"Abbott, Hannah."
"Hufflepuff!"
"Bones, Susan."
"Hufflepuff!"
The Sorting went on, name after name, house after house. Each call drew murmurs from the hall — whispers about who was going where, which house was winning the invisible competition that only students seemed to track.
"Potter, Harry."
The hall went quiet.
Hall watched from the line as Harry walked toward the stool. His face was pale. His hands were shaking. The whispers rippled through the crowd like wind through leaves.
"Is that really him?"
"The Boy Who Lived?"
"Black hair — yeah, that's him."
Harry sat down. McGonagall lowered the Sorting Hat onto his head.
Inside Harry's head, a voice spoke.
Harry Potter. Hmm. Let me see...
Brave. Good-hearted. Talented. Eager to prove yourself. Yes, I see all of it.
But where to put you?
Harry gripped the edges of the stool. His heart was hammering so loud he could barely hear.
You could be great, you know. Slytherin could help you achieve greatness. The path is there, if you want it.
NO.
The thought came out like a scream.
No no no no no —
Oh, don't shout. I can hear you just fine.
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I don't want Slytherin!
You're wrong about Slytherin, but I won't argue. Consider it properly — you could go far there.
Harry was on the verge of tears. His hand found the folded parchment charm in his pocket. The moment his fingers closed around it, warmth spread through his chest like a slow tide. The panic receded. The noise in his head settled.
I want Gryffindor.
Are you sure? Positive? You have the ambition for Slytherin. The cunning, even. You don't see it yet, but—
GRYFFINDOR.
...Fine. If you're that certain.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The hall erupted. The Gryffindor table was on its feet, cheering, pounding the tables. Harry pulled the hat off, dazed, and McGonagall was gesturing him toward the red-and-gold table.
He didn't go there.
He ran toward the Slytherin table.
Hall was still in line when a blur of black robes crashed into him. Harry Potter, grinning like a madman, grabbed his arm.
"Henry! You — you did that, didn't you? You swapped us somehow! That's why you're here — you took my place —"
"Harry."
"—but I can't let you do that, you should be in Gryffindor —"
"Harry."
"—I'll talk to Dumbledore, I'll fix this —"
"I chose Slytherin."
Harry stopped.
"Three... beads of sweat appeared on Hall's forehead," Hall said flatly. "Yes. Very dramatic. I chose Slytherin. Voluntarily. On purpose."
Harry stared at him. "But... you're..."
"A Weasley? Yeah. The Hat offered me Gryffindor. I declined."
"Why?"
Hall grinned. "More interesting this way."
Harry looked like his entire understanding of the world had been turned upside down. Then his expression shifted to something else — gratitude, pure and simple.
"Thank you. For the charm. I would've — the Hat wanted —" He shook his head. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Hall held out his hand. "That'll be two hundred Galleons."
Harry blinked. "What?"
"Double. You paid for the premium package. It worked. Pay up."
"But I don't have two hundred Galleons with me—"
"Not a problem." Hall produced a parchment from his robe, already written. "Loan agreement. Zero-point-zero-five per cent daily interest, compounded."
Harry stared at the parchment like it was a living snake.
He's a Slytherin. Definitely a Slytherin.
He signed.
The hall buzzed with each new name.
The Sorting continued. Draco Malfoy — Slytherin. Ron Weasley — Gryffindor. And when the last student sat down, Dumbledore rose from his chair at the centre of the staff table.
He cleared his throat. Raised his wand. Pointed it at his own throat.
"Welcome!" he boomed. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our feast, I have a few words to say — Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
He sat down.
The hall applauded.
Harry finally made his way back to the Gryffindor table, looking thoroughly confused by the entire experience. Hall watched him go, then turned his attention to the mountain of food that had just appeared on the golden plates.
He was halfway through a chicken leg when a drawling voice spoke beside him.
"You know Potter?"
Hall didn't look up. Draco Malfoy stood at his elbow, silver-blond hair catching the candlelight, arms crossed in a way that was probably meant to look imposing.
"Know him?" Hall took another bite. "Yeah. It costs money to know him, though."