Chapter 2 — What? Harry Potter? Slytherin?
Harry and Neville found two other first-years to pass the time with—Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.
Ron, like Neville, came from a wizarding family. Hermione, like Harry, had grown up never hearing a thing about the magical world.
But compared to Harry's hazy ignorance, she had already gathered every bit of information she could find.
According to her, she had even memorized all the textbooks in advance, which left Harry rather anxious, wondering whether it was already too late to cram.
The train arrived smoothly at its destination. The journey had been cheerful; they shared the various snacks Harry had bought.
Harry even received a Chocolate Frog card of Dumbledore.
If there had been any unsettling interlude, it was probably when Malfoy suddenly barged in—Goyle carrying their luggage behind her—and returned Harry's things.
Though Malfoy wore a smile, Harry felt she wanted to kill him. He also felt a bit awkward about having "spared" her earlier, but her presence was so intimidating that it was hard to feel anything else.
Despite the minor incident, he finally saw the familiar Hagrid and crossed Hogwarts' iconic great lake in the boats Hagrid guided.
Under Professor McGonagall's lead, they entered the Great Hall for the Hogwarts opening ceremony—the gathering of all students and teachers to witness the Sorting of the new first-years.
Dormitory sorting was a tradition of old British academies, typically assigning students based on class, character, personality, achievements, and other traits.
Though criteria might vary, it was generally categorized along four foundations: tradition, honor, knowledge, and virtue. Hogwarts followed this model, dividing students into Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff.
Following the list in Professor McGonagall's hands, the new students were called up one by one to sit on a stool and wear an old wizard's hat, waiting for the Sorting ceremony… waiting for what, exactly?
Harry looked on in confusion as the first name was called—Hermione. As the pioneer, she sat rigidly on the stool, taking deep breaths. Nothing seemed to be happening. Who knew how long they were supposed to wait?
Just as Harry wondered that, the wrinkles of the hat began to twist and contort. Only then did he realize that the folds resembled human facial features. Finally, those wrinkles spoke in a human voice.
"Gryffindor!"
When Harry was younger, Dudley had once forced him to watch horror films in the middle of the night just to scare him. In one scene, the decorations in a haunted house grew faces and spoke to the protagonist. The adults in charge really should have considered whether an eleven-year-old might be traumatized by such a sight.
Harry turned to look at Malfoy. She was watching the Sorting Hat with obvious interest. For children from wizarding families, was a talking hat perfectly normal?
Ron and Neville were also sorted into Gryffindor, and their decisions seemed almost instantaneous.
After one round of sorting, when about half the students remained, Professor McGonagall called out:
"Alice Malfoy."
Malfoy glanced around nervously and happened to notice Harry looking at her. She offered him a polite smile before taking her seat. The Sorting Hat settled onto her head and remained silent for a long time.
"Slytherin."
As soon as the Hat announced her House, the Slytherin table erupted in loud applause. Harry suddenly remembered that Malfoy's family was apparently very influential. No wonder she had brought two lackeys with her on the first day.
She must have known she would be sorted into Slytherin—and her remaining follower, Goyle, was also a Slytherin.
Yet her expression didn't look particularly happy. Her eyes lowered, a trace of disappointment visible as she walked toward the Slytherin table. Only when older students welcomed her with drinks did she put on the same smile she had worn during introductions on the train.
Politely speaking, it was a courteous smile.
In truth, it was fake.
"Harry Potter."
Professor McGonagall called his name, and Harry took the seat.
Why had she looked like that?
From their conversation on the train, Harry had assumed she identified with—perhaps even took pride in—Slytherin's background. Even though he thought the House was practically a Dudley factory.
But judging from how she had treated Crabbe, she didn't seem to approve of bullying. Was that why she seemed conflicted about her Sorting result? Accepting it, yet not fully able to?
"Very interesting. Quite complex. Talented. Intelligent. Ambitious. And reasonably upright."
Even though he didn't want to get entangled with her, he couldn't help being curious. If he ever got the chance, perhaps he would ask her about the Houses.
"But… something feels odd…"
If they ended up in different Houses, would talking about such things cause conflict?
He remembered his uncle arguing about football teams—those discussions often escalated into shouting matches, even fights. Maybe Houses were like teams—you were supposed to support your own side?
"I say, boy, can you listen properly?"
"Huh?"
Harry jolted awake. He looked around. The entire Great Hall was staring at him, waiting for his Sorting result. No one had spoken to him.
Yet he had clearly heard a voice.
"I'm on your head, boy."
Harry looked up. The Sorting Hat sighed.
"I'm speaking to you through your mind, child. Kindly look forward and stop glancing about. Anyone can tell you're inexperienced."
"I am inexperienced. Have you ever sorted someone twice before?"
"Talking back, are we? Want to go home?"
"Believe it or not, I can tell Minerva there's been a mistake—that you're a Muggle—and you'll be packing your bags."
'No—no—Fu—'
Harry cut himself off mid-word. Unbelievable. It was just a hat. Why was it so arrogant?
"I am not just a hat. I am a magical hat with a long and distinguished history."
Only then did Harry realize—since it was speaking inside his mind, it could hear his thoughts too.
'Is something the matter, Mr. Sorting Hat? Were you speaking to me just now?'
"No, I was talking to myself. You're the first student I've ever encountered who zones out during the Sorting Ceremony. Kindly maintain some curiosity and respect for Hogwarts. Show a bit of anticipation—or concern—for your future. Instead of sitting there thinking about girls. You're eleven."
'I wasn't thinking—'
He stopped. The Hat was right. He had been distracted by Malfoy.
No matter her feelings, he should focus on the Sorting.
'Sorry, Mr. Sorting Hat. Where were we?'
"It seems you are very eager to join Slytherin. I've seen many who wish to follow a girl into her House, but you are the first I've met whose desire is so strong that you disregard House traits entirely. In light of your honesty, I might even give you extra credit. Slytherin?"
'Could we… not?'
Honestly, Harry's impression of Slytherin was terrible. Voldemort. Crabbe. Goyle. The hook-nosed professor who had been glaring at him earlier was supposedly from Slytherin too. What was wrong with that House? Was their educational system completely broken?
"Oh? You don't want Slytherin?"
"Then I'll place you elsewhere. Are you certain?"
The Hat's words hooked into his thoughts. Malfoy's worried expression resurfaced in his mind.
"Make up your mind. Don't waver. Slytherin—yes or no? Everyone's waiting to eat. Every minute you waste equals over three thousand minutes wasted across Hogwarts."
'Do I have to decide now? Doesn't Hogwarts have transfer procedures?'
"This is a thousand-year-old institution. Do you think it's an inn? Unhappy with your room, so you switch? I've already given you an opportunity few ever receive. Should I tell them there's been a mistake—that you're a Muggle—and send you home?"
'Only children make choices—'
"When you return to your dorm, look in the mirror. You are a child. Now decide. Slytherin or not?"
"I'll count to three. If you haven't decided, I'll announce it."
"Three…"
"Two…"
"One…"
"Since you've chosen your path, then Gryff—"
'Fine! I'll join Slytherin!'
The moment he said it, Harry had a sudden feeling he would regret this recklessness someday.
'Good—announcing now. Slytherin. Remove the hat.'
'Go find your girl. I don't know how someone as straightforward as you will fare in that House, but that's none of my concern. I keep my promises. Getting you to enter willingly was difficult enough. In any case—good luck.'
Professor McGonagall removed the Sorting Hat. Harry looked at it, feeling faintly as though he had been tricked.
"Um, you just said something—"
"Potter, well done. Please proceed to your House. We must continue the Sorting."
Urged along, Harry walked toward the Slytherin table in confusion.
"Mr. Potter, welcome."
A fifth-year girl with long black hair approached and shook his hand.
"I'm your prefect, Gemma Farley. Please, have a seat."
"What an unprecedented stir, Potter," Malfoy said from beside him, raising her pumpkin juice as if savoring fine wine. "You must not have noticed. When your House was announced, the entire hall froze. No one even remembered to clap. Only Headmaster Dumbledore remained perfectly calm."
She handed him a cup of pumpkin juice.
"Have a drink. Relax."
Harry accepted it and looked at her. The disappointment from earlier had faded. She was cheerfully exchanging pleasantries with those around her.
Seeing that she seemed fine, Harry felt awkward pressing further. Instead, he turned his attention to his new Housemates.
Compared to the other Houses, Slytherin gave him a distinctly uncomfortable feeling.
It reminded him of Dudley and the gang who bullied him—a sense of being spoiled and entitled. Of course, there were some well-mannered students like Malfoy.
But proportionally, they were perhaps one in ten. And even those who seemed polite carried an insincerity in their tone—smooth words hiding ulterior motives.
As for the kind of people who, like Neville or Ron, felt easy to get along with at first meeting—there were none.
"The Sorting Hat took quite a while with you. Did it say anything?"
Malfoy's question sounded casual, but her eyes were fixed on him like a snake studying its prey.
Thinking of the Hat's words—and his own final answer—Harry felt heat rush to his face. He coughed quickly to hide it.
"Cough—no. Nothing at all…"
"Is that so?"
Malfoy narrowed her eyes, then shrugged lightly.
"Very well. We can talk about it another time."
"Mm. Another time…"
Harry felt a headache coming on. He had known her less than a day, and already she had caused several life-questioning moments.
If possible, he hoped his future at Hogwarts could avoid further entanglement with her…
That was what he thought.
But the body was honest.
Otherwise, he wouldn't be sitting here at all.