The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chatter and the clinking of silverware against plates. As a Slytherin, you sat proudly at your table, surrounded by your fellow housemates. They laughed and bantered, sharing bits of gossip, occasionally casting knowing glances toward the other tables. You enjoyed the familiarity of it, the sense of belonging—something that only Slytherin House had given you.

Across the hall, at the Gryffindor table, you could feel the unwavering gaze of your older brother, Harry. You’d grown used to the way he looked at you—disappointed, bewildered, and, at times, openly resentful of the fact that his own sister had been sorted into Slytherin.

Slowly, you turned your head, letting your gaze drift over the crowd until your eyes met his. There he was, glowering at you with an expression that seemed to carry both frustration and something sharper, perhaps a touch of betrayal. The green of his eyes, so similar to yours, seemed to blaze against his pale skin. You raised an eyebrow, almost challenging him. Despite being nonverbal, you had your own ways of expressing defiance, and right now, every fiber of your being dared him to look away first.

But he didn’t. His stare only intensified, as though he was trying to read something hidden in your face or willing you to change houses by sheer force of will. Your fellow Slytherins, noticing the tension, nudged each other and grinned, some even sneering over at Harry. They enjoyed the discomfort it caused him, how the famous Boy Who Lived was shaken by his own sister’s allegiance to the house he loathed.

Inwardly, you smirked. If Harry wanted you to feel ashamed of your house, he’d have to do better than a glare across the Great Hall. This was your world as much as his, and no amount of judgment from your brother would change that. You were Slytherin through and through, and, much to Harry’s chagrin, you weren’t planning on apologizing for it.