A Young Slytherin: A Barnaby Lee Story -Hogwarts Mystery

Finding One's Place

In the second before the large, tattered hat fell to his nose, Barnaby felt every eye in the great hall on him, and knew he'd never been this nervous in his life. Not even when he stared into the eyes of Lord Voldemort.

Very interesting... said a wizened voice in his head. He shuddered.

Very interesting indeed. Not a Ravenclaw, I can see that straight away.

"Probably not," Barnaby admitted. Distantly, as though he was underwater, he heard laughter.

You don't have to speak, Mr. Lee, said the sorting hat. I can hear your thoughts easily enough.

"Oh, right." More laughter. Barnaby flinched and clenched his lips shut.

Yes, that's Ravenclaw ruled out. But where to put you? You're fairly hardworking, trustworthy, fiercely loyal, and with a kind heart. Hufflepuff could be an excellent fit.

As the hat spoke in his mind, Barnaby felt his head swivel involuntarily in the direction of what must be the Hufflepuff table. He gulped, wondering what his Gran would say if she found out he was in Hufflepuff.

Then, again. I see you are of stout heart. Yes, yes, exceptionally brave. Self-sacrificing, driven by justice, and a tendency to act before you think. Gryffindor might be just the place for you.

Another head swivel. He suppressed a shudder. Gryffindor would be even worse than Hufflepuff. His Gran might just die of the shame. On second thought, maybe Gryffindor wouldn't be too bad.

And of course, you have ambition. An intense desire to prove yourself. For strength and power. This need to rid yourself of your family name could be your ultimate triumph or downfall, but it doesn't matter. It is what drives you. Qualities of a true Slytherin.

Yet another swivel. Hmm, difficult indeed.

"Please..." he started aloud, then remembered and clamped his mouth shut. Please, Mr. Hat, Sir, he thought, his face screwed up with the effort. I need to be a Slytherin.

Because of your grandmother. It wasn't a question. He answered anyway.

Yes. She wants me to be as great as my father. Otherwise, she might pull me out of school. I need to be a Slytherin. I have to be.

There was silence for a moment. Then the hat said, Very well. As I have said, you possess astute Slytherin qualities. You should do well. But, remember the traits that would've also made you a fine Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. I can see that you'll need these qualities as you progress in your journey. Yes, yes, it's all here in your head.

Barnaby didn't understand this. He wasn't sure how to respond, but then the hat's brim tore open. "Slytherin!" 

 He only had time to slump in relief before Professor McGonagall whisked the hat from his head. He trotted over to the Slytherin table, where the students clapped and cheered at his arrival. He grinned.

Soon, he was joined by Ismelda Murke, one of the girls he'd rode with on the Hogwarts Express. She sat down next to him, giving him a grin that was downright creepy with her crazed eye and the dark, greasy hair that covered half of her face. He smiled back.

When Merula Snyde sat on the stool, both students took a breath of anticipation. The moment her eyes vanished underneath the brim, the hat shouted, "Slytherin!" Barnaby clapped with the rest of the Slytherins as Merula made her way to sit opposite him, looking every bit like a queen gracing the court with her presence.

Soon after, the sorting finished and the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore stood to give a welcome speech. He said a lot of things Barnaby didn't understand, but he seemed like a kind man. He wondered why his family thought so little of him.

Any other thoughts were pressed from his mind when the feast appeared on their tables. Barnaby was used to eating well, but the Hogwarts feast was something special. He loaded his plate full and dug in, as happy as he could ever remember being.

"Ugh, you're like a troll scarfing down meat," said Merula.

After the feast, Barnaby and the rest of the first-year Slytherins were led to the common room by one of their prefects. He joined the line behind Ismelda as they left the light and warmth of the great hall down the stairs to the dark, chilly dungeons. Barnaby couldn't decide if this was really cool or eerie.

After some time, the prefect stopped short. The first years, caught unawares, stumbled and bumped into each other. Barnaby trod on Ismelda's robes, earning him a scathing look and a promise that she'd curse his toes off as soon as she'd learned how.

"This is the entrance to your common room," said the haughty looking prefect. "Password's Hippogriff Feathers." At these words, the bare stretch of wall behind opened up, the stone bricks sliding to the left and right rather like the brick wall guarding the entrance to Diagon Alley. Instead of light and noise, however, this passage revealed yet more darkness.

The prefect ushered the students inside. They were in a large room, lit only by the large fireplace and a few lanterns emitting a green-yellow glow. There was plenty of ornate furniture; large, cushioned couches and chairs, along with a few spindly legged wooden chairs and tables. The most noticeable aspect of the room were the floor to ceiling windows offering a view of nothing but murky water.

"Yes, we are underneath the black lake," said the prefect. "You might occasionally see a lake dwelling creature, but it doesn't happen often." Barnaby, one of the tallest in the group, gazed over his peers' heads to stare into the lake, wondering if he'd see a kelpie like the one that lived in the pond at Lee Manor.

"Girls, your dormitory is through this door here," said the prefect, gesturing to a door on his left. He pointed to the other door on his right. "Boys, you're there. You'll find your rooms marked. Get some sleep. Breakfast in the Great Hall at seven, you'll get your schedules then."

The boys and girls separated. Barnaby waved goodbye to Ismelda and Merula, the former glaring and the latter rolling her eyes in response.

There were four other boys in his dormitory. They introduced themselves as Michael, Jason, Robert, and Eric.

"I'm Barnaby," he told them. "Barnaby Lee."

Most of the group seemed to recognize his name. Michael's eyes widened. Robert whispered something in Eric's ear.

"Heard about your parents," said Michael. He was a sandy-haired, thick set boy with a large nose, and nearly a head shorter than Barnaby.

Barnaby didn't know how to respond to that. He knew a lot of students would know that his parents were convicted death eaters, sentenced to die in Azkaban. He didn't want to talk about it. He was glad when Michael didn't press the issue, but perplexed when he said, "Well, Barnaby. I reckon it's about time for you and me to fight."