The Dragon King Bloodline of Hogwarts

Chapter 18 The Sorting Hat

Viserys stood at the edge of the waiting area in the hall, his left hand resting on the hilt of a dagger. Draco Malfoy was speaking to Harry Potter, leaning slightly forward with relaxed shoulders, introducing himself to a savior who was unaware of his identity. A black-haired, green-eyed boy stood opposite him, next to Ron Weasley, a red-haired man with freckles; neither of them wore a friendly expression.

Draco knew perfectly well what he was doing; he'd done the same thing to him on the train: assert his status first, then offer protection. It was the Malfoy family's social maneuvering, muscle memory. But Potter, raised by his aunt and uncle, had just been thrust into a completely unfamiliar world where everyone was calling his name, everyone was reaching out. Any outstretched hand would be seen as a threat.

Potter refused the hand, Ron scoffed, and Draco's hand froze in mid-air.

Viserys looked at him for three seconds. Potter was connected to Voldemort's trail, and they would have to make contact sooner or later, but now was not the time to get close to him. He needed to do one thing at a time to solve two problems.

He went outside.

"Malfoy".

Draco turned his head, a barely perceptible hint of panic beneath his composed expression. Viserys stood beside him, side by side, facing Harry and Ron.

"You reached out your hand, and he didn't take it. That doesn't mean you did anything wrong."

Then he turned to Harry.

"You refused. You have the right to refuse anyone's hand, but at least he extended it."

"Let's go, the Sorting Ceremony is about to begin." He didn't wait for Harry's reply and turned to leave.

After taking attendance in the foyer, McGonagall led the new students into the auditorium. The magical ceiling displayed the evening's weather: clear skies, a sky full of stars, candles hanging above the long table, their flames burning steadily, and ghosts flitting in and out of the walls.

McGonagall placed an old stool on the stage and a patched, pointed wizard's hat on top. The hat split open and began to sing. When it finished, McGonagall unfolded a parchment, and names were called one by one.

"Hannah Abbott!"

Hannah sprang from her stool, her knee hitting the back of the chair in front of her. She jogged back and said "Excuse me" to Susan Burns behind her. The Sorting Hat barely touched her hair before calling out "Hufflepuff!" Hannah jumped off the stool, ran a few steps toward the Hufflepuff table, then turned back, carefully lifted the Sorting Hat from the stool, and placed it down before running back to the table. The fat monk ghost emerged from the tabletop and gave her a high five, and the entire Hufflepuff table erupted in laughter.

Names were called one by one, the Hat making his decision faster and faster. When it was Draco Malfoy's turn, the Hat practically touched his hair before calling out "Slytherin." Draco met Viserys's gaze as he walked toward the long table, and Viserys gave a slight nod. Draco sat down, his back straighter than usual.

Viserys Targaryen

The whispers in the auditorium were like a fire fueled by oil; silver hair, purple eyes, Gringotts, dragons—these words jumped from one long table to another, drowning out the last words McGonagall hadn't had time to retract.

Viserys walked through the freshman line to the round bench without looking at anyone. He sat down slowly, his back not against the backrest. McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on his head, but it slipped down, obscuring his eyes. The last thing he saw was Hermione's fingers gripping the edge of the Gryffindor table.

Then darkness fell.

"Oh." A very faint voice sounded in his ear, carrying a debt that hadn't been settled for a thousand years. "Another Targaryen face. I've only ever worn one Targaryen's head in my life, no, he didn't enroll, but he did wear mine. It was shortly after the castle was built, and a young man with silver hair and purple eyes was brought in by Slytherin himself, saying he wanted to try the Sorting Ceremony. He didn't sit on a stool; he stood up and put me on his head, like a helmet for riding a dragon."

The hat paused for a moment, then the tone shifted from reminiscence to appeal.

Then he laughed. He said, "It's not as good as the crown I wore when I was crowned at the Steppes."

Viserys's lips twitched. Damon Targaryen had placed the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts and the Iron Crown he was crowned with in the same sentence, choosing the latter. A thousand years had passed, and the hat still held a grudge.

"I've held a grudge for a thousand years against a Targaryen who refused to enroll, and you're the first to pay the price."

The hat paused for a moment, as if opening a book only it could read. Then its tone changed, no longer affected.

"Let me see you, huh. You used your wand to fill the air in the library, leaving the sulfurous smell on the stone walls of the corridors until the start of the semester. You made a dragon that had been imprisoned for years bow its head at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. You cornered little Greengrass in a train compartment with a knife to her throat, then turned around and helped little Granger find a toad. Today you tore down Malfoy's platform in the hallway, then put it back up for him. You used to be a prince, now you're a mystery, and what you'll be in the future, you yourself don't know."

The hat's voice became lower and the pace of speech slower.

"You're wondering why I'm saying all this. It's not because I love to chat, although there aren't many people here who can really talk to me. It's because these things have been running through your mind. Before you even sat down, you were already reviewing every single conversation you had with Malfoy and Potter in the foyer today. You were thinking about how much that red-haired boy's sneer would affect Malfoy. You were thinking about how Potter grew up with his aunt, his childhood locked in the stairwell, and how that was different from your first two years in Braavos. You were thinking about which table to go to and who to sit next to."

The hat paused for another beat.

"You're thinking right now—'It really can read all my thoughts.' Yes. Including your earlier question, 'Can it read them?' Most people sit down and think of the house's name first; you're the first to analyze my design principles. You're having a tough time, a very tough time, tougher than Slytherin. Why, you ask? It's not because you're not cunning enough; it's because you use all your cunning on others, and when it comes to yourself, you play dumb. You're more reckless than Gryffindor. When you charged into the wall of fire at Gringotts, you didn't consider the possibility that it might also work on Targaryens. You didn't even consider that with Hufflepuff. You've read books, but you don't solve problems with books, Ravenclaw. Gryffindor will give you applause you don't want. Slytherin will give you the time you need, and your kind you don't want."

So which one do you choose?

Viserys's voice could only be heard by the Sorting Hat.

Slytherin.

"Most people think 'Where am I going?' You think 'Where do I need to go?' You're not the first Targaryen to say 'must' to Slytherin." The hat's voice suddenly rose, exploding throughout the Great Hall—"Slytherin!"

Applause and cheers erupted at the Slytherin table. McGonagall removed his hat from his head, and candlelight returned to his sight. Viserys stood up; Draco was clapping at him, his excitement undisguised, and nudged Goyle aside to make room. But he didn't sit next to Draco. He went and sat down opposite Daphne.

Daphne looked up at him, her grey eyes meeting his, a faint smile playing on her lips. "You've been sitting up there for a long time. What did the hat say to you?"

"It holds a grudge," Viserys said. "Damon wore it a thousand years ago, and it still remembers it."

She chuckled softly and didn't press the matter.

As the applause subsided, a figure stood up from the front of the Slytherin table. Her long, dark brown hair was neatly tied back, and the silver badge of the Slytherin prefect was pinned to her collar. She had regular features and a gentle smile. She had looked toward the freshmen line more than once during the sorting process, and now she was walking toward him.

“Viserys Targaryen.” She stopped at the long table. “Welcome to Slytherin. I’m Gemma Farley, Seventh Year Prefect. You can come to me if you need anything—find a classroom, change your schedule, or just want to talk to someone.” She smiled. “Slytherin takes care of its own people.”

Her gaze lingered on his face for a fleeting moment as she spoke, a pause a beat longer than usual, just enough to be noticed but not taken as offensive. Then she steered the conversation back on track, her tone still gentle. "It's rare for the Sorting Hat to spend so much time on one person. It usually only does that to two kinds of people: either exceptionally difficult to sort out, or exceptionally interesting. I hope you're the latter." Her smile deepened slightly. "It's been a long time since we Slytherin have had a freshman who could silence the entire Great Hall during the Sorting Ceremony."

Daphne stood to the side without looking up, stirring the soup in the bowl in front of her with her spoon.

"He's used to it," she said.

Gemma's gaze shifted to Daphne, still lingering on the two rims of the soup in her bowl. "How long have you known him?"

"From the moment he cornered me in the train compartment and pointed a knife at my neck, it was probably, well, half a day."

Gemma raised an eyebrow slightly, but didn't press the matter. She simply chuckled, her tone perfectly amiable. "It seems you make friends in a way that's a bit different from most people. Slytherin will like you." She turned her gaze back to Viserys, nodded slightly, and then turned to walk toward the front of the long table.

Viserys watched her figure disappear into the crowd at the Slytherin long table. Her kindness was impeccable, her manners impeccable, and her sense of propriety just right—the mark of someone who had been a seventh-year class leader in Slytherin and had never lost a tenth of her class.

"What do you think of her?" Daphne asked.

"It's hard not to notice," Viserys said.

Daphne tilted her head, but didn't reply.

Another gaze pierced through from the far end of the long table. A boy with short, dark hair, wearing a robe that had been altered but whose cuffs were faded, was staring at him. Their eyes met, and neither looked away.

Draco followed his gaze and put down his fork. "Lester Todd, fifth year, half-blood. He's been running errands for the Farleys since third year, delivering things and relaying messages." He paused, then added, "He does more than just run errands for the Farleys."

"I can see that," Viserys said.

Daphne leaned back in her chair, her tone slightly raised, revealing an undisguised interest. "She laughed like that in front of you, what do you think she was thinking?"

"You've been sitting up there for so long, everyone's been watching you, and then she specifically came over here." Draco gestured with his chin toward Gemma. "He probably thought you came to take his spot."

Viserys looked away. "Not today."

"He glared at you several times, aren't you going to do anything?" Daphne asked.

"He's just watching, let him watch."

Daphne tapped the edge of his plate lightly with her knife. "You're so popular, you're going to be busy from now on."

Draco's gaze lingered on Daphne's face for a moment before turning to Viserys, lowering his voice. "I'll keep an eye on Leicester for you. There are some things about Knockturn Alley that you can't get involved in."

Gemma's voice came from the front of the long table; she was reminding several new students of tomorrow's class schedule. She looked up and met Viserys's gaze, nodded to him, and continued explaining to the new students. Draco winked at Viserys.

"Oh, right," Daphne suddenly spoke up, "when you were up there, and the hat was talking to you, only your eyebrows moved. What did it say?"

"Did I get my eyebrows done?"

"Don't you know that yourself?"

Draco looked over as well, clearly wanting to know the answer too.

"When Damon passed by Hogwarts a thousand years ago, he put on the Sorting Hat out of curiosity," Viserys said. "Then he said the Iron Crown was better."

Daphne paused for a moment, then burst out laughing. Draco's lips twitched; he tried to maintain Malfoy's composure, but couldn't help himself.