The Slytherin common room had a chill to it that never seemed to leave — a dampness in the stones, like the walls themselves were sweating secrets.
Harry sat by the fire, though "fire" was a generous word. The emerald-green flames crackled in unsettling silence, offering little heat. They lit the room like a ghost's lantern, casting long shadows that twisted into corners. The green and silver banners above the hearth barely moved, though there was no breeze.
He was alone, though he knew the others were watching from the corners of their eyes.
He could feel it. That prickling sensation between his shoulder blades. Every glance was like a whisper he couldn't quite catch.
"The Boy Who Lived.""The Slytherin mistake.""Or maybe the Slytherin weapon?"
The common room had been full when they returned from the feast. But conversations halted when he walked in. A few students offered curt nods. Most didn't say a word. Draco Malfoy had given him a once-over and a cryptic, "Looks like you're ours now," before retreating with Crabbe and Goyle to one of the stone alcoves.
Theodore Nott, pale and unreadable, passed him a glance that felt more like an evaluation than a greeting. Harry wasn't sure if he liked that better or worse than Malfoy's attention.
And then there was Snape.
Earlier That Evening – Slytherin Table
The moment Harry sat down at the Slytherin table, Snape's presence pressed against him like static. Even without looking, Harry felt him — still, silent, watching.
Snape hadn't clapped. Not even once.
When the Sorting ended and food appeared, Harry barely touched anything. His appetite had twisted itself into a knot. Everything on the table shimmered with richness — roasted meats, golden pies, silver pitchers of pumpkin juice — but it felt wrong. Overindulgent.
He didn't belong at this table. He hadn't earned it.
Yet Snape's eyes followed him. Calculating. Not angry, not disappointed — just... unreadable.
It was worse than being glared at.
Now – Back in the Common Room
Footsteps echoed on the stone floor behind him.
Harry didn't turn. He didn't have to.
"You look like you're trying to disappear," said a soft, dry voice.
Theodore Nott. Taller than Harry, thin as a shadow, with dark eyes that looked through you instead of at you. He had a book tucked under his arm and didn't bother to sit.
"I'm not," Harry replied. His voice came out sharper than he meant.
Theodore tilted his head. "You're not like they said."
Harry blinked. "What do they say?"
"That you were brave. Loud. Reckless. Golden-boy type."He smirked faintly. "I don't think you're any of those."
Harry didn't answer. Because he wasn't sure if it was a compliment or an insult.
"Just so you know," Theodore continued, stepping closer, "if you plan to survive in this house, stop flinching every time someone watches you. It's Slytherin — everyone's always watching."
Then, just as quietly as he arrived, he left — disappearing behind a tapestry Harry hadn't realized was a door.
Later That Night – The Dungeons
The walk to Snape's office was silent.
No one had told Harry to go there — not directly — but as the first years were led to their rooms, a second-year whispered, "He wants to see you. Don't be late."
So here he was, standing in front of the carved door in the lower dungeon, unsure if he should knock or run.
The door creaked open before he made a choice.
"Enter, Potter," came the familiar, velvet-slick voice.
Snape stood behind his desk, candlelight flickering across his face like war paint. His hands were clasped behind his back. His robes hung like shadows.
Harry stepped inside.
The door shut on its own.
They stood in silence for a moment, the tension crawling between them like vines.
"I suppose you're wondering why the Hat put you where it did," Snape said at last.
Harry said nothing. He didn't trust his voice.
"I am not going to coddle you, Mr. Potter," Snape continued. "This house — my house — is not known for kindness or patience. Your fame won't protect you here."
Still, Harry didn't speak.
Snape's lip twitched, just slightly. "But I know something you don't."
Harry looked up.
"You may not belong here yet. But you will."He stepped closer. "Slytherin doesn't care where you come from. Only where you're willing to go."
Snape stared at him, gaze unwavering.And then, in a tone so low Harry almost missed it:
"And I see exactly where you're going."
In the Dormitory – Hours Later
He lay in bed staring at the serpent embroidered into the canopy.
The serpent stared back.
Maybe Theodore was right. Maybe he wasn't brave, or loud, or Gryffindor material. Maybe he didn't want to be.
What would it feel like to stop trying to fit someone else's story?
What if this story was his now?