"Professor, I really think it's important I see Harry before the Sorting. I don't even know if he knows I'm here," I said, my voice tight with urgency as I stood across from Professor McGonagall in her office. Her stern features softened into a sympathetic expression.
"Oh, dear," she murmured, eyes widening behind her square spectacles. "I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mr. Potter. The Sorting is already underway. Had I known earlier… we could have postponed this meeting."
Of course. The one time I tried to do things the proper way, I ended up being too late anyway.
"That's no problem, then," I replied, forcing a smile that felt brittle. My disappointment clung to my skin like a wet cloak. "Thank you, Professor."
She gave a gracious nod and opened the door. "Best of luck, Mr. Potter."
I stepped out into the corridor and stood before the tall doors that separated me from hundreds of strangers, soon-to-be classmates, and one person who used to feel like home.
No pep talk could prepare me for this. No map, no spell, no trick. Just breath and bravery.
With a final exhale, I pushed open the doors.
The chatter in the Great Hall dimmed as soon as I stepped inside. A sea of eyes turned toward me, some curious, others confused. Professor McGonagall's voice rang out across the chamber.
"Peter Potter."
The name echoed off the ancient stone walls.
It didn't matter that we'd just spoken. It didn't matter that I felt like throwing up. I was walking through a legend.
Rows of students whispered to each other, and I caught my surname fluttering across their lips. "Potter?" "Another one?" "Is that his brother?" The wave of murmurs was suffocating.
But I was looking for only one face.
And then I found it.
Near the Gryffindor table, eyes green as summer leaves met mine—Harry. His expression was unreadable. Surprise. Confusion. Maybe even a trace of shock. He didn't smile. He didn't wave.
He just stared.
I wanted to hold the gaze, to anchor myself in that familiarity, but I couldn't. Professor McGonagall gestured toward the Sorting Hat, and I stepped forward, my legs feeling heavier than stone.
I sat down. The hat was lowered over my head, blocking out the sight of every watching eye.
"Well now," came a voice, ancient and amused, inside my head. "Another Potter. My, my, what a busy mind you have. Quite a storm of emotion, aren't we?"
I clenched my fists.
"Ambitious, yes… brave too. But not foolhardy. You're cunning, resourceful… You want to be seen for who you are, not for the name you wear. Hmm… clever, clever."
There was a long pause. I felt my heart thudding in my throat.
"You could do well in Gryffindor… but no, that's not where you'll grow. I know just where to put you—SLYTHERIN!"
Silence.
The hat was lifted, and the hall was still.
Every eye watched. Every breath waited.
A Potter in Slytherin?
Then the Slytherin table erupted into cheers and applause. Whistles echoed through the hall as students pounded the table and beckoned me over.
I stood slowly, flicking a glance toward Harry.
He wasn't looking anymore.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, squared my shoulders, and walked toward the Slytherin table. I passed faces I didn't know and one I already loathed—Malfoy. He was clapping too hard, his grin wide and taunting.
As I sat down, a girl with midnight-dark hair leaned toward me, her expression amused.
"Silvy Ikwood," she said, offering her hand. "Welcome to the snake pit."
I shook her hand, grateful for her warmth.
"Thanks."
Down the row, Malfoy chimed in, smug as ever. "How very unexpected," he drawled.
I looked directly at him. "How very expected."
He chuckled, but the tension that sparked between us felt heavier than words.
Before I could respond, a hand landed on my shoulder.
I turned—and found myself face to face with Harry.
"Let's talk," he said.
There was no warmth in his voice. No anger either. Just something raw. And without waiting for an answer, he pulled me out of the Great Hall, the sound of whispering voices chasing behind us like ghosts.