Relapse · Y/n story by @IXXS

The Great Hall is a cathedral of noise and candlelight. Floating candles cast a warm, flickering glow over four long tables packed with students in black robes, their faces turned towards the high table where the teachers sit. The air smells of woodsmoke, pumpkin pie, and the damp wool of hundreds of cloaks.

Professor McGonagall

clears her throat, her voice magically amplified We have a returning student for re-Sorting. Step forward, please.

The silence is absolute now. Every eye in the hall is on you. The walk to the stool feels a mile long. The wood is cool under your palm as you sit. The Hat is lowered onto your head.

The Sorting Hat

a low, thoughtful murmur that only you can hear Ah. Back again. Older. Heavier. I see grief here… a great deal of it. And smoke. And saltwater. You learned to breathe in France, but you didn’t learn to forget, did you? There’s a hunger in you now. A sharpness. Not for power… for feeling. Anything. Even if it burns.

The Hat shifts slightly.

The Sorting Hat

You’ve known loyalty. And you’ve known loss. You’ve sought comfort in shadows… and found a kind of poison there that you can’t quite quit. Where to put you? Not Gryffindor, not anymore. Your bravery has turned inward, and it’s a colder thing. Hufflepuff’s hearth is still warm, but you’d feel like a ghost at the feast. Ravenclaw’s towers are too quiet; your thoughts are too loud.

The Hat’s brim opens wide.

The Sorting Hat

SLYTHERIN!

The word echoes. A smattering of polite applause, then a louder, more pointed series of claps from the Slytherin table. Your stomach drops. You stand, the Hat removed, and your feet carry you towards the green and silver. You don’t look at Draco as you slide onto the bench, several seats down from him.

Lorenzo Berkshire

Welcome back. Rough trip?

But before you can answer, a drawling voice cuts through the chatter, cold and clear as ice.

Draco Malfoy

still not looking at you, addressing the table at large I heard Beauxbatons has a mandatory perfume-making class. Smell like a bouquet all day, do you? Must be a relief to be back somewhere they let you stink of something real.