Harry entered the first available compartment he found, settled into a seat, and pulled an old biology book from his trunk. The tome, published in the late sixties, had caught his interest after he decided that pursuing a career as a doctor—magical or otherwise—was worth considering. Besides, he had acquired the book and a few others at a shop where the gossiping shopkeeper reminded him of his aunt, and he found himself secretly pleased that rumors contradicting the Dursleys' malicious tales about him were circulating in the neighborhood.
As the time approached eleven in the morning, signaling the Hogwarts Express's departure, more students filled the train and the platform. Yet Harry remained undisturbed by the bustle. Around fifteen minutes before departure, a dark-skinned boy with short black hair entered the compartment and politely asked if he could sit. However, as he settled in without further pressing Harry for conversation, Harry found himself relaxed in the boy's company.
"Have either of you seen Harry Potter?" asked a lanky redhead, bustling in and interrupting Harry's thoughts. The green-eyed wizard looked up from his book, surprised to realize he had been so engrossed in reading that he hadn't noticed the train had departed. A single glance at the redhead made Harry wary; he had little interest in becoming friends with someone who seemed eager to exploit the fame he never wanted. He would trade all his notoriety and riches at Gringotts for just one day with his parents.
"No, I haven't seen him," Harry replied curtly, returning to his book. The redhead muttered something under his breath and left. The rest of the train ride passed with nothing more interesting than the appearance of a lady with a trolley laden with sweets and snacks.
The boat ride to the grand castle of Hogwarts was dampened by the rain, and as they entered the castle, they were pelted by a poltergeist armed with water balloons, which did little to lift the spirits. Fortunately, the deputy headmistress offered drying and warming charms to those in need.
Once everyone was suitably dry, Professor McGonagall explained that the sorting ceremony would begin shortly and stepped out, allowing the first years to speculate about the process. The redhead from the train expressed his belief that they would face a troll, while a girl with bushy dark-brown hair worried about being unprepared. A boy with long black hair mused that it would be a lottery.
Harry tuned out the rumors and instead spotted Draconica among the crowd. He gathered his courage and approached her.
"Good evening, my Lady," he greeted her, grateful she was alone and not mingling with others. Draconica's gray eyes scanned him for a moment before she recognized him as the boy from Madam Malkin's shop—his new robes had changed the impression he had made earlier.
"Hello, it's nice to see you again," she replied with a small bow. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name last time."
"I didn't share it," Harry admitted, catching the question poised on her lips. "But you'll find out in a few minutes, so I'm holding off for now." Draconica feigned annoyance, though a small smile broke through moments later. Just then, Professor McGonagall returned, briefly outlining the history of the Hogwarts houses before leading the first years into the Great Hall.
"Still undecided on your preferred house?" Draconica asked as they entered.
"No, I really don't care," Harry replied. "And you still wish to be a Slytherin?" Draconica nodded.
The Great Hall fell silent as the Sorting Hat on the stool before the teachers began to sing. Once it finished, Professor McGonagall called the first student. As the sorting progressed, Harry observed the newcomers being placed into their houses.
Finally, "Malfoy, Draconica," was called. She walked confidently to the stool, and as the hat was placed on her head, it promptly sorted her into Slytherin, her robes turning green and silver. Removing the hat, she approached her house table with the same composed demeanor, though she chuckled at Harry, who grinned back.
The sorting continued, with names being called and students assigned: Morag McDougal to Ravenclaw, Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson to Slytherin, until finally it was Harry's turn.
"Potter, Harry." Harry could barely contain his amusement at the bewilderment on Draconica's face as she realized she had befriended the most notorious preteen in the wizarding world without recognizing him.
"Hmm… it's nice to finally sort you, Mr. Potter," the Sorting Hat spoke directly into Harry's thoughts as he settled it onto his head. "You are diligent and have a propensity to help, but primarily you act in your own interest. No, Hufflepuff isn't your place, although you share qualities Helga would appreciate…"
Recognizing Harry's desire for knowledge, it continued, "You possess a bright mind but pursue learning for reasons beyond mere curiosity. Rowena's house isn't for you either."
"So it's down to Slytherin or Gryffindor," Harry mused, oddly calm with the hat sorting through his thoughts.
"Indeed, Mr. Potter. You embody traits of both houses; either could cultivate your potential. You showcase ambition and the determination to overcome challenges—qualities aligned with Slytherin. At the same time, however, you exhibit the valor and fairness Godric sought in his students. Where should I place you?"
"Isn't that your job?" Harry almost retorted.
"Indeed, but when a student fits into multiple houses, I allow them to make their own choice. So where do you wish to go, Mr. Potter?"
"I don't particularly care," Harry replied. "But people are starting to wonder why I'm taking so long."
"Impatience, Mr. Potter, is a trait Slytherins often lack. It seems I have no alternative but to sort you into…"
"Gryffindor!" the hat announced.
Removing it, Harry trudged over to the red and gold table, trying to dismiss the excited cheers that came at the mention of 'the Boy Who Lived.' Eyeing Draconica at the Slytherin table, he caught her gaze, and she merely shrugged, indicating that their friendship would likely endure despite the rivalry of their houses—something which Harry was secretly grateful for.
The sorting continued, with Dean Thomas joining Gryffindor as well, while the red-haired boy, now identified as Ron Weasley, was also sorted into Gryffindor. As the sorting wrapped up and the headmaster welcomed the students with a few words, Harry settled into his new place among the Gryffindors, the excitement of the feast beginning to fill the hall around him.
Once the students and professors had savored the feast's dessert, the remaining dishes vanished from the tables. The headmaster captured everyone's attention by gently tapping his golden goblet.
"Ahem—just a few final words now that we've all enjoyed our meal," Dumbledore began, his voice echoing through the hall. "I have some important start-of-term announcements. First years, please be reminded that the Forbidden Forest is indeed just that—off-limits to all students. A reminder to a few of our older pupils wouldn't hurt either." He cast a knowing glance at the mischievous Weasley twins.
"Additionally," he continued, "Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has requested that I remind you that magic is prohibited in the corridors between classes. For those curious, a list of forbidden items can be found posted on his office door. Quidditch tryouts will take place starting in the second week of term; anyone interested in representing their house should speak to Madam Hooch. Finally, I must strongly advise that the third-floor corridor on the right is off-limits to anyone who values their lives." A few students chuckled, but Harry could sense the gravity in Dumbledore's tone.
Harry couldn't help but think, 'It seems senseless to forbid students from going somewhere without explaining why. It's almost as if he's challenging us to sneak in.' He muttered this under his breath, catching the attention of a nearby seventh-year, who nodded in agreement. As Dumbledore wrapped up his speech, sending the students off to their dormitories, Harry's mind was still occupied with the mystery of the third-floor corridor.
"Follow me," beckoned a red-haired prefect, gesturing for the first years, including Harry, to follow him to the Gryffindor dormitories.
~/ *** \ ~
Later, Dumbledore sat alone in his office, reflecting on the situation involving the supposed Chosen One of the British wizarding world. Neville hadn't been the one chosen by the wand either; the ancient wizard remained uncertain about which boy was destined for greatness. The Sorting Hat had given no indication, as both boys had been placed in Gryffindor.
Meanwhile, Harry kept to himself during the feast, while Neville, though shy, engaged actively with their housemates. A doubt crept into Dumbledore's mind: perhaps he had made a mistake all those years ago, and Harry Potter truly wasn't the Chosen One. Yet, why then would Voldemort have targeted the Potters, had their son not held that distinction?
'For now, we still have time before Tom returns...' Dumbledore sighed. 'The Chosen One must reveal himself. The Chosen One will go after the decoy I'm using to draw Tom out.' Pleased with his dual strategy to identify the true Chosen One and weaken Voldemort's influence, he decided to call it a day.
~/ *** \ ~
In the Gryffindor dormitories, Harry faced a distinct challenge: a problem of the red-haired variety. As soon as the first years were shown to their rooms, one Ronald Weasley approached him with an accusatory tone.
"Why did you lie about not seeing Harry Potter on the train when you're him?" Ron shot at him, frustration nearly spilling over.
"I didn't look in a mirror on the train, so I didn't see myself," Harry replied with a shrug, almost provoking Ron's wrath. He didn't want to reveal that he was simply uninterested in befriending someone who sought his fame for personal gain. Draconica, who he had surprisingly found pleasant, might have been raised with a certain type of entitlement—but at least she treated him kindly, even unaware of his identity. If Ron persisted in being simple-minded, Harry would have to make his disinterest abundantly clear sooner rather than later.
"But mate..." Ron pressed, but Harry shot him a glare that silenced him.
"I'm not your mate," Harry hissed.
"But…" Ron insisted, only to be met with another fierce glare, which finally rendered him speechless. "And you were all chummy with a Malfoy. You should watch out, or you might turn dark too," Ron added, raising his voice once more. Harry gave him a last piercing glare.
"She's my friend," he declared firmly, before drawing the canopy of his bed shut. He could still hear Ron muttering about Draconica being an evil witch and accusing him of embracing darkness just by conversing with her. Luckily, his bed was nearest to the dormitory door, and next to him lay Neville's—at least one good person in the room. Were Ron to be sleeping beside him, Harry imagined the boy would attempt some misguided 'rescue' mission from this so-called 'darkness.' 'I really need to learn about privacy wards,' he thought, recalling Hagrid's words about wards being protective enchantments. 'Yes, that's definitely a priority.'
~/ *** \ ~
In the Slytherin dormitories, Draconica sat on her bed contemplating the revelations of the day. The boy she had met in Madam Malkin's shop was indeed Harry Potter, the so-called hero, and he defied her family's expectations. He neither acted arrogantly about his fame nor flaunted any knowledge of the magical world—yet, he possessed a sharp mind, cleverly concealing his naivety about the new reality he had entered.
The scion of House Potter was surprisingly pleasant to be with, far better than the lobotomized Crabbe and Goyle her father deemed suitable as her protectors—or her older fiancé, who proved to be dreadfully dull and burdened with an unwanted contract. Draconica sighed. She really didn't wish to marry him, but she had seen the contract; she'd be bound to him as soon as she turned sixteen. Life, as her mother had demonstrated, was seldom fair, and Draconica had learned to accept that.
Returning her thoughts to Harry, she acknowledged that she wouldn't mind cultivating their friendship further. While Greengrass and Davis were good company, they were hardly the only worth her time in Slytherin. But with Potter now sorted into a rival house, nurturing a true friendship felt impossible—with Slytherin principles dictating that relationships should be transactional than genuine. Yet Dumbledore's misguided hope that mingling Gryffindors and Slytherins would lessen their rivalry offered a slim chance to disguise their bond as mere collaboration in classes for mutual benefit.
Like her mother, Narcissa Malfoy (née Black), who had entered a loveless contract, Draconica had held onto a vision of romance—a dream of finding her prince charming. Would Harry fit that role? She quickly dismissed the thought as fanciful nonsense; they belonged to opposing houses and political factions engaged in a silent war, and she was already bound by contract. Any hope for growth between them felt futile…