Malfoy swaggered down from the platform, shooting Morrin a provocative raise of the eyebrows as he passed.
“Harry Potter!” A wave of whispers instantly swept through the Great Hall.
Harry remained on the stool for quite some time.
Morrin knew exactly what was happening.
He was having an argument with the Sorting Hat about not going to Slytherin.
At last— “GRYFFINDOR!” The Gryffindor table erupted into thunderous cheers.
The Weasley twins shouted at the top of their lungs.
“We got Potter!
We got Potter!” Finally— “Morrin White!” Professor McGonagall called his name.
The Great Hall grew slightly quieter.
By now, quite a few people had noticed the strangely distinctive boy who had arrived wearing a bespoke suit and carrying what appeared to be a walking stick.
Morrin walked forwards with steady, measured steps.
He rested his wand against the stool and sat down with effortless elegance.
The moment the greasy smelling old hat dropped over his eyes, the world went dark.
Then a faint voice sounded inside his head.
“Hmm…
interesting.
Very interesting.” “What have we here?
A palace?
A palace built entirely from logic and data…
That is an extraordinarily unusual structure, even by the standards of Occlumency.” “Your mind is frighteningly mature for a child.” “Thank you for the compliment,” Morrin replied mentally.
“I would be even more grateful if you hurried.
I dislike the sensation of someone rummaging around inside my head.” “Patience, patience.” The Hat seemed to chew thoughtfully on his mind.
“Let me see…” “You have the intellect for Ravenclaw.
That hunger to pursue knowledge all the way to its source, that obsession with alchemy…
Put you in Ravenclaw and you could become the next great scholar.” “Scholars are usually poor,” Morrin rejected coldly.
“Oh?
Then perhaps…
Hufflepuff?” The Hat immediately reconsidered.
“No.
You are certainly diligent, but your diligence is driven by profit rather than loyalty.
You are far too calculating.” “Gryffindor, perhaps?
You have courage.
You dared take control of tens of billions in assets at the age of eleven.
You faced a magical outburst head-on…” The Hat paused.
“But there is no recklessness in your courage.
Every risk you take has already been calculated.” Its voice gradually lowered.
“Which leaves only one.” “You have ambition.” “Enormous ambition.
The sort that wants to swallow everything in its path.
You want to control the rules.
You want to stand at the very top of the pyramid.” “One half of you roars for strength, while the other half, the cold, rational half, hungers for power and influence.” “Slytherin,” the Hat whispered.
“That House can help you reach the summit.” “But I should warn you.
Slytherin places great importance on blood.
Your mixed giant heritage may make life there rather difficult.” Morrin laughed softly inside his own mind.
It was a laugh filled with contempt and unrestrained arrogance.
“Difficult?
No, Mr Hat.” “The fact that Slytherin is full of self important pure blood idiots is precisely what makes it the best market.” “If they worship power and strength, then I’ll buy their power and crush their strength.” “Put me there.
I’m going to teach those declining aristocrats what real, capitalist predation, looks like.” The Sorting Hat fell silent for two full seconds.
It almost seemed stunned by the sheer audacity coming from an eleven year old boy.
Then it shouted the name that would soon turn Slytherin upside down.
“SLYTHERIN!” Scattered applause came from the Slytherin table.
Draco Malfoy looked as though he had swallowed a fly, equal parts shocked and displeased.
Over at the Gryffindor table, Harry and Ron both looked disappointed and disbelieving.
“How did he end up there?” Ron muttered.
“He doesn’t seem like a bad person…
I mean, he’s a bit scary, but still.” Morrin removed the Sorting Hat and picked up his wand.
He ignored the various looks being directed his way, a faint, characteristically detached smile resting on his lips as he walked towards the Slytherin table.
He went straight to the empty seat opposite Malfoy and sat down.
“Looks like we’re in the same House after all, Mr Malfoy.” Morrin unfolded his napkin and arranged it neatly with unhurried precision.
Malfoy glared at him and opened his mouth to speak.
Morrin raised one finger to his lips.
“Shh.
The Headmaster is about to speak.” He turned towards Dumbledore at the staff table.
His life in Slytherin had begun, and the first step of his plan was simple, Turn the entire House into his private board of directors.
An oddly tense stillness hung over the Slytherin table.
The Opening Feast ought to have been lively, but Morrin White’s arrival had made the atmosphere distinctly peculiar.
He sat directly opposite Draco Malfoy, his heavy wand casually propped beside the table.
Thud.
The muffled impact seemed to strike directly against the hearts of everyone nearby.
“Welcome to Hogwarts.” At the staff table, Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet.
His robes, covered in stars and moons, shimmered beneath the candlelight.
“Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words.
And here they are: Nitwit!
Blubber!
Oddment!
Tweak!” “Thank you!” Dumbledore sat back down, and thunderous applause swept through the Great Hall.
Harry and Ron were doubled over laughing at the Gryffindor table.
Over on the Slytherin side, however, most of the students merely offered restrained applause, wearing expressions that clearly said, ‘The old lunatic’s at it again.’ Morrin did not clap.
His [Logical Mind Palace] was busy dissecting the meaning behind those four words.
Nitwit (fool), how Ravenclaw sees everyone else.
The arrogance of intellect.
Blubber (crybaby), how Gryffindor sees Hufflepuff.
The prejudice of courage.
Oddment (leftover), how Slytherin sees half-bloods and Muggles.
The discrimination of blood.
Tweak (troublemakers), what Hufflepuff wishes everyone else would do.
The helpless plea for tolerance.
An interesting bit of pre battle mobilisation.
Morrin picked up his goblet, an amused curve appearing at the corner of his mouth.
Four apparently nonsensical words, yet they point directly at the prejudices and divisions between the four Houses.
This CEO’s management skills really are master class.
The moment Dumbledore finished speaking, mountains of food appeared from nowhere upon the golden plates before them, roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, steak, boiled potatoes…
House elf transport magic.
Morrin speared a medium rare steak with his fork and sliced into it elegantly.
Zero labour costs and highly efficient logistics.
If Hogwarts applied this operating model to the restaurant industry, it would be an overwhelming technological advantage.
Across from him, Draco Malfoy clearly had no appetite.
He was staring daggers at Morrin, apparently hoping to kill the ‘nouveau riche’ boy who had stolen his spotlight through sheer force of glare.
“White.” Malfoy finally lost patience.
He drew the name out in his usual lazy drawl, malice glittering in his grey blue eyes.
“You still haven’t answered my question.
You said your family is in business, but I’ve looked through the ‘Directory of Pure-Blood Families,’ and I’ve never heard of a pure-blood family called White.” His lip curled.
“Don’t tell me you’re a…
Mudblood?” The instant the word left his mouth, several older students nearby paused with their knives halfway through their steaks.
Pansy Parkinson, a girl with a pug like face, let out a shrill snicker.
Blaise Zabini, a handsome dark skinned boy, turned his head with obvious interest, waiting to see how Morrin would respond.
In Slytherin, blood was your passport.
If Morrin was Muggle-born, then no matter how wealthy he might be, life in this House would become exceedingly difficult.
Morrin finished chewing the tender, juicy piece of beef in his mouth.
Then he picked up his napkin and lightly dabbed the corner of his lips.
Only then did he raise his eyes.
Those deep black eyes rested calmly on Malfoy.
There was no anger in them.
Only the cold indifference of someone evaluating a bad asset.
“Mr Malfoy,” Morrin said.
His voice was not loud, yet somehow carried clearly through the space around them.
“Your father, Lucius Malfoy, has been rather troubled lately by surprise inspections from the Ministry’s Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, hasn’t he?” Malfoy’s expression changed instantly.
“How do you know that?
You—” “I also know that most of the Malfoy family’s wealth is tied up in old estates, land, and certain Dark Arts artefacts that would be rather inconvenient for the authorities to discover.” Morrin slowly rotated the goblet between his fingers, sending ripples through the pumpkin juice inside.
“In other words, your ‘fixed assets’ are substantial, but your ‘liquid capital’ is remarkably poor.” “If the Ministry were to freeze your assets, or perhaps introduce a new tax law, then all that vaunted family glory of yours would become rather like this steak.” Morrin leaned forwards slightly.
The terrifying pressure carried by his [Half Giant Bloodline] descended upon Malfoy in an instant.
“Whereas I, the White family—” Morrin’s voice became almost gentle.
“Control a level of cash flow you cannot begin to imagine.
I could buy half of Diagon Alley.
Or short Gringotts’ exchange rate whenever I pleased.” He looked directly into Malfoy’s eyes.
“In this world, blood may determine where you start.” A faint smile touched Morrin’s lips.
“But capital…
determines where you finish.” “So put away that ridiculous sense of superiority.
To me, you’re nothing more than a trust fund baby who could be bankrupt tomorrow.” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Hidden_Quill Thank you so much for reading!