human again / hp.

Chapter 3

Professor McGonagall led us through the towering double doors, and my breath caught as we entered the Great Hall. It was magnificent, every bit as awe-inspiring as I'd imagined from the stories Father told us. Four long tables stretched the length of the room, each adorned in the colors of one of the four houses: scarlet and gold for Gryffindor, green and silver for Slytherin, blue and bronze for Ravenclaw, and yellow and black for Hufflepuff.

Above us, the ceiling shimmered, reflecting the night sky—an illusion, I realized, enchanted to mirror the heavens outside. Hundreds of floating candles hung suspended in midair, their flickering flames casting a warm, golden glow over the hall. I felt both dwarfed by the grandeur and electrified by it. This was Hogwarts, a place steeped in history, magic, and endless possibility.

We came to a halt at the front of the hall. There, atop a small wooden stool, sat the Sorting Hat. It was old and weathered, its pointed tip flopping over as though it had grown tired of standing tall through centuries of use.

Professor McGonagall turned to face us, her sharp gaze ensuring silence before the headmaster stepped forward.

"Welcome!" Dumbledore's voice resonated warmly through the hall. His silver beard and twinkling blue eyes exuded both wisdom and mischief. He gave the start-of-term notices—a reminder of forbidden areas and rules—but his voice carried such kindness that even his warnings felt more like invitations to adventure.

I only half-heard him, my attention fixed on the Sorting Hat. It was about to decide my fate, a fate my parents had groomed me for my entire life.

"When I call your name," Professor McGonagall announced crisply, "you will come forth. I shall place the Sorting Hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses."

The hall quieted as she began reading from a scroll.

The first name was "Hannah Abbott!" A nervous-looking girl with blonde pigtails stepped forward, clutching her robes tightly. She sat stiffly as the Sorting Hat was placed on her head.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" it announced after a brief pause.

Cheers erupted from the table adorned in yellow, and the girl scurried over, looking relieved and happy.

The names continued, each student taking their turn on the stool, some immediately sorted, others causing the Hat to deliberate for a moment longer. With each name, my anticipation grew. I could feel Draco beside me, calm and composed, but his fingers twitched slightly.

Then, Professor McGonagall called, "Malfoy, Celeste!"

My heart leapt into my throat. I locked eyes with Draco, his expression steady, reassuring. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward, my footsteps echoing in the vast, silent hall.

The stool felt smaller than I'd expected as I sat down. When the Sorting Hat descended onto my head, its voice filled my mind, startling yet intimate.

"Ah, Celeste Malfoy," it mused, its tone thoughtful. "A name that carries great weight... and expectation. Let's see... ambition, certainly. A sharp mind, quick wit, and a strong will. You would do well in Slytherin."

My heart steadied. Of course, Slytherin was where I belonged. It was where every Malfoy belonged.

"Slytherin," I thought firmly, willing the Hat to agree.

But it hesitated.

"Interesting," the Hat said, almost to itself. "There's more to you, isn't there? A spark of defiance, of courage. You're not content to follow the path laid before you. No, you dream of something greater, something beyond expectations. There's a daring in you, a fire that burns bright. I wonder... could it be Gryffindor?"

Gryffindor? The word sent a jolt through me, equal parts fear and intrigue. My parents' voices echoed in my mind, their insistence that Slytherin was my destiny, the only place for a Malfoy. I couldn't disappoint them. I wouldn't disappoint them.

"Slytherin, please," I insisted, trying to keep my thoughts resolute.

The Hat chuckled softly. "Ah, but it's not where you belong, my dear. Your heart speaks differently. Your courage and sense of justice outweigh your ambition. And whether you see it now or not, you're destined for something far beyond the confines of tradition."

"No," I whispered internally, my pulse racing. "Please, I have to be in Slytherin."

The Hat sighed, as if weary of such protests. "You may want Slytherin, but your heart knows better. Trust it."

And then, louder than I'd expected, it declared, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The word reverberated through the hall. For a moment, I froze, my heart dropping into my stomach. Gryffindor. I felt the weight of every gaze in the room, including Draco's.

Slowly, I stood and removed the hat, my hands trembling slightly. The Gryffindor table erupted in a small applause, but their joy felt distant, muffled. I cast a quick glance toward Draco. His face was carefully neutral, though I thought I saw a flicker of something—surprise? Disappointment?—in his eyes.

I walked to the Gryffindor table on legs that felt like lead, my mind spinning. This wasn't what was supposed to happen.

I barely noticed as I slid onto the bench beside some other first-years. My thoughts were too loud, questions and doubts swirling in my head.

"Malfoy, Draco!"

My attention snapped back to the front as my brother strode confidently toward the stool. He sat with the poise of someone who already knew the answer. The Sorting Hat barely touched his head before it bellowed, "SLYTHERIN!"

A roar of applause erupted from the green-and-silver table as Draco joined them, his expression one of triumph. He didn't glance my way as he took his seat.

The sorting continued, but my focus waned until the name "Harry Potter" was called. The hall fell deathly silent. All eyes were on him as he approached the stool, his face pale but determined.

The Sorting Hat deliberated for what felt like an eternity, its brim twitching as it weighed its decision.

Finally, it declared, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table exploded with cheers, the loudest yet, and I clapped weakly as Harry joined us, his expression a mix of relief and curiosity.

The Sorting Ceremony ended soon after, and Dumbledore rose to give a few final words. But I barely heard them, my thoughts still spinning.

I was in Gryffindor. Not Slytherin.

As the feast began, the scents of roast chicken and pumpkin pasties filled the air, but I hardly noticed. Instead, I glanced down the hall at the Slytherin table, where Draco was laughing with Crabbe and Goyle. His confidence seemed unshaken.

Mine, however, was another story entirely.