Harry Potter: The Lion of the Serpent House

Sirius, through Dumbledore's introduction, reunited with his cousin, Andromeda Tonks, a witch who spent seven years in Slytherin and graduated. "Ten years, Dromeda?" Sirius said with a smile, though she didn't see it that way. Her Black family beauty carried concern as she noted, "Twelve years. You look worn, Sirius."

"You haven't changed," he replied.

"When did you learn flattery?" she teased.

"Stop treating me like a kid. I'm past thirty," he grumbled.

Andromeda chuckled. Wizards aged slower than Muggles, but time still marked them. Her calm intelligence suggested a good life, warming Sirius, who saw her as a sister. "I'm sorry I didn't believe in you," she said. "I should've."

"My fault. My attitude. Let it go, Dromeda. I need to ask about Slytherin," Sirius said, cutting to the point. "James and Lily's son, Harry, was sorted there."

"Harry Potter? Why?!" Andromeda gasped.

"As his godfather, I'm ashamed to say I don't know. But I need to understand Slytherin's environment," Sirius pleaded.

She hesitated, then spoke. "You're worried Slytherin's a den of racists and killers."

Sirius nodded silently, and her next words shocked him. "You're right. Slytherin's garbage. It should be destroyed."

"Dromeda!?" he exclaimed.

She raised a hand to continue. "When I started, You-Know-Who hadn't shown his true colors. Slytherin wasn't as cruel to other houses as you think. Most ignored Muggle-borns if they were friendly."

"Right before the dark times?" Sirius asked.

She downed her drink. "Everyone said it was Slytherin's era, better for its graduates. But looking back, the seeds of trouble were everywhere." She sighed deeply. "In Slytherin, I was forced to act as a Black heiress. It was about exploiting rivals' weaknesses, making them fall. Friends wanted my family's power; those without power clung to those with it. Is that good for kids? I steered my daughter away from Slytherin—not just because I'm a family traitor."

Her motherly perspective rang true. Slytherin was harsh for an 11-year-old, especially one like Harry, ignorant of the wizarding world. Sirius grew more anxious. "Boys might've been different," she added. "They valued personal strength over lineage. If Harry's acting Slytherin-like, he might not fare too badly."

"He's not. I'm proud, but I worry about how he's treated," Sirius admitted.

Andromeda fell silent, haunted by memories of Slytherin's worst days, not its better ones. She withheld a truth: before Ted Tonks, she mingled with Slytherin's pure-blood supremacists, mostly half-bloods seeking favor with her Black heritage. When she chose Ted, they lost status, many becoming Death Eaters, believing they'd risen. Slytherin's pure-bloods and half-bloods used each other—sometimes forging bonds, often ending in tragedy. She urged Sirius to write Harry, revealing more than he expected about Slytherin's dynamics.

"You have to be shameless to survive there," she said, admitting to feigning tolerance for Muggle-borns while joining in bullying with peers, blaming both the environment and herself.

"You tear down your old house like that?" Sirius asked, surprised.

"I know its flaws because it was mine," she replied. Only to Ted, Tonks, and a few trusted friends could she speak so candidly, haunted by nightmares of her husband's potential murder and her own Slytherin ties.

Sirius realized Andromeda was the quintessential Slytherin witch, her love for the house fueling her hatred. Her insights, though valuable, weren't what he sought. "I wanted to know how a child feels sorted into Slytherin," he clarified. "Dromeda, how did you feel?"

After a long pause, she answered, "I was… thrilled."

Her words gave Sirius the assurance to write to Harry.

Harry quickly identified the thief of his notebook and textbook, stunned and hoping it was a lie as he faced Bloom Azrael's blue eyes. "I saw the tall guy take your notebook," said Asclepius, Harry's trusted snake.

"What do we do with him!?" Zabini shouted. "I'll curse him!"

"Stop, Zabini!" Harry urged.

"Move, Farcas! If Harry won't, I will!" Zabini insisted.

Azrael tried to deny it, relying on Harry's word alone. But Zabini, noticing Azrael's pale face and avoidance of Harry, sensed guilt, not malice. Though Harry didn't know it, Zabini, scarred by Sirius's case, believed abandoning a friend over one mistake was shameful. Azrael, an ordinary boy, wanted to be good within his limits but confessed under pressure. "I didn't want to! I'm sorry, Harry! I'm the worst!"

Harry, recalling being bullied by Dudley, empathized with Azrael's fear. "Who?" he asked, barely containing his magic.

"Ricardo Marthinus, Slytherin fourth-year," Azrael revealed.

"Never heard of him," Harry said.

"Why me?" he wondered.

"He threatened to take my stuff if I didn't steal yours," Azrael admitted.

Harry's anger at Azrael faded. Azrael had taught him kindness and bridged him with Zabini. Furious at the senior, Harry proposed, "Guys, I have an idea. Want to do something bad? The four of us."

In the Slytherin common room, McGillis Carrow, a pale, handsome boy, walked with Ricardo Marthinus, an unremarkable brunette. Carrow, from a Death Eater family, was raised as a pure-blood supremacist. "Is Potter okay?" he asked Ricardo, who carried textbooks.

"Almost time," Ricardo replied, a half-blood from a squib and witch, erased from his family tree. His mother's expectations drove his extreme pure-blood indoctrination. To survive Slytherin, he sought radical allies, finding only Carrow, shunned for his criminal kin. Carrow's defiance against other houses and dabbling in dark arts lacked talent, thankfully.

By fourth year, Ricardo doubted pure-blood supremacy, blaming it for their ostracism. Yet he harassed other houses, earning punishments and Slytherin point deductions. Slytherin accepted them, but others despised them. Harry's arrival—praised despite un-Slytherin behavior—irked Ricardo. "Let's teach Potter pure-blood supremacy," he suggested maliciously.

"Help him fit in," Carrow agreed naively.

("Fit in? Idiot,") Ricardo thought, resenting Carrow's blind loyalty to pure-blood ideals. Unlike Carrow, Ricardo regretted his indoctrination and planned to break Harry by stealing his belongings, isolating him, then posing as a kind senior to instill radical beliefs, as had been done to him.

As Carrow chatted with a girl, three students approached. A disheveled boy and a sharp-featured Black boy claimed a Weasley twin's dungbomb hit them, asking for a prefect. Carrow, kind to housemates, cast Scourgify and left to fetch one, leaving Ricardo alone. The girl, unfriendly to Ricardo, moved to leave but noticed a bespectacled boy aiming at Ricardo's bag.

"Potter?" she said.

"Diffindo!" Harry cast, slicing the bag weakly. Notebooks spilled. Before Ricardo could react, Harry aimed again. "Specialis Revelio!"

Among Ricardo's items, Harry found his own notebook, his name etched on it. "You had my friend borrow my notebook without asking," Harry said loudly, drawing attention, including a prefect's. Others' stolen items surfaced, revealing Ricardo's pattern of coercing pure-blood supremacy.

"Potter! Pointing a wand at me!?" Ricardo protested, stunned, as he habitually carried stolen goods—a fatal mistake.

"I didn't aim at you," Harry said coolly. "Just your bag."

Prefect Garfield Gafgarion intervened, deeming the timing right. "Enough. We're family. Families fight, accidentally aim wands. But Ricardo, aren't you ashamed?" He gestured at Ricardo's scattered belongings, including a revealing Muggle magazine photo, non-moving, unlike wizard photos.

The Slytherin girls' gazes turned icy. Ricardo, preaching pure-blood supremacy, secretly admired Muggle women—a betrayal. "It's not what it looks like!" he stammered.

"No punishment. You'll face enough," Gafgarion said. "Potter, nice Diffindo and Revelio. Two points."

Harry's items were returned, and he celebrated with Azrael, Zabini, and Farcas over frog chocolate and pumpkin pasties.

That night, Harry lay awake, troubled. Azrael slept soundly, finally at peace. Harry realized his actions caused trouble, even for friends. It was his first deep worry at Hogwarts. "It's my fault. I'm not always right. This plan barely worked because Zabini and the others refined it," he thought. Rejecting Draco's pure-blood views felt right, but losing their Quidditch rivalry left him lonely. Still, with friends, his snake, magic, and Slytherin as his home, Harry embraced it all.

Recalling magic's miracles—defeating a troll, exposing Pettigrew, escaping the Dursleys—Harry wanted to use magic to help others, like Hagrid did for him. He loved Slytherin and aimed to be its greatest wizard, hoping others would see his vision of greatness. He'd face any threat to himself or his friends, scared yet thrilled.

Harry's true talent, mistaken by him and Zabini as Parseltongue, was his unyielding stubbornness, as Azrael saw.

The next morning, a letter arrived, shocking Harry. It was from Sirius Black. "What's it say?" Zabini asked eagerly.

Harry grinned. "Lots of complicated stuff, but… he loves me and congratulates me on joining Slytherin."

The letter became Harry's greatest treasure, a gift of love from Sirius.