Bella's question refused to leave him alone.
Not the words themselves.
The assumption behind them.
Gryffindor or Slytherin.
As if the rest were footnotes.
Jon stood by the window, watching the last of the afternoon light stretch across the manor floor. Old houses absorbed sound differently. Even his thoughts felt quieter here.
He understood why those two Houses dominated every conversation.
They produced heroes and villains. Leaders and monsters. People and history remember.
They also attracted attention.
Too much of it.
In Gryffindor, bravery often arrived tangled with impulse. People acted first and trusted the world to forgive them later. Sometimes it did. Sometimes others paid the price.
In Slytherin, patience replaced impulse. Power replaced idealism. The flaw was not ambition itself. It was an entitlement. Too many believed their goals mattered more simply because of who they were.
Different paths.
Same spotlight.
Jon had lived under that light before. Professors watching. Parents measuring. Peers competing.
He remembered how exhausting it had been.
He did not want Dumbledore wondering why an eleven-year-old asked the wrong questions too early.
He did not want Snape staring long enough to notice what did not belong.
Legilimency was not unbeatable. Anyone who claimed otherwise was lying.
Defences existed. Habits. Mental structures. Noise.
But defences invited curiosity.
Curiosity invited scrutiny.
Scrutiny destroyed privacy.
And privacy was the one thing Jon refused to lose again.
If he were honest, Ravenclaw tempted him. Ideas mattered there. Curiosity was currency. But even there, cleverness became performance. Knowledge turned competitive.
Hufflepuff was quieter.
People underestimated it.
Which meant fewer eyes. Fewer expectations. Fewer questions about why you were different instead of whether you belonged.
Dependability over distinction.
Jon found that comforting.
Bella's voice cut in. "You've gone quiet."
He glanced over. "Thinking."
"That's never a good sign," she said.
He smiled faintly. "I think Gryffindor and Slytherin get too much credit."
She blinked. "That's heresy."
"They're loud," he said. "History remembers loud things."
"And the others?"
"Hold everything together."
She frowned, considering that. "You'd really choose Hufflepuff?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because no one watches you there unless you give them a reason."
That made her laugh. "You're strange."
"Practical."
A soft pop announced the company.
Jasmine appeared with a tray, posture relaxed, eyes sharp. "Refreshments?"
"Yes, please," Jon said.
As she moved away, he noticed how she waited for answers, not orders. How she spoke without rehearsed deference.
The manor revealed its values quietly.
Bella returned moments later, barely containing herself. "I heard something."
Jon sighed. "That never ends well."
"Grandma mentioned you," she said. "Something about the family magic stirring again."
He went still.
"Stirring how?" he asked, carefully.
She shrugged. "She did not explain. Just said old lines do not always stay quiet forever."
That was better.
Vaguer.
Safer.
Jon turned back to the window.
Inheritance did not mean destiny. Blood did not dictate choice. History created pressure, not obligation.
If something old had noticed him, that did not mean it owned him.
Bella leaned closer. "So? Slytherin now?"
He shook his head. "If something expects me to be loud, I will disappoint it."
Outside, the manor settled. Wood creaked. Wards hummed.
No approval.
Acknowledgment.
Jon finished his drink slowly.
Whatever watched this house had seen many heirs.
He intended to survive being one.
(End of Chapter 5)