the slytherin princess

prologue

You were starry-eyed, walking into the giant castle for the first time.  You could barely process the wonder of it all, from running onto platform 9¾, to riding the Hogwarts Express, to staring right up at the stony-faced witch in long green robes inside the entrance of Hogwarts.

"Welcome, first-years," she said curtly, her mouth barely moving.  You knew without a doubt that this woman was not one you wanted to cross.

"I am Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House.  Before our feast this evening, you will sit through the Sorting Ceremony," she explained, not unkindly.  "We will call out your name, the Sorting Hat will be placed on your head, and you will be sorted into the house the hat deems best for you.  Then we will be able to eat."

Looking through the faces of your fellow first-years, you expected to hear whispers of excitement, hopeful wishes for Ravenclaw, or Gryffindor.  Instead you only heard repetitions of what was said on the train—Harry Potter was here.  The Boy Who Lived, they called him.  You really couldn't care less.  You didn't dislike the boy, but you weren't going to treat him like a celebrity.

You followed the sea of fifteen-year-olds through the door, barely making it through as a white-blonde boy pushed past you.

"Watch where you're going," he spit back, his cold grey eyes flashing with anger.

You rolled your eyes.  "Maybe watch where you're going," you said in response, quickening your pace to shove up ahead of him again.

He made a move that was obviously meant to knock you backwards again, but seeing McGonagall's eyes focused directly on him, he froze and didn't follow through.

With a snicker, you found a seat at one of the long tables in the Great Hall.  A tall, old man with a long white beard stood up and clapped his hands to silence the many children gathering in the hall.

"Welcome to Hogwarts!" he boasted proudly, his voice loud and cheerful.  "Settle down, settle down!  The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin!"

And begin it did.  The hat went through multiple names, sending the ever-beloved Harry Potter to Gryffindor, and it didn't even have to touch the hair of the white-blond boy (whose name you learned was Draco) to scream "SLYTHERIN!"

You had gotten yourself lost in the throng of cheers when you heard your own name called, and you had to shake yourself out of the reverie long enough to stumble up and have the Hat placed on your own head.

"Ah, y/n," the Hat mumbled.  "You're an interesting one.  You would thrive in more than one house, it would seem...what do you pride yourself in most, child?"

"Not taking other people's crap," you thought.

"Hmm...well, despite that bravery, you really wouldn't fit as well in Gryffindor...so I suppose that means you have to be SLYTHERIN!"

You were surprised, but not unpleasantly so.  Your mother had been a Ravenclaw and your father a Slytherin, so it wasn't entirely unexpected that you were following in his footsteps.

You smiled at your new housemates as you ran down the stairs, the trimmings of your robe turning green as you did so.

They welcomed you with open arms—well, most of them did, anyway.  Draco Malfoy sat stony-faced on the bench, his eyes angry.

You didn't understand why he didn't like you, but at that moment you didn't care.

It was only later that that would matter.