Professor McGonagall took a few steps forward, parchment in hand.
"Whoever I call now puts on a hat and sits on a stool for sorting," she said. "Hannah Abbott!"
A rosy-cheeked little girl with two golden braids staggered out of the queue and put on her hat, which just covered her eyes. She sat down. A moment's pause—"Hufflepuff!" the hat yelled.
The table on the right applauded Hannah and welcomed her warmly.
"Look at that little girl's face; that hat must smell awful," Solim whispered to Hermione, who was behind him, leaning sideways. "I'll definitely give that hat a 'clean up' before I put it on, so Hermione, you'd better line up behind me, so you don't have to suffer."
Hermione wanted him to shut up.
"Susan Burns!"
Little Miss Burns gave Solim an aggrieved look as she passed by.
"Hufflepuff!" Before the applause sounded, Miss Burns quickly removed the Sorting Hat and ran to Hufflepuff's long table without looking back.
"She's poor."
"You shut up!"
"Terry Boot!"
"Oh! No!"
Poor Mr. Boot's apple-red muscles twitched like mad as he put the Sorting Hat on.
"Ravenclaw!"
Mr. Boot took off the hat, still wiping his hair with one hand and sniffing it under his nose, showing a strange expression.
"Justin Fletcher!"
No one moved.
"Justin Fletcher! Come here, please!" Professor McGonagall glanced at the young wizards waiting for sorting.
A figure walked up to Professor McGonagall almost step by step and whispered something nervously. The professor hesitated, shook her head, and Mr. Finlayly took a deep, resigned breath.
"Hufflepuff!"
"I daresay Justin asked Professor McGonagall to wash his hat just now, but she didn't agree," Solim announced loudly, ensuring the little wizards nearby could hear. "Maybe, Hermione, if you're ahead of me in line, you should ask the professor to wash your hat—just for the sake of your appetite at the start-of-term dinner."
"Mandy Bloch!"
A little witch walked past Solim, trembling.
"Good luck, Miss Bloch," Solim said with a smile.
The young wizards not yet sorted watched her hope-filled approach to Professor McGonagall. The professor showed surprise, frowned, then pointed to the high stool.
The little witch pouted and reluctantly put on the Sorting Hat.
"Ravenclaw!"
"It's useless! They won't wash it," complained a little wizard in front of Solim.
"No, the professor will seriously consider it if enough people make a fuss. If you don't want to attend the opening dinner with centuries of dust and hair oil on your head, you'd better make her wash that hat as much as possible," Solim continued, stirring up the young wizards' emotions.
"Lavender Brown!"
"Miss Brown, come on! Maybe Professor McGonagall will agree," a little wizard encouraged.
One plea can be ignored, two as well. But when the third little wizard insisted the hat be cleaned or he wouldn't wear it, the professor finally took notice. Washing the Sorting Hat mid-ceremony… well, that had never happened. And Miss Brown seemed to have wasted too much time.
"Gryffindor!" Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on Miss Brown's head, and she walked toward Gryffindor's table with a frustrated look.
"Draco Malfoy!"
Our little dragon sauntered up, pointed at the Sorting Hat, and whispered something to Professor McGonagall.
"Hey, it's done," Solim said with a smile. "Seems I don't need to do anything."
"How do you know? Three people went up, and Professor McGonagall didn't agree."
"This young master's father is a school governor, and the professor will take his opinion seriously. Just watch."
Sure enough, Professor McGonagall walked briskly to Dumbledore's desk. The students began whispering, never having seen the sorting ceremony interrupted. After speaking with the Headmaster, she returned expressionless, drew her wand…
"Woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo yeah!"
"Very good!"
"We are saved!"
The young wizards not yet sorted cheered at the brand-new Sorting Hat. The surrounding seniors looked dumbfounded—they had never imagined such chaos during sorting.
Hermione got her turn.
"Hermione Granger!"
"Good luck, Hermione," Solim said.
"Gryffindor!" Hermione was sorted into the house she hoped for.
"Solim Selwyn!"
Solim smiled and stepped onto the stool.
"Aha! It's you!" The Sorting Hat's voice rang in his head.
"Oh? You know me?"
"I know all the 'good things' you did down there from the minds of those little wizards just now."
"So?"
"So I want to thank you—you haven't been this clean in a long time."
"Slytherin, thank you," Solim said, naming the house he wanted.
"Of course, Slytherin is more suitable for you. Then..."
"Slytherin!" the Sorting Hat announced loudly.
He removed the hat, bowed to Professor McGonagall, and walked toward the applauding Slytherin table. The Slytherin Prefect and Head of the Boys' School shook his hand and motioned him to sit next to Draco. Solim noticed a bloodstained ghost across from Draco—the Bloody Baron, presumably.
"How does it feel to be in the limelight, Draco?"
"If it wasn't for that shabby hat, I wouldn't be shooting you," Draco shot him a glance.
Solim smiled; the young master wasn't that stupid—as long as he avoided the 'savior'.
"I'll discuss something with you at dinner later," Solim whispered. Draco glanced at him.
"Trouble?"
Solim looked at Neville, who returned the Sorting Hat flushed with laughter. "No, not at all. You're just taking advantage."
"Harry Potter!"
Here came the main event.
"Which house do you think Potter will go to?" Draco asked.
"No need to guess. Definitely Gryffindor," Solim replied, crossing his legs under the table.
"Hmph! Potter deserves to be with those pure-blood scum if you ask me," Draco muttered, still recalling their train encounter.
"Gryffindor!" The Sorting Hat's voice rang.
The Gryffindor table erupted in celebration. The Weasley twins yelled, "We've got Potter, we've got Potter!" clapping vigorously.
"Look, what did I say?" Solim smiled at Draco. "I should bet you."
Draco paled with anger—though there wasn't much color to begin with.
"Draco, listen to me. Don't fight with Potter," Solim tapped the table to get Draco's attention. "He's under the Headmaster's protection, don't be thankless."
"None of your business!" Draco snapped.
"It's up to you. I'm just reminding you—after all, your family… hehe, don't cause trouble for your father."
A new Slytherin student sat across from Solim.
"Brace Chabini."
"Hello, Solim Selwyn," he said.
"Ah, finally time to eat. I'm hungry," the prefect next to Draco noted as Dumbledore stood up.
Dumbledore looked at the students with a wide smile, arms outstretched. "Welcome! Welcome to Hogwarts for a new school year! Before the banquet begins, I'd like to say a few words."
"That is: Idiot! Sniff! Scum! Twist! Thank you all!"
Everyone applauded.
"Are you saying he's a little crazy?" Draco asked Solim.
Shrugging, Solim ignored him, busy with a chicken leg. The Great Hall was chaos—students exchanged summer vacation stories while first-years handled their food.
After eating and finding a bit of space, Solim approached Draco, busy with cake.
"You know the Slytherin tradition—the one the other three houses abandoned?"
"You mean the prefect system? You want to be our first-year Slytherin prefect?" Draco squinted.
"No, I'm lazy. I just want the perks—a single room." Solim smeared ketchup on a potato. "You be the prefect; the room is mine."
From Solim's perspective, being a prefect meant work without proportional reward: relaying passwords, enforcing rules… not worth it.
Draco blinked. "That's okay?"
"Yes. Prefects can't transfer duties, but the room can. You can say you're not used to living alone."
"Well, if you agree, I can give advice on dealing with that red hair in Weasley," Solim said. He had already realized making Weasley uncomfortable made Draco happy.
"Deal."
Professor Dumbledore rose again. The hall fell silent.
"Now, a few points of attention. First-years, no one is to enter the Forbidden Forest. Also, Mr. Filch asks that no magic be used in hallways. Quidditch tryouts are the second week. Finally, avoid the fourth-floor right corridor if you value your life."
"Now, before bed, we shall sing the school song!"
Solim quickly cast a "close ear plug" under the table, while Draco covered his ears. He still had no idea what Hogwarts' song sounded like—just noise.
"You should get me one too, Solim," Draco muttered.
"Isn't it too late?" Solim smiled and followed him out of the hall under the prefect's guidance.
The Slytherin and Hufflepuff common rooms are underground; Slytherin's is farther away. The kitchen lies beneath the hall, with Hufflepuff next door. So the first back were the little Hufflepuff badgers.
Following the prefect through dark stairs and dim corridors, the students arrived at a damp stone wall—the Slytherin common room.
"Glory." The prefect said the password.
The basement was long, narrow, low, with rough stone walls and ceiling. Round green lights hung from chains. A carved fireplace was surrounded by carved chairs.
"Welcome to glorious Slytherin. Tradition requires electing a first-year prefect. Other houses abandoned this, only Slytherin kept it. You will…"
The prefect was interrupted.
"New students stand in the middle; the last standing becomes first-year prefect and enjoys privileges!" Professor Snape appeared, wand in hand. "Hurry! My time is precious!"
Solim stood beside Draco.
"Remember our words, Draco," he whispered, flicking his wand, which appeared in his hand.