The train whistle sounded as the Hogwarts Express came to a halt, the air outside the compartment suddenly buzzing with excitement. Harry remained seated, waiting until the last of the students had disembarked. He wasn't eager to push through the crowd of excited first-years rushing towards the platform. His eyes lingered on the mass of students flowing down the corridor, their laughter and chatter muffled by the glass of the window he leaned against.
Finally, he stood, adjusting his robes as he stepped off the train, his movements quiet and careful. His heart raced as he fell to the back of the line, trailing behind the other first-years. The buzz of conversation around him was both comforting and alienating, a reminder that he had no place here, not yet.
Ahead of him, a tall, bearded man was calling out to the students, his voice booming and full of warmth.
"Firs' years! Firs' years, over here!"
The man waved a lantern high above his head, guiding the children towards the lake. Harry squinted, feeling as if he should recognize him. The living mountain looked kinder in the dim light, but Harry couldn't shake the cold knot of anxiety that had taken up residence in his chest. He kept his distance.
As he waited, he overheard a conversation just ahead of him. The voices were low, yet clear.
"Can you believe they let that oaf work here?" The boy's voice was sharp, filled with scorn. He was blonde, with pale skin and a haughty air. "Half-giant. Shouldn't even be allowed near civilized people, let alone teaching them. Father said that the half-breed spends his nights drinking and even set fire to his bloody hut once trying to do magic!"
Harry's eyes darted to the girl walking beside the boy. Her face was calm, cool, and unimpressed. Her dark blonde hair shimmered slightly in the dim light, and her sharp eyes gave the blond a sidelong glance.
"It doesn't really matter, does it, Draco?" she said. "As long as the education is proper, who cares about the staff McGonagall keeps?"
Draco scoffed. "You'd care if your sister was here, Greengrass. Hagrid is a danger to her, you know Astoria's fragile."
Greengrass's expression tightened, her jaw clenching slightly. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the man's, or Hagrid's, rather, booming voice cut through the air again, this time with an edge of impatience.
"Right, over here! Come on now! Let's get movin'!"
The students rushed forward, gathering around Hagrid at the edge of the lake. Boats bobbed gently in the water, their surfaces reflecting the soft glow of the lanterns hanging from their masts. Harry hesitated, watching as the other students climbed into the boats, their excitement bubbling over as they pointed towards the towering silhouette of Hogwarts Castle in the distance.
"Four to a boat!" Hagrid called, holding up his lantern. "We'll cross the lake, and then ye'll see Hogwarts fer the first time."
Harry stepped forward, finding himself at the last boat. Draco and Daphne had already climbed in, their faces dimly lit by the flickering lantern. There were two spaces left.
"Well, don't just stand there," Draco said, a hint of impatience in his voice as he motioned towards the empty seat. "Get on in."
Harry lowered his head and climbed into the boat, carefully avoiding Draco's gaze. He felt the weight of the other boy's eyes on him, studying him, waiting for something. But Harry said nothing. He stared down at his hands, the soft rocking of the boat making him feel nauseous. He wasn't used to boats, or lakes, or any of this.
"So, what's your name then?" Draco asked, his voice forcedly casual. When Harry didn't answer, Draco's brow furrowed, and a flicker of irritation crossed his features. "You're awfully quiet, aren't you?"
Harry remained silent, his eyes fixed on the water.
Draco huffed, his irritation growing. "You know, it's rude not to answer someone when they're talking to you. Don't you think, Daphne?"
"Draco," Daphne interrupted softly, her tone smooth but firm. She placed a hand on his forearm, her touch light but enough to still him. "Your tongue is your worst enemy."
Harry flinched at the mention of Draco's tongue, the memory of his own mutilation flashing painfully in his mind. His fingers twitched, tightening around the edge of the boat. Draco's eyes narrowed as he noticed Harry's reaction, but before he could say anything, Daphne's grip on his arm tightened slightly, and he let out a frustrated sigh, turning away.
The rest of the boat ride passed in tense silence. The castle loomed larger and larger as they glided across the Great Lake, its towering spires piercing the dark sky. The cold, damp air clung to Harry's skin, sending shivers down his spine. But despite the unease twisting in his stomach, he couldn't help but feel a sense of awe as he gazed up at the ancient fortress. Hogwarts was beautiful—dark and imposing, but beautiful all the same.
The boats drifted closer to the shore, and the students disembarked one after the other. Harry was the last to step onto the rocky ground, his legs shaky from the journey. Hagrid led them up a steep path, the castle growing ever closer with each step. By the time they reached the massive doors of the entrance hall, Harry's heart was racing. The sheer size of the place made him feel impossibly small.
Hagrid knocked loudly on the door, and a moment later, it swung open with a creak, revealing the stern figure of Headmistress McGonagall. Her eyes swept over the group of first-years, her expression as unreadable as ever. But when her gaze landed on Harry, there was a flicker of something in her eyes—pity. Harry's chest tightened. He hated it. He hated the way people looked at him, as if he were fragile, as if he needed to be handled with care.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," McGonagall said, her voice crisp and authoritative. "In a moment, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting Ceremony is a very important tradition here at Hogwarts, and the House you are placed in will be like your family for the next seven years. You will earn points for your House by excelling in your studies, and you will lose points for any rule-breaking."
She glanced at the terrified students and sighed, continuing her speech. "The four Houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House values different qualities, but all are esteemed in their own right.
He straightened slightly, keeping his face expressionless, though he could feel the weight of her gaze lingering longer than he was comfortable with.
"Thank you, Hagrid," McGonagall said crisply, her voice cutting through the air. "You can stay with the students for a few more moments, then lead them inside. They'll be called forward shortly."
"Right yeh are, Headmistr'ss," Hagrid replied, giving her a nod. His massive form loomed over the children, but his presence was now more of a comfort than an intimidation. McGonagall gave one last glance at the group, her eyes once more pausing briefly on Harry, before turning on her heel and stepping into the Great Hall, the door slamming shut behind her with an audible bang.
Hagrid turned to the first-years, giving them a wide smile. "Not long now," he said, his voice low and rumbling, but friendly. "Jus' gotta wait a few minutes, then I'll take yeh all in. Nothin' to worry about. Yer about to see Hogwarts proper now."
The students fidgeted with anticipation, some whispering nervously to each other. Harry stayed silent, watching the flickering torches that lined the corridor. He kept his hands tucked into his robes, the weight of hesitation settling deeper onto his shoulders.
After what felt like an eternity, but was likely only a few minutes, Hagrid finally motioned them to follow. "Alrigh', in yeh go. Stay close, an' remember—this is the start of somethin' great."
The students filed in behind him, their footsteps echoing on the stone floor as they crossed the threshold into the Great Hall. The heavy wooden doors opened with a groan, and Harry stepped forward, his breath catching in his throat as the magnificence of the room unfolded before him.
The ceiling above was impossibly high, reflecting the starry night sky outside, as if there were no roof at all. The floating candles that hung suspended in mid-air cast a warm, flickering glow over the four long tables that filled the room, where older students sat, all wearing their house colors. The room was filled with an expectant hum of voices, but it quieted as the first-years entered, all eyes turning towards them.
Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he walked alongside the others. The Hall was grander than anything he had ever seen, more magical than he could have ever imagined. The stone walls seemed ancient, filled with centuries of history, the banners of the four houses—Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin—draped from the rafters, their colors vivid against the stone. Everything felt enormous, the space both awe-inspiring and overwhelming.
Harry's eyes flicked to the front of the hall where the staff sat at an elevated table, each of them watching the new students with varying degrees of interest. But what caught his attention most was the sight of the Headmistress, standing tall beside a small stool. On top of it was a battered, old hat.
McGonagall waited with her usual composed expression, though Harry thought he detected a subtle tension in her posture. The Sorting Hat sat still, unremarkable and worn, but the room seemed to hold its breath, as if the entire hall knew what was coming next. Harry's stomach twisted slightly. This was the moment they'd all been waiting for—the Sorting. Where would he go?
He tore his eyes away from the staff table and scanned the students again. The older ones watched the new arrivals with varying degrees of curiosity, indifference or, in some cases, malice. Harry's gaze momentarily locked with a pair of freckled twins at the Gryffindor table, their grins mischievous and identical, and he saw a girl with bushy hair standing near the front of the line of first-years, staring wide-eyed at the enchanted ceiling.
It was hard to focus on anyone else for too long, though. The sheer scale of Hogwarts, its ancient majesty, made him feel impossibly small. The walls, the candles, the enchanted ceiling—all of it seemed to stretch beyond what should be possible, as though the castle itself was alive, watching, waiting for them to find their place within its sprawling, magical depths.
For a moment, Harry forgot about his fears, his uncertainties. Every issue faded into the background as he took in the magic around him. This was Hogwarts. And for the first time in his life, something about it momentatily felt like a home he never knew he could have.
McGonagall cleared her throat, ending Harry's reverie and silencing the hall. Harry's attention snapped back to the front as she picked up a scroll and prepared to call the first name. The Sorting was about to begin.
A few names later, Harry watched as Daphne Greengrass was sorted into Slytherin, her expression calm and composed as she took her seat. She placed a hand on the spot next to her. Probably for Draco.
Soon came Draco Malfoy. The hat took no time with him; the moment it touched his head it declared, "Slytherin!" And the boy strutted over to the Slytherin table, looking smug. He took his spot next to Greengrass. She greeted him a small, satisfied smile, which he returned with a smirk.
Hermione Granger, the bushy-haired girl from the train, stepped forward when her name was called. She was muttering under her breath even as she sat, her lips moving rapidly as if she were rehearsing some sort of mantra. The hat stayed on her name for at least a minute, during which Hermione's expression curiously shifted between anxious, horrified and relieved, before it shouted, "Gryffindor!"
Then, finally, it was Harry's turn.
"Potter, Harry!"
The name echoed through the hall, and for a moment, Harry froze. He didn't move, didn't breathe. All eyes were on him, waiting, but he couldn't bring himself to step forward.
"Potter, Harry!" McGonagall called again, a slight edge of impatience in her voice.
Slowly, reluctantly, Harry stepped forward, his legs feeling like lead as he approached the Sorting Hat. He sat down on the stool, and the hat was placed on his head.
"Ah, Potter," the Sorting Hat's voice whispered in his mind. Suddenly, It gave the mental equivalent of a horrified inhale. "I see... I see much in you. So much pain. So much fear."
Harry's heart raced. He wanted to scream, to rip the hat off his head, but he couldn't move. He couldn't let anyone see.
"Please," he thought, his mind trembling with the plea. "Don't tell anyone. Don't tell them what happened to me."
The hat paused, and Harry could feel it sifting through his memories, through the darkest parts of his mind.
"Secrets, hmm?" the hat said, its voice tinged with sympathy and revulsion. "I cannot reveal your secrets, Harry Potter. Unfortunately. That is not my purpose."
Harry exhaled, relief flooding through him. But the hat wasn't finished.
"You have ambition, child. Yet you belong in Hufflepuff," it said firmly. "You need a place where you can be supported, where you can heal."
Harry's blood boiled. "No," he thought fiercely. "I don't need help. I don't need anyone. I want to be strong. I want to be powerful. No one will hurt me again."
The hat hesitated. "Slytherin, then? Are you sure?"
"Yes," Harry replied, his thoughts burning with determination. "Slytherin."
The hat chuckled softly, its voice low and amused. "And brave like a Gryffindor. Very well, Harry Potter. If you wish to climb, to prove yourself... Remember to search for your strength beneath the stars. Slytherin!"
What?
Harry yanked the hat off his head, his mind reeling, but face expressionless as he stood and walked towards the Slytherin table. The hall was silent, the other students staring at him with wide eyes. At the head table, McGonagall looked as though she'd been struck. Her gaze darted towards Snape, who sat rigid in his seat, his silver goblet clenched tightly in his hand.
As Harry took his seat at the Slytherin table, Daphne nudged Draco, motioning for him to make space. Draco complied, his eyes flicking towards Harry with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Harry took the silently offered seat.
Once he sat, Draco leaned towards him impatiently. "Did you expect that?" asked, his voice low and intrigued.
Harry didn't respond. Malfoy's expression darkened, and his mouth twisted in irritation. But before he could say anything, Daphne kicked him under the table, her face calm but her eyes sharp.
"He has every right to stay silent," she said quietly. "He'll speak when he's ready. Welcome to Slytherin, Harry."
Harry gave her a small, strained smile, unsure of what else to do. It was awkward, but somehow, her words made him feel a little less foreign.
The Slytherin table buzzed with the excitement of new students, yet Harry sat in silence, his mind whirling with a mix of relief and anxiety. He had chosen Slytherin. He had chosen to be with the ambitious, the cunning, the ones who would help him rise. But the gnawing doubt remained—would they accept him, a boy who couldn't even speak for himself?
Across the hall, other first-years were still being sorted. Harry glanced at the Gryffindor table, where Hermione Granger had already seated herself, her bushy hair standing out in the crowd. He didn't know much about her, but she had seemed determined, if a bit nervous.
The voice of the Sorting Hat boomed again, announcing another Slytherin, this time Blaise Zabini, a tall, dark-skinned boy with an air of quiet arrogance. Blaise strutted over to the Slytherin table, his posture as composed and regal as Draco's had been. He took a seat further down, glancing at Harry briefly, his eyebrows furrowed, before turning his attention to the rest of the hall. Harry made a mental note to keep an eye on him.
Then, the voice that commanded the room every year rose above the murmurs. Professor McGonagall stood, her hands folded on her solar plexus. Every head turned towards her, the students falling into an anticipatory silence. She gazed across the hall.
"Welcome," she began, her tone strict yet warm. "To another year at Hogwarts. For those of you who are new, I bid you a special welcome. I hope you will find this place to be not only a school but a home away from home. There are rules, of course, and I expect you all to follow them." Her gaze swept across the Gryffindor table, where the Weasley twins sat. They immediately clasped their hands over their hearts in a theatrical display of mock innocence. Harry felt a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth but quickly wiped it away.
She went over the basic rules for less than a minute, specifying that there is to be no duelling or magic of any sort in the halls.
"Curfew begins at nine in the evening. The Forbidden Forest," McGonagall continued, her tone growing stern, "is strictly off-limits to all students. I cannot stress this enough. Those who venture there do so at their own peril."
Her eyes flicked once more towards the Weasley twins, who exchanged exaggeratedly hurt looks. The rest of the Gryffindor table chuckled softly at the twins' antics, but McGonagall's lips remained a thin line of disapproval. Harry noticed Draco sneer in disgust.
Afterwards, McGonagall gave a final nod and announced the beginning of the feast. Almost instantly, the golden plates before them filled with a feast Harry could have only dreamed of. Roasted meats, vegetables, pies, and puddings appeared in abundance, the smell alone enough to make his stomach growl loudly.
Harry stared at the food in front of him, his throat tight. His hands itched to reach out, to grab a plate and fill it with as much food as he could. But a dark, familiar voice whispered at the back of his mind: No dinner for you tonight, boy. If you're lucky, maybe you'll get some scraps in the morning. His hands clenched into fists beneath the table.
He would never be denied food again.
Determined, Harry piled his plate high with chicken and mash, forcing thoughts of the Dursleys from his mind. As he took his first bite, he imagined the taste of roast chicken overwhelming his senses. With each piece, he swallowed a pang of desperate, rabid hatred. He ate quickly, not bothering to pace himself, each bite a reminder that he was finally free of the cupboard, free of the starvation that had been his reality for years.
"Eat slower, Potter. You'll make yourself sick. There are rules to this House," Daphne said softly beside him. Harry glanced at her, his mouth full, and nodded slightly in acknowledgment. He chewed at a more sedate pace, though the instinct to wolf down his food was hard to resist.
Across the table, Draco shot him another glance. "You don't talk much, do you?"
Harry didn't respond, as he hadn't to anyone else. His silence seemed to rankle Draco more and more with each passing moment.
"He's got every right to keep his thoughts to himself, Draco," Daphne said, kicking Draco under the table again. "Fortunately, not everyone is as eager to speak their mind as you are."
Draco rolled his eyes but said nothing further, his gaze flicking between Harry and Daphne as though trying to solve a puzzle. It was clear that the blonde boy didn't appreciate being outmaneuvered, even if it was by a friend.
"Besides," Daphne added, "it's his first day. Maybe he's just trying to get a feel for the place." She gave Harry a small, encouraging nod, and he responded with a barely perceptible smile, the first true one he'd managed all evening.
As the feast continued, Harry found himself cautiously observing his new housemates. Blaise Zabini had settled in quietly, picking at his food with an air of practiced indifference. Pansy Parkinson, a girl with dark hair and a haughty look, was chatting animatedly with a few other Slytherins, occasionally tossing glances at Draco. Most of the older students seemed engrossed in their own conversations, paying little attention to the first-years, except for a few sharp, curious glances in Harry's direction.
When the plates finally cleared themselves, Professor McGonagall stood again, silencing the hall once more. Her voice rang out clearly, commanding the attention of every student in the room.
"Prefects, please escort the first-years to their respective common rooms. I expect you all to follow your House Prefects and not wander off. Welcome to Hogwarts."
As she sat down, the Slytherin prefects rose from their seats. The one nearest Harry, a tall, lean boy with a sharp jawline and cold eyes, called for the first-years to follow him.
"First-years, with me," he commanded. "I'm Adrian Pucey, and this is Dorea Warrington. We'll be your guides to the Slytherin common room."
The other prefect, Warrington, shot Harry a cold, disdainful glare, her eyes narrowing in a way that made his skin crawl. He could feel the hostility radiating from her. But before he could react, Pucey leaned over and hissed something in her ear, too low for Harry to hear. Whatever he said seemed to make Warrington back down, though the hatred in her eyes didn't wane.
"Keep up, first-years," Pucey barked as he led the way out of the hall.
Harry fell into step behind him, with Draco and Daphne flanking him on either side. As they made their way through the winding corridors of the castle, the excitement of the evening began to give way to exhaustion and apprehension. The cold stone walls of the dungeons loomed ominously around them as they descended deeper into Hogwarts, the flickering torchlight casting long, eerie shadows.
The other first-years whispered nervously among themselves, their footsteps echoing off the walls. Harry could feel the weight of the castle pressing in on him, the reality of his new life settling heavily on his shoulders. He was in Slytherin now—a house he'd read to be famous for its ambition, its cunning, its ruthlessness. He wasn't sure what to expect, but one thing was certain: this was no place for weakness.
As they arrived at the entrance to the Slytherin common room, Pucey turned to face them, his expression unreadable.
"Welcome to Slytherin," he said, his voice low and firm. "Remember, this is your House now. We protect our own, but we also expect greatness. There will be no discord among Slytherins outside the common room. Any such will be met by severe punishment. Do not disappoint us. Purity!"
The stone door to the common room slid open, revealing a dimly lit space filled with dark green and silver decor. The room was cold and quiet, the only sound the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. Harry followed the others inside, his mind racing with thoughts of what lay ahead.
He was in Slytherin now, and whatever happened next, he would face it alone.
But alone, Harry Potter had learned, was the safest way to be.
Lost in his thoughts, he missed Draco's calculating stare.