“Hmm…
let me see, what is inside your head?”
The moment the Sorting Hat dropped over him, Flins heard a faint, whispery voice speak right inside his mind.
After a few quiet seconds, the voice continued:
“Difficult, very difficult.
You hold the qualities of all four houses.
You are far too complex, child.”
Flins pressed his lips together and stayed quiet.
“Far beyond the standard measure of any of the four houses, yet not truly bound to any single one.
I have seen such cases before—rarely, but I have.
Such people are usually drawn to their place by their strongest trait.
And for you, the strongest cord inside you leads straight to—”
The Hat’s voice carried a hint of awe.
It paused, seemingly waiting for Flins to speak first.
Flins was silent for a brief moment.
Then he whispered, his voice so soft only the Hat could catch it: “Slytherin.”
“Without a doubt, Slytherin can lead you toward greatness.
Well then, if that is your wish—”
“SLYTHERIN!”
The loud shout echoed through the Great Hall.
Flins took off the Hat, offered it a small bow, and made his way toward the Slytherin table.
Scattered clapping broke out along the Slytherin bench.
Clearly, the students were watching him closely, as he did not look British.
Looking toward the unsorted first years, Flins caught sight of Harry and Ron, who wore mixed expressions but still showed understanding.
Draco, meanwhile, had a smug, knowing grin that seemed to say, You know what’s good for you.
Flins picked a spot near the end of the long table and sat down.
An older boy across from him took a brief look, asked no questions, and casually patted the bench to show he could sit wherever he liked.
The sorting moved forward.
The other children Flins had met earlier—Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville—were all placed into Gryffindor.
Draco Malfoy, true to his word, was sorted into Slytherin.
The Sorting Hat shouted the house name almost the instant it brushed the top of his hair.
Draco hopped down from the stool, chin pointed even higher than usual, and walked over to the Slytherin table with an easy swagger in his gray eyes.
He headed toward the middle of the table, clearly having chosen his spot beforehand.
But as he passed the end of the bench, he stopped, frowned down at Flins, and said:
“Why are you sitting all the way at the edge?
Come with me, sit in the middle.”
Flins looked up with an earnest face, though his voice carried a faint trace of teasing:
“Young Master Draco, thank you for your kind offer.
However, I prefer to stay right here.”
A light pink dusted Draco’s pale cheeks as he tried to figure out whether “Young Master” was pure politeness or gentle mockery.
He pressed his lips together, gave an airy nod, and said, “Fine, suit yourself.
I wouldn’t sit in a cramped corner like this anyway.”
With that, he marched off with his head held high to sit near the center, where the older students smoothly made room for him.
Flins looked away and turned his attention back to the front.
The ceremony finally drew to a close.
A dark-skinned boy was called up last.
The Hat hesitated briefly before shouting “Slytherin.”
He hopped off the stool, strolled briskly down to the end of the table, and sat right next to Flins.
His almond-shaped eyes were half-narrowed, a thoughtful little smile playing at his lips.
At the staff table, Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet.
He was dressed in a purple robe that swept the floor, his silver beard reaching his waist.
His bright blue eyes twinkled behind his spectacles as he looked across the hall, and the room fell completely still.
“Welcome!” he called out, his deep voice carrying warmth and good humor.
“Welcome to Hogwarts for a new school year!
Before our feast begins, I would like to say a few words.
And here they are: ‘Nitwit!
Blubber!
Oddment!
Tweak!’ Thank you!”
He sat back down with a bright smile.
The hall went silent for two seconds before warm clapping filled the air.
Sitting at the bench, Flins tilted his head slightly, turning those odd words over in his mind.
Plates of food appeared out of nowhere on the golden platters—roast beef, roast chicken, mashed potatoes, pies, and puddings piled high, piping hot and filling the hall with rich aromas.
The other students dug in eagerly, the clatter of silver forks and knives echoing up and down the table.
Flins glanced down at his plate, used his fork to take a tiny bite of roast potato, chewed it slowly, and set the fork aside.
He took a tiny sip from his goblet of pumpkin juice, then set it down, showing little appetite.
The dark-skinned boy beside him had been watching.
He turned slightly, his eyes curving into a friendly, easy smile as he spoke in a tone between curious inquiry and playful charm:
“Not fond of the food here?”
“Oh, no,” Flins replied smoothly, adding another quick patch to his cover story.
“It is just that…
my health is rather frail.
Eating too much becomes quite a burden on my body.”
Blaise looked him up and down, giving an understanding nod:
“Fair enough.
You do look terribly pale.
And those dark circles under your eyes—Merlin, can’t you sleep?”
“Just used to it,” Flins replied, a faint smile touching his mouth.
“Like Mr.
Owl, I tend to rest by day and stir by night.”
Blaise let out an amused chuckle, letting his gaze linger on Flins’s face for a second.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr.
Flins—alluring as the quiet night itself.”
He held out a hand, speaking in an easy, deliberate drawl: “I’m Blaise Zabini.
You can call me Blaise.”
Flins shook his hand gently:
“Kyryll Flins.
Just Kyryll will do.
It is good to meet you, Blaise.”
Blaise drew his hand back, motioning with his chin toward the center of the table where Draco sat:
“Speaking of which, do you know that little Malfoy boy?”
“We have crossed paths once.”
Flins followed his gaze.
Draco was busy trying to keep away from the Bloody Baron nearby, his gray eyes full of quiet frustration.
“He is quite an endearing child.”
Blaise’s eyebrows shot up at that description.
Flins added in a calm, smooth tone: “Of course, your charms are just as endearing—and just like Scottish weather, bound to shift at any second.”
Blaise blinked in surprise, then burst into a warm laugh.
“Well,” he said, turning his head as his eyes sparkled with amusement, “perhaps the Sorting Hat had a point.
I might actually find true friendship in Slytherin after all, Kyryll.”