When Hylan’s name was called, Dumbledore and Snape exchanged a brief word.
“Professor Snape, do you know anything about this child?”
“No.” Snape’s eyes stayed fixed on Hylan.
“He was Professor McGonagall’s responsibility.
I only know he grew up in an orphanage.”
Dumbledore’s gaze shifted to Hylan with a trace of concern.
He hadn’t expected the Prewett line to have left another heir.
The other teachers caught the name too.
Faces changed.
Heads bent together in whispers.
“Prewett?
That Prewett?”
“How many years has it been?”
“Oh, my.
Unbelievable.”
Even George and Fred, sitting at the Gryffindor table, stared at Hylan in open shock.
They might be chaos agents, but the name Prewett hit a nerve.
Prewett was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
And it was their mother’s maiden name.
The Weasleys and the Prewetts had been bound by marriage since their parents’ generation.
Fabian Prewett and Gideon Prewett, killed in the wizarding war, were their uncles.
“Fred.”
“George.”
They said each other’s names, locked eyes, and spoke together.
“He can’t be our uncle’s son, can he?”
“Then he’d be our cousin,” George said.
“But we never heard anything about an uncle having a kid.
Mum never said a word.”
“I think we’d better write home.”
Ron, beside Harry, looked thrown.
He stared at Hylan with confusion and doubt.
Harry nudged him with an elbow and whispered, “You know him?”
“No.
But I know the name Prewett.
It’s my uncles’ family.”
“Where do you think he’ll go?”
“Gryffindor.
Both my uncles were Gryffindor.
Prewetts are almost always Gryffindor.
Even my mum.”
Hermione, close enough to hear, perked up at Hylan’s name.
She was hoping for Gryffindor too.
At the staff table, Hagrid said to McGonagall, “Looks like Gryffindor’s getting another one.”
McGonagall watched Hylan approach with quiet satisfaction.
She had no proof yet.
But in her mind, he was already Fabian’s son.
Prewetts had always been Gryffindor.
That was beyond question.
Hylan bowed to the staff table, then thanked McGonagall for conducting the Sorting.
“Thank you, Professor McGonagall.”
The polite gesture only deepened her approval.
Look at that.
A model student.
Gryffindor needed someone like him.
With him in the house, they could rack up points and finally end Slytherin’s seven-year grip on the House Cup.
Her stern face softened.
She even brushed dust off the Sorting Hat herself.
“Come, child.
No need to be nervous.”
Hylan sat on the stool and pulled the hat on.
McGonagall was silently praying for Gryffindor.
She didn’t notice Dumbledore’s expression behind her, which had turned hesitant.
The moment the hat touched Hylan’s head, its brim and tip stretched straight.
“Ha!
Prewett… been a long time since I heard that name.
Oh, you’re a strange one…”
The small voice spoke in his ear.
The hat seemed troubled, muttering to itself.
“Difficult.
Very difficult.”
“Maybe…” Hylan offered a suggestion, seeing the hat struggle.
“Send me to Hufflepuff.”
Hufflepuff took the most students.
It might not show during school, but after graduation, you’d find alumni everywhere in the magical world.
Even Newt Scamander, who wrote Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, was a Hufflepuff.
Connections.
Pure connections.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” The hat snorted.
“Hufflepuff is the worst fit for you.”
“Don’t you consider a student’s preference?”
“I do, I do.
But only when their traits are close enough that any house would suit them.
If every young witch and wizard just picked whatever they wanted, what would you need me for?” The hat grumbled on.
“Your courage is solid.
Your heart… well, that’s interesting.
Gryffindor might work.
Oh, and you like knowledge.
You’ve got intelligence.
And you certainly know how to use it.
Ravenclaw fits too.
But that’s not enough.
Let me look deeper…”
The seconds stretched.
“Aha!
Found it!” The hat flicked its tip, pleased.
“Ambition.”
“You want knowledge and power because they’ll serve your ambition.
Slytherin will give you the chance.
Glory and victory, yours for the taking.”
The hat sounded almost cheerful now, having cracked a hard puzzle.
“You wanted Hufflepuff for connections, didn’t you?
You’ll find far more of those in Slytherin.”
Fair point.
Hylan had never thought of himself as ordinary.
He had no fear of lies, masks, knowledge, or force.
They were just tools.
Rungs on the ladder.
Was that his fault?
No.
As an orphan from the London fog, he knew survival better than anyone.
Father gone early.
Mother lost young.
The hardships of life had gnawed at him like invisible beasts, feeding on his flesh and fueling his ambition.
He lied.
He schemed.
He turned a profit.
All to climb higher, step by step.
He loved having.
He hated losing.
“Yes, yes.
That’s the way.” The hat shouted, “SLYTHERIN!”
The Slytherin table answered with thin, scattered applause.
The real reaction was everywhere else.
Shock.
Disbelief.
How could Hylan go to Slytherin?
Hermione and Neville both gaped.
They couldn’t understand what the hat was thinking.
He was kind.
Gentle.
Nothing like those Slytherins.
McGonagall snatched the hat off his head and examined it, as if the old thing had finally lost its mind.
George and Fred let out a loud boo.
A Prewett in Slytherin?
Dumbledore’s face grew heavier.
An orphanage.
Slytherin house.
And if he was half-blood on top of it…
This scene felt familiar.