Harry Potter:blood legacy

"- So, it's true," said a voice, cutting through the chatter of the first-years. The children fell silent as a blond boy with gray eyes approached Harry, flanked by two hulking figures who resembled gorillas—stereotypically all muscle and no brains. "- What they were saying on the train—Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts." The rest of the first-years began whispering amongst themselves, but the blond boy seemed oblivious, continuing to speak. "- These are Crabbe and Goyle," he said, motioning to the hulks behind him. "- And my name is Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Harry was about to respond, but a snort interrupted him. Everyone turned to see who had made the noise, and it was none other than Ron Weasley.

"- You think my name's funny?" Malfoy stared at him. "- I don't think I need to ask yours." He wrinkled his nose as though smelling something unpleasant. "- Red hair and a hand-me-down robe. You must be a Weasley," the blond boy declared, making Ron flush with anger and embarrassment.

"- You'll soon find out that some wizarding families are better than others," Malfoy said, turning back to Harry. "- You wouldn't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you with that." He held out his hand for a handshake.

"- Hmm." Harry hummed thoughtfully before shaking his hand. "- I suppose I can at least hear you out."

"- What?! You can't be friends with him!" Ron protested indignantly.

"- I didn't say that." Harry noted, releasing Malfoy's hand. "- We just met, and all I said was that I'd listen to what he has to say."

"- But he's such a…" Whatever Ron was about to say in argument was cut off by the arrival of Professor McGonagall.

"- Students, follow me," she instructed, turning sharply on her heel and exiting. The first-years obediently followed her in a loosely formed group.

The Great Hall was, to say the least, impressive. Four long tables stretched across most of the space, with a fifth one raised on a dais at the far end where the teachers sat. Dozens of lit candles floated in the air, and higher up, where the ceiling should have been, there was something resembling the night sky. Harry knew, from books he had read, that it wasn't the actual sky but an enchanted ceiling. He figured it must be advanced magic and was genuinely curious to learn how to replicate such a spell for his own room.

He heard a girl with bushy brown hair explaining what she had read about it but didn't pay much attention. He was more focused on the fact that everyone was staring at them. Even if Harry weren't the Boy Who Lived, he still would have attracted attention because of his scar.

The first-years stopped in front of the dais, and Professor McGonagall climbed onto it, standing beside a stool. Harry noticed Bathsheba, seated at the staff table, smiling at him. He returned the smile with a slight nod before focusing on the Sorting Ceremony. On the stool lay an ancient-looking hat that seemed to move, and after a few moments, it began to sing.

Oh, I may not look quite pretty,

But don't judge me on my style.

For there's no hat smarter than me,

Whatever you might compile.

Caps and bonnets may look grander,

Prettier than I'll ever be.

But if they had my wisdom,

I'd eat myself for tea.

I see your thoughts, I know your mind,

There's nothing I can't detect.

Put me on, and I'll declare,

Which house you should expect.

Perhaps in Gryffindor you'll thrive,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

With courage and with daring,

From them you'll never part.

Or maybe Hufflepuff's the place,

Where they are just and true,

Loyal, patient, and hardworking,

They'll welcome you to their crew.

If you're wise and full of wit,

And crave knowledge from the start,

Then clever Ravenclaw's for you,

Where learning is an art.

But maybe Slytherin's your fate,

Where ambition drives the soul,

Cunning minds pursue their dreams,

No matter the path they stroll.

So don't be scared; put me on,

I'll tell you where you belong.

In my hands, your fate is sealed,

Though hands I have none.

Students and teachers erupted into applause, and Harry joined in, albeit slowly, so as not to disturb Jett, who was still coiled around his arm. Professor McGonagall picked up the hat with one hand while holding a scroll in the other.

"- When I call your name, you will come forward, sit on the stool, and I will place the hat on your head. Once you are sorted, you will join your house table. Let us begin. Hannah Abbott."

A nervous-looking girl with blonde hair walked slowly to the stool and sat down, and the professor placed the hat on her head.

"- Hufflepuff!" the hat declared after a few seconds. McGonagall removed the hat, and the girl happily went to the Hufflepuff table.

As the Sorting continued, Harry took the opportunity to glance at the staff table, where he recognized Babbling and Hagrid. The most interesting teacher was a man who was the complete opposite of Hagrid in terms of stature. In fact, he looked no taller than a Gringotts goblin. There were a few other intriguing professors, including the headmaster.

Dressed in a bright purple robe adorned with stars, with a matching hat and a long white beard, he looked like the quintessential fairy-tale wizard. Another person who caught Harry's attention was a teacher in black robes seated beside a professor wearing a purple turban.

The man was thin, with sallow skin, a large hooked nose, and yellow, uneven teeth. His long, greasy black hair hung down to his shoulders like curtains, framing a face with curled lips and dark, piercing eyes that reminded Harry of tunnels. For some reason, the man was staring at him, and Harry was almost certain that the professor hated him, judging by his expression.

Harry shifted his focus back to the Sorting, mainly to stop looking at the displeased professor. Daphne and Tracey had already been sorted into Slytherin, along with Malfoy and the two boys Harry was sure were his bodyguards. The bushy-haired girl—apparently named Hermione Granger—had been sorted into Gryffindor. Harry thought Ravenclaw would have suited her better, but it wasn't his place to argue with a magical hat. Finally, his name was called. Harry calmly walked to the stool and sat down, noticing the entire hall staring at him before the hat was placed on his head.

"- Oh," said a voice in his head. Strangely, it wasn't a sound he heard with his ears but rather something already resonating inside his mind. "- Yes, Mr. Potter, I'm speaking in your mind. Don't worry, what happens between you and me is strictly confidential. No one else—student or teacher—will know. You have my word."

"- This is the Sorting Hat, right?" Harry asked mentally. "- What should I call you?"

"- Just 'Hat' will do. Now hold still. I need to figure you out. Hmm, such an interesting mind you have, far more complex than most. Plenty of courage, a sharp intellect. You're loyal to the one friend you currently have, even if he is a snake. There's talent, and oh yes, a thirst to prove yourself. But where should you go?"

"- You're asking me? I thought this was your job."

"- It is, but there's no harm in asking, is there?" the Hat replied. "- Tell me, Potter, do you have any preferences?"

"- I... don't have any particular preference," Harry admitted. "- I just want to learn magic."

"- Why?"

"- What do you mean, 'why'?"

"- Why do you want to learn? For the sake of learning?"

"- No, I just… I like magic. I want to be the best at it."

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