Shadows of Slytherin

Return to Hogwarts

The steady clatter of the Hogwarts Express rumbled beneath Harry Potter as he stared out of the window, watching the rolling hills blur past. The fields were greener than he remembered, their peacefulness a sharp contrast to the storm of thoughts swirling in his head. The train was as familiar as ever, but everything else had changed. The war was over, Voldemort was defeated but in the aftermath, nothing felt quite like home.

Harry shifted in his seat, his reflection staring back at him in the glass. His face had grown sharper, shadows under his green eyes telling the story of countless sleepless nights. He was tired. Not just physically, but emotionally, mentally. Returning to Hogwarts for his final year was supposed to be a fresh start, but the memories were everywhere, haunting the castle halls, and, of course, his own mind.

Next to him, Hermione Granger  was flipping through a book, her eyes scanning the pages far too quickly for any normal person to keep up. Ron Weasley, slumped lazily against the window, was fiddling with a Chocolate Frog wrapper, his mind clearly elsewhere. It was the first time they'd all been back on this train since before the battle—before all the death, destruction, and loss.

The compartment felt heavy with silence until Hermione finally spoke, her voice breaking the stillness.

"Harry," she said softly, glancing up from her book. "You've been quiet since we left London. Are you okay?"

Harry turned away from the window, meeting Hermione's concerned gaze. He could see the unspoken question behind her eyes: **Are you really ready for this?** Was he?

"I'm fine," Harry replied, his voice sounding less convincing than he intended.

"Mate, you look like you've been hit by a Bludger," Ron added with a weak grin, trying to inject some humor into the conversation. "We're going back, not into a battle."

"Not yet, anyway," Hermione muttered under her breath, closing her book with a thud. She sighed. "I'm worried too, Harry. This year's going to be... different."

"Different" was an understatement.

Hogwarts had been through hell. Half of it had been destroyed, and while much of it had been rebuilt, the wounds from the battle still lingered. It wasn't just the physical damage—the missing students, the hollow spaces where familiar faces should have been, would be the hardest part to face.

But even with all of that, the strangest part was the announcement that had been made just before the start of term: the Resorting Ceremony.

Harry felt a pang of anxiety at the thought. After so many years, students returning to complete their seventh year were to be resorted into new houses. McGonagall had explained it was a way to foster new unity after the divisions the war had caused. But for Harry, the idea of being in a different house was unsettling. Gryffindor was more than a house—it was home. It was where he had faced some of his greatest fears, where he had built friendships that had saved his life countless times.

But, deep down, something gnawed at him. The voice of the Sorting Hat from his first year echoed in his mind: _"You could do well in Slytherin... great things await you there."_ The Hat had tried to put him there once before, and Harry had fought it. Now, after everything that had happened, would it push him there again?

"Still don't see the point in all this resorting nonsense," Ron muttered, breaking Harry from his thoughts. "Once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor, right?"

"Maybe," Hermione said thoughtfully. "But it could be good. Houses have divided people for too long. Maybe this will help mend some of those old rivalries."

Harry wasn't so sure.

The compartment door slid open with a loud clatter, and in strolled none other than Draco Malfoy. His presence, as always, seemed to suck the air from the room. His platinum hair was neatly combed back, his robes immaculate, and the usual sneer was plastered across his face.