Harry potter: Revenge from azkaban

Professor McGonagall held the Sorting Hat with practiced grace and placed it gently atop Cassian Drayke's head.

"Hmm…"

A full minute passed in silence. The Sorting Hat's brim twitched uncertainly.

"Hmm??"

Five minutes dragged on. The Hat sat motionless, a deep crease forming in its fabric as though scowling in frustration. A hush fell across the Great Hall.

Professor McGonagall glanced at Cassian with a raised brow. She had seen many strange things in her years at Hogwarts, but two Hastos in a single year? That was unprecedented.

"This is… unusual," the Sorting Hat muttered, clearly perturbed.

Among the four House tables, the atmosphere shifted. Students leaned forward in anticipation. Even the older years held their breath. The first Hasto, Matthias Stark, had already gone to Gryffindor. Now this… another anomaly. What would the Hat decide?

Cassandra Vablatsky, seated at the Slytherin table, observed the scene with calm confidence. Her gaze never wavered from Cassian. It was as if she already knew what house he would be placed in.

Then, at last, a soft voice sounded inside Cassian's mind.

"Little one… there's something shielding your thoughts. Occlumency? At your age? If you don't lift it, I cannot see your true nature."

"Just place me in Slytherin," Cassian replied quietly, his tone unwavering.

The Hat paused. "Slytherin, is it? Fascinating. Such refined Occlumency… I haven't encountered this level of shielding in decades. And from a child! Yes, yes… Slytherin has indeed found a treasure."

Aloud, the Sorting Hat declared:

"SLYTHERIN!"

Cheers erupted from the Slytherin table. Students clapped and whistled; even the usually aloof seventh-years showed genuine excitement. Across the hall, the Gryffindor table reacted with a mix of awe and quiet disappointment. Matthias Stark had been celebrated as the first Hasto of the year, but now Cassian Drayke had surpassed even him—the Sorting Hat had taken longer with Cassian than with anyone else that night.

The symbolism was not lost on the staff or students.

Even Headmaster Dumbledore's eyes gleamed with curiosity behind his half-moon spectacles. No one—certainly not he—had expected the Sorting Hat to hesitate this way. The ancient Legilimency enchantments imbued into the Hat by the four founders were supposed to read any child's mind within seconds. But Cassian's Occlumency had completely blocked it.

He hadn't simply resisted the Hat.

He had shut it out.

If the founders were alive today, they might have argued over who got to claim such a magical prodigy. Cassian wasn't just gifted—he was a phenomenon.

Of course, the Sorting Hat wouldn't dare admit that it had failed to peer into the mind of an eleven-year-old. Its pride, as enchanted as the fabric it wore, wouldn't allow that. It consoled itself silently: Let it be known that I made a choice… not that I was blind.

As Professor McGonagall lifted the Hat from Cassian's head, he calmly stepped down from the stool and walked to the Slytherin table.

"Oi, move over," Cassandra commanded an older student with a tone that brooked no refusal.

Startled by the authority in her voice, the seventh-year shifted without complaint. Cassian slid into the seat beside her with a small nod.

Meanwhile, students at Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw looked increasingly glum. To see two Hastos in one Sorting was unheard of. No one dared hope for a third.

"Slytherin…" Dumbledore murmured to himself, leaning back in his chair.

Back at the Slytherin table, senior students eagerly leaned toward Cassian, introducing themselves and shaking his hand. Yet despite the attention, Cassian remained composed, offering polite nods and the occasional short reply.

Cassandra's gaze narrowed. She crossed her legs beneath the table, and her foot brushed Cassian's leg—not once, but twice. Then she gave him a soft, deliberate kick under the table.

Cassian blinked and turned toward her, puzzled. "Sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to delay the Sorting. The Hat just… wouldn't make up its mind."

He looked genuinely apologetic.

Cassandra raised an eyebrow but then chuckled softly. Her earlier irritation melted away. "Pfft. I'm not mad. I just kicked you by accident. Want me to rub it better?"

Cassian's eyes widened slightly. "No, no… I'm fine."

He quickly looked away, unsure how to respond.

In truth, Cassian had spent most of his life immersed in the study of magic. Subtleties of social behavior—especially things like flirting—were as foreign to him as Muggle technology.

The reason for his Occlumency was simple. His mind held knowledge that could reshape the wizarding world—secrets from forbidden texts, redesigned ancient rituals, rewritten transfiguration theory, and newly forged defensive spells. The magical transformation he'd undergone years ago had given him insights far beyond his age. He couldn't risk even the Sorting Hat seeing those thoughts.

So, he shielded everything.

As the final students were sorted and the feast began, golden platters shimmered into existence, piled high with roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, shepherd's pie, pumpkin pasties, and treacle tart.

Students dug in eagerly. Cassian served himself modestly, still half-lost in thought. Beside him, Cassandra watched with a small smile. He wasn't basking in attention. He wasn't trying to impress anyone. That pleased her more than she expected.

The feast came to an end in a flurry of laughter and clinking goblets. Just as students began rising from their seats, a shadow loomed over the Slytherin table.

A tall, pale man with sallow skin and greasy black hair stood before them, robes billowing like storm clouds.

"I am the Head of Slytherin House," came the cold, quiet voice of Severus Snape. "You two. Come with me."

He gestured at Cassian and Cassandra, then turned without another word and strode out of the Great Hall.

The Slytherin prefect opened his mouth to protest, but one look at Snape's expression convinced him otherwise. He simply began herding the rest of the Slytherin first-years toward the dormitories.

Cassian and Cassandra followed Snape down a dim stone corridor lit by flickering torchlight. The walls grew damper and colder as they descended deeper into the castle's underbelly. Finally, Snape opened a door to a side classroom and gestured for them to enter.

Inside, several familiar figures were already present.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling with unreadable emotion.

Professor McGonagall, standing upright, arms folded.

Hermione Granger, now a sixth-year, seated calmly with her hands in her lap.

And then—Panessa Nian and Kurat Vanilla, the older students who had attacked Cassandra at the station.

Kurat wore fresh robes but sported dark bruises across his cheek and jaw—evidence of his humiliating defeat.

He sneered the moment he saw Cassian.

Dumbledore raised a hand and spoke in a voice both kind and commanding. "Now then. We are here to clarify the events that occurred at King's Cross Station. Miss Vablatsky, Mr. Drayke… Panessa and Kurat claim that you attacked them without provocation."

Though his tone was even, there was a glint of steel behind his words. Dumbledore's presence had a curious way of filling the room—warm and firm, like a calm before a storm.

He folded his hands atop his desk.

"Given the injuries sustained," he continued, "we must determine what truly happened."

Silence settled over the room.

Cassian glanced at Cassandra.

She was smiling.

This, it seemed, was going to be

fun.

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