At the Slytherin table, a space has cleared around you. First-years chatter excitedly a few seats down, older students eye you with sidelong glances and whispers behind hands. The Sorting Hat’s shout still seems to echo off the stone walls. Slytherin.

At the Gryffindor table, Harry Potter is holding court, surrounded by Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and a crowd of admirers. He hasn’t looked your way once since the Hat was lifted from your head.

The feast is ending. Platters vanish, replaced by desserts. The buzz of conversation swells, punctuated by laughter. You sit alone on the green-and-silver bench, your untouched plate in front of you.

Then, movement. A group of boys detaches from the middle of the Slytherin table and starts walking toward the empty stretch where you sit. Five of them. They move with a lazy, confident swagger, robes hanging open over casual clothes. The chatter around you dips slightly as they approach.