The applause had faded, the Sorting was complete, and the feast had begun. Tom Nelson sat at the Slytherin table, his sharp gaze observing everything.
The Great Hall was alive with laughter and conversation, but Tom ate in calculated silence. He could feel the glances from his housemates—some curious, some skeptical. Draco Malfoy, seated a few places away, seemed indifferent. Theodore Nott, however, gave a subtle nod, acknowledging Tom's presence.
Across the hall, at the Gryffindor table, he noticed Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. Their table was the loudest, filled with excitement and enthusiasm.
Slytherin, however, was different. It was orderly, with whispers rather than shouts, smirks rather than grins. It was a house where status mattered, and Tom could already sense the unspoken hierarchy forming.
As the feast ended, Professor Snape stood, his black robes billowing as he addressed Slytherin.
"Follow the prefects to the common room," he instructed, his gaze lingering briefly on Tom before sweeping across the rest of the students.
The first-years gathered near the Slytherin prefect, Gemma Farley, who led them through the dimly lit corridors of the castle. They descended deeper underground until they reached a bare stone wall in the dungeons.
"The password is Pureblood," Gemma announced.
The wall shifted, revealing a grand entrance into the Slytherin common room.
Tom took it all in.
The room was elegant yet cold, bathed in green light from the enchanted lamps. A massive window overlooked the depths of the Black Lake, where eerie, shadowy figures moved in the water. Dark leather couches and grand chairs were arranged around a stone fireplace, where a few older students lounged, speaking in hushed tones.
Tom's sharp eyes caught the way the first-years reacted—some in awe, some in intimidation.
"Well," the prefect said, turning back to them. "Welcome to Slytherin. There are a few things you should know."
She spoke of Slytherin's legacy—its ambition, its pride in pureblood ancestry (Tom kept his expression unreadable at that), and its rivalry with Gryffindor.
"Here, we value strength," Gemma continued. "We do not tolerate weakness."
Tom noted the way her eyes flickered over him before moving on.
Dorm assignments were given out, and Tom found himself sharing a room with Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and a few others.
The dormitory was grand—four-poster beds with dark green curtains, shelves filled with old spellbooks, and an atmosphere that felt more like a noble estate than a school dorm.
As the other boys settled in, Tom remained quiet. He set down his suitcase, opening the cage where Mingle, his raven, sat. The bird let out a low caw, stretching its wings before perching on the bedpost.
From the corner of his eye, Theodore Nott watched him.
"You don't talk much, do you?" Theo finally said.
Tom glanced at him. "Only when there's something worth saying."
A smirk flickered across Theodore's face. "I think we'll get along."
Tom didn't answer. Instead, he lay back on his bed, gazing at the green canopy above.
He had made it to Hogwarts. He had entered Slytherin.
But even among his own house, he felt it—
He was not one of them.
He never would be.