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HP410- Same Old
🕑 Added 2025-04-14 20:06:50 +0000 UTCHarry walked in without a word. The sitting room looked exactly like last year—books stacked too neatly, a soft hum from something playing quietly on the telly in the background.
Her dad popped his head in from the kitchen. “Harry. Good to see you again.”
“Thanks for letting me steal her.”
“She packed yesterday,” he said. “She was ready at five.”
Hermione shot him a look.
Her mum came over with a thermos. “Here. Tea for the road. And remember—no jungle climbing this year.”
“No promises,” Harry said, taking it.
They stepped outside a moment later. Hermione’s trunk hovered behind them as they walked to the edge of the street. Once they passed the ward marker, he touched her arm.
“Hold on.”
A second later, they appeared near the edge of Hogsmeade.
The village was quiet, mist still clinging to the rooftops. Students were arriving in twos and threes, some by Portkey, some by Side-Along with their relatives. Most families were skipping the train this year—not out of laziness, but caution. With the way things had been going, trusting an open platform with hundreds of targets wasn't exactly smart. Harry agreed, which is why Petunia was still at the Flamel estate. Safer there. The château had wards older than most bloodlines.
They walked up the path, reaching the side of Honeydukes where Harry usually waited. Hermione pulled her coat tighter.
“Feels different this time.”
“Everything does.”
Students were showing up faster now. Susan and Hannah arrived together, dropped off by an Auror. The woman gave Harry a nod before vanishing with a crack. Susan waved them over. “Looks like half the year’s skipping the train. Smart.”
“Anyone else show yet?” Harry asked.
“Just them,” Hannah said, nodding toward a group approaching from the south path.
The Greengrass sisters stepped into view. Cyrus talked with them a bit, before going back.
“Took you long enough,” Harry said.
“Had to argue with Mother about coming at all,” Daphne replied, brushing her fringe aside. “She’s convinced Durmstrang is safer.”
Astoria rolled her eyes. “And I told her I’m not wearing bear-fur robes or saluting at breakfast.”
Harry snorted. “Good argument.”
A few minutes later, Tracey arrived, her trunk bouncing behind her like it had a mind of its own. Her dad also talked to them a bit before going back—just dropped her off and vanished.
“You lot didn’t tell me it’d be this cold,” she said.
“We didn’t plan the weather,” Susan said.
Then came the Zabini group, and it wasn’t subtle.
A crack of apparition later, all three boys appeared together—Draco, Theo, and Blaise—surrounded by a small swirl of cloaks and perfume. Elisabetta Zabini stood in the center, perfect posture, heels clicking as she adjusted Blaise’s collar like they were heading to a gala.
Her gaze found Harry instantly.
“Well, if it isn’t our wandering archaeologist,” she said. “Back from the ruins and still upright.”
“Elisabetta,” Harry nodded. “Didn’t think you and dawn were on speaking terms.”
“Oh, darling, I never sleep properly when my son travels. And when he travels with you?” Her smile curved. “Well, then I need stronger potions.”
They chatted until the rest of the group showed. Harry gave a nod to Arthur Longbottom, who arrived with Neville, and exchanged a brief word with Molly Weasley, who had corralled her ducklings into some kind of manageable formation—no easy feat with Fred and George ready for trouble. Xenophilius, Luna’s father, showed up a few minutes later in a coat that looked like it belonged on a scarecrow and a hat that might have once been a bird’s nest.
“Let’s move. Carriages are waiting.”
The group started toward the line of thestral-pulled carriages at the edge of the village. Most students arriving through the misty Hogsmeade lanes funneled in the same direction, trunks bumping along behind them or floating lazily overhead. Parents hovered near the path, murmuring instructions, pretending this was like any other year. They reached the carriages. Harry climbed into one, Astoria hopping in beside him without waiting. Pansy followed. Tracey and Daphne climbed into the opposite side.
The ride wasn’t long, but it was quiet. Bits of talk floated between the carriages. They walked through the main doors, the familiar cool draft of the entrance hall washing over them.
“Home sweet home,” Blaise said, dusting off his sleeves.
Inside the entrance hall, the magic felt thicker—familiar spells layered in the stone, candles flickering along the arches, and the floor shining with that overly polished, someone’s-got-a-new-cleaning-charm gleam. A suit of armor sneezed as a passing second-year knocked it sideways. The portraits on the upper walls were already whispering about who came back taller, who dyed their hair, and which professor still had that mole.
They entered the Great Hall in groups. The ceiling above showed shifting clouds, maybe a hint of drizzle, and the long tables were packed. Students rejoined their Houses—some with loud greetings, others with pointed eye-rolls at each other. Since it was the first day, everyone was seated at their own House tables.
Slytherin’s table was half full. Harry dropped into his usual spot without ceremony. Astoria settled in on his left, Pansy on the right. Daphne and Tracey squeezed in beside Astoria, the group sliding back into place like they never left. Across the table, Theo was already stealing bread from Blaise’s plate.
Snape gave a nod from the staff table. It was brief, the kind that said “Don’t embarrass me” more than “Good to see you.” Hagrid waved cheerfully, already elbow-deep in what looked like a plate of roasted something-with-claws.
Tonks was perched at the end of the table, grinning like she’d been waiting all day for this. Her hair was a swirl of purples and greens, and she nearly knocked over her goblet reaching for a roll. Flitwick caught it mid-fall with a flick and a grin.
“She’s going to fall off that bench,” Pansy said.
“Odds?” Daphne asked.
“Before dessert,” Tracey answered.
First-years trickled in, herded by McGonagall with military precision. They were wide-eyed and whispering, most of them flinching when the ghosts floated through them on the way to their respective tables.
“Every year they look more terrified,” Theo said.
“Every year they’re dumber,” Blaise added.
The Sorting Hat sat quietly on its stool, slumped like it needed a nap. When it jolted awake, the hall hushed, and its song began—no fanfare, just straightforward verses about the value of each House, with a token warning that “times may test your core.” It wrapped up with a rhyme that made Tracey mutter, “That rhyme scheme gave up halfway through.”
Sorting went quickly. One or two awkward pauses, a couple of near-stumbles. One kid took so long under the Hat, someone at the Ravenclaw table started snoring.
Once the last first-year was sorted and sat down, Dumbledore stood with that usual twinkle that looked like he had just pulled a prank he hadn’t confessed to yet.
“Welcome, new and old. I see you’ve survived another summer, which is always encouraging.” A ripple of laughter moved through the students. “Now, before your stomachs eat your manners, let’s begin.”
With a clap, the food appeared—platters of roast meats, potatoes charmed to steam gently, pies that gave off cinnamon warmth, and goblets refilling without a single wand raised.
“Still the best part of Hogwarts,” Blaise said, stabbing a sausage.
“Second best,” Tracey said. “First is seeing who trips down the stairs on the first night.”
The chatter returned fast. Slytherin’s table buzzed with quick talk about new classes, guesses on which professor would explode first, and bets on how long it would take for Gryffindor to lose House points.
The ghosts floated in and out of conversations. Nearly Headless Nick tried to join in at the Gryffindor table and was ignored by half of them. The Bloody Baron passed by the Slytherin end without a word, which was his version of saying hello.
After desserts appeared—treacle tart, trifle, a suspiciously purple jelly that no one touched—McGonagall stood and read off the usual start-of-term notices. Forbidden Forest off-limits, no spellcasting in corridors, Filch still banning everything fun.
“Prefects,” she added, “please remain behind for a short briefing. Everyone else, follow your House guides.”
Harry grabbed one last tart before standing. “Here we go.”
“Go enjoy your boring new authority,” Tracey said.
“I’ll abuse it responsibly,” Harry replied, walking off.
Harry and Daphne, the other fifth-year Slytherin Prefect, walked side by side toward first years.
“So,” she said, elbowing him lightly, “are you under Head Boy and Head Girl now?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Technically, yeah. They’re not from Slytherin, though, so I’ve got no authority over them officially. But they’re both in the Duelling Club. They can forget about bossing me around.”
Daphne hummed, clearly amused. “Well, that’s going to go smoothly.”
Two led the first years in. All the other Slytherins were already in the common room, lounging on couches, trading summer gossip, or just watching the newcomers with a bit of interest and mild judgment. The moment Harry stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted.
The air rippled as the center of the room cleared. A throne carved from dark stone floated up from the ground, a serpent of green marble curling around the backrest. The new students froze, whispering stopped, and everyone went still.
Harry walked straight to it and sat down, one leg over the other, arms resting on the sleek stone arms like he’d done it a hundred times—because he had. The throne settled with a soft thud.
“This won’t take long,” Harry said, his voice clear and casual. “Welcome to Slytherin.”
The first-years looked stiff. Most had the expression of someone realizing this wasn’t just another school speech. Which, to be fair, it wasn’t.
“This is the part of Hogwarts no one talks about,” Harry continued, glancing across the room. He explain his title, his role and what they entailed.
A few of them looked skeptical—until a faint shimmer passed through them, stopping any rebelling thought.
“Slytherin House,” Harry went on, “is ambitious. But not arrogant. We don’t confuse loud with strong. You’ll see plenty of people outside this room who think posturing makes them powerful. It doesn’t. Here, we value smart moves, not empty ones.”
He explained all the rules—curfews, patrol schedules, who to bother with questions and who not to, how to earn points without acting like a show-off, and when to shut up and just follow. Nothing overdone. Just what they needed to hear.
Snape entered mid-sentence, his robes billowing just enough to make it clear this wasn’t a casual stop-in. He gave the room one sweeping look before settling his eyes on Harry.
“Listen to the Serpent of the Crown,” Snape said, voice flat from repetition. “Don’t cause trouble. Unity outside.” He gave a nod, turned, and walked out without waiting for a response.
As the door shut behind him, a few of the older students smirked. Everyone had heard the speech before.
“Same spell every year,” Blaise muttered once the throne vanished again. “Still haven’t found where it goes.”
Harry turned to the older students. “Sort the first-years. Don’t scare them too much.”
A few seventh-years already stood, calling names, organizing the newcomers into their dorm.
Then he looked over to the other prefects. “Let’s go. Meeting with the faculty, Head Boy, Head Girl, and the rest of the golden crew.”
