For a long mont, the Great Hall stood in stunned silence.
Lady Guinevere Draconis's final words still lingered in the candlelit air like smoke.
Then, with an almost casual motion, she turned—her silver hair flowing behind her like mist—and glided toward the far wall.
"I shall see to the dormitory," she said softly.
Without another word, she passed straight through the stone and was gone.
Her departure left the hall feeling emptier than before.
The wonder that had thrumd through the air now settled into an uneasy quiet.
Professor McGonagall blinked twice, the parchnt scroll trembling faintly in her hand.
For a mont, she seed to have forgotten entirely what she was ant to do.
Then, realizing hundreds of students were still waiting for direction, she cleared her throat sharply and snapped the parchnt straight.
"R-right then," she said, her normally precise voice slightly strained. "Let us finish with the Sorting…"
The ceremony stumbled back into motion, though the spell had been broken.
The magic of the mont—the awe of new beginnings—was gone, replaced by a murmur of disbelief and speculation that even the Sorting Hat could not quell.
A few more nas were called, and children shuffled forward—timid, small, and terribly aware that their arrival had been utterly eclipsed.
By the ti McGonagall reached the final na, her voice had steadied sowhat.
"Ronald Weasley."
A red-haired boy stepped forward, cheeks smudged with dirt. He looked nervous but hopeful, the trainride to school had been a disaster but if he didnt wind up with his brothers... that would be a nightmare.
The Hat touched his head muttering simply about how he was yet another weasley and knowing just what to do with him, before shouting,
"GRYFFINDOR!"
There was polite applause from the table in red and gold, but most students hardly looked up.
Even Harry Potter—now seated among the Slytherins—barely glanced his way.
Ron hesitated, cheeks coloring.
Then, awkwardly, he trudged toward his new housemates, who were already murmuring about dragons, lost houses, and Cassius Snape.
For the first ti, "another Weasley" really did seem to an just another Weasley as no one gave him even a second glance.
When the applause died and Dumbledore stood to make his traditional speech, his usual twinkling expression was notably absent.
"Welco to a new year at Hogwatrs! Before we begin our banquet, i would like to say a few world. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddnt! Tweak!"
His words odd and resonating but ended, however imdiately following there was a roar like a dragon in the distance.
Then without minding he raised his hands and in a happier voice.
"Thank you..., Let the feast begin"
In that mont empty table space before the students was quickly filled with plates heaping, with Fried Chicken, Corn on the cob, Carrots, Peas, Mashed Potatoes, Gravy, various breads, and turkey.
Cassius alone received different, simply because while dumbledore was giving his traditional opening remarks pre-feast, he'd been reciting in a whisper his desire to see a roast beef dinner, instead of the traditional feast, so on his table he was given by the house elves a full Roast Beef, with Yorkshire puddings, Mashed potates, and various veggies.
Silently he thanked the elves for their service, while swearing in his heart to thank them personally later on in the kitchens.
As he dug in, Cassius began to wonder if there was an equivalant 'insult' to join the regular four, for house draconis.
Nitwit - Griffindor, acting first thinking second, sotis third.
Blubber - Ravenclaw, always studying and less physically active resulting in 'blubber'
Oddnt - Being the only house that refuses to 'belong'
Tweek - Hufflepuff, overly anxious or jittery.
Though others interpret this differently as an insult to the houses themselves
Since Ravenclaw would hate to be called a Nitwit, Blubber insulting the active Griffindors, Oddnt calling Slytherins outsiders or outcasts, while Tweek ans to fix or change which Hugglepuffs would think everything is fine the way it is.
~
From the staff table, Severus Snape sat perfectly still.
Even with the food having appeared before him, he did not move to dish up.
His face, however, looked as if he had just swallowed a dung beetle.
A son.
He had a son.
Knowing this as he was the last living mber of his line, the last son of the Prince pureblood line, and the last male of the Snape muggle line, so for another to arrive bearing his na, it could only an this.
Not rely so distant child of speculation or mistake, but a living, breathing boy—his own blood—now seated beneath a banner of black and silver in a house that should not even exist.
And worse—no, far worse—Dumbledore's eyes had flickered toward him twice already with that damnable expression.
That mix of sympathy and suspicion.
He wanted to hex the pity out of the old man.
The boy—Cassius—sat perfectly calm, as if none of this surprised him.
That composure was what unsettled Severus the most.
Not confusion, not fear, not joy.
Just quiet, knowing acceptance.
That wasn't natural.
His gaze drifted to the table banners.
Draconis.
He knew the na now.
The supposed "fifth founder," dismissed by her own children to be sothing of a myth to those following in history.
He was pleased to find his own flesh and blood being honored so, even if that ant he could not be qualified to win the house cup, or even fall under his own houses protection.
Across the hall, Harry Potter laughed at sothing one of the Slytherins said.
Snape's jaw clenched.
Potter—on the other hand was sorted into his house.
As if fate itself had decided to mock him.
Lily's boy, with Jas's face and arrogance, sitting under the sa erald banners as his own house—a house that, once more gained the fewest number of new students now being greatly eclipsed by the size of the other houses, save for the new Draonis house.
Only eighteen of the hundred and seventy-four new entrants had gone to Slytherin this year.
Ten percent.
Barely enough to field their traditional presence.
The rest—an alarming number—were Muggle-borns and half-bloods flooding the castle.
The mbers of his house could only think one thing 'Disgusting' though snape himself did not think this way, afterall lily was a muggle-born, which was the source of his greatest mistake in life.
The noble bloodlines of old magic diluted further each year, until Slytherin itself felt like a dying relic, an echo of purity fading in the din of Dumbledore's idealism.
And now this.
Every instinct in him warred at once. His pride as Head of Slytherin demanded that he hold his position.
Slytherin had won six years in a row under his leadership; one more victory would cent his legacy.
But the other instinct—the older, quieter one—whispered treachery.
He wanted to cross the hall, march up to that spectral woman, and demand she make him the head of Draconis House.
It was his right.
His blood sat at that table.
And yet, sothing stopped him.
Because beneath his anger lurked fear.
If Guinevere Draconis truly was who she claid, then she outranked them all—even Dumbledore.
The mood that had shifted when she appeared had proven as much.
Severus had felt it—a tangible shiver through the hall, a rearrangent of power that made his skin crawl.
She had spoken as though the school itself obeyed her still.
And that ant Cassius wasn't rely sorted by choice.
He was claid.
A Draconis heir.
Chosen by the true founder of Hogwarts, seen to be more worthy than even the four known founders.
His son.
He barely noticed when Dumbledore began dismissing the feast.
Before giving his usual start of term warnings, before setting them off on their journey's to their dormitories for the night, tommorow would be a day off to allow the students to get settled and if they so chose to learn their way around the castle.
With classes beginning on the 3rd of September.
Students rose in noisy, uncertain waves, first years being led out by their prefects toward their dormitories.
Severus remained seated, eyes locked on the small figure walking alone as the last child to leave the great hall behind, a content face plastered on his face after getting his fill of a satisfying al.
Cassius didn't look back once.
"Severus," McGonagall murmured beside him, voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Are you all right?"
He turned to her slowly, expression perfectly blank.
"I assure you, Minerva," he said, his tone dry as winter parchnt, "I am not."
Her lips pressed thinly.
She gave a small nod, knowing the man had spoken the truth but was better off left along for right now.
When the hall was nearly empty of students and staff, Severus rose at last, his robes whispering behind him like black smoke.
He paused at the edge of the staff dais, staring up at the massive hourglasses—at the fifth one gleaming faintly with its black stones in the jar overhead.
The glass seed to pulse, slow and steady, like a heartbeat.
His hands tightened behind his back.
A son.
A house of dragons.
And Potter, of all people, in Slytherin.
The board had changed, and no one had even realized they were playing a different ga.
"Draconis," he whispered under his breath. "Sleeping dragon indeed."
His eyes flickered once more toward the door through which Cassius had gone.
He would speak to the boy soon.
He had to.
Whether as father, professor, or sothing far more dangerous—he wasn't sure yet.
And Severus Snape, for the first ti in years, found himself uncertain whose side he was on.
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