Anduin stepped onto the dais, the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes following his every movement. He sat on the low, three-legged stool, and Professor McGonagall gently placed the worn, battered Sorting Hat upon his head. The immediate darkness and the smell of old wool were quickly superseded by a sharp, thin voice echoing directly inside his mind.
"Hmm, deeply interesting," the Hat murmured, its mental voice scratchy like dried parchment. "A meticulous mind, bordering on the fanatical in its thirst for knowledge—Ravenclaw is an obvious fit. But there is a fierce, almost terrifying willpower here, a drive for survival and mastery that speaks of pure Slytherin ambition. You value honour, yet you disdain rules you deem illogical. You possess the raw courage of Gryffindor, but it is tempered by a profound, calculating cynicism. You are not a simple boy; your thoughts are extraordinarily mature. This is truly complex."
Anduin, instead of feeling nervous about his fate, was instantly captivated by the mechanism of the dialogue.
"Can it truly read my mind? How is this achieved? Is the magic a complex sentient spirit bound to the fabric, or an advanced memory charm interwoven with a highly complex Anthropomorphic Enchantment? I wonder what the core structure of the charm is. I truly want to observe its function in a controlled environment." Anduin thought, his intellectual curiosity overriding all common sense.
"Hey, boy, silence those appalling thoughts!" the Hat snapped, its mental voice rising in alarm. "Put away that academic curiosity! You are thinking about my structural integrity! I am an ancient, revered artifact, not a subject for dissection!"
Unfortunately for the Hat, being told to stop thinking about a magical artifact only intensified Anduin's focus.
"Ah, so the Hat is capable of true, self-aware dialogue, not just guided responses. This implies a level of autonomous sentience far beyond what I initially calculated. It also exhibits a powerful emotional response—specifically, self-preservation. That is a critical data point." Anduin mused, his hand instinctively rising toward the Hat's brim, wanting to feel the ancient material.
"Oh, by Merlin's beard, get your hands away from me! And those filthy thoughts of reverse-engineering my essence!" The Hat felt genuine, magical panic.
This boy's mind was not filled with dreams of glory or fears of failure; it was filled with the icy, analytical desire to categorize, dissect, and replicate advanced magic. Such sheer, focused Willpower and Cunning—the ability to mask such terrifying intellect behind a calm exterior—was something the Hat hadn't encountered since… well, since the Dark Lord himself.
Which House? The Hat screamed internally, desperate to make a decision and escape the confines of this dangerously analytical mind. The ambition for complete understanding, the calculating self-interest, the coldness beneath the courtesy...
"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat bellowed, the word tearing from its brim with shocking force, a sound of profound relief and urgency.
A stunned silence fell over the Great Hall.
Professor McGonagall's expression wavered between surprise and professional stoicism. Charles McKinnon, seated at the Gryffindor table, stared in open shock. Vivian, across the hall, was already beaming and clapping with intense, possessive delight.
Anduin, however, simply smiled, a trace of dry mockery touching his lips. "A grudge, then? You chose the House of Cunning and Ambition purely out of spite and self-prespreservation. How utterly fascinating."
The transformation was immediate. The drab black robes shimmered, and a vibrant emerald green appeared in the lining, complemented by silver trim. The Slytherin crest—a serpent—materialized on his chest.
With a final, meaningful glare that the Hat returned with a human-like scowl, Anduin removed the artifact and walked toward the cheering Slytherin table.
The Slytherin welcome was measured and formal. As he reached the table, the older students stood with a restrained, polite round of applause—a stark contrast to the boisterous cheers of Gryffindor.
A poised, dark-haired girl in a sixth-year prefect badge stepped forward. "Welcome, Anduin Wilson. I am Vanessa Greengrass, the Slytherin Prefect. You may call me Vanessa." Her handshake was firm, her eyes cool and assessing.
"Hello, President Greengrass," Anduin replied, adopting a slightly more formal, reserved demeanor. "Anduin, please." He took the seat next to Vivian, who was practically bouncing.
"Oh my God, I can't believe it! Slytherin! I was certain it would be Ravenclaw!" Vivian exclaimed, her voice buzzing with excitement.
"It seems the Hat decided my ambition for knowledge was less important than my ambition for... well, whatever it deemed the highest priority," Anduin replied nonchalantly. "It seems I have already earned the eternal enmity of a piece of magical headwear on my very first day. An achievement, perhaps."
"The Hat holds a grudge? What are you talking about?" Vivian pressed, thoroughly intrigued by this new piece of gossip.
"Later," Anduin murmured, cutting her off as he scanned his new Housemates.
His immediate priority was security and intelligence gathering. He needed to identify the players. He observed Sampur Travers a few feet down the table, already engaged in animated, sneering conversation with two other boys.
Travers shot Anduin a quick, dismissive glance, but the initial, aggressive hostility seemed to have cooled, replaced by a confident superiority now that Anduin was also wearing the green and silver.
Anduin leaned across the table toward Vanessa Greengrass, lowering his voice slightly. "Prefect Greengrass, purely out of curiosity—I recently heard some rumours about past students. Are there currently any students in our House with the surnames Avery or Snape?"
Vanessa looked puzzled. "Avery? Snape? No, not presently. They both graduated some years ago. Why do you ask about them?"
"Ah, merely curious about the old connections of the House," Anduin lied smoothly, breathing an internal sigh of relief. The two Death Eaters he had personally dealt with seemed to have no immediate family members enrolled at the school who might recognize him or seek instant retribution.
As the last few students were Sorted, the great doors at the High Table opened, and a venerable old man rose from his seat.
"Look, it's Dumbledore!" Vivian whispered reverently. "The greatest wizard in the world right now."
Anduin finally dedicated his full attention to the man. Albus Dumbledore was a spectacle: a figure of immense, imposing age, yet clad in robes of vibrant, almost dizzying indigo, his long, silver beard tucked neatly into his belt, and his eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles.
There was an aura of detached, ancient power about him, yet he carried the gentle demeanor of a favourite, slightly eccentric grandfather.
Dumbledore approached the central podium. He tapped his spoon lightly against a large crystal goblet, and the vast, noisy hall fell instantly silent—a demonstration of pure, effortless magical control that impressed Anduin more than any complex duel.
Dumbledore's welcome speech was bafflingly brief. He offered a few cryptic words of welcome, a strange warning about avoiding the Forbidden Forest, and a mention of the third-floor corridor on the right being off-limits. His eyes twinkled as he concluded with a cheerful, "And now, to the feast! Dig in!"
With a snap of his fingers, the House tables were instantly laden with food: golden-brown roast chicken, massive platters of potatoes, steaming vegetables, and gravy boats overflowing with rich sauce.
The first years, including Vivian and Charles (who was now a distant, cheering Gryffindor), let out an immediate, collective cheer and began attacking the food with primal hunger.
Anduin, however, observed the Slytherin table closely. While the first years lunged, the older students—the third years and above—maintained a careful, aristocratic composure. They were reserved, utilizing cutlery precisely, taking modest portions, and conversing quietly. It was a conscious display of control and manners, an outward assertion of superiority and discipline.
Anduin decided to emulate them. He picked up his fork, took a small serving of roast beef, and began to chew slowly, his mind already formulating a strategy for his time in the serpent's lair.
Slytherin might not have been his first choice, but it was certainly the most advantageous place to learn the political landscape of the war, and he had no doubt that a House that valued cunning and self-mastery would prove to be a fascinating environment. He was already sitting next to a pure-blood gossip and a Death Eater's relative. This was clearly the best intelligence outpost in the castle.
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