The Slytherin Table 2024-2025

As Bathilde sat at the Slytherin table, she tried to ground herself, but her stomach growled in protest, reminding her she hadn’t eaten all day. She winced, realizing she hadn’t had a proper meal since leaving for Hogwarts, and wondered when the feast would finally begin. But for now, the Sorting Ceremony was only on the letter “H,” so it would be a while.

She glanced around, taking in her new housemates. A group of older Slytherins nearby was watching her with faint interest, their gazes measuring but not unkind. She looked away quickly, feeling an uncomfortable heat rise to her cheeks. The rest of the hall was a blur of faces, and for a moment, Bathilde wondered if any of these strangers would eventually become her friends. Right now, she felt miles away from any connection, completely adrift in a sea of green and silver.

Yet despite her nerves, a fire was flickering inside her—a faint but stubborn ember of determination. “I’ll prove the Sorting Hat right, whatever that means,” she though to herself, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She decided she’d make the best of it. Maybe Slytherin didn’t just mean ambition and cunning in the ways she’d always heard. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to it—something that could fit her better than she realized.

The Sorting Ceremony seemed to stretch on endlessly, each name called with agonizing slowness. Bathilde focused on the warm, flickering light from the enchanted ceiling above, watching the candles drift lazily in the darkened sky. Her stomach gave another hopeful rumble. With the Sorting Hat’s words echoing in her mind, Bathilde felt a bit more grounded, as though she were slowly planting her roots here, whether she had expected it or not.

She looked over at the table across from her, where students in gold and red cheered loudly as another name was called to Gryffindor. She thought of her mother’s stories of Hogwarts, the tales of Hufflepuff’s loyalty and warmth that she’d grown up with. And yet, she was here, in Slytherin—green, silver, and filled with students who seemed as enigmatic as the dungeons she’d heard about. Maybe she didn’t yet understand why she belonged here, but she would figure it out. The Sorting Hat had seen something within her, something she herself had yet to fully grasp.

The line of new students was finally starting to thin, and Bathilde could sense the excitement mounting in the hall. Soon, the feast would begin, and she would share her first meal in the heart of Hogwarts. Her stomach gave another hopeful rumble, as if to remind her of that very fact.

She took one last look around at the Slytherin table, letting her eyes settle on the faces nearby—the quiet, bookish boy, the silver-haired girl lost in her art, and others scattered along the table, each seemingly absorbed in their own world. Bathilde wasn’t quite ready to reach out, but she felt a small sense of comfort just being near them. It was as though the invisible wall she’d felt around her since her name was called was beginning to soften, if only slightly.

For now, that was enough.

At the Slytherin Table: The Feast Begins

As Bathilde waited for the end of the ceremony, the Great Hall felt overwhelming, filled with the clamor of students and the flickering warmth of thousands of candles. She sat quietly at the Slytherin table, feeling more like an observer than a participant. When the final name was called and the Sorting Hat ceremony concluded, she felt a wave of relief as the tension finally lifted. She allowed herself a small exhale.

Headmaster Solomon Lear rose to address the students, his presence commanding and slightly intimidating as he surveyed the new students. Bathilde barely registered his words about perseverance and the pursuit of knowledge. Instead, she found herself captivated by the way he carried himself—an air of authority that was both terrifying and oddly comforting. As his voice echoed through the hall, Bathilde felt a mix of anxiety and reassurance, knowing that such a figure would guide them through their journey at Hogwarts. However, the warmth of that comfort faded with each passing moment; the more he talked, the less she could concentrate on his speech. All she could think about was the food that awaited her.

Finally, with a wave of his hand, the feast appeared before them. Bathilde watched as golden plates materialized in front of her, each piled high with food—roasted meats, steaming vegetables, golden pies, and fresh bread. She kept her eyes mostly down, only daring a few glances around her, catching snatches of excited chatter and laughter. The smells alone of the food made her mouth water, but she hesitated, unsure if anyone noticed her sitting quietly among the livelier students.

She observed her housemates subtly. Some looked relaxed, already falling into easy conversations, while others cast sharp, appraising glances around, almost like they were sizing up the competition. Bathilde watched them, wondering if any of them felt as out of place as she did. She noticed a few older students wearing the expression of those who’d been here before, confidently diving into conversations, occasionally glancing in her direction as though deciding whether to say anything to the new first-years.

Eventually, her hunger overruled her nerves and, without much ceremony, Bathilde reached for a serving of roasted chicken, placing it delicately on her plate. She kept her movements small and careful, conscious of the lively conversations around her. Laughter and chatter echoed from the other tables, the students catching up with old friends or making new ones, voices blending into a comforting hum. She focused on her food, hoping it would calm her nerves.

She tucked into the meal with enthusiasm. As she took her first bite, the rich flavors immediately brought a sense of warmth to her. The food here was far different from what she was used to on the farm, where everything was simpler and fresher. Here, everything seemed grander, seasoned with spices she didn’t recognize, and rich enough to feel like a feast for royalty. For the first time that day, she felt a sliver of comfort; the food, at least, would be a reliable friend. Bathilde took another bite, and another, feeling her hunger gradually subside and her mind quiet as she focused on each taste.

Bathilde had never tasted anything quite like it—the buttery pastry, the tender meat, the perfectly spiced soups. With each bite, the tightness in her chest eased, the feeling of being a stranger in a strange place momentarily softened by the comforts of the feast.

The longer she ate, the more she allowed herself to relax. She let her gaze wander across the hall, taking in the enchanted ceiling, the floating candles, and the vibrant colors of each house’s banners. When her eyes drifted back to her own table, she saw her fellow Slytherins, each a mystery wrapped in green and silver. Despite their aura of quiet intensity, they seemed… ordinary. Human, like herself. She let out a breath, grateful for this simple comfort and determined to savor it while it lasted.

Outfit:

Reducio

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Karina walked towards her table, sitting by a girl with brown hair and another girl with blonde hair. After everyone was sorted into their houses, the feast was going to begin! Karina looked up, there stood a professor, probably the head of the school, he was announcing that he was happy to accept us all into this school and that the feast was going to begin. Karina blinked, looking at the tables, all of the food looked so good, she didn't know what she wanted to eat!
Karina took a big bite out of a turkey leg, it was so good, she hasn't eaten the ride to Hogwarts! Karina looked at her stained shirt, It's alright, I'll clean it... she thought, taking another bite out of her turkey. She also had mashed potatoes on her plate, which tasted like how her grandfather makes it. Karina took a sip from her glass, which had cranberry juice on it, not noticing that she accidently spilled some on her clothes. This is the best. I love it here She thought, looking around. Karina noticed that some 1st year students were looking at her. Karina was happy that she was sorted into a house. She had a house, that was just as special as Karina. Snakes. Snakes. Snakes...

Hex colour text: #6D7EB9 , #2b2512

Seinaru’s eyes would glisten with happiness when Colin approves Seinaru’s unexpected request. Seinaru would then start to ruffle up the senior’s hair as if he was truly ruffling up a fluffy animal. “Yep, I’ve pet them before! But I suppose you're friendlier.” Seinaru giggles softly before he stops the ruffling, allowing whether the senior would back out or not. Ah, the senior was now talking to a different student, he mustn't interrupt.

After turning back to the dining table, munching and gulping down the bread, he noticed that there was a first year girl across the table in front of him and he was wondering whether he should converse or let her eat in peace. Though, with lots of courage, he decided to talk to the first year girl in front of him. “Yo! I see that you’re enjoying yourself with the feast. My name is Seinaru Hana, though you can just call me Sei for short. What’s yours?”

Seinaru never talked with the opposite gender much unless it’s something important. This could probably be a new experience on how he can boost up his confidence with socialising! Though he himself could be a little awkward through any sort of conversation.

@Hanako Tone, @Karina Eaglewood, @Colin McCoire
(open to interactionss ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ)

italics: thoughts ‒ normal: narration, speech

A couple of days from the Sorting Hat ceremony, Donald finds himself once again in the Great Hall, where the Slytherin table -his- table, welcomes him with open arms. The long table full to the brim with delicious food ready for the ever-hungry students to come and take a bite.

The boy saunters a bit, eyeing everyone from the silver and green House, clearly in an empasse to where specifically to sit since the table is full to the brim with children and teenagers alike.

They all seems to know eachothers...

Biting his own lip, Donald cautiously approaches the benches.

Dont' be so afraid... Just pick a place where to sit.

With that he falls on it. Nearby him a trio of teenagers are howling with laughter for some quip completely lost on Donald who is still trying to survive his small personal Hell, and just now remembering to take off his gloves, reprimanding himself for the bad table manners.

I can already hear Miss Crowfort screaming her hears off if she saw it. "How could you forget so easily boy?!"

A light chuckle escapes from him, his home's memories warming his chest and making him feel his throat and eyes fuzzy. He glances once again to the food Hogwarts' house elves prepared, feeling the stomach closing in on itself, even if he came in the Greatl Hall just for that reason.
Still...he dreaded going down to the Common Room right now, feeling even more uneasy at the thought of being alone in the dormitory, with only his thoughts to keep company.

No, he needed to get it over with. His parents asked him to owl them regularly, maybe he just needed to do that. Taking from his suitace quill and paper he glances over it, trying to figure out what to say, and then, finally, he starts to write.

@Donald Robinson

Saunders now was officially a Slytherin, all hail to the old, wise Hat! Since he bore the surname Napier, he had always been a de facto Slytherin and treated as a snake-to-be; yet, it was customary to rejoice at the fulfilment of a prophecy, even though it was obviously of the self-fulfilling kind. With a heart not heavy as lead but light as a feather, Saunders made his way to the table of his new home, as verdant as an evergreen, age-old oak.

Saunders, the son of a family whose interest evidently lay not in rebelling against the rules but in keeping them in place as long as possible, never dreamed of questioning the Sorting Hat's judgement about him. The fact that he was born into a social stratum that even they had forgotten that they wanted the preservation of the status quo precisely for their own interests and then, not to remember this very fact, turned everything into sublime issues with a strict moralism and traditionalism made this ceremony above any kind of questioning for the young snake. He was a caterpillar in a cocoon woven by a viewpoint that saw a positive correlation between something's antiquity and its unquestionability; and Hogwarts, if it were not just a school, would be the place where Saunders would finally pierce the walls of that cocoon and turn into a butterfly.

Here was one of the freshest of these Slytherins, sitting quietly at the table reserved for his house. Saunders realised that, in contrast to the laughing and howling trio near them, a quiet boy was sitting close by. Such a contrast. They had not met before. If they had, he would have remembered this boy, because the hair of this yet unfamiliar snake gave Saunders a mildly jealous admiration. The boy might well have been the most princely-looking one at the table, and this was somewhat uncomfortable for Saunders, who was accustomed to being unrivalled in this position, but inevitably intriguing, as it allowed him to liken the boy to himself in this respect. A desire to meet this boy arose in him, even though, as usual; the extremely unstable and almost mulish sovereign over his feelings, on the other hand, made him hold back.

When he saw that the boy was writing something, the idea of giving up greeting him became even stronger in his mind. After all, it would be only rude to disturb a busy person for small talk. But once curiosity was aroused, it was too late, it turned into a raging water that broke through the dykes. "Are you doing homework already?" Saunders asked the boy. "Well, I don't think they've given us any homework yet."

He then introduced himself, skilfully keeping his eyes away from the paper on which the other boy was scribbling, to avoid giving the impression that he was a nosy busybody. "Saunders," he said amicably as if trying to convey that he, like the boy himself, was a fresher, "Saunders Napier.", and slowly held out his hand to the boy.

italics: thoughts ‒ normal: narration ‒ #3c7980: speech

@Saunders Napier

While writing Donald thinks back at what happened since the departure from the platform 9¾, making sure to write a warm thank you to Mr Abercomby, one of the tutors he bonded most during his childhood, and the one who accompanied him to the platform.

He is still wrapping his head around to finally have come to Hogwarts. During the years he only heard tall tales around its stone walls, so full of history and mistery. But there isn't only that. Since the Sorting ceremony a weight has been lifted from Donald's back, since now the proud Benjamin Robinson can rest assured that his legacy will remain a pure Slytherin one. A sigh escapes from the boy's lips: now he just needs to be a perfect student.

The approaching boy, then, quickly made Donald jump on himself, who was still deeply entrenched in writing his letter, almost like he hoped he became invisible in the process. "Wha- Oh." He looks down on the few pharagraps already written, then back to the boy who noticed him. "No it's, uhm. It's a letter. For my parents." His left hand still playing a bit with the quill full of ink.

Despite the lack of words from Donald there's a certain grace to it. He might have hoped to be invisible, and that attempt might have been both futile and obvious, but still, there's an air to the boy. His back remains straight despite the lack of a backrest, and even if he isn't eating he still left aside his plate right where the house elves would be more quick to take it back. He even remembered to take off his gloves, now on the bench near him, something quite few other students did especially on the other tables.

"No, they still didn't... A lot of professors are still making sure that everyone has all the books.." For a moment he looks down on the floor, before quickly looking back up to the other boy, as if correcting his manners.

He answers quickly shaking the boy's - Saunders' - hand. "Donald Robinson." he adds, "It's a pleasure." Then a bit unsure, "Are you...new too?"

@Donald Robinson

"Hvor dejligt," "How lovely" Saunders thought, "en velopdragen dreng" "a well-mannered boy", as he shook Donald's hand. These days it was admittably difficult to find people who were courteous enough not only in intentions, but also in words, and even in deeds. Watching Donald take off his gloves, Saunders was glad to have met someone who could not be the target of this general moaning.

The boy was obviously not doing homework, he was writing a letter. Why did Saunders think he was doing homework? He preferred not to talk about it any more, especially so that he would not have to face the fact that he had been holding the boy back from his letter.

Robinson... He vaguely recalled having met a few people with that surname. But he had no means of knowing whether they were related to Donald or not. He rather refrained from asking, deeming the matter superfluous at the moment, and shifted his focus to getting to know the boy in front of him. "They all seem nice, the professors," he murmured softly, "wouldn't you agree?" It was an indirect offer to Donald to exchange gossip. Maybe there was someone among the professors that the boy considered not "nice" enough? The boy did not seem to have fully settled in yet, but Saunders would have regretted it later if he had continued the conversation without enquiring whether Donald had such an idea.

"Yes," he answered the boy's question, with a slight smile, "I'm certainly new." Well... He had heard stories about Hogwarts all his life, so he did not feel especially alienated. Still, it was much easier and preferable to share the literal truth than to convey something in a nuanced way. "How do you like Slytherin," Saunders asked, taking over the turn to ask questions, "is everything as you hoped?" He added, his hand on his chin: "I hope the letter you wrote to your parents described your sorting into Slytherin as good news." To alter slightly the statement of an acquaintance whom Saunders greatly esteemed, there seemed to be a broad coalition of dissatisfied voices at Hogwarts lately consisting of people who were rather bitter about the Hat's decision about them. Was Donald one of them?

italics: thoughts ‒ normal: narration ‒ #3c7980: speech

@Saunders Napier

Saunders Napier...he heard the name, he was sure of it. He could sense a nagging thought not yet formed in the back of his mind. A pureblood line dating back for centuries. Worn out portraits from his book, while he was scribbling a flower right beside a paragraph. The teacher scolding him.
Still, Saunders seemed nice enough to talk with. Wonder why he'd talk to me though. After all, wasn't the Great Hall full of children far more interesting - even if louder - than him?

He looks up for a second, recalling the various teachers "Yes, they all seem nice enough-", before being more honest, "I didn't expect the Transifiguration professor, Mr. Perceval-Phelan, to be so...scary. In the couple of lessons we had I could almost feel him...I don't know, waiting for someone to be wrong. Or the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts to be so calm and lenient." He feels a small shiver going down thinking back again to Transfiguration. He thought he would have enjoyed the subject, but with a strict professor it was difficult for him to focus. The opposite was happening with DADA: he would have sweared he'd hated the subject, but instead he was finding it rather easy.

A bright smile breaks into the boy's lips, finding a kinship with Saunders in their newness to Hogwarts. The smile fades a bit with the question, but doesn't falter altogether, "It's as I expected, really." With clear smugness, "My family talked endlessy about our Common Room. I wanted to better see the art on the tapestries, but I didn't expect it to be so dark..." He bites his lips, "Still. One of these days I want to go take a look at them properly." Seemingly much more interested into the art of the place than anything else. Nonetheless, when Saunders mentions his letter he shifts back a bit, as if to hide what he was writing. "Yes. It is good news."

He almost lets it drop right there, before adding "Oh, but I didn't want to keep you standing! Please, sit." before quickly making space for Saunders near him, both a show of etiquette and maybe a further opening up of the shy boy.

A new year meant a whole crop of new danger noodles, a.k.a. first years! Colin's attention wandered from new face to new face, wondering which ones of them would even survive long enough to make it to second year! He considered himself very lucky, even blessed. He'd survived attacks from werewolves and hag dolls and duels with kids much older than him. He smirked. He chalked that up to a solid Hogwarts education. If you didn't die or disappear into the deep dungeons, you stood a pretty good chance of making it through all seven years!

His ears soon picked up a new voice. London accent. Likely some posh Pureblood! With a block of cheese in one hand, he turned towards the new conversation. Neatly combed and brushed hair, perfect neck tie, shirt correctly buttoned and robes of midnight perfection hanging from his still small shoulders. Saunders Napier. Of course, the Napier family was well enough known! He was talking to yet another new kid. And this one Colin took note of immediately!

A familiar Scottish accent and not just any old Scottish! That particular lilt that spoke of Highland remoteness. Colin leaned forward, certain that the voice was known to him, but at present hidden by the one who introduced himself as Napier. Colin smiled. Yep! Longish blondish hair, narrow face. It could only be ...

"Oi! Napiers Bones!" Colin addressed the still standing boy. "Saunders Napier! Ye dinna have to stand there the whole time! Sit yerself down!" He leaned further forward. "Donald! Welcome to the Best House! I was wondering when you were going to pass through the portentious portals of Hogwarts School. And no Gryffindorque for the Robinson, eh? That goes for you too, Napiers Bones! Try not to die, both of you!"

Colin laughed merrily. At Hogwarts, one never knew what the future held, even though the divination professor might say otherwise!

@Donald Robinson | @Saunders Napier

OOC Note: Napiers bones are a mathematical calculating device that all wizarding children will be familiar with as it does very much what a muggle "calculator" does!