The Spiteful Sorting Hat

Hall of portraits

Christmas was coming. One morning in Mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and attracted several students out onto the ice for skating. Fred and George Weasley, Ron's older brothers in Gryffindor house, were punished for bewitching several snowballs to follow Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. Harry was of the opinion that they should ask the Weasley twins what spell they had used, so that he might use it against Snape or Malfoy. But seeing as the Weasleys were both on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Millie thought it was unlikely they'd have any friendly feelings toward a Slytherin student, and the subject was dropped.

The hallways and classrooms grew more drafty and cold with each passing day, and potions in the dungeons was absolutely dreadful with the cold and damp. Harry had been surprised to find that the Slytherin common room was remained quite warm. The large fireplaces were kept constantly running with great, roaring fires, and the many overstuffed armchairs scattered throughout the room could be delightfully cozy when one dragged down the blankets from their bed. It was in just such a position that Harry made himself comfortable one day before break, curled in a chair near the fire in a cocoon of his blankets, reading a book Blaise had recommended to him called Quidditch Through the Ages. He had heard Higgs would be graduating that the end of the year, and he was very keen on trying out for the Seeker position himself.

"I do feel so sorry," said Draco Malfoy's familiar drawling tones, "for those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home."

Harry could feel Malfoy staring at him and knew this speech was meant for his ears. Malfoy's familiars, Crabbe and Goyle, chuckled thickly. Harry, who was busy learning more about the first Quidditch World Cup in 1473, happily ignored him.

It was true that Harry wasn't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas, a thought which caused him near-constant delight. When Snape had gone around collecting the names of students who wished to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays, Harry was the first and only Slytherin to sign up. But he didn't feel sorry for himself at all. In fact, he was looking forward to what Christmas at Hogwarts would be like, and with the extra alone time, he would be free to explore the forbidden corridor.

Snape had been in an increasingly foul mood as the holidays approached, leading Harry to suspect that he had not been successful in stealing the mysterious artifact. That only meant Harry had more time to figure out a way to steal it himself, and he felt certain that the answer would be found in the identity of Nicolas Flamel. Now he just needed to find out who that was.

If Quidditch Through the Ages was any indication, Flamel had not been a famous Quidditch player. But Harry was sure he'd find something in one of the library books during break. Later. For now, he just wanted to learn more about the Wronski Feint.

But it was not to be, as Malfoy's increasingly elevated voice cut across his train of thought again.

"I mean, it really is pathetic if you think about it. It's one thing if you can't stand your family, but to have to stay because you haven't got a proper family to begin with? That's just sad."

This time his words stung. Harry closed his book with a snap and looked up at Malfoy angrily. Of course, Malfoy was already staring in Harry's direction, waiting to see what effect his words would have on Harry.

"Oh, Potter! Sorry, didn't see you there," lied Malfoy, "Getting ready for the holidays? I was just telling Crabbe and Goyle that I should start packing for my trip home. Will you be returning to your muggles?"

"You know I'm not, Malfoy," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"No? Well that's too bad. I suppose if you wanted to you could always come visit my family. I'm sure mother wouldn't mind, and there's plenty of extra room..."