Disclaimer: We do not own Harry Potter. However, we do own the plot. Please don't steal it.
This was coauthored by both my cousin and I. You can find more of her works on AO3 at megaloveania. We might continue this in the future, but updates will be slow and sporadic. For now, it'll stand as a oneshot.
You are eleven years old.
Your Hogwarts letter has just arrived, and your family isn't surprised. They are a family of Gryffindors, after all. There's no doubt that you'll be one, as well. You've been expecting it — they've been expecting it.
You can't let them down.
Today is the day.
The day that you become a Gryffindor.
Your name is called, and you step forward, a proud expression upon your face.
This is the day where you become a student. A Gryffindor— apart of a family.
You put on the Sorting Hat, your grin growing wider, and you glance towards the Gryffindor table — what will become all that you know.
And then the hat yells out 'SLYTHERIN,' and your mind is going a mile a minute. This wasn't supposed to happen; this was supposed to be your day of glory. You were supposed to be a Gryffindor. You were supposed to be one of them.
The flags turn green. The tables boo. Even the one you were supposed to be apart of; the one with your hopes, and your dreams.
But what good is that, when it has all vanished?
You were supposed to walk toward the table of the lions— the ones who were brave, who were heroes, who were your siblings. But all of your siblings turn their backs. Each step towards the table of snakes – the Slytherin table – feels sluggish, heavy.
You feel numb, and you sit down, and another name is called to wear the hat.
A few hours later, you're at their house, with the Slytherins, and for the first time today, you cry. You're only eleven years old, and you've been shown sneers from everyone.
Everyone, that is, except the Slytherins.
You sob and break down in tears; you don't care who hears, or who sees. This was supposed to be your day— your own, special day.
You don't notice, but there are others, too. Others who are crying. Others who had dreams; who wanted to be a part of other houses.
The older kids come over to you, and you realize — they've been through this, too. They've been through the sneers, the glares, the jeers. You've been through them too, just now. And you'll all go through them together.
For the first time, since you sat down at that table… you feel welcomed. You give a small, satisfied smile, and Hogwarts finally feels like home.
At least in the Slytherin common room, you're safe. Safe from the judging eyes, safe from the turned up noses, and contempt. At least in Slytherin, you're accepted for who you are. Even if your parents shun you, or if the other teachers hate you, you will always, always have Slytherin. The only thing they ask is that you adopt their mottos, and you know what? They don't seem so bad anymore.
You keep crying, but it's not out of sadness anymore. But it's not out of happiness, either. It's more of a bittersweet kind of feeling.
But this is home, now, and it's beautiful. You look around, for the first time. You notice that you're under a lake, and the water seems to create a reassuring noise. The green reminds you of the grass above. The moonlight glistens through, and the beams shimmer across the floor in shining waves.
So, Gryffindor can go idiotically stumble into whatever trouble it gets into. Ravenclaw can go be the stuck-up brats they seem to act like, and really, how loyal and kind are the Hufflepuffs when they only show it to three out of four houses? Slytherin will always be there for you, arms waiting to envelop you into a comforting embrace.
And, with that thought in your head, you go to a bed – your bed – and you're tucked into bed by one of the older Slytherins. They bid you goodnight; you tell them the same. You close your eyes, and fade away into a blissful sleep.