-Revenge Theory-
Autumn Summers was known for many things. She was known for her rather unfortunate name, for her Ravenclaw brilliance, her stolid temperament, her impressive ability to hold a grudge when someone did finally manage to anger her, and, most recently, for managing to snag the Head Girl badge for her final year at Hogwarts. She was a quiet, reserved sort, with few close friends, though by no means unfriendly. Occasionally she would reveal a wicked streak—her few and far-between grudges had led to a penchant for revenge. She was known to be kind to her friends and vicious to her enemies, and most people were wise enough to, accordingly, stay on her good side.
Autumn Summers was known for many things. She was not known for her cunning plans.
It was widely assumed that cunning plans were Slytherin domain. Cunning was, well, pretty much in the job description (although some Slytherins were so blatantly terrible at it that the Hogwarts rumor mill could only speculate as to how in the world they had managed not to get sorted into the House of dunderheads (whether this was Gryffindor or Hufflepuff was still up for debate)), and planning went along with the territory. Slytherins made cunning plans, Gryffindors went about shouting and attempting to foil them, Hufflepuffs wailed in the background, wringing their hands, and Ravenclaws took notes. That was the way of things… in theory.
In reality, Slytherins could be just as thick as any member of the Dunderheaded House of choice, Ravenclaws could be just as busy yelling and thwarting (just usually with more books involved) as Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs could leap out of the woodwork with a cunning plan that no one expected because they were Hufflepuffs (the cunning plans of Slytherins often fell flat just because no one was ever really surprised by them), and Gryffindors were sometimes the ones needing to be foiled.
Autumn Summers was responsible; she was helpful; she was authoritative; and she was now Head Girl. She had been attempting to thwart the numerous and varied cunning plans of Messirs Fred and George Weasley for two years. Unfortunately for her, despite being older and (theoretically) a lot smarter than the two red-headed menaces… she failed at thwarting. A lot. Unfortunately for them, while Autumn Summers was not known for her cunning plans, she was rather known for her grudges… and for acting on these grudges. She was good at it; she'd had a lot of practice. And now she had concocted a perfect plan, which was cunning, true—but it was also brilliant. And Autumn Summers was known for her brilliance.
Ronald Weasley, Fred and George's younger brother, was entering Hogwarts this coming year. He would be sorted into Gryffindor, of course. Everyone knew that Weasleys, inevitably, got sorted into Gryffindor. It was a fact of life, like "Diagon Alley is not diagonal," or "it's impossible to steal from Gringotts." Weasleys belonged in Gryffindor, and that was that.
Autumn planned—cunningly— to change that.
It hadn't been her original plan. In fact, she was still rather amazed that it had occurred to her at all—it was impossible to enchant the Sorting Hat; everybody knew that, and so she hadn't wasted any time scheming on how to do it. She hadn't even been scheming at all—the idea had come to her while she was reading a book called Rune Schematics for the Eccentric Elite, and had come across a set of translation runes that would, theoretically, allow someone to speak fluently in even a language they knew nothing of. Unfortunately, the actual workings of the rune schema made widespread use ridiculously impractical. The runes were inscribed in an object to be worn, but they would only recognize translations that were inputted manually. Consequently, the runes were not in widespread use, especially since there were other charms and potions that would serve the same purpose with much less difficulty. But the thing about this particular rune network was that it didn't actually affect what the speaker said at all; it only registered the words spoken and translated them afterward, in the space between what was spoken and what the person spoken to heard.
And inspiration struck Autumn like a bolt out of the blue: The stool. Every year, McGonagall uses the same stool. And she only needed four words.
Gryffindor.
Ravenclaw.
Hufflepuff.
Slytherin.
She smiled a slow, slightly evil smile and began to plan.
Cunningly.
There was the problem, of course, that people would notice if Gryffindor suddenly had a dearth of first years. After all, as brilliant (and cunning) as her plan was, it wouldn't allow her to only mis-sort Ron Weasley; it was all of the Gryffindors or none.
So who would take their place?
Autumn Summers pondered.
She knew for a fact that there were at least three children of suspected Death Eaters entering Hogwarts this year… Yes, yes, that would do nicely. The only thing she would regret was not being able to see the looks on their faces when they heard that their precious pureblooded heirs had been sorted into the house of blood-traitors. As a halfblood who had heard plenty of horror stories about the first war from her muggleborn father, she had as much festering resentment for the Death Eaters that had escaped justice as the next person. And she was, as previously established, rather good at keeping grudges.
So that was that. The Gryffindors would go to Slytherin and the Slytherins would go to Gryffindor. If all went well, no one would be the wiser.
But then she remembered the Boy-Who-Lived. The Boy-Who-Lived… that she was about to condemn to Slytherin.
Autumn Summers was known to be kind to her friends and vicious to her enemies. Harry Potter was not her enemy; in fact, seeing as he'd defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and all, she rather thought that she might owe him. Not even revenge on the Weasley twins was worth betraying that.
But that was alright. It would be sort of brilliant to have the Boy-Who-Lived in her house anyway. And Autumn Summers was known for her brilliance.
"So we've just got to try on a hat!" Ron was exclaiming in relief. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll!"
Harry eyed the Sorting Hat, which was patched and frayed and looked older than the hills. He wasn't particularly enthused about having to put it on his head, but he supposed that it was better than a troll.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Abbot, Hannah!"
A blond, round-faced girl with pigtails trotted up to be seated on the stool, and the hat, far too large, fell down around her ears so that no one could see her expression as it announced after a moment, "SLYTHERIN!"
The girl on the stool gasped, tearing the hat from her head and giving it a look of such horrified, abject betrayal that Harry couldn't help but wince in sympathy. Slytherin couldn't be so bad, could it?
Judging from the whispers and staring that abounded, it could. Apparently this sorting was unexpected.
McGonagall's surprise was communicated only by a slight widening of the eyes as Hannah Abbot, looking absolutely crushed, shuffled uncertainly toward the hesitantly clapping Slytherin table. "Bones, Susan!" the professor continued without pause.
Susan Bones was staring at Hannah Abbot with such single-minded focus that she almost ran into Professor McGonagall on her way up. But when she finally did turn her attention to the hat, her expression was determined; for what, Harry couldn't even begin to guess. When she was promptly sorted into Slytherin too, the widespread shock was much less subtle; more than one surprised exclamation was heard, mostly from the Hufflepuff table, but Susan looked satisfied. She was grinning as she sat down beside her relieved friend at the Slytherin table.
Things just got weirder from there. Harry didn't really understand why it was such a big deal, but according to the frantic whisperings of Ron, who had grown up in the wizarding world, the Abbots and Boneses had been Hufflepuffs for absolute ages, and for them to be sorted into Slytherin—Hufflepuff's polar opposite—was a shock to many.
"I don't know how they ended up with the Snakes. They seemed nice," the redhead muttered rather dazedly, and Harry, looking at the two girls sitting close and comforting each other with soft words and smiles, couldn't help but agree.
Terry Boot seemed a bit surprised to be sorted into Hufflepuff, but not really upset. Mandy Brocklehurst, to the contrary, burst into tears when the Hat sent her to join him. Lavender Brown glared angrily at the Hat when it sorted her into Ravenclaw. Each sorting got a reaction—the mildest being slight confusion and the most severe involving many wails and loud protests.
When Vincent Crabbe was called up, Hogwarts held its breath.
"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat declared.
Ron groaned, the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables erupted in a wild cacophony of noise, and Dumbledore twinkled his eyes at them all. Harry exchanged a rather frightened glance with his fellow first years, a great deal of whom were suddenly a lot less confident that they would be sorted into their predetermined Houses.
"Potter, Harry!"
By this time the Great Hall was dead silent. Several heirs of prominent pureblood, classically Slytherin families had already been sorted into Gryffindor, students from long lines of Hufflepuffs had been unceremoniously sorted into Slytherin, and bookworm after bookworm had been deposited into Hufflepuff. Draco Malfoy, seated at the tail-end of the Gryffindor table with Goyle and Crabbe on either side, was already frantically penning a letter to his father, doubtless stating what he had already announced to the school at large directly after his sorting: that the Sorting Hat was obviously senile and defective and that he demanded a re-sorting into his proper House. Newly-sorted Gryffindor Pansy Parkinson had unfortunately been overcome by the stress and had to be escorted to the Hospital Wing as she hyperventilated. In fact, the only sorting that had gone even marginally as expected was that of Hermione Granger, who was sorted into Ravenclaw, and even she seemed faintly disappointed by her sorting.
Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived, was about to be sorted, and Hogwarts was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Harry picked up the Hat, settled down carefully onto the stool, and lowered it down over his eyes. The last thing he saw before darkness enclosed him was a hall full of pale, silent faces staring at him in complete dread.
"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… So where shall I put you?"
Harry, somewhat surprised that he was being asked, considered his options. On one hand, he'd been warned against Slytherin by both Hagrid and Ron. On the other hand, the other first years that had been sorted into Slytherin seemed nice, which was more than he could say for the Gryffindors. Malfoy was in Gryffindor. He shifted apprehensively. Hufflepuff? he thought uncertainly. Ravenclaw? Anywhere but Gryffindor…
"Anywhere but Gryffindor, eh?" said the Hat. "Are you sure? I'm afraid neither Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff suits you quite so well. You would find friends in the House of lions… but if you're sure, then … yes. There's no doubt that you will find your way to greatness in—" there was an odd moment of hesitation— "GRYFFINDOR!"
AN: I'll probably continue this someday (it has way too much potential not to), but for now it remains a one-shot. That said, if anyone likes the idea and wants to adapt or continue it themselves, I have no objections so long as you ask first.
Don't forget to review! C:
~Killer Zebra.
Disclaimer: Belongs to Rowling! Also, there are a few excerpts from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone in the above text (mostly dialogue). Those aren't mine either, obviously.