"He... he... he... How did he actually end up in Slytherin?!"
When the Sorting Hat called out Slytherin, Draco, still standing among the crowd, felt his legs go weak. Just thinking about having to share a common room with that guy for the next seven years made goose bumps break out all over him.
And he wasn't the only one who felt that way... Severus Snape sat at the High Table, glaring at Ezio's back with a look dark enough to drip.
"You finally made it into Slytherin!"
Snape practically ground out the words through clenched teeth. He wasn't the least bit surprised that Ezio had been sorted into Slytherin. Beside him, Professor Flitwick's unruly tuft of hair stood straight up. He turned his head in confusion and asked, "Severus, what are you muttering about?"
"I'm fine," Snape replied in a very quiet voice, his lips barely moving.
Suddenly, his pupils contracted. Just as Ezio was about to reach the Slytherin table, he turned his head, as if he'd known all along that Snape was watching him. In an instant, Snape felt as though a venomous snake had slithered across the top of his foot. A strange feeling rose within him, as if Ezio had some sort of leverage over him. But no matter how hard he racked his brains, he couldn't figure out what Ezio could possibly have on him.
"You'll pay for this, boy!"
Snape looked away, while Ezio took a seat at the edge of the crowd amid the Slytherin upper-years' welcome. He'd evaded the enthusiastic invitation of a female senior—not because he was celibate, but because she wasn't attractive.
One name after another was called, and the Sorting Ceremony proceeded smoothly. Before long, Draco Malfoy's name was called. The moment the hat touched his head, it shouted "Slytherin!" But when Draco took it off, he looked rather dispirited. Without Ezio, he would have been overjoyed.
With his head slightly bowed and none of his usual swagger, Draco made his way to the Slytherin table. He picked a seat as far from Ezio as possible. A girl with a lion's-mane hairstyle tried to get him to sit with her, but Draco flatly refused. That spot was a little too close to Ezio.
There weren't many young wizards left to be sorted. When Professor McGonagall loudly called, "Harry Potter," a wave of murmurs suddenly swept through the Great Hall. Even at the Slytherin table, plenty of students whispered to one another. "Potter? Is it that Potter? Merlin above! It really is him!"
With everyone's eyes fixed on him, Harry began to feel nervous again. He anxiously sat down on the stool. Only when the brim of the hat blocked his view and everything went dark did Harry relax a little.
"Hmm, this is a little difficult," the old hat muttered in Harry's mind. "But you're much easier to judge than the boy from before. I can see that you're brave, and good-hearted. You've got talent, too, and... oh! You have a powerful desire to achieve something. You may be in a hurry, but I hope you won't rush too much. Impatience will only make you make more mistakes."
"So now... where should I put you?"
"Slytherin?" the old hat murmured. "Slytherin could help you achieve greatness. But then, Gryffindor could also..."
"Slytherin, then," Harry said decisively.
"It seems you've already made up your mind," the Sorting Hat said softly. "But why?"
"You said Slytherin could help me achieve greatness, and there's something I really want to accomplish."
"Very well—Slytherin!"
The Sorting Hat loudly announced which house Harry would join. At that very moment, Dumbledore's expression stiffened slightly. His eyes widened a little, and a hint of suspicion flashed through them.
But Snape, sitting behind Dumbledore, could barely control his expression. His face twitched as he tried with all his might to hold back his laughter. If they weren't in the Great Hall, he'd have burst out laughing by now! Hahahaha!
Professor Flitwick thought Snape was having some kind of fit and hurriedly asked in a low voice, "Severus, are you all right?"
"I..." Snape pinched his thigh. He recalled the second most painful thing he'd ever experienced, then steadied himself before replying slowly, "I'm fine. My wound just reopened."
He clutched his arm, but his sleeve was dry, with no blood showing.
"I didn't even know you were injured. Is it serious? Should we have Poppy check it?" (Poppy was Madam Pomfrey, Hogwarts' school nurse. Her full name was Poppy Pomfrey.)
"It was a minor accident. I might not have treated it properly before."
Snape regained the composure he'd had earlier. He briefly explained and declined Professor Flitwick's offer, but his eyes never shifted away from Harry. When he saw Harry smiling as he sat down beside Ezio, he truly felt his wound split open all over again.
Dumbledore! Just look at the mess you've made!
With Snape glaring at his back as if he wanted to kill him, Dumbledore couldn't help shifting in his seat. His back felt a little itchy, as though someone were sticking a pin into a voodoo doll of him.
A moment later, an air of disbelief spread through the Great Hall. Apart from the cheering Slytherins, students from the other three houses were dumbfounded by what they'd just seen.
How had the Chosen One of the English Wizarding World, the boy who had defeated You-Know-Who, ended up in the infamous cesspit of dark wizards—Slytherin?
Merlin's pink lace-trimmed thong!
That had to have been an illusion, right? An illusion!
They could rack their brains all they wanted, but none of them could imagine what Harry Potter had in common with Slytherin. This wasn't magic!
Maybe... only something darker than darkness itself can destroy it?
A rumor like that came from who-knew-where and began spreading like wildfire. Students were mostly a bunch of gullible gossips who couldn't keep their mouths shut. Their boundless energy always sent their minds wandering to strange ideas, and the frightening part was that they were quick to believe their own imaginings.
When the last boy, Blaise Zabini, was sorted into Slytherin, Professor McGonagall left with the Sorting Hat. Dumbledore stood up, and the noisy hall fell silent at once.
"Welcome," Dumbledore said calmly, his voice reaching everyone's ears. "Welcome to Hogwarts for the start of a new school year! Before the feast begins, I'd like to say a few words: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
"Thank you!"
Amid the applause of a crowd of bewildered young wizards, Dumbledore concluded his speech. All kinds of food suddenly appeared on the empty plates along the tables. The clink of knives and forks mingled with people's conversation, and the hall once again became lively.
At the Slytherin table, people kept glancing at Harry now and then. But he paid them no attention, happily chatting with Ezio beside him.
"The Sorting Hat said Slytherin could help me achieve greatness. Ezio, do you think that's true?"
"It doesn't really matter where you go." Ezio elegantly cut into a thick steak. Compared with the young wizards from so-called wizarding 'noble' families around him, he seemed to have far more aristocratic manners. "Going to Ravenclaw won't necessarily make you smarter, and coming to Slytherin won't necessarily make you stronger."
"A house just gives us a place to grow. What we ultimately become depends on our own efforts."
"But Slytherin does have one small advantage over the other houses."
Ezio swallowed the last little piece of beef on his plate, then turned to Harry. "In Slytherin, might makes right. You can show off your talents without holding back and climb over everyone else to get to the top."
"Only..." Ezio swept his gaze around the table. Meeting the eyes of those looking at him or Harry, he spoke clearly. "Slytherin is full of too many useless fools and pieces of garbage these days. The stench is nauseating."
"If Salazar Slytherin knew what had become of his house, he'd probably be so angry that he'd round these people up and use every last one of them as experimental material."
His words carried a bone-chilling coldness. Many people silently lowered their heads beneath Ezio's sharp, intimidating gaze, though not everyone looked away.
Just as Ezio had said, Slytherin, packed with so-called Pure-blood wizards, was getting worse with every passing year.
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