Your Hogwarts Journey
The Slytherin table welcomed you with whoops and cheers. You finally sat next to the boy with pale blue eyes and blonde hair.
“I’m Draco,” he bellowed over the hullabaloo, then added, “Malfoy!”
“Daunting!” you joked, telling back. “I’m (y/n)! (Y/l/n)!”
He nodded, deciding not to try and hold a conversation over the intense volume of the Great Hall. The feast was over before you knew it.
The first years were the first to get up from the tables, as they were being lead by their house prefects to receive a tour of Hogwarts. You started to get up, but we’re stopped before you could leave the table.
“I think,” Draco started, “since you’re a sixth year, that Snape said he was going to show you around. He said he needed to catch you up on everything first years weren’t caught up on.”
“Who’s Snape?”
“I guess he’ll be Professor to you, (y/n). Everyone just calls him Snape when he’s not listening.”
You nodded.
“See that one with the shoulder-length black hair standing up now?” Draco said, pointing to the teacher’s table.
“Yeah.”
“That’s Snape. He’s our head of house.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah,” Draco snorted, “if you’re on his good side.”
“Good side?”
“Yeah. Well, at least I think he has one... he must have— I’m on it.”
“I take it he’s not popular, then?”
“Oh, hell no. Everyone who’s not Slytherin hates him. And even a ton of Slytherins hate him too. (Y/n), don’t fuck this up for yourself the first day. Don’t put a foot out of line, or he won’t appreciate it.”
“Miss/Mister (y/l/n),” you heard a deep, nasally voice behind you. You turned, and the raven-haired professor was standing right behind you. “As you are not a first year like the rest of them,” he looked up towards the last of the first years leaving the Great Hall, “I have elected to tour you around Hogwarts myself, catching you up on everything that needs to be caught up on in the process. You’re in your sixth year, which means I expect pristine behaviour... not the stupidity I have to endure from first years.”
“Yes professor,” I said. I could feel Draco smirking to the left of me.
“If you have some snide comment to make, Mr. Malfoy, though it may physically hurt to do so I implore you to keep your mouth shut.”
“Yes, professor,” I heard Draco say. He sounded like he was trying not to laugh, which earned him a hard glare from the hooked-nose teacher.
“Follow me,” he turned to me, striding off through the Great Hall.
We walked through Hogwarts fairly quickly for its size. He caught me up on the gist of first through fifth year as well as could be expected in a two-hour time frame. Finally, we reached the dungeon where his classroom and the Slytherin dormitories resided. First, he showed me around his classroom.
“You’ve worked with potions before, I expect?”
“Some, sir,” you said. Ilvermorny didn’t stress the importance of Potions as much as they did here, apparently.
“Some,” he repeated softly, as if he was judging the American school himself.
After looking around a minute longer, he led me out of his classroom and to the dorms.
“This is where you will sleep, write, study... socialise. Go ahead and meet your colleagues, I’m sure they’re been just bursting to meet you.” He said the last part with a sneer.
I nodded, expecting a “lovely to meet you,” or “goodnight, professor” to be out of his (or my, for that instance) comfort zone.
“I’m Draco,” he bellowed over the hullabaloo, then added, “Malfoy!”
“Daunting!” you joked, telling back. “I’m (y/n)! (Y/l/n)!”
He nodded, deciding not to try and hold a conversation over the intense volume of the Great Hall. The feast was over before you knew it.
The first years were the first to get up from the tables, as they were being lead by their house prefects to receive a tour of Hogwarts. You started to get up, but we’re stopped before you could leave the table.
“I think,” Draco started, “since you’re a sixth year, that Snape said he was going to show you around. He said he needed to catch you up on everything first years weren’t caught up on.”
“Who’s Snape?”
“I guess he’ll be Professor to you, (y/n). Everyone just calls him Snape when he’s not listening.”
You nodded.
“See that one with the shoulder-length black hair standing up now?” Draco said, pointing to the teacher’s table.
“Yeah.”
“That’s Snape. He’s our head of house.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah,” Draco snorted, “if you’re on his good side.”
“Good side?”
“Yeah. Well, at least I think he has one... he must have— I’m on it.”
“I take it he’s not popular, then?”
“Oh, hell no. Everyone who’s not Slytherin hates him. And even a ton of Slytherins hate him too. (Y/n), don’t fuck this up for yourself the first day. Don’t put a foot out of line, or he won’t appreciate it.”
“Miss/Mister (y/l/n),” you heard a deep, nasally voice behind you. You turned, and the raven-haired professor was standing right behind you. “As you are not a first year like the rest of them,” he looked up towards the last of the first years leaving the Great Hall, “I have elected to tour you around Hogwarts myself, catching you up on everything that needs to be caught up on in the process. You’re in your sixth year, which means I expect pristine behaviour... not the stupidity I have to endure from first years.”
“Yes professor,” I said. I could feel Draco smirking to the left of me.
“If you have some snide comment to make, Mr. Malfoy, though it may physically hurt to do so I implore you to keep your mouth shut.”
“Yes, professor,” I heard Draco say. He sounded like he was trying not to laugh, which earned him a hard glare from the hooked-nose teacher.
“Follow me,” he turned to me, striding off through the Great Hall.
We walked through Hogwarts fairly quickly for its size. He caught me up on the gist of first through fifth year as well as could be expected in a two-hour time frame. Finally, we reached the dungeon where his classroom and the Slytherin dormitories resided. First, he showed me around his classroom.
“You’ve worked with potions before, I expect?”
“Some, sir,” you said. Ilvermorny didn’t stress the importance of Potions as much as they did here, apparently.
“Some,” he repeated softly, as if he was judging the American school himself.
After looking around a minute longer, he led me out of his classroom and to the dorms.
“This is where you will sleep, write, study... socialise. Go ahead and meet your colleagues, I’m sure they’re been just bursting to meet you.” He said the last part with a sneer.
I nodded, expecting a “lovely to meet you,” or “goodnight, professor” to be out of his (or my, for that instance) comfort zone.