I've been described using a lot of words, some of them absolutely not fit at all for public consumption. But if I had to pick one of them to describe myself, it would absolutely be stubborn. If I chose a course of action, I'd stick with it, no matter what. I am a master of the sunk cost fallacy. I don't give up on anything ever, even if giving up is a very sensible idea.

I know being in Slytherin would make my life tremendously more difficult. I wouldn't be able to quietly glide under the radar as I had hoped (though that plan was probably shot to bits when I learned I was famous anyway). I was putting myself at risk, not just in terms of reputation, but perhaps even physically. I also did not care. I hate injustice. I despise it with the fury of a thousand suns. I've lived my life according to one simple philosophy: Whatever the Dursleys do, I do the opposite. They love injustice (unless it's happening to them, naturally). They would have no problem just sitting there and letting innocent children get maligned for something a monster did.

I happen to have a huge problem with that.

So I remained completely resolute as I was led into the Great Hall of Hogwarts which, to quote Hermione verbatim, is bewitched to look like the sky. Picture time!

[Image description: An absolutely massive dining hall not unlike the dining hall at Christ Church college in Oxford, lit by thousands of candles floating in midair, and, indeed, the ceiling obscured by an enchantment showing the very sky outside.]

On a happier note, it turns out ghosts are real! Does this mean the afterlife is real? It turns out no one knows, not even the ghosts, who chose a ghostly existence instead of moving on to whatever comes next. But still, it's a positive step in that direction, which is nice. I'd like to think Mum and Dad are out there somewhere in the cosmos, though I hope they haven't been watching me, because all the things the Dursleys did to me probably would have made them so angry that they'd have died again with the force of it.

Someone put a hat on a chair. This would have been strange enough, but then it manifested a mouth and started to sing. Thank goodness I had the presence of mind to record the song.

[Audio description: {It's the same Sorting Hat song from the book; read the book if you can't remember.}]

"Well, I think the hat was right about one thing," Hermione said softly and very, very tentatively. "I think I will make my real friends in Slytherin." Ron and I gave a grin at her. She was right. Well, technically she was wrong, since she'd already made friends before being sorted into Slytherin, but you know what I mean.

"We're there for you, Hermione," I vowed.

Thankfully, we didn't have to wrestle a troll, as Ron's brother had tried to convince him. Instead, we had to put the hat on our head and it apparently read our minds and decided which house we were supposed to be in. This struck me as a massive invasion of privacy, but I had a hunch it would probably be best if I picked my battles.

Ron and I waited patiently for Hermione's name to be called. I squeezed her hand for good luck. The candles must not have been doing their job properly because Hermione's cheeks flushed a little from the cold before she walked up to the hat, regal as a queen (even though I knew she was terrified inside.)

The hat was on her head for several minutes. Several adults started looking at their watches and looked vaguely concerned. Hermione looked downright furious at several points in the invisible conversation. But in the end, she got what she wanted: the hat finally yelled out "SLYTHERIN!" and Hermione strode over to the Slytherin table. I high fived Ron. Our plan was working.

Everyone seemed to react to Hermione's sorting in different ways. Some students looked absolutely flummoxed. They must have known she was a Muggleborn and that Muggleborn students were a rarity in Slytherin. A number of the Slytherin students looked outright disgusted and murderous, but not as many as you would expect. Some of them looked intrigued, but many just didn't care. They were normal students out to live their lives. They didn't care about the nonsense their parents had fought for.

Draco, tragically, got sorted into Slytherin very quickly, though by the look on his face, not as quick as he'd been expecting. I groaned audibly. Dealing with this idiot for seven years would grow old fast. At least I would have Ron to serve as a buffer.

Before I knew it, I was being called to the stage. Whispering followed me as it would so many times over the next couple of years, no doubt. And as I knew I would do many times in the future, I just ignored them. They didn't matter. They were wrong about me. I didn't do anything to defeat Voldemort. How could I? I was a baby.

Ah, Mr. Potter, the hat said with satisfaction. I've been waiting for you. And, my, you do seem to have your heart set on Slytherin, do you not? I must say, the crop of Slytherins in recent years have been a disappointment. Mind you, these things come and go – it's nothing compared to the class of 1497; a bigger group of psychopaths I've never seen and hopefully won't see again.

They're a bunch of bigots and racists, I thought with disgust. I want Slytherin to be more.

And so do I. You are the sort of person Salazar told me to put in his house. A man with a vision for the future and a willingness to use subtlety and cunning to achieve it. Your personal vision may be small – your shop – but what matters is you are willing to fight for it.

Really? I thought, feeling proud. Slytherin himself would have wanted me here?

The Sorting Hat laughed. Oh, goodness me, no. He would have thought your compassion was a weakness. The man was not a blood purist as history portrays him – though he hated Muggles passionately – but he was a stone cold sociopath who hated altruism with a burning passion. But what we say we want and what we actually want are not always the same thing. A lesson, perhaps, for you in future years, Mr. Potter. In the meantime, go forth and help redeem the house of "SLYTHERIN!"

Gasps openly filled the room. My sorting had thrown everyone completely for a loop. Some people looked as if the end times were nearing and that made me very, very angry. People should not judge a child based on what school house he went into. The very idea was absurd and I would put an end to it. By the time I graduated, I'd change everyone's minds. I vowed it there and then. They'd just have to suck it up and deal with their so called savior going into Slytherin. Whatever it took, I would do it.

"A Potter in Slytherin," a blond girl drawled. "Quite the unexpected turn of events." She turned and looked over at Hermione. "Though no less unexpected than a Muggleborn, I suppose."

"Who might you be?" I asked politely.

The girl cracked a smile. "Yes, of course, I forgot you're not aware. Daphne Greengrass, good to meet you." We shook hands. Nearby, Draco looked like he was going to have steam pouring out his ears any second now.

"Nice to meet you too, Daphne," I said. "Don't tell anyone I told you this, but I'm not going to be the last surprise of the day."

People started to ask me all sorts of questions. Questions about the Muggle world, about how I managed to defeat Voldemort, what exactly my ambitions were. I answered them all to the best of my ability, even the ones that annoyed me in the extreme. It didn't pay to burn any bridges on the very first day.

Before I knew it, the time for Ron to be called up had arrived. Ron was trembling in fear, but I gave him an encouraging thumbs up and he steeled his courage enough to make his way up to the hat. Maybe in another life he would have made an excellent Gryffindor. Me? I can't imagine being in that house. It wasn't as if I had anything against them, per se – it's just that they were so boisterous. I like peace and quiet.

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat roared in mere seconds and I let out a cry of pure excitement, prompting an angry look from Deputy Headmistress McGonagall.

Ron made his way to our table, but he looked miserable, and sneaking a peek at the Gryffindor table allowed me to realize why. His brothers did not look happy. In particular, his Prefect brother Percy looked downright furious and disgusted. In that moment, I hated all of them with a burning passion. What did it matter what colors a person wore or what people they lived with? All that mattered was what was in their heart. And if they thought Ron had somehow become a bad person – or been one all along – just because he was in a different house than them, then they didn't know him at all. They didn't deserve Ron Weasley.

"Congrats, mate," I said, slapping Ron hard on the back as he sat down at the table. "We're going to do great things here."

"It didn't even hesitate," Ron said quietly. I was unsure whether he was proud or disturbed by this statement and I knew for certain he wasn't sure either. "Well, I'm here now. Let's make the most of it, right?"

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "I'm presuming you have some sort of scheme in mind?"

"I do indeed, Daphne," I said with a winning smile. "I'm going to redeem Slytherin's reputation if it's the last thing I do. I could have gone into Gryffindor," a lie, but she didn't need to know it, "but that'd be easy. And I don't believe in doing things easy."

Daphne gave a huge grin that seemed jarring on her previously stoic face. "Neither do I."

"You don't belong here," Draco snarled. "None of you."

"Try and stop me, Draco," I said pleasantly. "I dare you." I wasn't scared of this moron. I'm not often scared of anyone, but especially someone who didn't even know about skyscrapers.

I cast my eyes over at the staff table, looking for Professor Sinistra, our head of house. She turned out to be a ludicrously old woman, though looking rather sprightly for a woman who made McGonagall look like, well, my age. She seemed like she was dotty and flighty, but I could sense it was an act. Sinistra was as sharp as a tack; I knew it in my bones. I just hope she wouldn't live up to her name.

Also present at the staff table was an elderly man sitting in an elaborate throne who could only have been Dumbledore. With how manipulative he'd been so far, I had a hunch he was bad news to me, but I'd cross that bridge when I came to it.

One of the Slytherins prefects pointed to a pleasant looking, utterly nondescript man with sandy blond hair in his late forties sitting next to McGonagall. "That's our new potions professor, Colm O'Neill. Apparently, he was homeschooled and got his degree in America. No one seems to know much about him, but he's better than Snape was, at least."

"Professor Snape was the best thing to happen to Slytherin," Draco protested.

"No, Malfoy, he was not," the prefect said sternly. "Sure, we won the House Cup over and over again, but only because he gamed the system. He was surly and argumentative and cruel and those were his good qualities. He put us in a race to the bottom, taking out his limitless anger on all other houses."

"The people in those houses hate us!" Draco said. "Professor Snape was just leveling the playing field!"

Shall I bite him? Ishtaran asked in a whisper.

I shook my head minutely. I didn't want to reveal that I was a Parselmouth. Eventually, I would, but at an opportune time of my choosing. Not now. No, now was the time for stealth. For guile. For eating the damn food already!

But no one appeared to have given old Dumbledore the memo, because he kept on droning on about unimportant things like, I don't know, administrative stuff like the third floor being closed because someone died a very painful death there. I wasn't paying attention. I have difficulties paying attention sometimes. I wonder if I can get magical medication for that.

Finally, the old blowhard finished and I could get to the food. "What do you suppose all that was about?" Ron asked. "The whole don't go to the third floor corridor or you'll die thing?"

"Seems self-explanatory to me," I commented. "Why should I care at all?" I mean, it's not like I'm a character in a novel and this is my call to adventure, am I right or am I right? No, I have more important concerns. Restoring Slytherin's reputation. Looking up magical zoning law. Trolling Draco like there's no tomorrow. The finer things in life.

When the dinner was over, Sinistra and the Prefects escorted us to the dungeons. Yes, you read that right. In keeping with the absolutely crappy way our house was being treated, we got our common room in the bloody dungeons. Absolutely ridiculous. No wonder people think of my house as evil when we've got some frigging mad scientist lair. I mean, just take a look at this!

[Image description: The dank and dramatic common room of Slytherin House. We are basically underwater here. You can see merfolk. And a giant squid. And do not get me wrong, that is all very cool, but what if the windows break? We all drown, that's what. Hopefully, there's some sort of magical defense against that. I have my doubts.]

"Slytherin is changing," Professor Sinistra informed us. Her voice was creaky and she looked like she might collapse at any second, yet there was still something mysterious and charismatic about her. "In past years, certain individuals who shall not be named gave this house a foul reputation. We became known for our bigotry rather than our embrace of new ideas. This ends today. This year, we have more Muggleborns than at any year since the Muggleborn Renaissance of the 1960s. We will embrace this. We will no longer cater to hidebound and unimportant prejudices."

"What?!" Draco shouted. "Wait until my father hears about this!"

"If your father seeks to openly espouse the ideals he was ostensibly controlled into supporting, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Sinistra said sharply, "then he is an idiot who is a disgrace to Slytherin house. What will happen is your father will wait and see where the political winds shift and he will not come running at the beck and call of his eleven year old son."

Draco reared backwards as if he had been slapped. "Young Mr. Malfoy," Professor Sinistra continued in a much gentler tone, "you cannot bully your way into success anymore. The ideal Slytherin adapts. I am sure you can do the same." I was not.

After proceeding to go over your standard administrative stuff, Professor Sinistra pulled out her wand and opened up, and I kid you not, an actual wormhole. Turns out that astronomy professor title of hers? Not for show. She stepped through it and was gone in a literal flash. If I were five years older and she was two hundred years younger, I'm pretty sure I'd be in love.

COMMENTS

m&aweasley: Hello, Harry, this is Ron's parents, Molly and Arthur. (And Ginny, his younger sister! I'll be at Hogwarts next year. Did you really slay a dragon and rescue a princess from a tower when you were seven?) Yes, thank you, dear. We've sent Ron a letter already, but we asked one of the parents we met at the Muggleborn social we helped host to help us with this Internet thingy so we can get this message to him as quickly as possible.

We are all extremely proud of him and we don't care one iota what house he's in, as long as it's the right one for him. We're sorry to hear his brothers aren't feeling the same, but we're sure they'll come around. We're very pleased he has a friend like you and wish you the best of luck redeeming Slytherin's reputation. Molly's brothers were in Slytherin and fought for the light alongside your parents. Unfortunately, they're no longer with us either, but I'm sure they'd be very proud of and especially your nephew.

Your aunt and uncle seem absolutely dreadful and if there's anything we can do to help you on that end, please do let us know! We can turn them into newts! Arthur! They'll get better!

Ron is absolutely over the moon (a Muggle expression meaning he's very happy) to hear you're okay with him being in Slytherin. You seem like such great parents, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. I'm glad Ron has people like you to rely on. I wonder if my parents would have been as good.

And, no, Ginny, I didn't have any sort of adventures like that. I'm actually rather ordinary, I'm sorry to say. But I can't wait to meet you and Ishtaran says the same!

Dear Mum and Dad,

It's me, your daughter Hermione! Well, matters certainly have gotten interesting here at Hogwarts. I'm happy to announce that I've already made two excellent friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. The three of us were sorted into Slytherin house. It's traditionally regarded as the "evil" house and has not always been very friendly to Muggleborns like me, but my friends and I are determined to change this!

I'm not so sure Headmaster Dumbledore is willing to do the same, though. His behavior has been, well, I'm not going to sugarcoat it…quite alarming. First, at the welcome feast, he specifically stated one of the corridors is out of bounds for anyone who does not wish to die a painful death. That's just asking for children to go and search it out!

But even worse, I was summoned to his office not one hour ago along with Ron. And it turns out he wants both of us to spy on Harry! Apparently, since he was sorted into Slytherin, he is "susceptible to dark influences" who might want to "kill, or, worse, corrupt our Savior." I swear, this man has lost the plot! I don't think he even knows we're among those "dark influences" in question. He offered us money. From Harry's vault! It's obscene and frankly, I'm frightened! I pretended as if I accepted the offer, and after some gentle prompting from me, Ron did the same. Of course we told Harry straight away. He seemed to find the whole thing rather funny.

But I'm terrified Dumbledore saw through our ruses. I know you're probably thinking I should leave, and I understand why you might think that, but I have to stay. I can't leave Harry all alone. The next people Dumbledore might ask to spy on him might mean it! What on earth should I do?

Love,

Hermione

Dear Hermione,

Have no fear, your father and I will not require you to withdraw from Hogwarts, so long as you continue to keep us consistently informed.

This Dumbledore seems like a very confused man and I wonder if he might be losing his mind in his old age. Perhaps there is a higher authority you can reach out to, a school board of some sort. Failing that, perhaps you should record your next conversation with him and send it to the press.

If you believe yourself to be in danger, remember: a strike to the groin in time can save nine!

Lots of love,

Mum