Slytherin's Girl

(1)Sorting a Slytherin

“Griffindor!” Harry Potter hopped of off the little stool and made his way over to the table full of roaring lions.

That was the child hero who saved all of wizarding Britain? He looked kind of timid and insecure. Then again, you never know what people hide behind their chosen masks. He might have gone to Griffindor since it was where everyone wanted him to go. There he would attract the least attention. Imagine the uproar if he got sorted into Slytherin!

Speaking of Slytherin…

“Slytherin, Salaza!”

The whispering that followed Potter's call, picked up again. I strutted over to Professor McGonagall with fake confidence. On the inside I was having a small breakdown. She placed the tatty hat on my head. The brim fell over my eyes and blocked the staring crowd.

“Slytherin, hey? Glad to see you’re not dead yet. I liked your father a lot when he was breathing. You  should try to keep doing that.”

“Thanks,” I rolled my eyes. There’s no question of who this old rag belonged to. “I wish I could say the same to you, but you never breathed. Was my many-greats-grandfather drunk when he agreed to let you do the sorting?”

“Rude and sarcastic,” the hat sniggered.

“Not always. Sometimes I’m asleep.”

“You would make a great Griffindor, you know.”

“Please, spare me the insults! We both know I belong in Slytherin, in name and in house.”

“I have to agree. You are Slytherin without a doubt.

I flinched when the hat shouted “Slytherin” and pulled the hat of my head. I walked over to the Slytherin table with a smirk and a wink at the Hufflepuffs. Draco moved over to allow me a place next to him. A girl who introduced herself as Pansy Parkinson sat next to him on the other side.

“What did the hat say to you? The two of you were talking for almost six minutes!”

I stared at Draco in shock. “I was a hatstall? It definitely did not feel like six minutes.”

One of the older kids leaned over and explained, “The hat was shifting through you memories, emotions and thoughts. To someone untrained in Occlomency, it would feel like little time has passed.”

I nodded. With that I added

Occlumency to my list of things to study. “It told me that I would make a great Griffindor.”

Draco nearly snorted and Parkinson pulled a disgusted face.

“My father was right, wait till he hears about this!” exclaimed the blond.

I glared at him. Before I could decide whether a murder charge would be worth it, the headmaster rose from his seat at the teacher’s table.

“Welcome,” he greeted. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

“What did I tell you? The man is bonkers!” exclaimed Draco to no one in particular through the cheers and applause of the crowd. Whether they cheered for the headmaster or the food that appeared on the table, I will never know.

Draco all but dove into the roast duck. For a rich pureblood his impatience knew no bounds when it came to food. Don’t tell him that I said that thought. After he stuffed his face, his gaze travelled over to the Griffindor table.

“What do you know about Harry Potter?” He tried and failed to be discreet.

I turned my head toward the child hero. “Muggle raised. He might have made a great Slytherin, thought.”