Harry Potter: The Blogger of Hogwarts

I've been described using a lot of words, some of them absolutely not fit at all for public consumption. But if I had to pick one of them to describe myself, it would absolutely be stubborn. If I chose a course of action, I'd stick with it, no matter what. I am a master of the sunk cost fallacy. I don't give up on anything ever, even if giving up is a very sensible idea.

I know being in Slytherin would make my life tremendously more difficult. I wouldn't be able to quietly glide under the radar as I had hoped (though that plan was probably shot to bits when I learned I was famous anyway). I was putting myself at risk, not just in terms of reputation, but perhaps even physically. I also did not care. I hate injustice. I despise it with the fury of a thousand suns. I've lived my life according to one simple philosophy: Whatever the Dursleys do, I do the opposite. They love injustice (unless it's happening to them, naturally). They would have no problem just sitting there and letting innocent children get maligned for something a monster did.

I happen to have a huge problem with that.

So I remained completely resolute as I was led into the Great Hall of Hogwarts which, to quote Hermione verbatim, is bewitched to look like the sky. Picture time!

[Image description: An absolutely massive dining hall not unlike the dining hall at Christ Church college in Oxford, lit by thousands of candles floating in midair, and, indeed, the ceiling obscured by an enchantment showing the very sky outside.]

On a happier note, it turns out ghosts are real! Does this mean the afterlife is real? It turns out no one knows, not even the ghosts, who chose a ghostly existence instead of moving on to whatever comes next. But still, it's a positive step in that direction, which is nice. I'd like to think Mum and Dad are out there somewhere in the cosmos, though I hope they haven't been watching me, because all the things the Dursleys did to me probably would have made them so angry that they'd have died again with the force of it.

Someone put a hat on a chair. This would have been strange enough, but then it manifested a mouth and started to sing. Thank goodness I had the presence of mind to record the song.

[Audio description: {It's the same Sorting Hat song from the book; read the book if you can't remember.}]

"Well, I think the hat was right about one thing," Hermione said softly and very, very tentatively. "I think I will make my real friends in Slytherin." Ron and I gave a grin at her. She was right. Well, technically she was wrong, since she'd already made friends before being sorted into Slytherin, but you know what I mean.

"We're there for you, Hermione," I vowed.

Thankfully, we didn't have to wrestle a troll, as Ron's brother had tried to convince him. Instead, we had to put the hat on our head and it apparently read our minds and decided which house we were supposed to be in. This struck me as a massive invasion of privacy, but I had a hunch it would probably be best if I picked my battles.

Ron and I waited patiently for Hermione's name to be called. I squeezed her hand for good luck. The candles must not have been doing their job properly because Hermione's cheeks flushed a little from the cold before she walked up to the hat, regal as a queen (even though I knew she was terrified inside.)

The hat was on her head for several minutes. Several adults started looking at their watches and looked vaguely concerned. Hermione looked downright furious at several points in the invisible conversation. But in the end, she got what she wanted: the hat finally yelled out "SLYTHERIN!" and Hermione strode over to the Slytherin table. I high fived Ron. Our plan was working.

Everyone seemed to react to Hermione's sorting in different ways. Some students looked absolutely flummoxed. They must have known she was a Muggleborn and that Muggleborn students were a rarity in Slytherin. A number of the Slytherin students looked outright disgusted and murderous, but not as many as you would expect. Some of them looked intrigued, but many just didn't care. They were normal students out to live their lives. They didn't care about the nonsense their parents had fought for.

Draco, tragically, got sorted into Slytherin very quickly, though by the look on his face, not as quick as he'd been expecting. I groaned audibly. Dealing with this idiot for seven years would grow old fast. At least I would have Ron to serve as a buffer.

Before I knew it, I was being called to the stage. Whispering followed me as it would so many times over the next couple of years, no doubt. And as I knew I would do many times in the future, I just ignored them. They didn't matter. They were wrong about me. I didn't do anything to defeat Voldemort. How could I? I was a baby.

Ah, Mr. Potter, the hat said with satisfaction. I've been waiting for you. And, my, you do seem to have your heart set on Slytherin, do you not? I must say, the crop of Slytherins in recent years have been a disappointment. Mind you, these things come and go – it's nothing compared to the class of 1497; a bigger group of psychopaths I've never seen and hopefully won't see again.

They're a bunch of bigots and racists, I thought with disgust. I want Slytherin to be more.

And so do I. You are the sort of person Salazar told me to put in his house. A man with a vision for the future and a willingness to use subtlety and cunning to achieve it. Your personal vision may be small – your shop – but what matters is you are willing to fight for it.

Really? I thought, feeling proud. Slytherin himself would have wanted me here?

.....

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