Harry Potter: The Lion of the Serpent House

In the Slytherin girls' dormitory, Daphne Greengrass, with her lush black hair, stares at a duplicated Daily Prophet front page. It shows a gaunt, skeletal man—Sirius Black—yawning and scratching his jaw.

Sirius' sacrifice for the Potters spreads like wildfire through Hogwarts. Many students, including Daphne, have upperclassmen duplicate the article and photo. Sirius captivates Hogwarts, a hero born of friendship and justice, even among Slytherin students.

(Why's Sirius in Gryffindor?) Daphne wonders, discussing with Millicent and Pansy.

"Sirius and Potter's parents belonged in Slytherin! Harry's here, isn't he?" Millicent insists.

"They'd never have let him rot in prison if he were Slytherin!" Pansy adds.

"Foolish choice…" Daphne nods, but her heart wavers.

As a Slytherin witch from a pure-blood family, Daphne was taught pure-bloods are supreme, others trash—her survival depends on it. The Sorting Hat placed her in Slytherin instantly. She believed it right, natural. Yet Sirius' noble sacrifice, something she couldn't imagine doing, shakes her.

A pure-blood like her and Draco, Sirius was reportedly a brilliant wizard despite his rebellious streak. He should have been Slytherin's prince, championing pure-blood ideals. "Could someone without Slytherin qualities lead the Black family?" Daphne muses aloud.

The room freezes. Her words challenge everything. "Kidding, sorry!" she backtracks, but the thought pierces pure-blood children raised to see their parents' way as gospel. Sirius' loyalty affirms Slytherin's virtues of friendship and love but rejects its pure-blood dogma. Ironically, a Slytherin who'd sacrifice for friends fell as a supposed mass murderer, while traitors thrive in the house.

Daphne's family, no Death Eaters but Voldemort supporters, survived by aligning with his power, hoping it'd solve their issues. Daphne, like many Slytherins, fears other houses' harsh judgment for their families' sins, despite doing nothing themselves (save giggling at others' failures). They cheer Draco's cruelty but dread retaliation.

If Sirius were a distant, non-Slytherin figure, Daphne could dismiss him as a fool. But his near-Slytherin roots suggest another path—one where Slytherins could be respected without harming others.

The cause? Harry Potter, Slytherin's hero. To Daphne, Harry lacks Slytherin cunning, showing Gryffindor-like recklessness, yet he's undeniably Slytherin. Through Farkas, most Slytherins know Harry used his snake to expose Pettigrew. The girls keep it a house secret, proof of their superiority, convincing themselves Harry's secrecy is Slytherin cunning.

Harry's words echo in Daphne's mind: "Because you're my friend!" Stopping a housemate for such a simple, honest reason dazzles her.

(Maybe Slytherin can change.) If Harry, a hero, stays in Slytherin and they win the House Cup without Snape's blatant favoritism, Daphne's generation might be accepted as proper Hogwarts students. It defies her parents' Slytherin ideals—a terrifying rebellion she secretly hopes for.

Alone, Harry visits Hagrid's hut in the Forbidden Forest. Fang, Hagrid's timid dog, barks fiercely, forcing Harry to cast Silencio. Hagrid's the only one he can confide in; his snake, Asclepius, can't advise on friendship or human ties.

Guilt over rule-breaking fades—friendship trumps all for Harry now. "Harry, why're you here? The forest's off-limits!" Hagrid scolds.

"Sorry, Hagrid. I had to talk to you. I'll be careful next time," Harry says.

"What about Snape?" Hagrid asks.

"I think Snape hates me…"

Hagrid studies Harry, seeing James' son. "Don't think that way. Snape's your Head of House. He protects Slytherins… though he overdoes it, makin' folks dislike him."

Snape's overt Slytherin bias fuels their bad reputation, and he favors everyone but Harry, making trust hard. "Yeah, you're right," Harry says halfheartedly, focused on Hagrid.

"Alright, what's wrong? You look pale," Hagrid says, offering rock-hard cakes and tea, listening "just this once."

Harry spills his troubles: unable to talk to Ron, clashing with Draco over Gryffindor attitudes, and Zabini's jab at his un-Slytherin ways. Hagrid, surprised by Harry's indifference to Sirius, avoids that topic.

"Am I wrong, Hagrid? What should I do?" Harry asks.

"Nah, you ain't done wrong. Nothin' bad as a person. You just need confidence," Hagrid assures.

Harry brightens visibly. Hagrid recalls Lily lamenting James and Severus' fights, a memory echoing Harry's woes. Low-year students often confide in Hagrid, his pure heart and distance from school making him a safe confidant. Even Slytherins, hiding their visits, seek him out.

Hagrid offers one piece of advice: "Talk it out, Harry. Don't assume you know someone without lookin' in their eyes, learnin' who they are, findin' a comfortable distance."

"Can I do it? I've never had friends," Harry worries.

"It won't all work out, but it's better than stewin'," Hagrid says.

"You're right. I'll talk to Zabini," Harry resolves.

As Harry leaves, Hagrid hopes their friendships endure. Harry's Slytherin robe glows reddish in the sunset, like Gryffindor's.

Harry quickly reconciles with Zabini and other Slytherins, talking (and bickering, with Azrael mediating) until they agree to respect differences and help when needed. With Draco, a gap over Gryffindor persists, but Quidditch games let them laugh and bond over shared skill—a rare bond for eleven-year-olds.

Yet, Harry can't find time alone with Ron. Since starting school, meaningful talks elude them, and Harry nearly gives up on their friendship.

Then, a turning point arrives.