Once the Sorting Hat was on his head, the world around him darkened, like heavy velvet curtains being drawn closed. The chatter of the Great Hall faded to a faint hum, distant and unreal. The candlelight dulled, leaving only the space within his mind lit by a warm, flickering glow. By now, Scorpius was familiar with the routine.
Before him, four luminous symbols emerged in the darkness—floating midair, slowly revolving like constellations. Each glowed in its signature hue: crimson and gold for Gryffindor, emerald and silver for Slytherin, blue and bronze for Ravenclaw, and yellow and black for Hufflepuff. The crests pulsed gently, alive with magic.
As Scorpius focused on each emblem, golden script materialized beneath them, as though etched in fire.
Beneath the Gryffindor lion:
"Courage is the best protection, the most wonderful ally."
Beneath the Slytherin serpent:
"Spare nothing to ensure the good of that which is pure."
Beneath the Ravenclaw eagle:
"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."
And beneath the Hufflepuff badger:
"Nobler than royalty are friends of true loyalty."
The symbols rotated slowly, almost beckoning, and Scorpius felt their pull—each one whispering something ancient and powerful. The Sorting Hat, still perched above his ears, gave a thoughtful hum in the dark.
"Well, well, Mr. Malfoy… You carry more than your family name, I see."
Scorpius didn't respond. He simply looked at each emblem again, frowning slightly.
"Cunning, yes… clever, too. Very cautious. You've been watching this world your whole life, haven't you? Calculating."
The hat chuckled. "I would place you in Ravenclaw. You have the discipline, the insight. Methodical in your logic. You'd thrive there."
"I see," said Scorpius calmly, almost too calmly. The Ravenclaw emblem pulsed brighter.
"So, have you made your choice?" asked the Hat.
"Ravenclaw is a peaceful house, but I don't think it's right for me," said Scorpius.
"Why is that?" asked the hat.
Scorpius took a moment to compose his thoughts, "There is a conspiracy going on among the pureblood families. Someone is calling me out as the son of Voldemort."
"I see…and what do you desire?"
"I want power, power to make my own choice, power to bring change and restore the Malfoy name, and most importantly, to enjoy my life freely," said Scorpius. Mentally, he moved towards the Slytherin Emblem, causing it to shine brightly, and the other emblems faded away.
"Very well then. A strong ambition. Almost Gryffindor-like—but quite in line with Slytherin's finest. Yes… Yes, indeed."
The hat practically roared now:
"SLYTHERIN!"
The world returned in a rush of sound and color as the hat was lifted from his head. Scorpius stood up calmly, his silver-blonde hair catching the candlelight, and he was met with polite clapping from the Slytherins.
Scorpius broke composure with a small smirk on his face. He lifted his hand in a two-finger salute towards Albus. He then stepped down from the dais, calm and straight-backed, but not before catching the quick, loaded glance between Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick. McGonagall's lips were pressed into a firm line, her jaw tight. Flitwick, though small, gave her a look that was almost... apologetic? Or perhaps impressed. Neither said a word, but they had some misgivings about him.
From the line of first-years still waiting to be sorted, Rose Weasley stood stiffly, watching the exchange unfold. Her arms were crossed, and her expression was unreadable. Around her, Henry Wood, Lucy Thomas, and two other girls leaned in, whispering.
"Was that a hat stall?" Lucy asked.
"No, he took two minutes," Rose muttered. "Not a hatstall but longer than expected."
Meanwhile, further down the line, James Sirius Potter turned slightly, smirking over his shoulder. "Another Malfoy doomed to Slytherin," he muttered to Fred the Second, who snickered. Damien, Graham, Noah Metzer, and Petra Morgenstern stood behind them, murmuring to each other while exchanging glances across the Hall. Petra's expression was one of amused interest, and she locked eyes for a moment with Sabrina Hildegard, seated under the blue Ravenclaw banner. Beside her, Horace Birch narrowed his eyes and rested his chin in his hand as if studying Scorpius like a riddle on a test.
Back in line, Adrian Sahota turned to Jonas Selwyn, eyebrows raised. "Do you think I'll go to Slytherin?"
Jonas shook his head slightly. "Probably not. You seem like a Hufflepuff to me."
Next to them, Albus Potter went pale. "Oh no. Oh no."
Jonas glanced at the parchment Flitwick held and elbowed him. "Albus Severus Potter… You're next."
Albus clutched his robes. "I'm not ready. I was supposed to—he was supposed to warm up the room first! Ease people in!"
Adrian chuckled under his breath. "Well, he did something to the room."
"Great," Albus muttered. "Why do I have to go after him? Uncle Ron was right. Malfoys are trouble."
"Albus Severus Potter," called Professor Flitwick.
The name sent a fresh ripple of murmurs through the Hall, though perhaps not as loud as the one Scorpius had stirred. Albus felt a prickle of sweat along the back of his neck as he stepped forward. His shoes suddenly felt too loud against the stone floor.
He risked a glance toward the Gryffindor side. James was grinning like an idiot, leaned halfway toward the aisle, mouthing "Slytherin!" with dramatic flair. A second later, the girl next to him—Petra Morgenstern—swiftly elbowed him in the ribs. James winced and leaned in to hear her whisper something in his ear. Albus couldn't make it out, but it looked suspiciously like a lecture about being decent. It reminded him of how Aunt Hermione always reprimanded Uncle Ron.
Albus flushed and looked away, heart pounding. As he reached the Sorting Stool, his eyes caught Scorpius sitting calmly at the Slytherin table, one brow raised in amusement. The Malfoy heir gave him a small nod and a subtle thumbs-up—cool, quiet, but oddly reassuring.
Albus sat.
The Sorting Hat was placed on his head, and the world dimmed instantly.
"Well, well," came the familiar voice, low and curious. "Another Potter, and a conflicted one at that. You've got quite the name stitched into your soul, haven't you?"
Albus bit the inside of his cheek. "Put me where I'll do well," he thought quickly. "I don't care about the name."
"Oh, but others will," the Hat mused. "You've got bravery, yes—plenty of it—but buried under self-doubt and the pressure of legacy. Hufflepuff would teach you patience. Ravenclaw would give you clarity. But you don't want that."
"No," Albus admitted.
"You want to make your path. You want to be unexpected. You want to prove yourself on your terms. And you're more like that Malfoy boy than you realize…"
"Scorpius? He's different."
"He chose Slytherin. Boldly. You… might just belong there too."
There was a long pause. Albus felt his chest tighten.
Then the hat spoke, its voice bright and final.
"SLYTHERIN!"
The word fell like a lightning bolt across the Great Hall.
For a moment, silence gripped the room—then, an uproar erupted. The kind that wasn't just noise, but shock distilled into dozens of gasps, murmurs, and pointed stares.
At the Ravenclaw table, someone whispered with astonishment, "Did the Sorting hat just say Slytherin ?"
At Hufflepuff, a second-year dropped her fork. Even a few of the professors sat up straighter, exchanging glances over their goblets.
"Whoa! A Potter? In Slytherin?"
"I suppose his hair isn't that similar to his father's."
"Maybe he's cursed by Voldemort."
"Is he a dark wizard?"
All sorts of whispers echoed across the room. James had gone wide-eyed, his mouth slightly ajar. Even he hadn't predicted this. His earlier teasing suddenly looked out of place.
Flitwick gently nudged Albus with his palm, bringing him out of his stupor.
Albus stood frozen for a moment, as if the Sorting Hat's proclamation had knocked the wind out of him. The sound of students whispering—a Potter in Slytherin?—seemed to fade into a ringing in his ears. His limbs felt detached from his body, and the ground beneath him no longer seemed steady. It was as though someone had swept the broomstick out from under him mid-flight.
He took a tentative step forward, his face pale. His eyes darted toward the Gryffindor table, where James was still blinking in disbelief. Petra leaned in again and whispered something that made him wince and nod, rubbing the back of his neck like a scolded puppy.
Albus swallowed and turned away, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. His heart thundered in his chest, and he wasn't entirely sure if he was walking toward the Slytherin table or just escaping the spotlight.
Scorpius had already shifted sideways on the bench, patting the empty space next to him. His pale eyebrows lifted ever so slightly in invitation. "Come on, Potter," he said in a low voice. "You'll survive."
Albus sat down beside him, almost collapsing into the seat. He didn't speak. He barely breathed. He just sat there, staring ahead as though trying to process the seismic shift in his world.
Scorpius leaned over, his tone almost conspiratorial. "You know," he murmured, "It's a shame I can't fulfill my part of the bargain."
Albus didn't know what to say
…
Headmistress McGonagall rose to her feet.
Though she was aged now, with a little more silver in her hair and lines around her eyes, her presence had lost none of its commanding authority. The room fell respectfully silent.
She cleared her throat. "Welcome, one and all, to another year at Hogwarts."
Her voice rang clearly through the hall, magically amplified so even the youngest student in the back could hear. "To our returning students, welcome back. And to our new first-years—welcome home."
There was a small but heartfelt round of applause.
"I have only a few announcements before we feast," she continued, her tone brisk but warm. "First, a reminder that the Forbidden Forest is, as the name suggests, forbidden. No students are to enter without staff permission."
A few older students chuckled.
"Second," she added with a slight raise of her brow, "Our caretaker, Mr.Stoneworth would like to inform you that the list of banned magical items has now surpassed five hundred. If you're uncertain, assume it's banned."
There was a collective groan—mostly from the Gryffindors.
McGonagall's expression softened. "Lastly, I urge each of you to remember: your house is not your identity, but your community. Learn from each other. Grow together. And most importantly—be kind."
She lifted her wand—and with a flick, the golden plates on each table filled with steaming roasts, vegetables, puddings, pasties, and goblets full of pumpkin juice
The feast was in full swing now. Laughter echoed across the Great Hall, punctuated by the clatter of plates and the occasional burst of enchanted bubbles from a student's overenthusiastic goblet charm.
Scorpius sat with one elbow on the Slytherin table, chewing absentmindedly on a piece of roasted pumpkin while letting his gaze wander across the hall.
To his left, Albus was finally relaxing, if only slightly, though he still glanced nervously at his older brother every now and then. Scorpius smirked—James was far too busy launching peas at Fred to notice anything going on at the Slytherin table.
His eyes slid over to the Hufflepuff section, where Adrian Sahota was chatting animatedly with two other boys—one a curly-haired muggleborn who looked just as awed by the floating candles as he had on the boat. Adrian waved his arms as he mimicked the Sorting Hat's voice, drawing a round of laughs from his table. Scorpius couldn't help but grin. Hufflepuff suits him.
Across the hall at the Gryffindor table, Rose Weasley was seated beside Henry Wood and Lucy Thomas. She already looked at home—gesturing with her fork as she debated some Hogwarts factoid with Lucy while Henry challenged a fourth-year to a pudding-eating contest. The girl Scorpius remembered as Veronica Applebee leaned in occasionally, smiling as if she'd already decided Rose was worth befriending.
Typical Gryffindor energy. Loud, fast, and fearless.
Then, Scorpius's gaze drifted to the Ravenclaw table, where Jonas Selwyn was sitting among a quieter crowd. He wasn't smiling, but he looked deeply engaged, his eyes locked with a freckled girl across from him as they discussed the layout of the castle—or maybe just debating which spells they'd be allowed to learn first. Occasionally, Jonas would shoot glances toward Scorpius's end of the hall, thoughtful but unreadable.
Scorpius leaned back, soaking it all in. Each of them—Adrian, Rose, Jonas—had found their place. Different houses, different tables, different lives.