprimand. "We don't want to make a scene."
Harry nodded quickly, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself. The more he focused on his leg, the more he noticed how much it slowed him down. His left leg throbbed with each step, but he focused on the back of Gemma's robes, determined to stay in line.
The cool air of the dungeons greeted them as they descended the stairs. Harry could feel the temperature drop, the stone walls closing around them as they moved deeper beneath the castle. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows, and their footsteps echoed softly through the quiet, adding to the eerie atmosphere.
Despite the discomfort of his limp, Harry couldn't help but marvel at the place. Hogwarts was like stepping into a dream—each turn, each corner, seemed to offer something new and magical. Even as his leg ached with every step, he felt a sense of belonging he hadn't known before. This was it—his school, his home. And it was more incredible than he had ever imagined.
Gemma Farley led the group of Slytherins down the cold, winding corridor, her pace unhurried and assured. Harry, still feeling the ache in his leg, tried his best to keep up, but he couldn't help but notice how every turn and hallway seemed to draw him further into the heart of Hogwarts. The castle was full of surprises, and though he wasn't sure what to expect from the Slytherin standard room, he had no real expectations.
They reached a seemingly ordinary stone wall at the end of the corridor, and the rest of the group quieted as Gemma stepped forward. She gave the wall a calculating glance before she spoke in a low, hissing voice. "Parseltongue."
Nothing seemed to happen for a moment, but then, with a soft rumble, the stone wall shifted. It parted down the middle, revealing a hidden passageway. The Slytherins filed through one by one, and Harry, following a step behind, limped along as best as he could. His leg throbbed slightly, but the excitement of finally seeing where they would stay kept his attention on the path ahead.
Harry's breath caught in his throat as they passed through the opening, his eyes widening at the sight before him.
The room was far grander than he had imagined. There was no expectation in his mind of what the Slytherin standard room might look like, but nothing could have prepared him for how stunning it was.
The space was decorated in rich, deep silver and green, the colors of Slytherin House. Thick, dark green curtains hung gracefully from tall windows, pooling gently on the floor. The flickering light from the torches cast a soft, golden glow across the room, creating a cozy and mysterious atmosphere.
The furniture was lavish and comfortable, with large, ornate couches and armchairs that looked like they had been carefully chosen for style and relaxation. The cushions were thick and plush, making the room feel grand and inviting simultaneously. Each piece of furniture seemed carefully placed, creating intimate little clusters where students could relax, talk, or be at ease.
Harry took in the ornate silver sconces on the walls, the intricate tapestries depicting snakes twisting in elegant patterns, and the sense of history the room exuded. The air was thick with the weight of Slytherin's long legacy, but there was also something welcoming about it—a sense of comfort amidst the luxury.
His eyes were drawn to the large fireplace, its massive stone structure reaching almost to the ceiling. The fire crackled and popped, sending warm light dancing across the polished marble floors. The flickering flames added a soft glow to the room, making everything seem almost magical.
Slytherins, some chatting in low voices, others lounging comfortably, filled the room with an easy, quiet energy. It was calm but confident, the atmosphere steeped in an unmistakable quiet power.
The room felt like a new world—warm, inviting, and rich with history. Harry hadn't known what to expect, but the Slytherin standard room felt like home already, in a way. There was comfort here, and while it was different from anything Harry had imagined, it held a charm all its own.
"Potter!" Gemma Farley spoke, stern and stiff. The crowd around him parted. "Sit down, now." She pointed towards the rows of couches.
Harry limped a little further into the room, unsure where to go. His leg bothered him, but he didn't want to draw attention to it. He spotted a cozy-looking couch near the fire, and after a brief hesitation, he sank onto it, feeling the plush cushions welcome him. A slight wince passed over his face as he adjusted his position to make himself more comfortable.
Gemma Farley sniffed but gave Harry a brief nod. "First years, there are a few rules to go over and just a couple of notices, and then you guys can be off to bed."
"First and foremost, being a Slytherin is not easy. The other houses, the other teachers, will look down on you and discriminate against you. Because of this, the use of Slytherins must appear to be a united front. Any quarreling must remain in these doors. Understood?"
Harry nodded.
"Right, second rule, don't get caught."
Gemma Farley contuined. "Dorms here are co-ed, but if you are caught doing anything funny, Snape will separate the dorms again, understood? If you ruin the co-ed dorms for the rest of us, you will be an outcast by the Slytherins. Do you understand?"
More nodding.
"You can pick your dorm; I don't care. Seventh years get the first pick, and so on. Except," Gemma turned towards Harry. "Potter, you get that room, no exceptions." Gemmer jerked her head towards a bedroom on the first floor.
There were a couple of groans from older students but no further protests.
"There are four students in a room; try and pick your roommates wisely. Snape will not let you switch rooms later."
"That's all; welcome to Slytherin; we are happy to have you."