Harry Potter: The Lion of the Serpent House

Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was troubled by a complaint from a student's guardian, Sirius Black, regarding first-year Slytherin Harry Potter. They met at the Hog's Head, a rundown pub. The barkeep polished plates silently, the sound echoing in the empty bar, ignoring their orders.

Sirius, Harry's godfather, appointed by his parents, was recovering from Azkaban's toll. His skeletal frame was slowly regaining its former vigor, but dark circles lingered under his eyes.

"How old is Harry now, Dumbledore?" Sirius asked, his voice tinged with urgency.

Azkaban had blurred his sense of time. After winning his trial, he'd demanded to see Harry, but the Ministry, citing his fragile mental state, denied it. War and a decade in prison had shattered him beyond even Mad-Eye Moody's resilience. He lacked the stability to play parent.

"Eleven. Just started at Hogwarts," Dumbledore replied calmly, though guilt gnawed at him.

"First year? Then there's time! Get Harry out of Slytherin!" Sirius pleaded.

He'd learned of Harry's Sorting from Dumbledore post-trial, reeling in shock and grief. He blamed himself for failing as godfather, despite Dumbledore's request to step back. But the Sorting was a magical contract, unchangeable even by Dumbledore.

"Sirius, you need rest. I understand your worry, but I can't grant this," Dumbledore said, closing his eyes against Sirius's distress.

Sirius was frantic. Azkaban had left him with only dark memories of Slytherin—its students delving into dark magic, cursing Muggle-borns, even Death Eaters' kin targeting rivals' families with the Dark Mark. Slytherin had become a breeding ground for prejudice and crime, with no self-cleansing.

Dumbledore didn't hate Slytherin. He respected its witches and wizards who wielded incredible power for those they loved.

"Slytherin's changed. Dark wizards are condemned now. It's a house for ambitious minds, not criminals," Dumbledore said.

"What if Harry's swayed by pure-blood dogma? Can an eleven-year-old stay safe among Death Eaters' spawn?" Sirius snapped, his words laced with bias born of Azkaban's trauma. War memories—Slytherins slaughtering innocents—hardened him. Most wizards shared his fears, but a decade of peace had dulled others' anger or taught them to feign indifference.

"Children have more sense than adults think. Slytherins aren't foolish enough to harm Harry, and he's not one to be swayed by pure-blood nonsense," Dumbledore countered.

"That's unlike you, Dumbledore. Seven years living like family—how could he not be influenced?" Sirius said, regaining some composure, his face bitter.

"I learned in Gryffindor—courage from James, respect from Remus, kindness from Lily. From Peter…" Sirius faltered.

"You needn't say," Dumbledore interjected.

"From Slytherins, I learned nothing human—just cruelty to the weak," Sirius spat, reflecting his era's truth.

Dumbledore didn't deny it. Instead, he spoke of today's Slytherins. "They're victims of that era, Sirius. Current students—third, second, first years—have no memory of it, yet they're blamed for their parents' sins. You know that pain."

Dumbledore hesitated. He'd saved a man who favored Slytherins, unfairly treating others, deepening inter-house rifts. "Slytherins want peace too. They're the generation you and James protected."

Sirius, a noble man, tried to see Slytherin students as children. "How's Harry doing in Slytherin?" he asked quietly.

Dumbledore, knowing via the Sorting Hat that Harry chose Slytherin, recounted his actions, including Snape's biased reports. When told Harry helped a Gryffindor Muggle-born on Halloween, Sirius fell off his chair in shock.

Post-Halloween, Slytherins like Daphne Greengrass, who sought harmony, enjoyed fleeting peace. It lasted barely a week.

Outside Slytherin, Harry was met with some warmth but more criticism for rule-breaking. He resolved to follow rules, though Filch and others teased him about his next infraction. Hufflepuffs, especially, warmed to Harry and his peers like Zabini. Ernie Macmillan, a diligent Hufflepuff, chided his housemates for distracting from lessons, proud of his house's sincerity.

Happiness was fleeting. Gryffindors embraced Hermione after she apologized for her faults, often paired with Ron. Their dynamic—perfect yet volatile—required Neville or others to mediate their spats. Slytherins bet on who'd referee each day.

Harry's rescue of Hermione didn't bridge the houses. Unbeknownst to him, Slytherin girls, led by Pansy Parkinson of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, covertly harassed Hermione out of jealousy for her comic-book-like rescue. Hermione later told Harry, who distanced himself to protect her, learning he was the cause.

Gryffindor girls united against the bullying, but no reconciliation emerged.

Back in Slytherin, Harry's position was precarious. In the common room, Draco confronted him.

"Filthy, Potter! You said you hated Muggles, yet you tricked me! Slytherin's traitor!" Draco accused.

"No, Draco. I do hate Muggles," Harry said, meeting his gaze.

Since Halloween, Draco had spurned Harry's Quidditch invites. After four days, his anger erupted.

"How's it different? Granger's a filthy Muggle-born!" Draco sneered.

By Slytherin's values, Harry was the heretic. The house believed Muggle-borns shouldn't be admitted, though exceptions like Harry were tolerated if they respected the hierarchy. Harry's clashes with Draco and his aid to Hermione marked him as un-Slytherin. Zabini noted a true Slytherin would've discreetly fetched a teacher.

"Draco, I get how you feel, but letting her die? That'd mean she beat me academically, escaping unchallenged. Should a noble Slytherin lose to a Muggle-born?" Harry retorted, his sarcasm a misstep.

Draco's rage flared. To him, friendship meant loyalty to pure-blood ideals taught by his father. Harry's defiance taught him friends could disagree, but his pride wouldn't yield.

"You call her a witch? Same blood as the Muggles who abused you!" Draco exposed Harry's past abuse to the gathered Slytherins, shattering his dignity.

Harry had shared this only with Zabini and Draco. The betrayal stung. "So what? Should I have blasted Granger with Bombarda like I did those Muggles and let the troll kill her? Or slit her throat with Diffindo?"

Draco recoiled at Harry's venom, shaped by Dursley cruelty. Other Slytherins, like Azrael, looked at Harry with fear. He regretted his outburst.

(I messed up.)

Friendship with Draco, perhaps all Slytherins, seemed lost. Unable to bear their pitying stares, Harry fell silent.

"Sorry, Draco. I went too far," he mumbled, retreating to his room to talk to his snake, Asclepius, who was molting and barely listened. Zabini withheld his usual sarcasm, Falcus looked anxious, and Azrael avoided Harry's gaze.

In the girls' dorm, Daphne pondered Harry's actions. Helping a Muggle-born while hating Muggles was contradictory. Yet, she believed his refusal to stoop to Muggle cruelty drove him—a true Slytherin motive.

To her, Harry's actions mimicked Gryffindors, like the Weasleys, aiding "tainted blood." But his rejection of Muggle equality aligned with Slytherin's superiority. She doubted Ron would stay friends knowing Harry's Muggle hatred. Harry was a snake, she concluded, delighted.

Her assumption was flawed. Muggle disdain wasn't unique to Slytherin. Daphne, sheltered by her pure-blood upbringing, didn't know even Weasleys or Muggle-married wizards could scorn abusive Muggles. She was a cultured princess, forced into ignorance, like many pure-blood Slytherins.

(He's a snake barely clinging to good.)

She was partly right. Harry's environment, to adults like Sirius, seemed primed to breed dark wizards. Daphne saw Harry as a true Slytherin, resolving to watch him, though she offered no support. Most Slytherins chose silence.

But that silence didn't last. Someone plotted to punish Harry's un-Slytherin ways. Soon, his textbooks and notes began to disappear, mirroring Hermione's plight.