The outline of Hogwarts Castle gradually sharpened in the dusk, its spires piercing the clouds, the glow from its windows falling like scattered stars into the night.
The boats skimmed across the Black Lake, the water cold enough to sting.
Harry sat at the stern, watching the familiar pale blond head in front of him—catching the moonlight, turning silver. Draco glanced back at him every now and then.
"We're nearly there!" Hagrid shouted from the front, his voice echoing across the lake.
Harry withdrew his gaze and looked at the approaching castle, tension coiling tight in his chest.
The Sorting Ceremony—his first critical moment after rebirth.
Inside the castle, Professor McGonagall waited in the Entrance Hall, clad in her emerald robes, expression solemn.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she began, voice crisp and commanding. "Before the Sorting, there are a few rules I must emphasize—"
Harry barely listened. His thoughts drifted.
Draco stood a little further away among several other pure-blood heirs.
They followed McGonagall through the hall—straight into the Great Hall.
The ceiling was bewitched to look like a starry night sky.
Four long tables stretched out before them, draped in red-gold, blue-silver, green-silver, and black-yellow—Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff.
At the staff table, Dumbledore had yet to arrive. Snape was already sinking into his chair, his black robes making his skin seem even paler. His gaze swept the students, pausing on Harry for a brief moment before sliding away again, unreadable.
McGonagall placed a battered old hat on a stool.
The hat's brim split open, singing its annual song.
"Now, step forward in the order of the roll!" McGonagall said, unrolling a sheet of parchment.
The first name: "Hannah Abbott!"
A bespectacled girl walked up. The hat barely touched her hair before shouting, "HUFFLEPUFF!" A round of applause broke out from the yellow-and-black table.
One by one the names went on. Students were placed, applause rising here and there—Gryffindor's loudest, Slytherin's quieter and more restrained.
"Draco Malfoy!"
When McGonagall called his name, a ripple ran through the Slytherin table.
Draco stepped forward with steady, unhurried steps, his pale blond hair shining beneath the candles.
He wasn't nervous; he simply stood still as the hat dropped onto his head.
"Ahh… a Malfoy," the hat murmured, loud enough for others to hear. "Clever, ambitious, certain of his path… SLYTHERIN!"
The instant the word was spoken, the Slytherin table burst into applause—more enthusiastic than before.
Draco removed the hat, offered a small respectful nod toward the staff table, then walked to the green-draped long table.
He sat near the center and looked across the crowd toward Harry, giving him a small nod.
Harry's heartbeat steadied. His fingers slowly loosened.
Next, Ron's name was called.
"Ronald Weasley!" McGonagall announced.
The red-haired boy stumbled forward, sat down, and after a few seconds of deliberation, the hat yelled, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Cheers erupted from the red-gold table; Ron's older brothers stood to wave at him. Ron, cheeks red, looked back at Harry with expectant eyes—as though waiting for him to join Gryffindor.
Harry ignored him.
His eyes were fixed on the stool.
Finally—
"Harry Potter!"
Silence fell.
The entire Great Hall froze. Thousands of eyes locked onto him—students, teachers, everyone. Even the air seemed to still.
Harry took a deep breath and walked forward.
He could feel Ron's startled stare, Gryffindor's whispered anticipation, and Snape's sudden shift—his posture straightening, gaze sharpening with a strange, unreadable intensity.
McGonagall lowered the hat onto Harry's head, plunging him into darkness.
"Oh… Harry Potter," the hat drawled, voice echoing in his mind. "Famous Harry Potter… hmm… difficult. Very difficult. You have the courage of Gryffindor… but also Slytherin's ambition—its fixation. Your parents were Gryffindors—you would find true friends there… and yet… Slytherin could lead you to greatness, there is no doubt."
"I want Slytherin," Harry said silently, firm. "I choose Slytherin."
"Oh! A correct choice," the hat purred. "Ambition, talent… Slytherin will help you shine."
"Yes. I know what I want. Slytherin can give it to me."
The hall held its breath.
Everyone was waiting—waiting for the "Savior" to follow in his parents' footsteps, waiting for the boy who lived to walk into Gryffindor.
At last, the hat shouted, loud and final—
"SLYTHERIN!"
The hall erupted.
Gryffindor's cheers cut off mid-breath.
Ron stared at him in horror, muttering, "The hat must be broken!" His brothers were equally stunned.
Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws whispered to each other, eyes wide.
Even the Slytherins went silent for a few seconds—
Then Draco stood up and began applauding.
The rest of Slytherin followed, louder and more excited than before. Several students stood to wave, faces bright with astonished delight.
At the staff table, Dumbledore had just entered.
He paused mid-step. Behind his half-moon glasses, his eyes flashed with surprise before smoothing into warmth again.
Snape's reaction was sharper—Harry felt the weight of his stare, heavy and intent. Snape's hand, gripping his wand, trembled faintly.
Harry lifted the hat off, handed it to McGonagall, and turned toward the Slytherin table.
He didn't glance at Gryffindor.
Didn't look at the staff table.
His eyes found only one thing—the pale blond head waiting for him.
Draco was already standing, an empty space beside him. When Harry approached, Draco's lips curved in a faint smile—subtle, but grounding.
Harry sat.
Draco quietly slid a piece of chocolate toward him.
"Not bad," Draco murmured, voice low enough for only Harry to hear. "Even smoother than I expected."
Harry took the chocolate. His fingers brushed Draco's—soft, fleeting. He hummed lightly in reply.
Looking up toward the staff table, he met Snape's gaze again—complex, surprised, questioning, as if searching for something in Harry's face.
Harry didn't look away. He met the stare calmly, then turned back to Draco and shifted his attention toward Dumbledore.
Dumbledore had taken his seat and begun his welcome speech—warm, gentle, full of the usual platitudes: "Welcome," "Hogwarts is your home," and so on.
Harry barely listened.
A quiet sense of relief unfurled in his chest.
The first step was done.
He was in Slytherin.
Close to Draco.
Further from Dumbledore's scrutiny.
Now he could begin preparing.
Food appeared on the Slytherin table—roast chicken, steak, pumpkin juice, filling the hall with rich aromas.
Draco handed Harry a plate and poured pumpkin juice for him, the motions so natural it felt like he'd done them a hundred times.
Around them, Slytherins stole glances—curious, cautious, polite.
After all, Harry Potter was a "special case"—the "Savior" placed in Slytherin.
Harry quietly cut into his steak, eating slowly.
Candlelight fell over him and Draco, their shadows overlapping on the green tablecloth—close, steady.
He knew the days ahead wouldn't be easy.
But he wasn't alone.
Harry looked at Draco again—the blond hair soft in the warm candlelight, the sharp lines of his face softened.
"Thanks," Harry said quietly.
Draco paused mid-cut, turned his head, and smiled—
Not the cold, polished smile for outsiders,
but one with warmth, one he reserved only for Harry.
"No need," he said softly. "I'll always be by your side."
The Great Hall buzzed on—Gryffindor bursting into cheers now and then, Dumbledore continuing his gentle speech.
But to Harry, all of that felt distant.
His world now was the green table before him, the meal on his plate,
and the boy with pale blond hair sitting beside him.