Harry knew that the moment he cimed his own room in Slytherin House, he would be drawing a line in the sand. Slytherins were ambitious, cunning, and resourceful—but they also valued tradition, and the Weasleys were far from traditional in their eyes. As a family of "blood traitors," the Weasleys had little respect among pureblood circles, and Harry was well aware that his st name would make him a target.
But Harry Weasley was no ordinary first-year.
While many students his age came to Hogwarts with little more than excitement and curiosity, Harry arrived armed with years of study and preparation. From a young age, he had immersed himself in magical disciplines, driven by an insatiable thirst for knowledge. His childhood at the Burrow and the Weasley caves had been filled with more than just games and chores—it had been his training ground.
Without a wand of his own, Harry had focused on mastering magic that didn’t require one. He had delved into disciplines that many first-years wouldn’t even hear about for years. Potions became a particur fascination, as it required precise skill and knowledge rather than raw magical power. With Molly’s expertise in potion-making, Harry had access to rare ingredients and practical experience.
Alchemy was another area of interest, inspired by stories Bill had shared about ancient magical artifacts and transmutation. Harry’s fascination grew as he studied old alchemical texts Bill had brought back from Egypt, learning about the delicate bance between magic and science.
In Care of Magical Creatures, Harry found a natural affinity, spending hours observing the various magical creatures that inhabited the woods near the Burrow. Luna Lovegood’s stories about magical fauna only fueled his curiosity.
But his real expertise y in Warding and Ward Breaking, a skill he had learned from Bill. The Weasley cave system became his boratory, where Harry spent countless hours crafting magical barriers and protections. Bill would often humor him by testing these wards, breaking through them and offering feedback. It became a game between them: Harry would construct a ward, Bill would dismantle it, and Harry would rebuild it stronger, correcting any fws.
“Not bad, Harry,” Bill would say with a grin, after bypassing one of Harry’s more complex wards. “But you forgot to account for runic misalignment. Try again.”
Harry would nod, taking mental notes and eagerly setting to work on a new design. Over time, his wards became more intricate and formidable. He learned how to yer protections, hide weaknesses, and even create deceptive traps within his wards.
After Harry settled in Slytherin dungeons, he immediately set to work. He knew it was only a matter of time before someone tried to challenge him or test his resolve.
Pulling from his extensive knowledge, Harry began crafting a series of wards around his room. He started with a basic repelling ward, which would discourage anyone from even approaching the door. Then, he yered it with a disorientation ward, designed to confuse anyone who managed to get close.
Next, he added a trap ward, which would trigger a harmless but startling magical effect if tampered with—just enough to send a message without breaking any school rules.
Harry’s hands moved with practiced precision as he carved runes into small enchanted stones and pced them strategically around the room. His concentration was unwavering, and by the time he was finished, he felt a sense of accomplishment.
“This should hold them off,” Harry muttered to himself, standing back to admire his work.
As he y on his bed that night, Harry felt a mix of nerves and excitement. He wasn’t naive—he knew that ciming this room was only the beginning of the challenges he would face in Slytherin. But he also knew he was ready. Years of preparation had given him an edge, and he wasn’t about to let anyone intimidate him.
For Harry Weasley, this was more than just a room. It was a statement—a decration that he wouldn’t be underestimated or overlooked, not by his housemates, not by anyone.
Harry sat on his bed, staring at the bnk parchment in front of him. The excitement he had felt about coming to Hogwarts was now a distant memory, repced by a deep sense of turmoil. Every Weasley before him had been a proud Gryffindor, and now, here he was—Harry Weasley, the first Weasley in Slytherin.
His mind raced with questions. How would his parents react? Would they be disappointed? What about Bill and Charlie, the brothers he admired most? They had always been proud of their Gryffindor legacy. Would they think less of him?
The thought made his stomach churn.
Harry’s heart ached at the memory of how excited he had been to come to Hogwarts. He’d envisioned himself sitting at the Gryffindor table, wearing the house colors, sharing stories with Ron, and making his family proud. Instead, he was sitting alone in his new Slytherin room, trying to figure out how to expin this to his family.
The Sorting Hat’s decision still echoed in his mind: “Slytherin!” The word had been decred so quickly, so decisively, that Harry hadn’t even had time to argue. He thought he could manipute the Sorting Hat like Fred and George had told him, but he hadn’t even been given the chance.
Harry picked up his quill, dipped it in ink, and hesitated. How could he put his thoughts into words?
“Dear Mum and Dad,” he wrote, but immediately crossed it out. Too formal.
He tried again.
“Hi Mum and Dad, I hope you’re doing well. Hogwarts is incredible, just like Bill and Charlie said it would be...”
He paused, tapping the quill against the parchment. How could he casually slip in that he’d been sorted into Slytherin? Would it soften the blow if he described how amazing the castle was or how kind some of the professors seemed?
“...I’ve already made a few friends. The csses seem challenging, but I think I’ll like them. Potions, especially.”
That was true. Professor Snape’s speech to the Slytherins had hinted that Potions might be his strongest subject, and Harry was eager to prove himself.
Finally, he decided to just write it.
“By the way, the Sorting Hat pced me in Slytherin.”
Harry stared at the words, his hand trembling slightly. He thought about adding an expnation, something to soften the blow.
“I know every Weasley before me has been in Gryffindor, and I was expecting to be as well. But the Sorting Hat said I belong in Slytherin. It made the decision really fast—faster than I expected. I didn’t even get a chance to argue with it like Fred and George told me I could.”
He hesitated, then added:
“I hope you’re not disappointed. I’m still the same Harry, and I promise I’ll make you proud.”
Yours
Harry Weasley
Harry put the quill down and stared at the letter. Would they understand? Would they be upset? He thought of his parents, who had worked so hard to make their family happy despite their struggles. He thought of Bill, always encouraging him to be the best version of himself, and Charlie, who had shared so many exciting stories about Gryffindor.
What would they say when they read this?
Harry folded the letter, sealing it with a sigh. He would send it in the morning, but tonight, he would lie awake, dreading the response.
The next morning, whispers filled the Slytherin common room as students emerged from their dormitories. Many of them had expected to find Harry Weasley in a humiliating state—hanging upside down in the common room, stripped of his clothes, or some other equally embarrassing punishment. It was a well-known tradition for those who dared to cim their own rooms.
But as the crowd gathered near the private rooms, they were met with an unexpected sight. Harry Weasley strolled out of his room, fully dressed and looking completely unscathed.
The chatter grew louder as students exchanged surprised gnces. Even a few uppercssmen, who were infamous for their pranks and “tests,” looked ashamed. Some of them nodded at Harry as he passed, their expressions a mix of approval and a subtle challenge.
Harry felt the stares but kept his expression neutral. Inside, he was a mix of relief and satisfaction. His wards had worked, and it seemed that no one had dared—or succeeded—in breaking into his room overnight.
Bise Zabini, who was sitting on one of the plush green couches, smirked as Harry walked by. “Looks like you survived the night,” he said, his tone amused.
Harry shrugged, trying to appear nonchant. “It wasn’t that hard,” he replied, though his mind was already racing with ideas for improvement.
Daphne Greengrass, who was sitting nearby, raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable,” she warned. “Uppercssmen don’t like being outsmarted by a first-year. They’ll be back with something more creative.”
Harry nodded, taking her words seriously. He knew this wasn’t over. The nods of approval he’d received from some of the older students weren’t just acknowledgment—they were a promise of future tests.
After breakfast and his first csses, Harry returned to his room to make some adjustments. He sat cross-legged on the floor, pulling out the tools he had secretly packed: runic stones, enchanted chalk, and a few rare components Bill had given him during their warding lessons.
His first priority was to strengthen the repelling ward, making it more difficult for anyone to even approach the door. He yered it with a confusion ward, which would disorient anyone who managed to bypass the first barrier.
Next, Harry added a pain ward—nothing severe, just enough to give any intruder a sharp shock if they tried to force their way in. It was subtle and easily reversible, but effective.
As he worked, he murmured to himself, repeating the lessons Bill had taught him. “No ward is perfect, but every ward can be improved.”
Finally, he added a silencing ward to the room itself. If anyone attempted to break in, their actions wouldn’t alert the entire common room—Harry didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to himself.
When he was done, he stood back to admire his work. The runes glowed faintly for a moment before fading into invisibility. Satisfied, Harry sat on his bed and took a deep breath.
After a long day of csses, Harry finally got the chance to meet his brothers in the Great Hall during dinner. Percy, ever the responsible prefect, was already seated at the Gryffindor table, reading a thick book and only half-paying attention to the meal in front of him. Fred and George were busy entertaining a group of first-years with animated stories, and Ron sat quietly, poking at his food with a fork.
When Harry approached, Ron looked up and scowled slightly.
“Hey,” Harry said, sitting down next to them.
Fred immediately grinned and nudged George. “Look who’s here! Our very own snake in the den!”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”
George leaned in, his expression mock-serious. “So, Harry, tell us—what’s it like being the first Weasley in Slytherin? Do they all hiss at each other in Parseltongue during meals?”
Fred snickered. “Or do you just slither around silently, plotting world domination?”
Harry smirked despite himself. “No, but it’s not exactly easy being there. Slytherin has its own... complexities.”
Percy finally looked up from his book, his brow furrowed. “Complexities? How so?”
Harry hesitated for a moment, then said, “It’s not just about ambition or cunning. It’s about showing strength, even when you’re not sure you have it. And proving yourself constantly. It’s... intense.”
Fred and George exchanged a look, and then Fred pulled something out of his pocket—a small bag filled with brightly colored candies.
“Sounds like you could use a bit of help, little brother,” Fred said, tossing the bag onto the table.
George grinned. “These are our newest inventions. They’ll turn anyone’s hair bright green for a day. Call it the ‘Slytherin Special.’”
Harry ughed softly. “Thanks, but I don’t think that’s the kind of help I need right now.”
Fred shrugged. “Suit yourself. But the offer stands. If you ever want to spice things up in the dungeons, you know where to find us.”
Harry turned to Percy and pulled a carefully folded letter from his pocket. “Percy, could you send this to Mum and Dad for me? I don’t have an owl.”
Percy took the letter and nodded. “Of course. Are you doing alright, Harry? You know, being... over there?”
Harry nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s... different, but I’m managing.”
Percy gave him a reassuring smile. “Good. You’re still one of us, no matter what house you’re in.”
Ron, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke up. “I just don’t get it,” he muttered, looking at Harry with a mixture of disappointment and confusion. “How could you end up in Slytherin? We’re all Gryffindors.”
Harry sighed. “I don’t know, Ron. The hat just... made its choice. I didn’t even get a chance to argue with it.”
Fred cpped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Look at it this way, Harry. You’re our secret weapon. A spy in enemy territory.”
George leaned in conspiratorially. “Exactly. Think of all the mischief you can pull off with our help.”
Ron grumbled, “It’s not funny. Slytherin’s full of people who hate us. What if they turn on you?”
Harry met his brother’s worried gaze. “They won’t. I’m careful, Ron. Besides, I’ve got to prove myself, and I can’t do that by hiding.”
The conversation lightened as Fred and George continued to joke about Harry’s new “mission” in Slytherin, and Percy gave him a final word of encouragement before taking his letter to the owlery.
As Harry returned to the Slytherin common room that evening, he felt a little lighter. His brothers weren’t angry with him, and even Ron’s disappointment seemed more rooted in concern than resentment. No matter what challenges y ahead in Slytherin, Harry knew one thing: his family still had his back.
