II-She really, really didn't want to be sorted into Slytherin

But she ended up there anyway.

By the time I arrived at Hogwarts, the press were used to it: with a Weasley-Potter, no-one knew what to expect. Sure, most had been sorted into Gryffindor (Victoire, James, Dominique, Fred, Roxanne, Molly, Albus), but there had been a couple Ravenclaws (Rose, Lucy) and a Hufflepuff (Louis).

Believe it or not, we – Hugo and I – made the headlines on August 31st (by then James and Al had told me our father was famous, something which he had kept from us for as long as possible). The press was debating what house we would be placed in.

The top choice for Hugo was Ravenclaw. I think that's because one time, they were interviewing the whole family on May 1st and he said something about having read Albus Dumbledore: The Truth of the Matter which is about ten million pages long and not really common reading for a then nine-year-old.

The top choice for me? Gryffindor. Like James, like Al who was so scared the day of the Sorting that he wouldn't get into Gryffindor. Scared he'd be in Slytherin.

So, yeah. When Professor Longbottom cried, "Potter, Lily!" I stepped up and everyone fell silent. Not because they were awed by my presence (that had been when James, the first Harry Potter Offspring to get to Hogwarts, was Sorted), but because they now knew I could be anywhere and wanted to pay attention (this started only when Lucy Weasley was sorted into Ravenclaw, and the other houses realised that if they were lucky, they could get a celebrity hanging out every night in their common room).

I remember my Sorting very clearly. Probably the most terrifying moment of my life.

The Hat was too big and shielded my face from view, throwing me into a world of pitch-black darkness. And the most unsettling thing was, I could hear it. Hear it speaking to me, telling me what it thought. It was...freaky.

Ah, a Potter. The last of them, if I'm not mistaken.

You aren't.

Ooh, I have a talker-backer here, it seems. Interesting...very interesting.

You want a 'talker-backer', go and find James.

Yes, I've had him as well. But he was different. Clever, but careless. Rash and full of ideals. Very brave; he was perfectly suited to Gryffindor. But you, my dear...Where shall I put you?

Not Slytherin, I thought fiercely. Anywhere but there. I don't want to go there.

And this wasn't just prejudice, although there was a fair amount of that too. No, there was also the fact that I was a shy eleven-year-old and the Potter Duo's baby sister. As such, I couldn't imagine life without my family. And by the time I went to Hogwarts, there weren't that many Weasley-Potters there anymore.

There was James, who was in his fifth year, and Al, who was in his third, and Molly, who was in her seventh. All were Gryffindors. And there was Rose, in her third like Al, and Louis, in his fourth. A Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff.

But no Slytherin. And I didn't want to be alone.

But apparently the Hat didn't understand, or maybe it didn't really care, because the next thing I knew, it had announced me a "SLYTHERIN" and I was standing hesitantly, facing a sea of surprised – disappointed, even – expressions, and I was feeling dizzy, sick, and I lifted the Hat off my head and flung it back onto the stool as though it were a poisonous snake.

Snake.

I was going into the house of snakes.

Slytherin.

Silence. No-one said anything, or moved. Even the teachers looked at a loss for words. I closed my eyes, wishing myself to suddenly disappear, to be elsewhere, anywhere but there, not here, not here...

Clap.

I opened one eye.

Clap.

And the other.

Clap.

A boy, standing up at the Slytherin table. Silvery-blond hair, and tall - possibly a third year. He was clapping. He was the only one clapping, and he was doing it slowly, but he was clapping. For me. For the new member of his house. Slytherin solidarity. He was looking right at me, and I suddenly felt grateful, ever so grateful to a Slytherin.

Perhaps the Sorting Hat hadn't made a mistake, after all.

As though they all suddenly agreed with me, the entire Slytherin table burst into an uneasy applause, soon joined by the Hufflepuffs and then, almost simultaneously, by the Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws. But I had eyes only for my own personal Saviour.

I made my way to the Slytherin table, and my steps were almost steady, almost not teetering and wobbling. I sat down next to him. And I thanked him.

"You're thanking me?" he asked. "Is this some kind of joke?"

I blushed. The girl sitting across from me, a second-year with angular features softened by long blond hair, said:

"Ignore him, he's a git."

"Who is he?" I asked in a hushed voice, hoping he wouldn't hear.

He probably did, though. I was, after all, sitting right next to him.

"He's nobody."