As the echoes of "Slytherin!" faded, the Great Hall seemed to hold its breath.
Whispers rippled through the students like wind rustling through leaves.
Professors exchanged uncertain looks, and even Dumbledore's ever-twinkling eyes had dimmed to a contemplative glow.
Harry Potter had been sorted into Slytherin.
The Boy Who Lived sat among green and silver, and the world, in that moment, felt subtly tilted.
Yet the ceremony had to continue.
McGonagall's voice, though steadier now, carried a faint tremor as she read the next few names.
Each child hurried up, trembling with nerves, some nearly stumbling over their robes.
The Hat gave its decrees briskly, eager to restore normalcy to a hall steeped in murmurs.
But normalcy was not coming.
At last, as the parchment in McGonagall's hand neared its end, her eyes dropped to one of the last names left.
For a heartbeat, she froze.
Her lips parted, as if to confirm what she saw.
And then, clearly but quietly, she said it.
"Cassius Snape."
The name struck the hall like a hammer on bronze.
Two goblets fell from the staff table — one from Severus's hand, the other from Lily's.
The clang of metal on stone echoed through the Great Hall, sharp and discordant.
Every head turned toward the double echo.
Lily Potter's face had gone ghostly pale.
Her lips moved soundlessly.
Across from her, Severus Snape's jaw had gone rigid, his dark eyes unreadable but burning with a silent storm.
The silence that followed was complete — no whispers, no shifting benches.
Only the soft, deliberate sound of Cassius's footsteps as he stepped forward.
He walked with composure that did not belong to a child of eleven.
Past the rows of astonished first-years.
Past the tables of whispering students.
The flicker of candlelight seemed to follow him, as if drawn to his presence.
He felt their gazes — the scrutiny, the curiosity, the unease.
Some saw a boy who bore the look of a professor.
Others saw something colder, older, and infinitely more unsettling.
Cassius reached the front, pausing for the briefest moment before the stool.
His eyes lifted — not to the Hat, not to Dumbledore, but to Lily.
For the smallest heartbeat, their gazes met.
And Lily's expression broke — horror, disbelief, grief, and something that almost looked like recognition.
Cassius inclined his head ever so slightly.
A silent scoff.
A chess move made before the board had even been set.
Then he sat.
McGonagall's trembling hand lowered the Sorting Hat onto his head.
It slipped down, darkening his vision, and the world became still.
Then came the voice — low, ancient, and heavy with thought.
"Well now… what do we have here?"
Cassius remained silent.
"Strange… I can sense you in four directions at once. Bravery, cunning, intellect, loyalty — each balanced perfectly. You are not a boy of halves, Cassius Snape. You are a whole of contradictions."
You sound almost impressed, Cassius thought.
"Impressed? Intrigued, perhaps. It's been centuries since I've felt a mind like yours. You think in layers — so many layers. But where to place you…"
The Hat's voice trailed off, and for once, Cassius felt something close to uncertainty.
"Gryffindor could test your mettle. You could lead there, if you wished."
Too noisy, Cassius thought.
Too blunt.
And they'd never follow someone like me, not thanks to my heritage.
"Ravenclaw then — knowledge, precision, creativity…"
Knowledge is a tool, not an end.
I don't study for curiosity.
I study for advantage.
"Ahh. Then perhaps Slytherin—"
Too obvious, Cassius cut in.
Too dangerous.
I'd draw attention before the game even began.
The Hat chuckled softly.
"And Hufflepuff?"
Cassius almost smiled.
The only house no one would suspect.
The Hat's laughter was slow and amused.
"You see through them all. That's the trouble. You could belong anywhere… and therefore nowhere."
The pause stretched.
Cassius's heartbeat quickened slightly.
What happens if you can't decide? he asked.
"Then I don't decide."
That answer made something cold twist in his stomach.
He was not going to leave this ceremony unfinished. He could not afford to be an anomaly too soon.
Then, suddenly, the Hat's voice faltered.
"Wait…"
A murmur rippled through the hall.
Cassius could feel the air shift — magic itself holding its breath.
And then the doors of the Great Hall — drew everyones attentions as a pale blue figure simply walked through them.
Every head turned.
A figure glided through the path between tables, wreathed in soft, blue-white light.
A ghost — but none that anyone recognized, not even dumbledore who'd spent more than a half-century at the school.
Her form was slender, tall, robes flowing like mist.
Her hair shimmered silver as starlight, her eyes glowing faintly with the light of moonlit water.
She was beautiful — not in the way of portraits or stories, but in the way of something too far removed from mortal memory to be real.
Students gasped.
Whispers began to rise.
"Who is that?"
"She's not one of ours—"
"I've never seen her before—"
"She look a bit like the Grey Lady doesnt she—"
Even the other ghosts — the Bloody Baron, Nearly Headless Nick, the Fat Friar — turned, startled, they were the notable ghosts who had haunted these halls for centuries and yet none seemed to know who this woman was..
The mysterious spirit moved silently down the aisle between the long tables, her presence commanding without effort.
As she reached the dais, her eyes met Cassius's.
And she smiled.
The Hat's voice shuddered in Cassius's mind.
"No… it can't be— not her—"
The ghost inclined her head faintly, as if to give permission.
And the Hat — trembling, its seams fluttering as if caught in an invisible wind — spoke aloud for all to hear.
Its voice was softer this time, weighted with awe.
"Draconis."
The word fell into the hall like a thunderclap.
Not Gryffindor.
Not Hufflepuff.
Not Ravenclaw.
Not Slytherin.
Draconis.
Silence crashed down again.
Even Dumbledore had risen halfway from his seat, his expression momentarily stripped of all pretense of calm.
McGonagall looked as though she might faint.
Students stared in disbelief — some glancing around wondering what was going on, others toward the empty space that seemed to appear out of nowhere, as the great hall itself expanded pushing the four tables further apart as a new one now resided in the middle land, one with a pristine black cloth with silver embroidery coming to rest atop its polished surface.
Similarly Black and silver banners appeared unfurling on the walls bearing the form of a western dragon.
Lily Potter's hands gripped the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Severus's eyes, however, were fixed on the ghost — recognition flickering there, brief and dangerous.
Cassius removed the Hat gently and stood.
The air shimmered faintly around him — not in visible light, but in presence.
Whatever the word Draconis meant, it resonated through the stones themselves, awakening something long forgotten in the very foundation of the castle.
The ghost smiled again, faintly, as if satisfied.
As Cassius took his seat at his own personal long table his Robes adjusted themselve with a silver crest now adorning his left chest, while his tie had changed itself from solid black to now include silver and black stripes.