A new beginning
The Great Hall was nothing short of magical. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the night sky, dotted with glimmering stars, while thousands of candles floated serenely above the long house tables. Harry’s eyes widened as he followed the other first-years into the hall, his gaze sweeping over the grandeur of it all.
He felt small in the crowd, yet oddly unafraid. His time in the woods had prepared him for far stranger sights than enchanted ceilings and floating candles.
At the front of the room stood a three-legged stool with a ragged hat perched on top. Professor McGonagall, stern yet composed, held a long scroll in her hands.
“When I call your name, you will step forward, place the Sorting Hat on your head, and be sorted into your house,” she announced. Her voice carried easily across the hall.
Harry waited patiently as the first few students were called up. The Sorting Hat’s voice carried faintly, though he couldn’t make out the words. Students were sorted into their houses one by one, greeted by cheers from the respective tables.
“Potter, Harry!”
The Great Hall fell silent. Whispers broke out almost immediately, rippling through the room.
“Did she say Harry Potter?”
“The Harry Potter?”
“But he’s been missing for years!?"
Harry ignored the murmurs, walking steadily toward the stool. His movements were calm and deliberate, a stark contrast to the nervous fidgeting of many before him.
As he sat and placed the Sorting Hat on his head, the voice of the hat chuckled softly in his ear.
“Well, well, Harry Potter. Let’s see what we have here. Oh—” The chuckle stopped abruptly, replaced by a deep hum of surprise.
“What is this?” the hat murmured, rifling through Harry’s mind. “This… this is new. Dark, unusual… not the sort of thing I see in children, let alone wizards.”
Harry blinked. “What do you mean?”
The hat hesitated. “There’s death here. Not the abstract kind most wizards fear—no, this is intimate, familiar. You’ve lived with it, cooked it, tasted it.”
The hat’s voice grew quieter, as if it were recoiling. “You… you’re comfortable with it. Cannibalism—merlin’s beard. What kind of creature raised you?”
Harry frowned. “I don’t see the problem.”
The hat gave a soft, incredulous laugh. “Don’t see the problem? My boy, this is unprecedented! Most wizards recoil at the thought of such things, and yet here you are, unfazed by the darkest facets of life. You’ve seen the raw, unfiltered world and embraced it.”
Harry remained silent.
“You’ve been shaped by something unnatural,” the hat continued, now almost speaking to itself. “Something that isn’t human—yet it protected you, nurtured you, in its own macabre way. You’ve grown resilient, resourceful, and utterly unique. But… I sense no malice in you. You’re not corrupted, merely molded by your circumstances.”
Harry tilted his head. “So, where does that leave me?”
The hat paused, its tone shifting. “Bravery—yes, you’ve shown it in abundance. But it’s not recklessness; you don’t leap into danger for the sake of it. Intelligence, certainly—but your cleverness is practical, not academic. Ambition—oh, yes, there’s drive in you, though it’s not self-serving. And loyalty—unshakable loyalty, even to the most unconventional of bonds.”
It hummed again, considering. “Not Hufflepuff—you’d never fit. Ravenclaw? No, your knowledge is too instinctive, too wild. Gryffindor… perhaps, but you lack the impulsiveness that defines them.”
The hat’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “Slytherin… yes, yes, that’s where you belong. You’re cunning, adaptable, and unafraid of the shadows others fear. You’ll thrive there, Harry.”
“Slytherin?” Harry repeated, his tone neutral.
“You’ll find it suits you,” the hat assured him, its voice softening. “And remember, my boy: there’s no shame in being shaped by your past. What matters is what you do with the life you’ve been given.”
Before Harry could respond, the hat shouted, “SLYTHERIN!”
The Slytherin table erupted in cheers, though Harry noted some surprised expressions. He removed the hat, handing it back to Professor McGonagall before heading to his new house table.
As he sat down, a boy with platinum-blond hair leaned toward him. “Harry Potter in Slytherin,” he said, smirking. “I didn’t see that coming.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “And you are?”
“Draco Malfoy,” the boy said, extending a hand.
Harry shook it, his grip firm but polite. “Nice to meet you.”
But Harry’s thoughts were elsewhere. The hat had called his upbringing “unprecedented.” It had seemed almost… afraid. For the first time in years, Harry wondered if maybe the life he’d known wasn’t as normal as he’d convinced himself it was.
And yet, as he sat down and shook Draco’s hand, he pushed the thought aside. The monster had raised him, fed him, and taught him to survive.
Draco seemed momentarily thrown by Harry’s confidence but quickly recovered. “You’ll like it here,” he said. “Slytherin has the best house. We’re not like Gryffindor—always rushing into danger—or Ravenclaw, burying their noses in books. And Hufflepuff? Please.”
Harry simply smiled.
Once all the students were sorted, Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet, his arms outstretched. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!” he said, his voice warm and commanding. “Before we begin our feast, I’d like to say a few words: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”
The hall erupted into laughter and applause as the golden plates filled with food. Harry had never seen so much variety—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, and pies of every kind.
He helped himself to a bit of everything, aware of the curious glances from his new housemates.
“So,” Draco said, leaning closer. “What’s your story, Potter? You’ve been missing for years.”
Harry shrugged, his tone light. “Just keeping to myself.”
Draco frowned but didn’t press further.
Later that night, as Harry lay in bed in the Slytherin dormitory, his scar began to ache faintly. He pressed a hand to it, his brow furrowing. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was enough to unsettle him.
“Odd,” he murmured to himself.
He stared at the canopy of his four-poster bed, his mind racing. Something about this place felt… off. But then, wasn’t that true of everywhere?