"What house do you think you'll be sorted into? I'll be Gryffindor. All my family is," the redheaded boy said with a bright smile.
Harry simply shrugged his shoulders. Unknown to most people, Harry had been blessed—or cursed—with the ability to remember every day of his life since the day he was born. As a little boy, much of what went on around him went over his head, but as he grew older, remembered conversations began to have more meaning. He vaguely knew about the Houses at Hogwarts, though not well enough to have a specific one he desired to be placed in.
"Will you tell me about them?" he asked quietly.
"Well, Gryffindor's the best. It's where all of the brave wizards and the heroes go! Then there's Ravenclaw, where all the bookworms go. Hufflepuff is supposed to be for people who are loyal, but my brothers say it's really just the house for the leftovers. The last one is Slytherin. I'd just die if I were sorted there—it's where all the evil wizards and witches go!"
Harry snorted. "Come on, now, "evil" can't really be its values!"
"Well, no," Ron admitted. "They're supposed to be cunning and resourceful, I suppose. Bunch of slimy snakes, if you ask me."
"Potter, Harry!"
Harry separated himself from his agemates and walked silently towards the stool, keeping his head low and his eyes downcast. The stern-looking, older witch dropped the hat on his head, and, being much too large. It covered nearly his entire face down to his nose.
"Hm, difficult! Very difficult! Courage, I see; not a bad mind either; there's talent, oh yes, and a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you? No preference?"
"Slytherin," he whispered.
"You don't wish for the same house as your parents?" The hat seemed surprised. Then, suddenly, it seemed to understand. "Ah, I see. You seek another. Slytherin indeed." The hat cried out, for all to hear, "Slytherin!"
With a smile, Harry lifted the hat from his head, only to freeze. The Hall was silent as death. All around him, students and professors stared at him with wide eyes and gaping mouths. Harry desperately looked over at Ron to see the boy's eyes ablaze with hatred. Swiveling, he looked at Slytherin table to see the students divided, some looking shocked and others looking malicious. Harry could feel the blood draining from his face.
Severus could see the Potter boy clearly from his seat at the Head Table. He, like everyone else, was shocked to see the boy sorted anywhere but Gryffindor, but he was appalled by the reaction of the other students, and especially the staff. He could see panic starting to dawn in the boy's eyes, but when he made eye contact, the boy froze, something intangible flickering in his green gaze, so like Lily's. With a jerk of his head, he directed the Boy Who Lived to the Slytherin table. The boy sat at the edge of the bench, hunching his shoulders and keeping his head low, looking for all the world like he wanted to disappear. The silence continued.