Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JKR and the WB. There's no money involved. Also, the title comes from a Jack Johnson song (which has nothing to do with the plot, just a good title).
A/N: This started out as just a fic about Neville (that was going to start with the first segment), but I couldn't think of anything to add to it so decided to mess around with what I kind of think each character felt like before he or she started at Hogwarts, since we've only ever known Harry's feelings. Please read and review and let me know which segment you like best.
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The blackness. The shouts and cries and screams. "You'll tell me, you fools! You'll tell me or you'll die!" I can never see any of them. I don'twant to see any of them. Well, sometimes I want to see mum and dad. But I'd rather not have any flickers of it at all. The blackness. The noise.
The woman doesn't kill them. None of them kill them. But they nearly do. She's gone. And he's gone. We're gone. Our family.
Sometimes they remember, but only a little. They think I'm still a baby. And they know Gran, but just a little. Always just a little. And it makes mefeel little. To know there's nothing I can do to make them think straight, to make them remember.
Gran's badgering doesn't help, either. "Your father would've killed that bat right there on the spot. He wouldn't have run away. He would make us proud. Why don't you make us proud like your father, Neville? Hmm?" It isn't just that she's mean about it that makes me feel bad. It's that I sometimes feel bitter towards dad and I hate that. I feel terrible, even if I just think it for a second. Even the littlest second.
But maybe it'll be different here. Maybe people won't pick on me and nag, nag, nag all the time. Maybe I'll make a real friend other than this stupid toad.
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Gryffindor. Lion. Scarlet and gold. Courage. Godric Gryffindor. Professor Minerva McGonagall. Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, affectionately known as "Nearly Headless Nick."
Ravenclaw. Eagle. Blue and bronze. Intellect. Rowena Ravenclaw. Professor Filius Flitwick. The Grey Lady.
Hufflepuff. Badger. Yellow and black. Loyalty, patience, etc. Helga Hufflepuff. Professor Pomona Sprout. The Fat Friar.
Slytherin. Serpent. Silver and green. Cunning. Salazar Slytherin. Professor Severus Snape. The Bloody Baron.
Ooh. Those Slytherins do sound like a nasty lot. Every time I think about that house I get the chills. I sure hope I don't end up in there.
"Mum! Hey, mum! I memorized all the houses!"
"Lovely, darling. And have you decided if any of them are good enough for my amazing daughter?"
"Oh, mum," she shook her head, untamable bushy brown hair bouncing all over the place, but was smiling wide. She chuckled before speaking again. "I've told you a million times, mum. I don't decide which house I get put into. The Sorting Hat does that after he sings! But anyway, I think I'd do best in Ravenclaw. They seem like the kind of people who like peace and quiet and libraries. And I read that to get into the dorms you have to answer a tricky riddle! I love riddles! And their colors are blue and bronze. And the head of house, Professor Flitwick, he teaches Charms. I'll bet he's a genius. The house ghost is a bit of a mystery, though. The Grey Lady. I couldn't find any information on her anywhere. But I have about ten more books about the school to read, so I'll probably find something soon."
"That one soundsperfect for you, darling. But, you know, no matter which one picks you it will be perfect. You're going to have the best time, hon. I always knew you were special." She sniffled a little behind the newspaper. "I do love you so much, Hermione. You'll write every day, right? You promise?"
"I promise, mum. I'll write every day and I'll tell you everything."
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A small orange-haired boy was sitting on a patch of nearly-dry grass in front of what looked like a mile-high stack of boxes, teetering ever-so-slightly in the breeze. His nails were chewed messily, his freckles prominent and numerous, his shirt baggy and pants held together by patches of every color and pattern imaginable. He wasn't much aware of what was going on around him. All he heard were the shouts of his brothers and screech of his mother as she reprimanded Fred or George or some other orange-haired child. He laid back on the dirty lawn, his eyes closed and arms folded behind his head. The sun pulled even more freckles out of hiding on his nose and cheeks and arms. He felt something brush against his hand, something light, his rat's tail or a bit of grass. He felt it again, felt it moving toward his wrist, impeded a bit by each little orange hair on his arm. It was slow, slower than the rat, slower than…He had projected off the ground in a split second, waving his arms and kicking his legs frantically, shaking all over, scratching his face. They were all over. Hundreds of tiny eyes. Thousands of hairy legs. Millions of spiders, crawling all over him. His skin tingled everywhere. His head ached from shaking it. But he had to get them off, had to run, kick, shake. Had to get somewhere safe. He screamed and ran to the backyard, running into a tall, broad figure.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, little brother. What's going on?" The younger boy tried to back away but felt a firm grip on his shoulder. "Were you attacked by invisible spiders again? Come on, Ronnykins, you need to get over that. There. Are. No. Spiders. It's all in your head, baby brother!" The tall boy laughed and shoved the small one lightly into another tall orange-haired sibling.
"Yeah, Ronnie. You're starting Hogwarts! You can't be afraid of something silly likespiders when you have Snape to worry about!" This brother chuckled and mussed up the shivering boy's hair with a large, freckled hand.
"It's okay, Ron. I don't like spiders either," a little red-haired girl in a white dress that revealed white freckled shoulders said quietly as she reached for her brother's hand.
"Shove off. I'm not afraid. I'm not a little girl," the boy, still shaking and scratching, held his head high and said with unconvincing courage to his littler sister. She dropped her outstretched arm and blinked her eyes as her head drooped a little. He felt bad but wouldn't let it show. He couldn't feel bad, couldn't be afraid of stupid spiders. Not when he was about to start at Hogwarts.
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The table was set for twelve. Twelve cold, polished silver dishes with twelve cold, polished silver goblets. Twelve heavy silver knives and twelve heavy silver forks. Too heavy to lift. Too heavy to cut with. Green napkins, of course. Twelve green napkins with the silver family crest. The crest that branded everything he saw, everything he touched and wore. Family pride. What wasn't to take pride in? They were strong, powerful, pure.
He shivered in the cold of the stone room. The only warmth in the mansion came from the one large fireplace, but he wasn't allowed in that room. That room is for guests, for meetings, for business. Always business. The business of staying pure. He knew all about it. But he pretended he didn't. He wasn't sure whether his father wanted him to know. Why wouldn't he? It's something to take pride in.
The only red he ever saw was his own. But he wouldn't think about that. Tonight is for celebration. They are celebrating him. Him! But it wouldn't really be about him, would it? It never was. Even his birthdays are more for his parents than for him. For his mother to put on a party. For his father to show off their wealth. For the family name. Not his name. Not Draco. It's all for the family. For pride. For purity.
Tomorrow he was leaving, but would it be any better? It wasn't really freedom. It was never freedom. Just another silver and green crest. Another family. And his own father was the father of this one as well. For pride. For purity.