Hogwarts was grander than Harry had imagined. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall mimicked the stormy sky outside, flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows across the long tables. The Sorting Hat rested on a three-legged stool, its frayed mouth moving as it called out houses.
Theo Nott sat among the Slytherins, his sharp eyes never leaving Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. He had watched Harry on the train, unnoticed in the corner of the compartment. The messy hair, the oversized clothes, the way he bit his lip in thought—it was unacceptable how unaware Harry was of himself. Of his importance. Of Theo's interest.
When McGonagall called Harry's name, the hall fell silent. Whispers slithered through the air. Theo's fingers curled around his goblet as Harry hesitated, stepping forward.
The Hat slid over his head.
"Difficult… so much courage. But ambition too. You could do well in Slytherin…"
A pause. Theo held his breath.
"Slytherin!"
Theo smiled. Harry was his now.
Harry stepped down from the stool, his heart pounding. Slytherin. That wasn't what he had expected. The Gryffindor table had gone quiet, while the Slytherins erupted into applause. A part of him hesitated, but there was no turning back.
He walked toward the Slytherin table, feeling eyes on him from all directions. Some were calculating, others openly suspicious. But one pair of eyes was different—dark, intense, and unwavering.
Theo watched as Harry sat across from him, his grip tightening around his goblet. Perfect. This was fate. He had imagined this moment since he first saw Harry's name on the Hogwarts list. He had studied everything about him, waiting for the day he could bring him into his world.
The feast began, but Theo barely touched his food. Instead, he observed—how Harry fidgeted, how he hesitated before picking up his fork, how he seemed unaware of the power he held.
Harry didn't see it, but Theo had already decided.
Harry belonged to him.
As the feast carried on, the Slytherin table settled into easy conversation—except for Theo. He barely touched his food, his gaze flicking to Harry every few moments. It wasn't subtle.
Draco Malfoy, seated a few spots away, arched a pale eyebrow. "Nott," he drawled, nudging his goblet toward Theo. "You planning to eat, or just stare at Potter all night?"
A few of the older Slytherins smirked. Pansy Parkinson leaned in, her voice hushed but teasing. "It's a bit much, Theo. Even for you."
Theo didn't look away from Harry. "He's interesting."
Blaise Zabini let out a quiet chuckle, exchanging a glance with Draco. "He's a half-blood who grew up with Muggles. What exactly do you find so fascinating?"
Theo's fingers tapped against his goblet. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. "He doesn't know what he is. Not yet."
Draco scoffed. "And you're going to enlighten him?"
Theo finally looked away from Harry and met Draco's gaze. "Yes."
The table fell silent for a moment. The way Theo said it—so certain, so final—sent a shiver through the first-years sitting nearby.
Across the table, Harry, oblivious to the conversation about him, frowned at his plate. Everything at Hogwarts was overwhelming—the magic, the whispers, the sheer weight of his new reality. He felt eyes on him constantly, but he didn't realize that one pair of eyes never strayed.
Not once.