7. House Common Room

As the darkness enveloped her under the Sorting Hat, Apollyon found herself not in the quiet contemplation she expected, but hurtling down a pathway of memories she hadn't fully examined since waking in this world. The Sorting Hat's presence in her mind seemed to unlock a door to her past, and the memories flowed with an intensity that took her breath away.

She saw herself, or the girl she had become, living under the shadow of the caretaker's harsh rule. The memories were vivid, each moment of fear and pain sharply etched into her consciousness. She remembered the cold, hard floor of the orphanage, the sound of footsteps that made her heart race with fear, and the sting of harsh words and harsher punishments. It was a life where magic was not a wonder but a secret to be kept, a dangerous gift that had to be hidden at all costs.

In those moments, under the watchful gaze of the Sorting Hat and the expectant eyes of the entire Great Hall, Apollyon felt the full weight of her past. The loneliness of that life, the desperation to belong somewhere, anywhere, and the constant battle to suppress her true self. She had lived in a world where her magic, the very essence of her being, was a source of danger and shame.

Within the shadowy confines of the Sorting Hat, Apollyon's journey through her memories took a darker turn, unveiling the depth of her isolation and fear in her previous life. Magic, which should have been her birthright, her joy, had been a source of peril. Each accidental manifestation of her abilities—a glass levitating in a moment of distress, a burst of light from her fingertips in the dark—had been a risk, a potential trigger for the caretaker's wrath.

She recalled nights spent huddled under the thin blankets, trembling not from the cold but from the fear of discovery. The magic within her was like a caged bird, its wings clipped, yearning for the sky but bound to the earth. The more she tried to suppress it, the more it fought for release, a constant cycle of fear and suppression that left her feeling powerless and alone.

The orphanage, with its peeling paint and creaking floors, had been a prison of sorts. The sound of the caretaker's footsteps approaching her room was enough to freeze her blood, a prelude to punishment for transgressions real or imagined. On the nights when her magic had slipped its bonds, when the thrill of power had been quickly doused by the cold reality of her situation, the consequences had been swift and harsh. The caretaker, with her sharp eyes and sharper words, had made it clear that any hint of "unnaturalness" was an abomination, a sin to be corrected with discipline and pain.

In those moments of despair, magic had not felt like a gift; it had been a curse, a source of danger that threatened to expose her to more suffering. The need to hide it away, to bury it so deep that it might never surface, had been a constant weight on her soul. Yet, even in her darkest moments, a flicker of hope had persisted—a whispering promise that there was more to her story, that her magic was a part of who she was, not something to be feared or loathed.

As the Sorting Hat delved deeper into her memories, Apollyon felt the pain of her past, the loneliness, and the fear. But alongside it, she also felt the strength that had carried her through, the resilience that had allowed her to keep going even when all seemed lost. Her magic, suppressed and hidden though it had been, was an intrinsic part of her identity, a wellspring of potential waiting to be realized.

The realization that she was no longer bound by the walls of the orphanage, that she was free to explore and embrace her magical heritage, brought a sense of liberation. Hogwarts represented a new beginning, a place where she could learn and grow without fear, where her magic would be celebrated, not condemned.

As the Sorting Hat prepared to make its decision, Apollyon's heart swelled with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. She understood now that her past, with all its shadows, was a part of her journey, a testament to her strength and her ability to overcome. Whatever house she was sorted into, she knew she would face it with the courage that had seen her through her darkest days, ready to embrace her true self and the endless possibilities that lay ahead in the world of magic.

As Apollyon settled into her seat at the Slytherin table, the Great Hall seemed to pulse with anticipation for the next tradition of the evening—the welcoming speech from Headmaster Dumbledore. The tables were laden with golden plates and goblets, the hall illuminated by thousands of candles floating above, casting a soft, enchanting glow on the faces of students old and new. The ceiling, mirroring the clear night sky outside, added to the hall's magical atmosphere, making the moment feel suspended in time, a memory in the making.

The chatter and excitement momentarily subdued as Dumbledore rose from his seat at the high table, his eyes twinkling behind half-moon glasses, his robes a cascade of deep blues and purples. With a gentle smile, he addressed the hall, his voice both commanding and kind, filling the vast space with ease.

"Welcome," he began, "to another year at Hogwarts. To our returning students, I hope your summer was both restful and invigorating. And to our first years, may you find in Hogwarts a home away from home, a place of learning and growth."

His gaze swept across the students, a nod of acknowledgment to the Slytherin table where Apollyon sat, an unspoken welcome that warmed her heart. "Let us remember that while we may come from different houses, we are united under the banner of Hogwarts. Our strength lies in our unity, in our capacity for understanding and compassion, in our pursuit of knowledge and the betterment of ourselves and the world around us."

As Dumbledore spoke, Apollyon felt the weight of his words, the significance of being part of this community. She glanced around at her housemates, their faces alight with the same rapt attention, and felt a sense of belonging, a thread connecting her to the long line of Slytherins who had sat at this table before her.

"And now," Dumbledore continued, his voice rising with a note of cheer, "let the feast begin!"

With a wave of his hand, the golden plates before them filled with an array of dishes, the scents of roasted meats, fresh bread, and sweet pastries mingling in the air. The hall erupted into applause, and as Dumbledore took his seat, the sound of laughter and conversation filled the space once more.

Apollyon turned her attention to the feast, her plate filling with a bit of everything, her curiosity piqued by the magical dishes before her. She tasted pumpkin pasties that seemed to melt in her mouth, a roast chicken that was perfectly seasoned, and vegetables that burst with flavor. The feast was a sensory delight, each bite a testament to the magical culinary arts of the Hogwarts kitchen.

As the feast progressed, Apollyon engaged in tentative conversation with her fellow Slytherins. She learned their names, their interests, and shared in their speculations about the year ahead. There was Draco Malfoy, with his sharp wit and unmistakable pride in their house; Theodore Nott, quiet but observant; and Pansy Parkinson, whose laughter was as infectious as her enthusiasm for the upcoming year.

The feast felt like a bridge between her past and her future, a moment of transition filled with promise and potential. As dessert appeared—a dazzling array of cakes, puddings, and candies—Apollyon allowed herself to fully embrace the joy of the moment, the magic of Hogwarts, and the journey that lay ahead.

When the feast concluded, and Dumbledore's voice once again filled the hall, offering words of wisdom and caution for the year ahead, Apollyon listened with a heart full of hope.

Headmaster Dumbledore rose once more, capturing the attention of the hall with an ease born of years at the helm of such gatherings. The hall fell into a respectful silence, every eye turned towards the wise, old wizard whose presence seemed to embody the very essence of Hogwarts.

"My dear students," Dumbledore began, his voice warm and infused with a gentle humor that immediately put his audience at ease, "as we draw this delightful feast to a close, I must remind you of a few important matters."

He paused, surveying the room with a twinkle in his eye that suggested he was well aware of the groans that might follow his next words. "Firstly, the Forbidden Forest is, as ever, strictly off-limits to all students. It is called 'Forbidden' for a reason, after all."

A ripple of laughter spread through the hall at this, though Apollyon noted the seriousness with which Dumbledore continued. "And secondly, I must remind you that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

The hall was silent for a moment, the gravity of his words sinking in. Then, as if on cue, Dumbledore's face broke into a gentle smile, easing the tension. "But now, as we prepare to embark on another year of learning and discovery, I encourage each of you to embrace the challenges that lie ahead, to seek out new knowledge, and to support one another in the pursuit of excellence."

With that, Dumbledore concluded, "Off to bed, pip pip!" prompting a round of applause and a few more chuckles as the hall began to empty, the students rising from their seats and gathering their things.

The house prefects, identifiable by their badges, began to organize the first-years, calling for their attention amidst the bustle. A tall, confident Slytherin prefect, his badge gleaming in the candlelight, approached Apollyon and her fellow Slytherin first-years. "This way, first-years," he announced, his voice carrying over the chatter. "Follow me to the Slytherin common room."

Apollyon, feeling a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration from the evening's events, fell into step with the group. The path from the Great Hall to the Slytherin common room was a labyrinthine journey through the castle's corridors, down staircases that shifted and seemed to have a mind of their own, and past portraits that whispered and gestured to the passing students.

The prefect led them with a practiced ease, pointing out landmarks and offering bits of advice. "Stick together, mind the stairs—they like to change—and remember, the password changes frequently, so pay attention."

Finally, they arrived at the entrance to the Slytherin common room, hidden behind a cleverly disguised wall that slid aside with the utterance of the current password. The common room, with its low ceilings, comfortable armchairs, and green-hued lamps casting a submarine glow, welcomed them. It was a stark contrast to the grandeur of the Great Hall, yet it had an allure all its own, a promise of secrets and history waiting to be discovered.

The Slytherin common room, a cavernous, subterranean chamber that evoked the grandeur and mystery of an underwater palace, enveloped Apollyon and her fellow first-years as they stepped inside. The walls, hewn from the natural bedrock upon which Hogwarts was built, gleamed with a damp sheen, giving the impression of being deep beneath the surface of a dark, still lake. The greenish light that filtered through the room added to this underwater illusion, casting everything in an emerald hue that was both calming and slightly eerie.

Tall, arched windows lined one wall of the common room, providing a view that was unique within the castle. Beyond the glass, the dark waters of the Black Lake pressed close, their depths teeming with the flickering shadows of aquatic creatures that sometimes paused in their wanderings to peer curiously at the world inside. The sight was mesmerizing, a constantly shifting view that spoke of a world as mysterious and ancient as magic itself.

Elegant, dark wood furniture was arranged in cozy clusters throughout the room, offering spaces for conversation, study, and relaxation. The chairs and sofas, upholstered in rich, green velvet, bore the Slytherin crest and were arranged to encourage both social interaction and individual contemplation. Near the fireplace, whose flames danced with a greenish light, a particularly inviting area was set up, the armchairs turned towards the hearth to provide warmth and comfort.

The common room's decor reflected the Slytherin aesthetic, blending luxury with the ancient, formidable heritage of the house. Tapestries depicting famous Slytherins and their accomplishments hung on the walls, their threads shimmering slightly in the light. Glass cabinets displayed various magical artifacts and treasures, some of which whispered softly, hinting at secrets waiting to be uncovered.

Despite its grandeur and the slight chill that seemed to linger in the air, there was a coziness to the common room that Apollyon hadn't expected. It felt like a place where secrets were shared in hushed tones, where alliances were formed in the flickering shadows, and where one could immerse themselves in the study of magic's deeper, darker mysteries.

The view of the lake, ever-present through the windows, served as a constant reminder of Slytherin's connection to the elements, to the fluidity and adaptability that characterized the house. Watching the water and its inhabitants, Apollyon felt a sense of peace mixed with anticipation. Here, in this room that felt both ancient and alive, she would learn and grow. Here, she would forge her path, guided by the ambition and determination that Slytherin prized above all.