The grey heir

The doors of the Great Hall swung open with a creak that echoed down the length of the enchanted chamber. Dozens of first-year students stepped inside, their shoes clicking softly against the stone floor. The sky overhead rippled with the illusion of thick, misty clouds, moonlight seeping through as if the castle itself breathed the night.

Harry Potter walked near the middle of the line, his expression unreadable. The tall candles floated in the air like silent sentinels, casting golden halos above each table. His name had not yet drawn attention—but it would.

He glanced at Daphne walking beside him. Tracey was a step behind. Neville walked alone, already looking like he regretted being born. Ron was whispering too loudly, and Hermione kept stealing glances at the ceiling as if trying to decipher its enchantment.

At the front of the hall stood a simple stool with an aged, frayed wizard's hat upon it. The Sorting Hat.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward, unrolling a long parchment.

But before she spoke, the Sorting Hat stirred. A tear near its brim opened, and it began to sing:

> "When magic ran wild in elder days,

Four stood to shape the coming ways.

Brave at heart and sharp of mind,

Cunning, loyal, just and kind.

But blood runs deep, and fate runs wild,

Not every lion is gentle, not every snake beguiled.

I see the marks of ancient thread,

The living bound by those long dead.

So choose I must, with sharpened eye,

For not all truths can live in light."*

There was a smattering of polite applause, and then silence. McGonagall began calling names.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

The girl trembled slightly before being Sorted into Hufflepuff.

The process went on. Hermione Granger was called. She strode to the stool with confident steps.

"RAVENCLAW!" the Hat declared.

She looked stunned—but then lifted her chin and walked with reluctant pride to her new table.

"Longbottom, Neville."

A long pause. The hat whispered to him for nearly a minute before finally calling, "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Davis, Tracey."

"Slytherin," the Hat said after barely two seconds.

"Greengrass, Daphne."

The Hat hesitated. "Slytherin!" it said at last.

She moved with graceful confidence, seating herself where she had clearly expected.

Then came it.

"Potter, Harry."

The Great Hall stilled.

Gasps. Whispers.

"Did she say Potter?"

"Is that the Harry Potter?"

Harry walked forward with measured calm. His eyes briefly locked with McGonagall's—hers widened slightly. She hadn't known, not until now. He offered her a polite nod and sat.

The Sorting Hat fell over his eyes.

> "Well now," the Hat purred inside his mind. "This is unexpected."

Harry said nothing.

> "Ancient blood… yes… Potter, Peverell… oh, and something more. So much more."

"I'm not here for your amusement."

> "No, you're here for control. For understanding. For vengeance? No. For justice."

"I need a House where I won't be controlled. I need to move unseen."

> "Then not Gryffindor. You are brave, but too tempered for them. Ravenclaw would delight in your thoughts. But… oh yes, Slytherin. You'd thrive there. You have their blood… and cunning."

"Then place me there."

> "You are certain? The path will be dark."

"It already is."

> "Very well. But do remember… the Hat never forgets."

"SLYTHERIN!"

The word echoed through the Hall like a chime struck too hard. Silence followed.

Then, a wave of mixed reaction: some cheers from Slytherin, disapproval from Gryffindor, curiosity from Ravenclaw.

Harry rose, stepped down from the stool, and made his way to the Slytherin table. Daphne gestured to a seat beside her. He took it.

"That was... dramatic," she said without looking at him.

"The hat has flair," Harry replied.

Ron stared at him from the Gryffindor table, red-faced and seething.

Hermione looked conflicted.

Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes.

The whispering never quite stopped for the rest of the Sorting.

Up at the staff table, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled—but not with joy. They watched Harry like one might study a chess piece that had moved unexpectedly.

He clapped politely along with the others, but there was a tension in his jaw, a faint furrow between his brows.

'Interesting,' he thought. 'Very interesting indeed.'

He made a note to speak with Severus before the night was through.

But Harry sat still as ice, letting it all wash over him.

The shadows knew his name now.

Let the game begin.

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To be continued...