The Great Hall was alive with anticipation as the first-years entered, their wide-eyed gazes fixed on the enchanted ceiling above. Stars twinkled in the vast expanse of magical sky, and the flickering candles floating above the long tables cast a warm glow over the room. The Sorting Hat sat on its stool at the front, worn and frayed but brimming with ancient magic. Christopher Sterling walked in with measured steps, his swords strapped securely to his back and his wands hidden beneath his robes. His emerald-green eyes scanned the hall, noting the curious glances from older students and professors alike.
Daphne Greengrass walked a few paces ahead of him, her blonde hair shimmering under the candlelight. She carried herself with grace and poise, her presence commanding attention without effort. Christopher couldn't take his eyes off her, but he forced himself to focus as Professor McGonagall began calling names.
"Abbott, Hannah!" McGonagall's voice rang out, and one by one, students approached the Sorting Hat. The ceremony proceeded smoothly until McGonagall's voice took on a peculiar edge.
"Sterling, Christopher."
The room fell silent. Whispers rippled through the crowd like waves.
"Sterling? Is he related to those Muggle billionaires?"
"But look at him—he doesn't seem ordinary…"
"What's with those swords? Who brings weapons to Hogwarts?"
Christopher stepped forward confidently. His name had drawn attention, but it wasn't just his surname that intrigued them—it was his presence. He exuded power and mystery, and even the professors seemed curious.
As he approached the Sorting Hat, McGonagall glanced at him with an expression of mild surprise. "Christopher Sterling Slytherin," she said formally, her tone betraying a hint of astonishment.
The hall erupted into chaos.
"Slytherin? Did she say Slytherin?"
"Is he related to Salazar Slytherin?"
"Impossible! He's a Muggle-born!"
Even Albus Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, his twinkling blue eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Christopher.
Christopher ignored the commotion and sat on the stool. The Sorting Hat was placed on his head, its voice immediately filling his mind.
"Well, well," it said thoughtfully. "A most unusual case indeed. Vast magical reserves… ambition… intelligence… loyalty… oh my, what a legacy you carry."
Christopher remained silent, waiting for the hat's decision.
"You belong in Slytherin," it said firmly. "There's no question about it."
The hat shouted its decision aloud: "SLYTHERIN!"
The Slytherin table erupted into cheers while other tables murmured in confusion. Christopher stood and made his way toward his house table, ignoring the stares and whispers that followed him.
Next came Daphne's turn. She approached the stool with effortless elegance, her name drawing murmurs of recognition from students who knew of her family's influence.
"Greengrass, Daphne," McGonagall called out.
The Sorting Hat barely touched Daphne's head before shouting: "SLYTHERIN!"
She joined Christopher at the Slytherin table without hesitation, her movements graceful as always. She glanced at him briefly but said nothing.
Finally, Harry Potter was called forward. The hall held its breath as he approached the Sorting Hat.
"Potter, Harry," McGonagall said.
The Sorting Hat took its time deliberating over Harry's placement before finally declaring: "SLYTHERIN!"
The hall froze in stunned silence before erupting into chaos once again. Harry looked bewildered but made his way to the Slytherin table, where Christopher offered him a reassuring nod.
Harry's POV
The Great Hall was unlike anything Harry Potter had ever seen. The enchanted ceiling reflected the night sky, its stars twinkling brightly above the flickering candles that floated in midair. The long tables were laden with food—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, pumpkin juice, and a variety of magical dishes Harry couldn't even name. It was overwhelming, but also oddly comforting.
Harry sat at the Slytherin table, still trying to process the events of the Sorting Ceremony. He hadn't expected to be placed in Slytherin—he'd heard so many bad things about the house—but Christopher Sterling's calm reassurance made it seem less daunting. Christopher sat beside him, his emerald-green eyes scanning the hall with quiet intensity. His swords rested in their scabbards on his back, and though they were sheathed, their presence was commanding. Harry couldn't help but admire him; Christopher carried himself with a confidence and maturity that seemed far beyond his eleven years.
On Christopher's other side was Daphne Greengrass, a girl who exuded elegance and poise. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her green eyes sparkled like gems under the candlelight. She had barely spoken since the Sorting but seemed perfectly at ease, her posture straight and regal.
Harry glanced at her nervously before turning to Christopher. "So… Slytherin," he said awkwardly, trying to break the silence.
Christopher smirked slightly. "Not what you were expecting?"
Harry shook his head. "Not at all. I thought I'd be in Gryffindor."
Daphne spoke up then, her voice smooth and refined. "The Sorting Hat places you where you'll thrive, not necessarily where you think you belong."
Harry nodded slowly, still unsure about what "thriving" in Slytherin would look like.
Before he could say more, a girl with auburn hair and bright hazel eyes approached their table. She wore her Slytherin robes neatly, though her demeanor was far more relaxed than Daphne's.
"Tracey Davis," she said cheerfully as she slid into the seat next to Daphne. "Mind if I join you?"
Christopher nodded politely while Harry smiled nervously. Daphne gave Tracey a small smile—one that seemed reserved for old friends.
"Hello, Tracey," Daphne said warmly. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
Tracey grinned and leaned back in her seat. "You know me—always fashionably late."
Harry couldn't help but notice how different Tracey was from Daphne. Where Daphne was elegant and composed, Tracey was lively and approachable. Her hazel eyes sparkled with mischief, and her auburn hair framed her face in soft waves that gave her an air of warmth.
"So," Tracey said, turning to Christopher and Harry, "what do we have here? The Boy Who Lived and… someone who looks like he walked out of a legend."
Christopher chuckled softly but said nothing.
Harry blushed slightly under Tracey's scrutiny. "I'm Harry Potter," he said awkwardly.
"I know," Tracey replied with a wink. "Everyone knows who you are."
She turned her attention to Christopher next. "And you must be Christopher Sterling—the one everyone's whispering about."
Christopher raised an eyebrow but remained composed. "I suppose that's me."
Tracey leaned forward conspiratorially. "So… what's with the swords?"
Christopher smirked faintly. "A precaution."
Tracey laughed lightly but didn't press further.
As dinner progressed, Harry found himself relaxing slightly in their company. Christopher's calm demeanor balanced Daphne's reserved elegance and Tracey's lively energy perfectly. They were an unusual group, but something about them felt… right.
As dessert was served—treacle tart and chocolate éclairs—Harry glanced around the hall again, taking in the sight of students laughing and chatting together. For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, he felt like he might belong here after all.
And as he looked at Christopher, Daphne, and Tracey—their conversation flowing effortlessly—he realized that maybe Slytherin wasn't so bad after all.
The first-years gathered in the Great Hall after the Sorting Ceremony, their excitement palpable. Two Slytherin prefects, Marcus Flint and Gemma Farley, stepped forward to guide the newly sorted students to their common room. Marcus, a burly fifth-year with a sharp jawline and a perpetually smug expression, took the lead. Gemma, with her sleek black hair and piercing eyes, followed closely behind, her demeanor cool and composed.
"Alright, listen up," Marcus barked. "I'm Marcus Flint, and this is Gemma Farley. We're your prefects. That means you listen to us, you follow the rules, and you don't make trouble—or else."
Gemma rolled her eyes at Marcus's bluntness but added smoothly, "The Slytherin common room is in the dungeons. It's protected by a password that changes regularly. We'll inform you of it when necessary, but for now, it's Serpensortia. Memorize it."
The group followed the prefects down a winding staircase that led deeper into the castle. The air grew cooler as they descended, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed through the stone corridors. Finally, they arrived at a blank stretch of wall adorned with an ornate carving of a serpent.
Marcus stepped forward and hissed, "Serpensortia."
The wall slid aside to reveal the Slytherin common room—a large, dimly lit space with green and silver furnishings. The walls were lined with tapestries depicting serpents and other symbols of Slytherin pride. The room exuded an eerie elegance, its atmosphere both welcoming and intimidating.
"Welcome to your new home," Gemma said with a small smile. "Now, a few rules: Keep the common room clean. Respect your housemates—Slytherins stick together. And don't even think about sneaking out after curfew; we'll know."
With that, the prefects dismissed them to explore their new surroundings.
Christopher Sterling and Harry Potter found themselves assigned as roommates in one of the dormitories branching off from the common room. Their quarters were spacious yet cozy, with two four-poster beds draped in green curtains.
As they unpacked their belongings, Harry glanced at Christopher's swords and wands with curiosity. "Do you always carry those?" he asked.
Christopher smirked faintly. "Always prepared," he replied simply.
After settling in, they returned to the common room where Daphne Greengrass was seated gracefully on one of the plush sofas near the fireplace. Tracey Davis sat beside her, chatting animatedly about their families' businesses.
Christopher joined them while Harry hesitated for a moment before sitting down as well. The group began talking about Hogwarts and their expectations for the year when Draco Malfoy sauntered over with his usual air of entitlement.
"Well, well," Draco drawled, his pale face twisted into a smirk. "If it isn't Potter—the famous Boy Who Lived—and Sterling… or should I say Slytherin's heir?"
Harry stiffened slightly under Draco's gaze while Christopher remained calm.
Draco turned his attention to Daphne next, his smirk widening as he leaned closer to her. "And Daphne Greengrass—the most beautiful girl in Hogwarts," he said smoothly. "You know, Daphne, our families have always been close. Perhaps we should… strengthen that bond."
Daphne's expression didn't change as she replied coldly, "Not interested."
Draco's smirk faltered slightly but quickly recovered as he turned back to Christopher. "And you," he said mockingly. "You might think you're special because of your name or those ridiculous swords—but let me tell you something: You're nothing compared to me."
Christopher met Draco's gaze evenly before standing up slowly. His presence was commanding as he towered over Draco by several inches.
"Let me tellyousomething," Christopher said quietly but firmly. "I don't care about your name or your family's influence—and I certainly don't care about your opinions."
Draco opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by three third-years—Adrian Pucey, Miles Bletchley, and Terrence Higgs—who approached with sneers on their faces.
"You think you're tough?" Adrian said mockingly as he stepped closer to Christopher.
Miles added with a grin, "Let's see how tough you really are."
Terrence lunged forward suddenly but was stopped mid-motion as Christopher sidestepped effortlessly and grabbed his arm in an iron grip before twisting it behind his back.
Terrence yelped in pain while Adrian and Miles hesitated for a moment before charging at Christopher together. Christopher moved like lightning—his training evident in every movement—as he ducked under Adrian's swing and delivered a swift kick to Miles's chest that sent him sprawling onto the floor.
Adrian tried again but was met with a sharp jab from Christopher that knocked him off balance before Christopher swept his legs out from under him.
The room fell silent as Christopher stood over the defeated third-years—his emerald-green eyes glowing faintly in the firelight.
"Anyone else?" he asked calmly.
No one dared move or speak as Terrence scrambled to his feet and dragged Adrian and Miles away hurriedly.
Draco looked pale as he muttered something unintelligible before retreating toward his dormitory.
Christopher turned back to Harry and Daphne as if nothing had happened while Tracey stared at him wide-eyed.
"Well," Daphne said finally with a small smile. "That was… impressive."
Christopher shrugged slightly but didn't reply as he sat back down beside her.
Harry stared at him in awe before saying quietly, "I think I'm glad we're roommates."
The Slytherin common room had quieted down after the earlier commotion. The green and silver décor shimmered faintly in the firelight, casting long shadows on the stone walls. The tension from Christopher's earlier confrontation with the third-years had dissipated, leaving behind an air of curiosity and admiration among the younger students. Harry and Tracey had retired to their dormitories, leaving Christopher and Daphne seated near the fireplace.
Christopher leaned back in his chair, his emerald-green eyes fixed on the flames as they danced and crackled. His mind was a storm of thoughts, each one circling back to Daphne. He had been waiting for this moment—an opportunity to talk to her without interruptions—but now that it was here, he found himself unsure of where to begin.
Daphne sat across from him, her posture as elegant as ever. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the light in a way that made it seem almost ethereal. She was beautiful, even more so than he remembered from their past life. At eleven years old, she carried herself with a maturity and grace that set her apart from everyone else in the room. Her green eyes met his briefly before she turned her gaze to the fire.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words.
Finally, Christopher broke the silence. "You remember, don't you?" he asked quietly.
Daphne's gaze shifted back to him, her expression unreadable. "What do you mean?" she replied, though there was a hint of knowing in her voice.
Christopher leaned forward slightly, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "Diya," he said simply. "You were Diya."
Daphne's breath caught for a moment before she composed herself. She had known this conversation was inevitable, but hearing him say it out loud made it real in a way that nothing else could.
"Yes," she said softly. "And you were Chinmay."
Christopher nodded, relief washing over him like a wave. "I thought I'd lost you," he admitted. "After the accident… I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
Daphne's expression softened as she looked at him. "I thought the same," she said. "But then I woke up here… as Daphne Greengrass."
"And now we're here," Christopher said, his voice tinged with wonder. "In this world… together."
Daphne smiled faintly but didn't reply immediately. She was still processing everything—their reunion, their shared past, and what it meant for their future.
"Do you think it's fate?" Christopher asked suddenly.
Daphne tilted her head slightly, considering his question. "Maybe," she said finally. "Or maybe it's just chance."
Christopher shook his head firmly. "It's more than that," he said. "We were meant to find each other again."
Daphne studied him for a moment before nodding slowly. "Perhaps you're right," she said quietly.
They sat in silence for a while longer, each lost in their own thoughts. The fire crackled softly, its warmth wrapping around them like a comforting embrace.
Finally, Daphne spoke again. "So… what now?" she asked.
Christopher met her gaze, his green eyes shining with determination. "We stick together," he said firmly. "No matter what happens."
Daphne smiled—a real smile this time—and nodded. "Alright," she said softly. "No matter what."