Upon hearing Silan’s name, Dumbledore and Snape exchanged a brief, quiet look.
“Professor Snape, are you familiar with this child’s background?” Dumbledore murmured.
“I am not,” Snape replied, his dark eyes locked firmly onto Silan.
“Professor McGonagall handled his file.
All I know is that he has spent his entire life up until now in an orphanage.” Hearing this, a flicker of deep apprehension crossed Dumbledore’s features as he looked at the boy.
He had certainly never expected that the Prewett line might still have a heir left in the world.
Other faculty members reacted similarly to the name “Prewett,” their expressions shifting as they leaned in to whisper among themselves.
“Prewett?
Is it *that* Prewett family?” “Blimey, it’s been years since anyone’s seen a Prewett.” “Oh, goodness me, how absolutely extraordinary…” Even George and Fred, sitting over at the Gryffindor table, were staring at Silan in absolute shock.
For all their usual mischief and disregard for protocol, they were incredibly sensitive to the name “Prewett.” It was not only one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood families, but it was also their mother’s maiden name.
This meant that the Weasleys and the Prewetts had been closely bound by marriage since their parents’ generation.
Fabian and Gideon Prewett, who had sacrificed their lives in the First Wizarding War, were their biological uncles.
“Fred.” “George.” The twins uttered each other’s names in unison.
They locked eyes for a brief second before blurting out in perfect harmony, “You don’t think he’s our uncle’s lad, do you?” “That would make him our cousin,” George noted.
“But we’ve never heard a peep about either uncle having a child.
Mum’s never breathed a word,” Fred picked up seamlessly.
“Right then, I reckon we’d best owl home and ask her directly.” Beside Harry, Ron looked equally stunned, his gaze fixed on Silan with a mixture of doubt and sheer bewilderment.
Noticing his bizarre expression, Harry nudged him with an elbow and asked under his breath: “Do you know him?” “No, but I know the name Prewett.
That’s my mother’s family.” “Which house do you reckon he’ll get?” “Gryffindor, easily,” Ron replied confidently.
“Both my uncles were Gryffindors.
Practically every Prewett in history has been a Gryffindor, including my mum.” Further up the table, Hermione pricked up her ears the moment Silan’s name echoed through the hall, her heart hammering with the fierce hope that he would join her in Gryffindor.
At the staff table, Hagrid turned to McGonagall with a broad grin.
“Professor McGonagall, looks like we’ve got another one bound for Gryffindor.” Watching Silan walk toward the dais, McGonagall felt a profound sense of gratification.
Though she possessed no concrete, legal proof just yet, she had already convinced herself that Silan was Fabian’s boy.
The Prewetts had always belonged to Gryffindor; that much was beyond question.
Silan offered a polite bow to the staff table first, before turning to offer his thanks to McGonagall, who held the hat.
“Thank you, Professor McGonagall.” This display of refined, flawless etiquette made McGonagall value him all the more.
*Look at that,* she thought proudly, *a model student through and through.* Gryffindor desperately needed students of this caliber.
With him around, Gryffindor would surely rack up enough points to finally end Slytherin’s seven-year stranglehold on the House Cup.
At the thought, McGonagall’s usually stern features softened into a warm expression, and she even went so far as to lightly dust off the Sorting Hat before presenting it.
“Step up, child.
No need to be nervous.” Silan seated himself upon the four-legged stool and allowed the Sorting Hat to be lowered over his head.
McGonagall was busy chanting a silent prayer for the hat to declare Gryffindor, leaving her completely unaware that right behind her, Dumbledore’s expression had turned deeply hesitant.
The absolute second the Sorting Hat brushed Silan’s hair, its brim and pointed tip snapped completely straight.
“Ah!
A Prewett…
blimey, how long has it been since I last encountered that name?
My, my, what a fascinatingly peculiar mind you have…” The tiny, murmuring voice vibrated right against Silan’s ear.
The Sorting Hat seemed to be grappling with a profound dilemma, muttering over and over, “Difficult…
incredibly difficult.” “If it’s causing you that much trouble…” Silan offered his own suggestion, noticing the hat’s immense hesitation, “…why not just send me to Hufflepuff?” Hufflepuff routinely accepted the largest number of students.
While the house might not seem particularly flashy during one’s school years, anyone who graduated quickly realized that Hufflepuff alumni practically ran the foundational infrastructure of the magical world.
Even Newt Scamander, the legendary author of their mandatory first-year textbook, *Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them*, was a proud Hufflepuff.
It was an absolute goldmine of networking opportunities.
“Don’t make me laugh,” the Sorting Hat scoffed softly.
“Hufflepuff is the single worst fit for you.” “Don’t you take a student’s personal preference into account?” Silan countered.
“Oh, absolutely, yes, but that rule only applies when a student’s core traits are evenly balanced across houses, making any placement a decent fit,” the hat grumbled.
“If every little witch and wizard just got to pick wherever they fancied based on whim, what bloody use would I be?
Let’s see…
your courage is formidable enough, and your heart…
well, that’s an entertaining puzzle.
You’d do quite well in Gryffindor.
Oh, and you possess a profound hunger for knowledge and sharp intellect; Ravenclaw would certainly suit you.
But that’s not the core of it.
Let me dig a little deeper…” The seconds ticked steadily away.
“Aha!
Found it!” the Sorting Hat cheered, its pointed tip twitching with immense satisfaction.
“Ambition.” “You crave knowledge and power, but only because they serve as the ultimate tools to realize your ambitions.
Slytherin will pave the path to greatness for you; glory and victory are yours for the taking.” Perhaps because it had successfully solved a grueling riddle, the hat sounded thoroughly delighted, its tone turning light and brisk.
“You wanted to go to Hufflepuff just now for the networking, didn’t you?
Let me assure you, you will secure far greater leverage in Slytherin.” To be fair, the hat wasn’t wrong.
Silan had never considered himself a mediocre talent, nor did he possess any moral qualms about utilizing lies, disguises, knowledge, or sheer force.
To him, these were merely stepping stones and instruments to reach the summit.
Was he to blame for that?
Certainly not.
As an orphan who had survived the grim, unforgiving streets of London, he understood the brutal reality of survival far better than anyone else.
Bereft of a father early on and losing his mother in infancy, the sheer hardship of life had acted like an invisible beast, gnawing at his flesh while simultaneously feeding his towering ambition.
He lied, he cheated, and he orchestrated elaborate schemes for profit–all to claw his way higher, step by painstaking step.
He loved to possess; he loathed to lose.
“Yes, quite right.
That settles it then,” the Sorting Hat bellowed out to the hall.
“SLYTHERIN!” The moment the decree echoed through the Great Hall, a sparse, thoroughly unenthusiastic round of applause trickled out from the Slytherin table.
In stark contrast to the muted reception, the rest of the hall fell into a state of absolute shock, a sea of faces frozen in utter disbelief.
*How on earth could Silan Prewett be placed in Slytherin?!* Hermione and Neville sat with their mouths hanging wide open.
They couldn’t begin to fathom how the Sorting Hat could have made such an egregious error.
Silan was an incredibly kind, gentle, and warm person–he bore absolutely zero resemblance to the arrogant lot sitting at the Slytherin table!
Professor McGonagall lifted the hat off Silan’s head with a thoroughly stunned expression, staring down at the fabric as if wondering whether the ancient relic had finally gone completely senile in its old age.
George and Fred let out a simultaneous groan of disbelief.
*A Prewett in Slytherin?
Absurd!* Meanwhile, Dumbledore’s countenance grew significantly heavier, a shadow falling over his eyes.
An orphanage…
Slytherin house…
and if the boy turned out to be a half-blood…
This exact scenario felt terrifyingly familiar.
— [Total Bonus Chapters Achieved: 0] []