At the Slytherin table, Harry bowed to the prefect and sat beside a lanky boy named Nott. Another boy was displaced to make room, and Harry felt a pang of guilt. The Slytherin students seemed composed, but their glances darted to the scar hidden beneath Harry's hair. They welcomed him kindly enough, yet the other three houses whispered and stared, making Harry feel subtly ostracized.
(They don't have to look at me like that.)
The other houses gazed as if Harry had done something wrong. Sure, he might've broken a rule, but he hadn't hurt anyone. Being sorted into Slytherin was his fate—shouldn't that be his choice?
Blaise Zabini, a strikingly handsome Black boy who looked like he'd stepped out of a film, was sorted into Slytherin and took the seat beside Harry. He glanced at Harry's scar with a faint, mocking smirk.
"Not much of a looker, eh, Harry Potter?"
One virtue of the wizarding world over the Muggle one was the absence of racial prejudice. By distancing itself from Muggle values, it fostered children free from such biases.
But this made Zabini insensitive to others' pain, his character, to put it mildly, flawed.
"Sorry I'm not hero material. I'm no heartthrob like you, but I can manage some magic. Nice to meet you, Blaise," Harry replied.
"Slytherin's no place for heroes. We're the villains," Blaise said.
At that moment, Blaise was afflicted with a childish notion: villains were freer, cooler than heroes. He'd chosen Slytherin to become the ultimate rogue.
Harry disliked unwarranted insults but was equally uneasy with hollow flattery. Most praise he received tied to his infant survival, not his actions. Only Ron and now Blaise had judged him fairly.
Harry wanted to talk to Draco, but the sorting wasn't done. Noticing Slytherin's table was less crowded, he murmured, "Not many come to Slytherin, huh?"
"Only the chosen witches and wizards make it here," Blaise replied, believing his mixed-blood status made him more gifted than pure-blood Slytherins.
When Ronald Weasley's name was called, crude laughter erupted from the Slytherin table. Ron, ears burning red, pulled the Sorting Hat low to hide them.
Seconds later, the Hat declared Gryffindor.
Harry, alone among Slytherins, clapped for Ron.
His applause stood out, but Harry didn't care. Zabini and Nott shot him curious looks; he pretended not to notice.
As the last student was sorted into Slytherin, the feast began. Harry had little time to eat, busy exchanging greetings with Slytherins of all ages. Their refined, upper-class English—unlike his middle-class speech—came first from the Sacred Twenty-Eight families Draco boasted about, like Parkinson and Greengrass, then from unfamiliar names.
Harry responded politely, tossing in occasional jokes, but knew he couldn't remember everyone. He'd focus on peers he'd talk to often.
When he finally bit into his veal sauté, Albus Dumbledore stood at the staff table, announcing forbidden areas, the forest's off-limits status, and a nighttime curfew, before wishing students a restful sleep.
The Slytherin common room lay beneath the castle, accessed with the password "Pureblood." Inside, elegant furnishings in soothing green greeted them. Harry noticed amber fish swimming past the windows.
A female prefect concluded, "Some of you may feel you don't belong in Slytherin. That's hasty. Salazar Slytherin saw cunning, conviction, and magical talent in you. Embrace it, unite as kin—that's our role."
A male prefect, Gaffgarion, added, "Keep our common room's playful jabs inside these walls. Take them outside, and you'll regret it. Draw the line between public and private, and bring Slytherin victory this year. We're counting on you, first-years."
In the dorm, Harry shared a room with Zabini, Azrael Bloom—a wealthy-looking blond—and Farcus Sadalfas, a slightly shabby Slytherin. Harry, though, was the shabbiest.
Even in Slytherin, a hierarchy existed between pure-bloods and others. Harry noted Draco's envious glance, relieved not to room with a Sacred Twenty-Eight scion.
Seeing Zabini and Azrael's lavish belongings, Harry braced for bullying, but his fears were unfounded. Azrael and Farcus were curious about how he'd spotted the rat, while Harry, dodging their questions with a sly smile, spoke to his snake, Asclepius, in Parseltongue.
"It's all thanks to you and Hagrid for bringing you. Am I cheating?"
"Will you reward me with a rat, Harry?"
"Sure, a big one like Scabbers."
His roommates exchanged looks, realizing how Harry had uncovered the rat. With a mischievous grin, he asked, "As friends, can you keep this quiet? Parseltongue isn't exactly common."
Farcus nodded first, Azrael chuckling, "Fine." Harry thanked them, finding them kinder than first impressions suggested. They promised not to spread word of his Parseltongue.
Zabini, however, was eager to boast. "A Parselmouth? That's wicked cool! Why hide it?"
"I don't want weird looks," Harry said.
"Scare 'em silent with Parseltongue! Let's rule Slytherin, Potter!" Zabini urged.
Harry explained he had no intent to intimidate or let Asclepius bully others. Zabini grumbled but agreed to keep it a dorm secret, a compromise Harry accepted.
One reason Slytherin was poorly viewed was its reputation for bullies, a perception from the other houses. It might be prejudice, but not entirely baseless. From first to seventh years, Slytherin had its share of scum who used wealth, power, looks, lineage, or magical talent to torment others. Other houses banded together against them, while Slytherins shielded their own, often escalating into house-wide conflicts.
Harry learned then the stark truth: Slytherin harbored bullies who stood out for all the wrong reasons.