My shining blond hair is covered by my black robes, which I have pulled up to hide the revealing masses within. Scorpius has not done the same, and even though he does not look much like father, the crowd of first years avoid him. They point their fingers at my twin, whispering about the linage of the Malfoy's and how we’re all destined to be in Slytherin and take over the world. 

All of the first-years are standing outside of the Great Hall, nervously staying as a group and murmuring about which house we want to be in. I can tell the Muggle-borns from the half-bloods, and the children of famous and not-so famous witches and wizards. When you are despised and hated by almost everyone in the Wizarding world, you know who has the most against you. I did all of my research before coming to Hogwarts— Mum made sure of that. 

To my right, I don’t look. I will not look at the shaggy brown hair that is so much like his father’s, or the mass of red curls that hide the brain that she inherited from her mother. It’s not that I hate them, but I know that once they see my face, and hair, which is almost identical to my father’s, they will hate me. 

Everyone hates a Malfoy. 

I weave through the crowd and grab my brother’s shoulder. He looks at me, then his face relaxes. 

“Hazel,” he said bluntly, obvious to the pointing fingers,” why are you hiding yourself in—“ he stopped and yanked my robes back into their place. My blond hair fell back to my shoulder, its platinum sheen revealing the origins of my parenthood. 

“Scorpius!” I hissed. “I told you that I don’t want to be a Malfoy, okay? That was my last tactic before they place that bloody Sorting Hat and it tells everyone that I’m in Slytherin, just like all of the other Malfoys before me.”

“Don’t be ashamed of our name,” said Scorpius. His grey eyes drifted over my shoulder and widened in fear. “We’ll continue this conversation later,” he said, and turned me around. 

An elderly but formidable-looking witch with glasses stood a little ways from our group. She wore black robes and a hat, and although wrinkles were all over her face she radiated an aura of power and discipline. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts, first-years,” she said, nodding at our group. “I am the headmistress, Professor McGonagall.” She turned a little towards a pair of giant black doors that framed four hourglasses full of red, blue, green, and yellow gems. “In just a few moments we will be entering these doors, where all of you will be sorted into houses.”

My stomach turned queasily. However hard I wished not to be like a Malfoy, I had known my entire life that I would be sorted into Slytherin. Not because Malfoys were  always sorted into Slytherin, but because all of my personality traits matched the descriptions of the house itself. 

“There are four houses,” Professor McGonagall explained, probably to all of the muggle-borns who hadn’t even picked up one book to learn about magic before starting at Hogwarts. “Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Huffelpuff, and Slytherin.” 

Did I imagine it? Or did her face twitch in an odd face when she said Slytherin. 

“Your house is like your family at Hogwarts,” she continued,” And will suffer if you break any rules. You break rules, points are taken away. If you do something good, your house will receive points. At the end of the year, we have a celebration for the house with the most points.”

From the very front of the crowd a no-nonsense voice piped up. “Can we get sorted to our houses now? Hogwarts: A History explains all of this.” Rose Weasley looked at the crowd, smirking slightly. “For those who bothered to memorize all of our textbooks, anyway.”

“Who is that?” said Scorpius, trying to see over the heads of a  tall Muggle-born.

“Rose Weasley,” I murmured. “Daughter of Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. Harry Potter’s best friends.”

Scorpius nodded understandably. “She despises us, then.”

I wasn’t able to answer as Professor McGonagall wordlessly turned around and pushed open the giant doors. Immediately, a warm, comforting glow, like Malfoy Manor’s lights entered the hallway.  

The Headmistress led us down two tables, which I guessed were Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, from the color of the badges and scarves they wore. Thousands of candles were floating aimlessly across the room, and if I craned my neck I could see all of the stars in the sky, projected on the roof. 

Scorpius and I walked together, with all eyes upon us. The line of first-years stopped a couple of meters away from a small, rickety stool. Professor McGonagall now was holding a greying, patched hat in her hand, and a scroll of names. But it was the hat that held my attention. Did it know the tremendous job it had? How did it choose where to put everyone? Could it really see my secrets and thoughts? 

Just being near the Sorting Hat made my thoughts seem open, like everyone in the room could read them. 

Professor McGonagall unrolled the parchment, and read the first name. 

“Brocklehurst, Brook,” the Sorting Hat said,” GRYFFINDOR!” 

I felt my palms sweating desperately as the names ticked by. 

“Finnigan, April!” 

From the ranks of the first-years a chubby, straight brown-haired girl sat down on the stool. The Sorting Hat was placed upon her head, and April’s face twisted as the second ticked by.

The Sorting Hat took several more seconds deciding, until is finally shouted,” RAVENCLAW!” 

With a relived smile, April yanked the hat off her head and handed it to Professor McGonagall. She bounded to the table of cheering students, and sat down in the middle of a clot of second or third-years. 

“Nott, Peter!” 

A sandy-haired boy stumbled up to the stage and sat rigidly on the stool. I tipped my head, remembering that his grandfather was a Death Eater, imprisoned in Azkaban. 

Just like my grandfather, I thought, as Peter ran off to the Slytherin table in triumph.

Just as MacDougal, Jane, was sorted into Huffelpuff, Professor Mcgonagall peered at the paper and said,”Malfoy, Hazel!” 

I swallowed, and felt Scorpius’s hand on my back. Fighting all instincts to run away from my destiny as a Malfoy, I took slow steps to the stool, and the Sorting Hat. Sitting down on the hard wood, Professor McGonagall dropped the piece of fabric onto my white-blond hair. 

As soon as it touched my I heard a voice in my head that was not my own. 

“Hmmm,” the Sorting Hat said. I gripped the edges of the stool, terrified. “Very interesting. There’s ambition in there, and smarts. Not a huge amount of kindness or patience, so that rules of Huffelpuff. Gryffindor?” I felt like I was going to fall off the chair.  No! No, not Gryffindor! I thought. My grandparents Lucias and Narcissa had told me that I would be a horrible granddaughter if I was in Gryffindor.“No? Not Gryffindor? Hmm. Not a bad mind, brave, very cunning. I guess that it’s going to be SLYTHERIN!”

Wonderful, I thought. Now I’m really a Malfoy.