Slythering Along in a World of Lions

Previous chapter was a prologue - and this is how it all begins . . .

The Sorting Hat was dropped on my head. I quivered at the feeling of eyes bearing into me. Anticipation bubbled in my stomach.

The worn old hat hummed. My cousin, and best friend, Hugo Weasley gave me a crooked grin. He was waiting to be sorted; but he had the luck of the Weasley surname. Every Weasley has been a Gryffindor. My mother was Weasley before she married my dad, so I hoped for the benefit. I smiled meekly at Hugo.

Then the hat put me out of my misery, "Slytherin!" it shouted.

Hugo's eyes were as wide as saucers. My brothers, James and Albus, sat at the Gryffindor table with hands ready to clap, but the Hat's cry had stopped them. My cousins Dominique and Louis were motionless – which isn't too odd for Louis, but is almost unthinkable for Dominique. And my cousin Molly almost fell off her chair. A brash Slytherin in Albus' year (third year) stood up and whistled. The Hat chuckled in my ear. I suddenly felt a longing to be back at the Burrow.

Professor Evencloth, head of Ravenclaw House, yanked the beat up hat off my head.

"To your table please," she said, her stern voice slightly shaken.

I shuffled down the steps. The feeling of the eyes staring at me was back, but it had intensified sevenfold.

I took a place at the Slytherin table, as a weight fell to the bottom of my stomach. I saw my parents' old friend, Professor Neville Longbottom, sitting at the High Table. He gave me a sympathetic smile.

I settled into a sad little dream world. Someone drew me out of my wallowing. It was the blonde boy who had whistled after I had been sorted.

"I'm Scorpius," he said, reeking of cockiness, "Scorpius Malfoy. Third Year."

So this was the famous Scorpius Malfoy that was giving grief to Albus. Dominique said he'd lost Slytherin the House Cup on the last night of term.

"I-I-I . . . uhh," I stammered, "hi."

He sniggered "It's nice to get a Potter in Slytherin for once." I looked up at him properly. He had a skinny pointed face and sharp ice coloured eyes. Intimidating in all physical aspects.

"Weasley, Hugo." called Evencloth. Hugo teetered his way to the hat's pedestal, resembling his father closely. His flame coloured hair, so very like mine, curled in all manners, and protruded from the hat. His mischievous brown eyes darted round the hall. I knew there was no chance of Hugo being a Slytherin.

And as I suspected, Hugo became a Gryffindor. He high-fived James as he sat down.

"And so ends this year's Sorting!" shouted Professor Evencloth over the students, "Prefects, show the first years to the respective house's dormitories."

Principal Slimedrop clapped his hands twice, dismissing us, "But, before you go, students, we must address a situation," he cast a stern stare around the room, "Hogwarts is safe. That fact can be questioned, however. And if you look to cause trouble . . . you are welcome to – in moderation. Now go."

I was stuck in the middle of a band of first year Slytherins. And as we were guided to the Slytherin dorms under the lake, I knew what was running through their minds, because it was the same thing that went through mine – what was Harry Potter's daughter doing in Slytherin?

That night I pondered this and cried myself to sleep.