Welcome to Slytherin
Dinner ends up being a quiet affair. The people sitting next to Annie don’t seem to have anything to say, and while Parkinson seems to readily engage with some of the boys, they were mostly eager to loudly talk about Slytherin being plagued with undesirables this year.
And, well, Annie can take a hint.
It’s a relief when, shortly after she finishes her treacle tart and the last bit of mint melts on her tongue, a pair of older students walks up to the First Years and instructs them to follow along, saying they’ll guide them to the Slytherin dormitories.
The trip through the castle halls is long and twisty. It’s all that Annie can do to try and remember the portraits and tapestries they walk past, but then they take the stairs down to the dungeons and they disappear altogether.
There’s a chill that settles quickly after they enter the dungeons proper, a quietness that is only broken by the sound of their footsteps and turns eerie as the echoes resonate around them. No one dares to speak, their guides just as silent until they suddenly stop.
“Sovereign,” the older girl suddenly says, and the only reason Annie isn't shocked when she disappears into the wall is because she spent her entire summer visiting St-Mungo's.
“This is the entrance of our common room,” the older boy declares. “The door stays open for about thirty seconds, so if you waste your time you might walk into the wall instead of through it. If you’re unsure, it might be simpler to repeat the password again, though I will caution you about saying it loud enough that others can hear you. There is a password for a reason, and students not of Slytherin House may not enter under any circumstances unless they are accompanied by a teacher. If you are found responsible for a student of another House breaching our safe space, you will not be spared of consequences. If you suspect that the passcode has been leaked, please inform one of the Prefects so that the situation can be remedied. Now, please enter.”
Malfoy, at the head of their group, takes a step forward and says the password in a clear voice, not once stopping his stride as he nears the wall. He goes through without any issue, two burly boys following after him.
“Well, go on,” the older boy says, a tinge of exasperation in his voice when no one else moves.
They slowly make their way through the door, some students more uneasy than others. Annie herself whispers the password under her breath when it’s her turn, unwilling to break her nose by walking into a stone wall. She closes her eyes as she crosses the door, but she wouldn’t have needed to – the change between the dark cold stone hallway and the Slytherin common room isn’t as startling as the one between St-Mungo’s reception and London, and she doesn’t even falter as she looks around.
The common room is dimly lit, with dark corners and dancing shadows created by the green fires spread around the place. Pale columns support a mezzanine, other pillars rising higher and reaching the dome ceiling far above their heads, where silvery shapes shimmer on a dark background. The mezzanine has dark bookshelves lining the wall with green-fired torches crackling in between, while the railings are covered with curtains that fall to the ground and glimmer like they have thousands of little gemstones sowed into them. The only areas bare of curtains are fitted with fireplaces, mirrors and portraits sitting above the mantles with plenty of snake-themed clutter shoved on the free surfaces, not unlike how Aunt Petunia would show off pictures of Dudley.
Couches and armchairs are plentiful, all bound either in black leather or green velvet, gathered around the dozen of fireplaces and positioned in circles of varying sizes in the space in the middle of the common room. Tables and desks of varying styles are also spread around, and Annie can't help but notice the snake-shaped legs, the candlesticks with snake heads biting into the candles, or just even more snake-themed clutter, as though they were worried anyone could forget which House’s common room this was.
The girl who escorted them is waiting near the biggest fireplace, standing straight next to the fire with Malfoy already sprawling over the biggest couch, taking three spots for himself with his two friends sitting on either side.
It reminds Annie of Dudley, and she doesn't like it at all. There aren’t enough spaces for everyone, the seats already taken by the time Annie reaches the group, so she finds herself a spot near Selwyn’s armchair and waits.
She isn’t the only one who thinks Malfoy is being a git – he gets many dirty looks for taking three seats for himself, but he either doesn't care or doesn't notice. Considering their two guides are giving him rather pointed looks, too, Annie is of the opinion that he likes inconveniencing everyone else.
The fact that the prefects aren't just telling him to move is... well.
“Now that everyone is here,” the boy says after giving up on Malfoy, “let us introduce ourselves. We are the Fifth Year Slytherin Prefects. My name is Linden Connelly.”
“And I am Regina Lestrange,” the girl continues, smiling coldly at the reactions she got for it. Annie feels her stomach sink. Lestrange – of course she knows that name. McGonagall hadn’t wanted to tell her about who hurt her dad, only saying that the responsible ones were imprisoned, but the healers and other guests at St-Mungo’s weren’t as reserved. “Yes, I am Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange’s daughter. No, I do not owe you answers about my personal life and will not indulge any questions on the matter. Linden?”
Connelly nods. “First, welcome to Slytherin, where ambitious and cunning witches and wizards have made their home for centuries. We are not a popular lot, as you may already know, or will soon learn. Not many people can understand our drive but those who share it. In the next seven years, you will live with your housemates and meet like-minded people who will support you through your ambitions, as long as you remain respectful and don’t ignore their contributions.”
Lestrange’s eyes turn to Malfoy, who seems to find her funny if the way he’s smiling mockingly at her means anything. “Slytherin House stands as one,” she says. “We do not fight between ourselves outside the common room. We keep our differents private. That doesn’t mean you should cut off your siblings, relatives or friends in other Houses. They are not allowed into our common room and you must not involve them in your spats with other Slytherins, but that is all we ask.”
This time, Lestrange’s eyes fall on Annie, who inclines her head, both to agree and to avoid looking at her in the eyes. That seems to please the Prefect, and she turns her attention to the rest of the students.
“That goes for students in other years, too. I do not care what you have against someone’s brother or friend. Get the Slytherin in question to handle their people, and stay away. If you lose points and get detentions or cause trouble so that your housemates do, I assure you that whatever problem you had in the beginning will be nothing compared to the problem Slytherin House will have with you.”
“Thank you, Miss Lestrange,” a low, drawling voice says from seemingly nowhere and everywhere at the same time, startling Annie. She’s not the only one, everyone looking around and yet not finding the speaker. “Diplomatic as ever, I see.”
Lestrange’s lips thin. “As you say, Professor Snape,” she says in a smooth voice, and the speaker finally emerges from a nearby alcove, seemingly shedding the darkness.
He’s the dour man from the Staff Table with the greasy dark hair, pallid face and eyes so dark there didn’t seem to be any pupil. He takes three slow steps toward them, slowly observing each and every one of them, and his lips curl into a sneer when his eyes turn to Annie.
He pauses, but decides to ignore her, doing another sweep of the crowd before crossing his arms, looking like he couldn’t get this over with quickly enough.
“You have been Sorted into the ambitious and cunning House of Slytherin,” Snape drawls, “because the Sorting Hat found something inside you he deemed fitting of our noble heritage. However, ambition and cunning alone do not lead to greatness. As such, it is your responsibility to cultivate this potential into something… beyond mediocrity. You have seven years to learn and grow, and rise to the excellence expected of a Slytherin. However, whether you have what is necessary to achieve greatness, or you are doomed to forever run after an unachievable dream…” Again, Annie feels Snape’s eyes on her, and she burns, “remains to be seen.”
The air is heavy around them, Annie struggling not to react at the unspoken insults just like she always does, holding on to the dull politeness that got her through the worst of Aunt Petunia’s tea parties and the sharpest of critics, knowing that tears or words will just give them another opportunity to hurt her.
But she hadn’t known. Hadn’t prepared. Hadn’t expected Hogwarts to have its own Mrs Dustin, its own Dudley, just waiting for a sign of weakness to make her life hell.
She can’t make any mistake. She can't have them ruin things for her.
Annie wants her dad. And she needs Hogwarts for that. Needs magic.
So she can'tfail.
“Either way,” Snape continues, “we expect you to do your best to honour the name of Slytherin and behave befittingly to your new station as a member of our great House. Should you fail, or refuse to act as a Slytherin should… measures shall be taken. And you will not like it.”
This time, even Malfoy seems to take the man’s words seriously, moving to sit up properly. Snape looks at them one last time, eyes sombre and judging.
“Welcome to Slytherin,” he says sombrely, almost like a threat, before turning around and disappearing back into the dark alcove.
There’s a beat of silence, before Lestrange shifts; Connelly lifts his head before addressing them.
“You have just met Severus Snape, the Head of Slytherin House and the resident Potions Professor. He is our most ardent ally in this school,” Connelly smirks wryly at Lestrange, whose face is as still and smooth as a statue’s, “and he is devoted to the success and well-being of our House. Should you need his assistance with an important concern, you can knock at his door, though I’ll warn you against wasting his time. You should always come to us Prefects first unless it’s urgent, but, if he’s available, Professor Snape might listen to you. If he isn’t, you may use the mail slot on his door and he will reach back to you when he has the time. Be sure to clearly write your name, year and the concern you wish to address with him.”
“If he needs to contact you,” Lestranges continues, “he will most likely send you a note, so be sure to check your bedside table every morning for a personal summon. You do not wish to make him come looking for you. Otherwise, any announcement will be displayed on the board next to his door, right here. You will most often find announcements like Quidditch tryout dates, club news, the holiday stay-over list and school rules. However, you may not put up any personal note without Professor Snape’s approval. The password to the common room also changes every month, and will appear on the board at least one week in advance. I don’t think I need to warn you against writing it down – if you forget it, then either find a housemate or Prefect to let you in or, if there isn’t anyone, knock on the wall and ask to be let in.”
“Do make sure whoever is knocking is indeed a student of Slytherin before letting them inside,” Connelly adds. “However, no matter who it is, if they are indeed a Slytherin, you will open the door for them. If you are the reason Slytherin loses points because a student was outside after curfew, there will be consequences.”
…that was too specific not to have happened at least once before.
“Now, about your classes,” Lestrange says. “Students receive their schedules at breakfast – depending on our own, we will arrange for escorts to and from your classes, at least for the first week. We will also be walking you to breakfast, so we will wake you up at six o’clock and give you forty-five minutes to prepare. Do not be late, because we will not wait for you, and you will have to figure the way to the Great Hall on your own. Clear?”
“Clear,” a few of them mumble.
“Good. Now, the boys’ dorm is on the left, girls on the right,” Lestrange points at two identical banners on the wall, hanging side-by-side. With a flick of her wand, the banners flutter to the side to reveal a narrow spiralling staircase. “First Years sleep on the lowest floor and move up every year. You won’t be able to enter the opposite gender’s dorm, but there are connecting rooms between the dorms where you can hang out freely. Try to keep track of your belongings – anything left behind or forgotten over the holidays will be sent to the caretaker with the other Lost and Founds. On the other hand, if any of you is caught stealing from your roommates, then you will wish all you’d get were a detention and lost points. Curfew is at ten thirty, lights out at eleven, and breakfast starts at five, so we better not catch you out in the halls before that. Everyone got that? Good. Girls, follow me, I’ll show you how everything works.”
The dorms are bigger than the Dursleys’ entire house, with a bathroom containing as many shower and toilet stalls as there are girls in their years, but also with a few private rooms with bathtubs. Their sleeping quarters are also magically tailored for their numbers, with ten alcoves spread out evenly around the room, dark green satin curtains offering them a chance at privacy and a neat gold-framed black plaque with their names assigning each alcove to one of them.
Annie’s alcove alone is bigger than the Dursleys’ living room. It has a pale bed with thick emerald covers as a centrepiece, one elegant bedside table with a snake-themed lamp on it, a large wardrobe that could probably fit an entire Mr. Hagrid inside and, pushed against the opposite wall, a sturdy desk and chair, a hamper tucked in the corner and a squat bookcase that can also act as a second bedside table. But that’s without mentioning the painted ceiling, made to look like the night’s sky, stars blinking back at her.
Annie digs up into her trunk for her pajamas and toiletries, longing for her bed but knowing better than to wait for the morning to wrangle her hair into submission. The shower is amazing, the school providing nice fresh-smelling soaps and shampoos that reminds her of the winter, and while she regrets standing under the ‘drying chute’ without brushing her hair beforehand, it at least means she’s not dripping all the way back to her bed.
She couldn’t have been gone for ten minutes – Aunt Petunia had pulled her out of the bathroom with soapy hair before when she took too long, even the delicious warm water couldn’t block those memories – but that had apparently been long enough for some of her dorm mates to decide they could dig into her trunk.
It’s Parkinson, Annie realizes, even as her hand whips into the hair, her wet towel smacking right into the girl’s face as she turns upon Annie’s arrival. Parkinson and another – Burke, she thinks her name is. She can’t remember her first name.
Burke isn’t elbow-deep in Annie’s things, though, and neither does she have textbooks thrown around her.
“I guess we know whom to blame if anything goes missing, Parkinson,” Annie snarks once she’s done shrieking and flailing away from the now fallen towel. “Thank you for being so open about it.”
Burke snorts, before covering her face with one hand, while the other girls in the room turn around to hide their giggles. Parkinson herself goes red, stumbling away from Annie’s things.
“At least I’m not a mudblood!” she snaps, which effectively silences the room.
Annie can guess it’s an insult, and a bad one at that, even if she doesn’t know what it means. And, well, Annie’s tired. The place that was supposed to be her second home has a blond Dudley-wannabe, a Head of House who already dislikes her, and visibly there’s something about her that has most of her dorm mates treating her like she’s a freak.
It’s a second home alright.
“Is that what you say in the mirror to feel better about yourself?” Annie asks, once again setting her dorm mates giggling. She pushes past Parkinson, picks up her towel and starts putting her books back into her trunk. She hates this. “Goodnight.”
And, with that, she snaps her curtains shut.