The Sorting Hat - 2 (rewritten)

As I approached, I spotted a lad waving his hand in a rather dramatic fashion, beckoning me to draw near. Ah, yes, he was one of those chaps who had a go at the entrance, if I recall correctly. Draco, wasn't it? Well, let's see what the lad wants, shall we? I plopped myself down next to him, taking a moment to size up his mate, who stood there like a human barricade on the other side of the table.

The eyes of the folks around us bore into me, and it wasn't exactly a pleasant sensation, but then again, it's probably because of my name, isn't it? I ought to get accustomed to that.

With a theatrical flourish, Draco introduced himself, "Draco, Draco Malfoy. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Prince."

Observing Draco's reaction, it was clear he had a taste for flattery. A lad like him, easily swayed as long as you kept his spirits high. I couldn't help but wonder, though. There was so much more I needed to uncover, and it irked me that my aunt had been so tight-lipped about it all. To be honest, she's testing me even now, I thought. But I couldn't afford to make enemies, especially among the people I'd be sharing a dormitory with for the next seven years. That would be the height of folly

Draco leaned in, his curiosity piqued, and remarked, "Honestly, I was absolutely convinced you'd end up in Gryffindor."

As I leaned in, I said to Draco, "Well, Draco, life has a peculiar way of throwing surprises our way when we least expect them, wouldn't you agree?" My grin widened.

Draco, his expression cautious, replied, "Honestly, Arthur, I'm not particularly fond of surprises. I prefer to be thoroughly prepared," he confessed.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of our meeting. "Well, it appears we do share some common ground after all."

A genuine smile started to grace Draco's face, warming the atmosphere.

Afterward, I stole a glance at my aunt, who was positively beaming with pride at my sorting. However, the enigmatic woman beside her wore an expression of subtle sadness that intrigued me. I made a mental note to inquire about her later.

As the Sorting Hat continued its work, sorting all the first-year students into their respective houses, I couldn't help but notice the contagious joy on the faces of those lucky enough to find themselves among their friends. Unfortunately, luck hadn't favored me in that regard today. My thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the authoritative voice of Professor McGonagall.

"Everyone, your attention, please!" Professor McGonagall's voice cut through the excitement, commanding our immediate focus.

Dumbledore, a towering presence, gracefully rose from his chair. His hands swept upward, and his voice carried across the hall as he proclaimed, "Let the feast...begin."

As if by magic (well, house-elf magic, to be precise), the tables were laden with a bounty of food. The enchanting spread extended across every table in the Great Hall, and the only sounds that could be heard were the hushed murmurs of students, their wide eyes filled with wonder, and the pleasant clatter of cutlery.

I couldn't help but recognize the simplicity of it all – house elf magic, nothing too extravagant. My musings drifted to Missy, who had conjured similar marvels during my time at the mansion.

Dumbledore returned to his seat, and a symphony of cheers erupted from the student body. To my right, the Slytherins, including Draco, offered more reserved cheers compared to the exuberant Gryffindors, who seemed to have found their voice in full measure. It appeared my house wasn't particularly enamored with the headmaster's opening act, and I found myself uncertain whether to chuckle at the spectacle.

Draco leaned closer, his voice a conspiratorial whisper in my ear. "I half expected him to launch into one of his legendary speeches, but it seems we've been blessed with luck today – all of us are ravenous."

I could only muster a wan grin in response. Indeed, my stomach had been growing impatient. The sweets from the train ride had been a fleeting indulgence, hardly enough to sate my hunger.

The centerpiece dishes in front of me were nothing short of a culinary marvel, piled high with an array of dishes that read like a list of my favorite foods: roast beef, roast chicken, lamb chops, bacon, steak, boiled potatoes, roast taters, chips, and carrots. My eyes widened with delight at the sight.

With a sense of anticipation, I loaded a bit of everything onto my plate. Around me, my fellow tablemates exhibited a level of decorum and restraint while dining. But as my gaze wandered, I couldn't help but notice Elias, the red-haired lad from earlier, who seemed to be attacking his plate as if he hadn't tasted food in days. I couldn't deny it was a tad unsightly.

Returning my attention to the feast, I dug into the meal. The flavors were exquisite, as one would expect from the finest school in Europe.

My peripheral vision caught the intense gaze of the blonde girl I'd met on the train. Something in my gut told me to ignore her, and my indifference seemed to ruffle her feathers.

Yet, what truly astonished me this evening was the unexpected appearance of a ghost. A silvery-white, ethereal figure materialized above the table and hovered over the food, casting a surreal and captivating aura over the feast.

"It's the Bloody Baron!" Semone's voice rang out, breaking the eerie stillness that had settled over the Great Hall.

I continued to partake in the feast, though the appearance of the ghost was, admittedly, not easy on the eyes. His ghostly visage was unsettling, to say the least.

"Davis," the specter with blank, lifeless eyes and silver-stained attire addressed the second girl sorted into Slytherin.

He then proceeded to solemnly list the names of the Slytherin first years. "Greengrass, Nott, Bulstrode, Grabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Perks, Zabini."

The ghost greeted each of them with the gravity of an ancient tradition. Then, his empty gaze fixed on Draco.

"And for the thirty-second generation of Malfoys," he intoned, his voice steeped in history, "I bid you welcome."

A few moments later his deadened eyes locked onto mine, and he spoke directly to me, words that carried a weight of centuries. "Well, well. In all of my days, I would never think that I would have the chance to meet another Prince who would grace our Vaulted House."

The silence at our table was palpable, every Slytherin fixed on me, waiting for my response.

I couldn't help but chuckle softly, the absurdity of the situation not lost on me. "There are many things that I thought were impossible until today," I replied, my voice tinged with a mixture of humor and disbelief. "Some of which include having a conversation with a ghost without being dead."

Laughter rippled around me, as those at the table seemed to interpret my words as a jest. In truth, the entire situation felt surreal. This school, my newfound powers, the revelation that I had lived a lie all my life—it was as though I had stepped into a strange, bewildering dream, or perhaps, more accurately, a nightmarish one.

"Well, anyway, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Bloody Baron," I extended a courteous greeting, feeling a sense of formality even in the presence of a ghost. "I'm Arthur Serverus Bellmonth-Prince, at your disposal."

The ghost offered a nod in response, and with an ethereal grace, he descended to the floor.

"Welcome, Arthur Prince," the Baron intoned.

"Thank you," I replied with a polite nod before resuming my meal. Food was a comfort, even in the oddest of circumstances.

Draco, sitting beside me, looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and mild disgust. "Arthur, how can you eat after seeing him?" he asked, his tone stiff.

I shrugged nonchalantly, taking another bite. "Well, it's not every day you get to dine with a ghost, is it?"

Gregory Goyle, who had been eavesdropping, chimed in with what he knew. "I heard that—"

Draco's complexion turned a shade paler as he swiftly interrupted, his voice laced with irritation. "I hardly think that's a topic fit for discussion at the dinner table, Goyle."

The loud click of Goyle's teeth closing echoed through the Great Hall, and an uneasy silence settled over our corner of the Slytherin table.

When our plates were finally emptied of every last morsel, the remains of the feast miraculously vanished, leaving them as pristine as they had been before.

Soon after, the desserts materialized before us. It was a decadent spread, with blocks of ice cream in every conceivable flavor, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs, jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, and rice pudding, to name but a few.

My sweet tooth called out to me, and I couldn't resist helping myself to a chocolate éclair.

The conversation at the table had shifted to the topic of family heritage.

"My parents are pure-blood," Vincent Crabbe boasted.

Draco, never one to mince words, responded sharply, "You idiot, everyone knows there's an elf in your lineage. Filthy creatures, elves." Laughter erupted among the others.

Vincent seemed unfazed, his shoulders shrugging dismissively.

It all struck me as oddly reminiscent of the schoolyard bullies back home. Yet, I had a deeper purpose here. My aunt had been less than forthcoming about the intricacies of noble society, leaving me to navigate these waters on my own. Every interaction was a test, a puzzle to solve. I needed to understand how these snobbish minds worked, for my own survival, if nothing else. So, I listened and observed, determined to decipher the enigma of pure-blood pride and privilege.

A voice, belonging to an older student across from me, chimed in from behind the mountains of desserts. He had darker blond hair than Draco, and his face remained mostly concealed by the sweet temptations before him – a sight I had no complaints about.

"It's not as bad as being associated with dwarfs or goblins," he remarked, addressing the topic of blood purity.

Draco, his pride evident, seized the moment. "My family boasts the purest lineage. I'm a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin."

His words were met with a chorus of impressed murmurs. However, it was Tracey Davis, the girl seated next to the blonde student, who ventured a question that seemed to hang in the air like a secret.

"Could you possibly be the Heir of Slytherin?" Tracey asked, her curiosity piqued.

Draco's response was tinged with resignation. "I'm no Parselmouth."

I couldn't help but interject with a question of my own, my curiosity getting the better of me. "What does Parselmouth mean?"

Draco's response was swift and informative. "A Parselmouth is someone who can speak to snakes."

I continued my inquiry, trying not to appear overly inquisitive. "Is that a rare ability?"

The students around me fell silent, their reactions suggesting that I had touched upon a subject that was either taboo or sensitive.

An acidic remark came my way, accompanied by the dangerous glint of brown eyes belonging to an older female student. "Are you implying that someone like you could be a Parselmouth?"

Her Slytherin badge was clear, but what caught my attention was the metallic green badge adorned with a silver snake wrapped around a 'P' beside it. I wished they had introduced themselves – it hardly seemed fair. There were at least fifty individuals at this sprawling table, and names and faces blended together.

Further down the table, conversations about upcoming lessons had quieted down, and calculating eyes turned in my direction.

"Well, can you or can't you, Arthur?" Draco inquired, a hint of impatience in his voice.

I replied with a lie, choosing to conceal the truth for now. "Unfortunately, I don't possess that particular gift, but I can imagine it would be quite useful."

In reality, I had discovered this peculiar talent during a visit to the zoo with my mother. However, given the reaction to the mere question, I decided it was best to keep this detail to myself – an ace up my sleeve, if you will.

Draco, with an air of superiority, responded, "Of course, you can't."

It looks like this is going to be a bigger challenge than I expected I thought to myself

Afterward, Draco continued to blather on to whoever would listen about his ancestor's accomplishments in a typical airy and condescending tone.

While Draco discussed his family's long-winded list of ancestral accomplishments, I looked up at the High Table again, Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. On the right side of them, A Professor, with an absurd purple turban, was talking to a teacher enormously fat, bald, old man.

It only took a second for him to look at me as if measuring my abilities.

I felt quite uncomfortable, so I decided to look elsewhere, preferably at something more pleasant to see. Well, for now, Mrs. Greengrass should be enough. I could see the same blue eyes looking at me again, well much better. I thought

I smiled at her, but her face didn't change, she just looked away after seeing my smile, My smile grew when I saw her reaction. Cold, indeed.

She is trying hard to keep the mask of indifference on her face...but I want to believe that a discussion with her is near the way she behaves

I brought my head close to Draco's and asked him

Arthur: "who is the bald man?"

Draco:" Oh he is professor Horace Slughorn our Head of House, he teaches Potions."

Draco grinned to himself. "Professor McGonagall teaches Transfigurations and is Gryffindor's Head of House. Professor Flitwick, that gnome of a man, teaches Charms and is Ravenclaw's Head of House. Next to the Gatekeeper is Madam Hooch. She'll teach us first years the basics of broomstick flying not that I need it. Otherwise, she referees Hogwarts' Quidditch Games. Madam Pomfrey's the school's Healer. If you're hurt or sick, she'll patch you up no questions asked. And then there's Professor Sprout, the Hufflepuff's Head of House. She'll teach us all sorts of boring things about magical plants and fungi in Herbology class. Professor Sinistra teaches Astronomy, The other teachers aren't important to know since we don't have classes with them until our third year, "

Arthur: "Well thank you for the information, you know quite a bit about Hogwarts already. how come?"

Draco: "But of course, my father told me everything so I could be prepared for anything"

It seems that Draco is very close to his father, and he has important information ... he can be useful over time...

At last, the desserts had disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

Dumbledore: "First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all Students and a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Gryffindor table.

"Those Gryffindorks don't know how to stay out of trouble," Draco whispered. I looked over at them, easily picking out the red-haired heads of the Weasleys.

Dumbledore: "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors… Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."

"Too bad first years can't join," came Draco's dry remark.

Dumbledore: "And finally, I must tell you that this year; 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."

Arthur: "He's not serious?" I muttered to Draco.

"He may be mad," the blond-haired student across from him answered, "But there's no doubt his warning is serious."

"But usually, he gives us a reason," a different girl with one of those 'P' badges added nicely. She had long black hair and brown eyes. "It makes you wonder what they're keeping there that's so important that they wouldn't have notified the prefects ahead of time."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. I noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

Much to his dismay, the Slytherins even Draco began to sing the same song, twisting the words to sound more sinister with a frenetic speed.

The Slytherins finished first, followed by the rest of the school until only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped the loudest.

None of the Slytherins did.

Dumbledore: "Ah, music," the headmaster said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

"First years, with us," the older student across from me stood and waited. Now, I could see the metallic green-and-silver badge on his breast beneath the Slytherin crest that every upper-year Slytherin had stitched to their robes. Despite his short stature, the older student seemed to tower even over Crabbe and Goyle with his flat stare. "Everyone assembled? Good."

The rest of the Slytherins emptied the room, leaving only two Slytherins with 'P' badges in front of them. "My name is Gilbert van Tellwyenth, a fifth year. I am a prefect."

Samantha: "I'm Samantha Pitts, the sixth year also, a prefect."

I looked around and saw precisely nine other first-years standing around him: Four other boys and five girls.

"File up!" Gilbert the Prefect ordered.

The first years immediately stood in two rows in groups of two, I stood behind, and close to me was, Daphne Greengrass.

The prefects then went down the line tapping their wand against each first-year's tie and left the front part and inner hood of the robes. I was amazed that my tie had changed into a twisted combination of green and silver and that a Slytherin crest magically appeared on the blank area of my robes.

As I inspected the green silk of the hood where it had been black a few moments ago, Samantha the Prefect said, "Very good then. This way!"

it seems I was right...in the end...let's see...

Arthur: "Who should I thank for your presence tonight Ms. Greengrass"

I said gently so that my voice is not heard by the people in front

She looked at me and said

Daphne: "What makes you think I want to talk to you, Mr. Prince?"

Arthur: "There are many reasons I can tell you why you want to talk to me, Ms. Greengrass. Some of the reasons such as Ms. Pansy and Ms. Tracy, you could have stayed with them right now but you chose to sit back with me."

For the first time, I could see a smile on her

Daphne:" Pretty perceptive of you Mr. Prince, yes indeed, I wanted to know more about the hero's child, will you humor this bored young lady?"

Arthur: "Maybe at a later date Ms. Greengrass, I'm quite tired at the moment"

Daphne:" is this somehow an invitation? Mr. Prince, You're bolder than I thought. I thought you were on the quieter side, the way you behaved at dinner."

Arthur: "Looks like I'm not the only one who pays attention to small details. Very well, Ms. Greengrass,you can interpret my words as you wish."

After some time the cold face made its way back to Daphne.

I have to be careful in front of her. I thought

Long minutes passed as we walked down ever more staircases, and it started to get cold...

"Welcome to the dungeons," the Bloody Baron intoned solemnly. He slipped through the granite stone wall.

"Well?" The very thin woman dressed in an emerald green bit out sourly.

"Bezoar," Samantha said crisply.

What appeared to be a normal wall, was the exact opposite, after the password said by the girl, a passage appeared in front of us, revealing a narrow corridor, leading into a well-lit, long underground room with rough stone walls and a ceiling from which round, silver lamps were hanging from chains.

They shuffled down the stairs. It was much warmer inside the room, which was decked in silver and emerald banners to liven up the grey walls. There were nooks and crannies and different levels to the room that made it look larger than it was. I didn't see any windows yet, but when I looked up there were dark arches of glass much like sunroofs I had seen once before in an enclosed shopping district.

"Welcome, first years," came a nasal tone. It was the Slytherin head of the house.

Behind Professor Slughorn stood scores of older Slytherins, who stared coolly at me and the others. "Forget your allegiances to anyone outside of your house. They will no longer trust you due to our house's illustrious history in researching the now-forbidden Dark Arts," the Head of House said, looking particularly at me.

I looked back at him, daring him to say something

Professor Slughorn raised a thin eyebrow As if he liked the way I reacted. "We have won the Quidditch and the House Cup for six years in a row. Do not disappoint me this year," their Head of House ground out. "Prefects, instruct our newest students as to the proper protocols and etiquette we Slytherins follow. I must not be disturbed this evening."

The professor spun on a heel, With a slam of a door down the short hall of the room, the older students broke away, separating by gender to a staircase on either side of them: The girls on the left and the boys on the right.

"Hello, I'm Gemma Farley, a fifth year," the black-haired student, who'd complained about not being told about the restricted third-floor corridor, said.

"I'm Nicolas Grimmet, a sixth year." He was lanky and had brown eyes and long brick-brown hair. "We are only four of the Slytherin prefects. There's also seventh years Yatin Shah and Viviette Torrens." He then raised his hands, gesturing to their surroundings. "We welcome you to our common room."

I glanced around. The furniture was spread out with tables between them, and now that he was farther inside he could see dark arches of windows.

Perfect Samantha said, "For your general notice: We have mandatory dining together at all three meals. Every first year is expected to attend the monthly dueling sessions of their upperclassmen unless they are serving detention or have had their privileges revoked."

Prefect Nicolas's words followed hers, "The Code of Etiquette is as follows: It is expected that you are courteous to your housemates regardless of bloodline or magical ability. Until you have permission, refer to your housemates by their family names. We travel in groups, never alone. it is expected that you are polite to your professors, no matter how inept they are. Losing House points is not acceptable for any reason. You may keep tally of our score and compare it to the other houses by looking at the hourglass filled with emeralds in the Great Hall."

When Nicolas paused, Gilbert continued from where he leaned against a column, "You will be granted privileges should you earn House points. Should you lose them, you will receive a detention from Professor Slughorn and a letter of notice to whoever is responsible for you… in addition to whatever other consequences the other reprimanding teacher assigns. If you don't respect us or you break the Slytherin Code of Etiquette, you will earn a detention with Professor Slughorn. Get three detentions assigned in a given month and you will have lost the observation privileges of that month's dueling session."

"Furthermore," Prefect Gemma added, "Every Hogwarts' House has six prefects, and then there's the Head Boy and Head Girl. Any one of them can deduct House points should you be caught using magic inappropriately, harassing others, or traversing the corridors after bed. As Prefect Tellwyenth just stated, Professor Slughorn will assign detention if you are caught; my advice is not to do it even if it's warranted."

I looked at the sleepy faces of his year-mates and saw that only Malfoy's expression disagreed entirely with Prefect Gemma's advice.

"Finally," Prefect Samantha said sternly, "If for some reason, you are unavailable to have additional detentions because you have earned so many, Professor Slughorn will then assign independent study, which is really just a fancy term for more detention, during any free or study periods you have during the school day. You will essentially have zero time to pursue your interests or homework without supervision. I sincerely recommend that you avoid this situation. Speaking from my own experience, having Professor Slughorn personally organize every hour of your day is exhausting and counter-productive to having a pleasant school year. Follow the Code and the school rules and you shouldn't have any problems."

Do you have any questions?" Perfect Gemma asked kindly.

Honestly, I was too tired to ask any, and it seemed none of the other first years wanted to prolong staying awake.

"Girls with us!" Perfect Samantha barked out. Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were escorted up the left stairwell with Prefect Gemma.

Gilbert stepped closer to the group. "Everyone else with Nicolas and me," he said and then led me and the other Slytherin boys up the stairs. Green, murky light spilled from the torches lining the spiral staircase. Every time the steps leveled off, there was a black door with a silver snake knocker on them denoting a different year's dormitory.

"The more years you spend at Hogwarts, the closer to the common room you get," Nicholas explained. "There are five students per room. If you have any problems with your roommates that you can't sort out on your own, you are to come to me. If I'm unavailable, you can talk to Gilbert, Yatin, or the Head Boy Phyllis Whitehead. The last two are seventh years.

"Why only male prefects?" Theodore Nott, a stringy boy with cropped, dirty-blond hair, asked.

"These steps on the stairs to the girls' bedrooms will transform into a slide the instant a boy tries to walk on them," Gilbert answered sounding amused, " we can't step foot there without being physically ejected."

"And what will happen if a girl tries to climb the stairs to our bedroom?" a person with black hair that I don't know asked.

Gilbert:" the stairs won't do anything to them." he said calmly

The Older students started to laugh at that

"That doesn't quite sound right, is there a reason why?" Vincent asked

Gilbert:" You will find out when you grow up." said

and the laughter of the older students continued.

A minute or so later, it was with collective relief that the first-year boys finally made it to the very top of the stairs. The heavy black door was opened by Gilbert.

Five poster beds were hung with deep green, silk curtains. My suitcase and their trunks had already been brought up.

Sconces of green magical fire lit the room with a viridian tinge, and there were curtains pulled back from dark windows. There were medieval tapestries adorning the room, depicting adventurous wizards and witches doing an assortment of odd things.

"I hope you're all early risers," Gilbert said, pointing at the grandfather clock sitting across from the door. "That's been enchanted to scream if you oversleep for breakfast. Any last questions?"

"No, I think we're all very well ready for bed," Draco bit out snidely.

Gilbert's lips quirked in amusement. "Good night, first years. Pleasant dreaming." The two prefects exited, shutting the door behind them.

Walking to his bed—well, the bed where his suitcase sat nearest, I looked out the window at the lake glistening under the moon. it was beautiful.

"Arthur stop gaping like an idiot and get changed so we can put out the lights." Draco's voice sounded narked.

I quickly tore off my robes and changed into my jim-jams, and slipped into the very comfortable bed. The bedspread was green velvet and embroidered with silver thread.

Draco whispered, "Nox." The lights went out, leaving only the moonlight streaming through the windows.

I drifted off to sleep right away...