Chapter 8: The Glory of Slytherin

"Hufflepuff!"

"Ravenclaw!"

"Gryffindor!"

The Sorting Hat's raspy shouts echoed through the Great Hall as, one by one, the first years took their turn on the stool and then walked to their new house tables.

Hermione was sorted into Gryffindor, a result that earned a distinct snort from Ron. It seemed their relationship wasn't off to the best start. Malfoy, on the other hand, was destined for Slytherin; the hat had barely grazed his blond hair before making its decision. Of course, Harry thought. Annoying people like him belong there. This internal commentary did little to ease the knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach. He was so nervous his knuckles had turned white where he clutched his robes.

But there was no escaping it. As the line of students thinned, Professor McGonagall finally called his name.

"Harry Potter!"

The name hung in the air for a moment before the hall erupted in a tidal wave of whispers. Hundreds of eyes—students and professors alike—turned to fix on him, and the weight of their stares sent a fresh jolt of panic through him.

Amid the sea of faces, however, he found a few familiar anchors. Near the entrance, Hagrid was clapping gently, his bearded face etched with deep concern. And at the faculty table sat Professor Kahn.

Harry's eyes met those of the man who had guided him through Diagon Alley and personally seen him home. Evans held his two small, adorable creatures and offered Harry a reassuring smile. The simple gesture was like a calming draught; Harry felt the crushing nervousness instantly begin to dissipate. He managed a small smile in return before stepping forward and sitting on the stool.

"The boy is terribly nervous," Evans murmured, feeling the feedback from the Pygmy Puff's empathy talent. He casually placed a small fish in front of Alice, not paying much mind to the sorting itself. While the details of the story were a blur, he remembered the basics: Harry Potter was a Gryffindor. And that scowling bat of a professor held a deep grudge against Harry's father.

Speaking of whom, Professor Snape must look like he's about to eat someone right now… Evans thought, glancing down the table.

He froze. Snape's expression wasn't one of simple loathing. It was a complex storm of emotions as he stared at the back of Harry's head. Evans sat up straighter, a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes.

Gossip?

The musty, patched leather of the Sorting Hat dropped over Harry's eyes, and a small, quiet voice echoed directly inside his mind.

'Hmm, difficult. Very difficult… You possess the traits of every house: courage, a good heart, a sharp mind, and a powerful desire to prove yourself. Where to put you?'

The voice was so unexpected it made him jump. He gripped the stool tighter and silently chanted, 'Not Slytherin, not Slytherin…'

'Are you so sure?' the hat mused. 'You could be great, you know. It's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that. Besides, that professor who just greeted you? He graduated from Slytherin.'

The words brought Harry up short. Professor Kahn… a Slytherin?

But wasn't that the house of Voldemort? The house Malfoy had just joined? Hagrid had warned him specifically about Slytherin. His thoughts became a tangled mess, his resolve wavering.

As he wrestled with his confusion, the hat's voice came again. 'Well, if you're sure… better be…'

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The hat was whisked off his head, and the long table draped in crimson and gold erupted in thunderous cheers. But as he walked toward them, Harry's expression was still dazed. If a kind man like Professor Kahn could come from Slytherin, was it truly the house of evil he had imagined?

Before he could ponder it further, two identical figures grabbed him, one on each arm, and pulled him toward the Gryffindor table.

"We got Potter! We got Potter!"

They were red-haired boys, with the unmistakable look of Weasleys. From their subsequent introductions, Harry learned their names: Fred and George. They, along with the other Gryffindors, welcomed him with an overwhelming enthusiasm, chattering about the best food on the menu and the castle's magical secrets. This warmth seemed to be the very nature of the house, as vibrant and fiery as its banner.

Even Hermione and the other new students were quickly swept up in the infectious atmosphere. Feeling the genuine friendliness of the people around him, the confusion in Harry's eyes finally faded, replaced by a smile. He glanced at the distant, cold Slytherin table and felt a renewed certainty in his choice.

Perhaps there were good people in Slytherin. But from this day forward, he was a Gryffindor.

The Sorting Ceremony concluded quickly; no student this year made the hat deliberate for ten minutes, as it had for Evans. Now it was time for the Headmaster's speech.

Dumbledore, his white beard tucked into his belt, rose to his feet, a familiar, mischievous glint in his azure eyes. "Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words."

His tone was slow and formal, and a few of the first years sagged, expecting a long, boring lecture.

Then, Dumbledore's voice suddenly became bright and cheerful.

"And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down, beaming as applause filled the hall. While the start of school was rarely a happy occasion, the Hogwarts welcome feast was different. The Gryffindor table was the liveliest of all, with the Weasley twins orchestrating a celebration that felt more like a holiday party. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were peaceful, filled with the quiet chatter of older students sharing stories with the newcomers.

The Slytherin table, however, was shrouded in an eerie, oppressive silence. Everyone ate with their heads down, the atmosphere so cold it felt as if a Dementor had just passed through. The sixth and seventh-year students looked particularly grim. Seeing their expressions, the younger Slytherins wisely kept their mouths shut and focused on their plates.

Draco Malfoy found the scene deeply strange. His father had spoken of Slytherin as a house of pure-blood glory and honor. This, he supposed, was it. Such focus, even while eating! Truly the house of nobility!

But why did the older students look so miserable?

After a long, hesitant moment, Malfoy finally worked up the courage to nudge the upperclassman he recognized. "Flint? Why does everyone look so…"

"Shut up!" Marcus Flint hissed, glaring fiercely at Malfoy. He cast a cautious, almost fearful glance toward the teachers' table before leaning in and whispering harshly:

"This concerns the glory of Slytherin. It's not something a first year should be asking about!"

Malfoy stared back, utterly bewildered. "???"

(End of Chapter)

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