As he made his way over to the palace, with his soon-to-be peers and new friend Ron Weasley by his side, Harry Potter couldn't help but gape in awe at the towering structure that was the castle of Hogwarts in front of him. A sideways glance at his redheaded friend showed Harry the wonder and fascination in his eyes that lit up with everything he spotted. Harry couldn't help but grin to himself at that moment.

To think that he was really going to be spending the rest of the year learning witchcraft and wizardry—it was a dream come true.

But in Harry's case, there was more. The news that had been delivered to him provided that he wouldn't have to spend the rest of his days at the Dursleys'; Dudley's taunts and Aunt Petunia's barking orders were already miles behind him. And instead of his widespread reputation of 'that Potter boy' who was always beaten up every time he was spotted, Harry was more than happy to know that the wizarding world meant starting fresh.

Well, not exactly starting fresh. He was bound to be flocked with so-called 'fans' as Hagrid had told him. Harry wasn't sure how he'd handle that. Going from a nobody to someone the entire wizarding community looked up to as a hero was definitely something he would need to grow accustomed to.

The front doors of Hogwarts opened up, a succulent smell and warm waft of air hitting Harry directly in the face. While Professor McGonagall was leading the groups of students into another room in the castle, Harry suddenly felt a hand clasp around his wrist.

"So it's true, then."

Harry spun around, coming face to face with a young boy, two slightly big-boned males trailing behind him. The 'leader' had a pale, pointed face, his eyes a plain silvery color that reflected his cold tone. Harry stared at him.

When he received no reply, the boy continued, "Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts." He gestured to the two cronies behind him. "This is Crabbe," he said, slapping one of them on the back, "and this is Goyle." He removed his hand from Goyle's shoulder and pointed at himself.

"I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy."

Beside him, Harry head Ron snigger. Malfoy's gaze immediately shifted to Ron, daggers being shot through his cold eyes.

"You think my name's funny, do you?" Draco snarled at Ron. "Don't need to ask who you are. Red hair and a hand me down robe? You must be a Weasley."

Ron shuffled his feet in shame, looking down to the ground. Draco Malfoy smirked and glanced back at Harry.

"You'll soon find out that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter," he said, looking at Ron in disgust. Malfoy extended his hand out for a handshake. "I can help you there."

Harry hesitated, weighing the choices of his two options. Sure, he wasn't exactly pleased with the way Draco had treated his first friend, but he definitely didn't want to turn down Draco's offer either. Trying to ignore the tiny voice inside his head that screamed for him to stop, he accepted, reaching his own hand out to shake Draco's.

Harry raised an eyebrow as something akin to surprise flash across Malfoy's face. He quickly covered it up, contorting his face back into a prideful expression and puffing his chest proudly. Harry felt an inkling of regret at the back of his brain seeing Ron's hurt demeanor, and the unspoken question he communicated through his eyes.

How could you?

A stone of guilt plummeted down into Harry's stomach. He spun around, barely missing the ugly sneer that Malfoy had directed at Ron. His whole stomach downright constricted when he heard Ron's feet shuffling away from him, his hunched figure disappearing into the crowd of first-year students.

Professor McGonagall appeared in front of them, ushering the first years into what she referred to as, "The Great Hall". As soon as Harry stepped in it, not only was he met with the chandeliers and candles that were suspended in midair underneath a midnight sky, but also the luxury of seeing the hall for the first time. It certainly lived up to its name.

Four long tables stretched from end to end, each one busy with bustling crowds of chatting students, dressed in pointed wizards hats and black Hogwarts robes per capita. Each table had a banner draped over the top in a different color; one red, one blue, one green and one yellow.

The four Hogwarts houses.

When the time for Harry's sorting had finally come, the whispers and gasps of "Harry Potter? As in, the Harry Potter?" had fallen on deaf ears. He just hoped he didn't look as stupid as he imagined he did as he made his way over to the front of the Great Hall to be sorted.

The hat wasn't exactly calming his nerves, either. Turns out, it was just as old as it looked, maybe even more. But the fact that it talked, and was placed upon every person who had ever attended Hogwarts' head wasn't what Harry found unnerving. Ron and Malfoy had both been sorted already, the former landing in Gryffindor (the best house, in Harry's opinion) and the latter landing in Slytherin. Polar opposites. The one common thing about the two of them, however, was that the hat had barely brushed the top of their heads when it yelled out its answer.

Harry rested his numb feet at the stool, every muscle in his body tense with anxiety as he felt the Sorting hat sit neatly over his head. As soon as his vision of the curious faces in the Order Hall had been obscured by the hat falling over his face and knocking his glasses askew, he heart a tiny voice whisper in his ear.

"Hmm, difficult. Very difficult."

At that moment, Harry found it hard not to be nervous.

"Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either!"

The hat's praises were interesting, but its monotone voice showed no sincerity. Like it was simply reading a magazine. Harry wasn't sure what to make of that.

"There's talent. And a thirst to prove yourself."

And then came the dreaded question.

"But where to put you?"

Harry prayed to whatever forces ran the world that it wasn't Slytherin. One only had to remember the rumours around the Slytherin house and how not one wizard that was in Slytherin didn't turn out rotten. It was the house of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself. Harry could be in Hufflepuff, he could be in Ravenclaw, he'd love to be in Gryffindor—anything but Slytherin.

Not Slytherin, not Slytherin! was the thought currently reverberating in his brain.

"Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You could be great, you know."

Not Slytherin!

"You seem to get along with the Slytherins very well, from what I see," the hat whispered to him. The hat's statement seemed to slam the brakes down on the whirlpool of thoughts in Harry's head, causing them to skid to a stop. "Better than any Gryffindor you've met so far."

Remorse blossomed in Harry's gut as the image of Ron's betrayed face appeared in his mind. The hat continued. "Is that regret I sense? Curious. I presume Gryffindor would also be an ideal match for a personality like yours."

Harry felt his own shoulders relax. Great. If he was to be put in Gryffindor, perhaps he and Ron could reconcile, amends would be made between them, and hopefully he'd be able to avoid Draco Malfoy—

"Don't you worry. The Sorting Hat is never wrong. I know exactly what to do with you."

All Harry's hopes were crushed and grinded to dust when he heard the hat's booming voice echo across the hall. His stomach churned as it was lifted off his head, and there was a significant contrast between the darkness of the inside of the hat and the bright candlelight of the Great Hall. Harry blinked, his eyes scanning across the hall, only to see the entire Slytherin table whooping with joy and exploding with applause. Only then did he realize what the hat had bellowed.

"Slytherin!"