Harry Potter and the Darker Path

Chapter 4: The Secret of Slytherin

The days were growing colder as the autumn leaves turned red and gold around the grounds of Hogwarts, but Harry felt warmer than ever in the dungeons of Slytherin. The common room, lit by flickering green lamps and filled with quiet murmurs from his housemates, was beginning to feel like home. Draco Malfoy had quickly become his closest ally, though there was always a subtle undercurrent of competition between them—an edge to their friendship that Harry couldn’t quite explain but had come to respect. 

Still, the shadow of Snape lingered in his mind. Though he was in Slytherin, Harry could tell that Snape still held some unspoken grudge. And despite the occasional praise from his Potions professor, Harry noticed the same cold look in Snape’s eyes every time their gazes met, as if he was waiting for Harry to make a mistake.  

Harry’s days were filled with classes, and one particularly chilly morning, Draco dragged him along to meet Marcus Flint, the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Quidditch was a big deal in Slytherin, and Draco had been talking for days about how Harry’s flying skills would make him an excellent addition to the team. 

“I’ve told him all about your flying,” Draco said as they approached the pitch. “You’ll be brilliant. They’re short a Seeker this year, and with you, Slytherin will crush Gryffindor.” 

The thought of competing against Gryffindor, and Ron Weasley in particular, sent a strange thrill through Harry. He hadn’t spoken to Ron much since the Sorting Hat had placed him in Slytherin. There was an unspoken tension between them, and Harry knew it was unlikely they’d ever be friends now.  

Flint, a burly Slytherin seventh year, looked Harry up and down as they approached the pitch. “You’re Potter, right? Malfoy says you’re good.” 

“I am,” Harry said, trying to sound confident. 

Flint grinned, a calculating look in his eyes. “Good. We’ll see what you’ve got. Get on a broom.” 

Harry mounted the broom, and the moment his feet left the ground, he felt a rush of exhilaration. The wind whipped through his hair as he sped higher into the air, his reflexes sharp and focused. The pitch below became a blur as he darted after the practice Snitch, his hand closing around it with ease. 

When Harry landed, the Slytherin team broke into applause. Even Flint seemed impressed. 

“You’ll do,” Flint said with a grin. “You’re our new Seeker.” 

Draco clapped Harry on the back. “Told you. Gryffindor doesn’t stand a chance now.” 

As the days passed, Harry’s life at Hogwarts revolved more and more around Slytherin. He had regular Quidditch practice, classes, and spent his free time with Draco and the other Slytherins. He noticed the way other students looked at him—especially the Gryffindors. He didn’t miss the disapproving glances from Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger always seemed to be on the verge of scolding him for something. But Harry had made his choice. Slytherin was where he belonged, and he was determined to prove himself. 

One evening, after a particularly grueling Potions class where Snape had sneered at the Gryffindors and favored the Slytherins, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle cornered Harry near the entrance to the common room. 

“There’s something we’ve got to show you,” Draco said, a gleam in his eye. 

“What is it?” Harry asked, intrigued.