MHA 2025!

The Great Hall was even grander than I'd imagined, even knowing what to expect. Rows upon rows of long tables stretched out before me, laden with steaming platters and flanked by chattering students. Above, an enchanted ceiling mimicked the stormy sky outside, complete with rumbling thunder and flashes of lightning. It was intimidating, magnificent, and terrifying all at once.

I tugged at the Slytherin green robes that felt strangely heavy on my shoulders. Mina Ashido. That's who I was now. Not some random girl displaced in time, but Mina Ashido, a Slytherin first year. I refused to think of myself as Daphne Greengrass, the name the Sorting Hat had spat out with such conviction. Mina Ashido, through and through.

Beside me, Jiro – Pansy Parkinson reborn, bless her – shivered delicately. "Cold, Ashido?" she drawled, her voice cutting through the buzz of the hall.

"Just... overwhelmed," I admitted, forcing a smile.

The Sorting Hat was where everything had gone sideways. I'd braced myself for it, prepared to shove my way into Gryffindor, rewrite destiny and become the new Harry Potter. But the bloody hat, after a mere second of deliberation, had bellowed "SLYTHERIN!" loud enough to make my ears ring.

And here I was.

We followed a gaggle of older Slytherins to one of the long tables. A blond, sharp-featured boy with an infuriating smirk sat at the head. That was Bakugo – Draco Malfoy. He looked up as we approached, his red eyes raking over us dismissively.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with arrogance. "The new blood. Try not to embarrass yourselves. We have a reputation to uphold."

Behind him, Kirishima, a hulking figure who had been Gregory Goyle, grinned nervously. "Chill out, Bakugo. They're just kids."

On Kirishima's other side, Sero, looking remarkably like Crabbe, snorted in agreement. Kaminari, as Theodore Nott, just watched with a detached air, his eyes filled with an unsettling intelligence. The four of them were a formidable force, a Slytherin power play I somehow had to navigate.

I took a seat beside Jiro, trying to ignore Bakugo's withering stare. Around us, older Slytherins were already digging into the feast. Roast beef, chicken, Yorkshire pudding, enough food to feed an army. I picked at a roll, my stomach churning with anxiety.

This wasn't my story. This wasn't the Harry Potter adventure I knew by heart. This was something else entirely.

During the feast, I tried to gauge the situation. The professors at the head table were exactly as I remembered. Dumbledore, twinkling and wise. McGonagall, stern but fair. And Snape… Snape, the Slytherin head, whose eyes seemed to bore into my very soul. A shiver ran down my spine. Snape was going to be a problem.

After the feast, the prefects led us to the Slytherin dungeons. The change in atmosphere was immediate. Gone was the warmth and grandeur of the Great Hall, replaced by cold stone and an unsettling stillness. The air was thick with the scent of damp and something indefinably ancient.

The common room was a murky green, illuminated by flickering torches. The furniture was heavy and ornate, the walls adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of power and ambition. It felt less like a living space and more like a mausoleum.

"Right, you lot," a sneering sixth-year prefect announced. "Bedrooms are upstairs. First years on the right. Don't even think about causing trouble. And remember, Slytherin is about self-preservation. Watch your backs."

The message was clear. This wasn't just about learning magic. It was about survival.

My dorm room was small and shared with Jiro and a couple of other girls I barely knew. The four-poster beds were draped with heavy green velvet, the air stale. As Jiro settled in, meticulously arranging her belongings, I wandered over to the window.

It looked out over the Black Lake, its surface dark and choppy under the stormy sky. In the distance, I could just make out the faint lights of Hogsmeade. It felt so far away, so unreachable.

I leaned my forehead against the cold glass, a wave of despair washing over me. I was trapped. Trapped in a house I didn't belong to, forced to play a part in a story that had already been written.

But as I stood there, staring out at the storm, a flicker of defiance sparked within me. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this wasn't just about surviving. Maybe this was about rewriting the story. Maybe, just maybe, Mina Ashido could carve her own path, even in the depths of Slytherin.

The Sorting Hat had made its choice, but I wasn't going to let it define me. I was Mina Ashido, and I wasn't going down without a fight. The game had changed, that much was certain. And I was ready to play.