Prologue: A Choice

"Greengrass, Astoria!"

There was a small sea of shoulders before her; she could see them, most of them on level with her eyes. She had always been tiny; Daphne was taller and curvier, with golden-brown hair and brilliant hazel-green eyes and sun-kissed skin. She was tiny and pale and insignificant.

She made her way through the gaggle of first-years and climbed up onto the stool, trying not to notice that a few people were laughing at her because her legs swung without hitting the floor. The tall, beaky-nosed old witch- McGonagall was her name- placed the raggedy Sorting Hat on her head.

"Story Greengrass," mused a voice in her head. Story had to stop herself from suddenly clenching the sides of the stool, although she did stop swinging her legs. "Surprised, are you? I read your mind, my dear, I know what you call yourself."

Well, where do I belong? she asked the hat. Where am I supposed to be?

"I approve of your common sense," said the Hat. "You're very unusual, Story- pureblood and noble, all the qualities of the perfect Slytherin girl, and yet you have far deeper things in you. Not loud, but deep."

Are you normally this poetic? Because frankly I would just like to go to wherever I'm meant to sit. I'm quite hungry.

"Yes, yes, my dear. All in due time. You're quite ferociously intelligent, you know," said the Hat, and if it weren't an inanimate object she would have sworn it seemed... approving. "And I do approve of you, Story Greengrass. I can see everything you are, and as little as you choose to believe it, you have greatness within you."

Does that mean I'm going to Gryffindor, then? I would be miserable there.

"Merlin, no. You would be abjectly unhappy. And Hufflepuff isn't even in the mix. No, it's down to Ravenclaw or Slytherin. And when it comes so very, very close, like it does with you, I let you choose."

Me? But you're the Hat. Shouldn't you be choosing?

"Sometimes it's important to let you choose who you want to be," said the Hat, and there was something inscrutably sad in its voice. "If you don't get some freedom, the things chosen for you will make the rest of your life a misery."

Who has that happened to, then?

"You only get your own Story," said the Hat wickedly.

That was a pathetic pun. I'm disappointed.

"Best I could do on such short notice." The Hat chuckled softly.

I'm arguing with a hat, Merlin bless it. Please just pick.

"I will not. Choose where you're going to be happy.

She had had her eyes closed, under the brim of the hat, and now she opened them slightly- not enough for anyone to tell she had opened them, but enough that she could see.

At Ravenclaw, directly before her, there were blue and bronze hangings. She could see intelligent faces, most of them paying attention, sharp and alert. She saw a girl with wispy, dirty-blonde hair with her wand stuck behind one ear; a dark, swarthy-yet-pretty Indian girl, a Chinese girl with a shy smile, three boys huddled together, a book in one of their laps. She hid a smile herself.

"Do you want to go there?" the Hat asked her. "It's becoming a bit of a wait- you've almost taken the longest turn for decision in the history of Sorting. And in case you didn't know, that's a lot of kids."

Story turned to look at the Slytherin table. Green and silver- familiarity, because she had seen those hangings at home, in her parents' room, in Daphne's room, at Malfoy Manor when her parents occasionally visited. She caught sight of Pansy Parkinson, Tracey Davis, and Scarlett Lympsham. Across from them were Draco Malfoy, Vince Crabbe, and Greg Goyle, down the row she recognized Theo Nott, Adrian Pucey, Marc Flint- all people she had heard of, seen pictures of, met at the various "Slytherin" parties at Malfoy Manor that had occurred over the two summers since Daphne had started school. And then, of course, there was Daphne, staring at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion of will-my-sister-go-to-another-House?

Her eyes wandered back to Draco Malfoy, as was easy to do. He was striking- the bright-blonde hair, the pale face. He looked bored, now, but he glanced her way casually, probably wondering, like everyone else, what was taking so long.

"You've long broken the record, you know," said the Hat pointedly. "A minute fifteen was the record, you've been here a minute thirty-seven-"

I know. And like that, she made her choice.

"SLYTHERIN!" roared the Hat, for all the hall to hear.

The Hat was lifted, and she glanced back briefly and smiled politely at Professor McGonagall before walking to the green-and-silver-hung table, slipping into a place next to her sister.

"That took a while," said Daphne in a low voice, as a red-headed girl Story had met on the train sat on the stool next. She was sorted promptly into Hufflepuff. Story put the girl from her mind- Ravenclaw friends were acceptable, but Hufflepuff and Gryffindor friends were not.

"Philosophical discussion," said Story, almost inaudibly; she had learned that if she wanted Daphne to leave her alone, all she had to do was speak quietly and use large words.

Daphne snorted. "Sure took a while." She turned away.

"Congrats, Astoria," said a voice from across the table; Theo Nott nodded coolly to her, his dark-green eyes regarding her without emotion. She knew Theo pretty well; the Notts and the Greengrasses both lived in Oxford, and Theo was in Daphne's year. They were friends. He had never paid much attention to Story before, beyond a nod or a perfunctory greeting. He was not a handsome boy, and Story had never much liked him.

Being a Slytherin, especially one as dubiously placed as she- a minute and forty seconds, she guessed, on the stool- meant that you had to be somewhat diplomatic, in your own House, anyway. She nodded to Theo. "Thank you."

He nodded back, those dark-green eyes still cold and inscrutable. She looked away, down the table. Pansy, Tracey, and Scarlett sat on her sister's other side. She hated Pansy- very secretly, however. Pansy was unpleasant to look at or talk to, even if she always had the best gossip. Tracey was all right. And there was something about Scarlett that Story knew she did not like- but Scarlett was a very nice, very polite person. Just like Story herself. Pansy and Daphne were dramatic, wear-it-out-on-your-sleeve types. Scarlett was more reserved. All four of the older girls smiled at her. Vince and Greg nodded to her- she didn't expect much more than that, because they barely had enough brain cells to nod and think at the same time. Draco ignored her completely, his wand out, playing with it. He prodded Pansy's plate with it; it rose into the air about an inch, then returned to the table silently. He had done it without speaking- Story knew that most kids under sixth year couldn't do nonverbal spells. Draco Malfoy was talented, yes- but not terribly nice.

And before her musings were even done, food had appeared from nowhere on the sparkling golden serving plates, and everyone was chattering as they dished up food. Vince and Greg ate like starving whales, naturally, contributing to the conversation by laughing when Draco said anything particularly witty. The job of the girls was to tease Draco and laugh at his jokes as well. And Draco's job was to say things that were sort of funny or rather rude, and look pleased with himself when all of them laughed.

Boring. Story sighed inwardly, though her face gave nothing away. She had learned early to keep her face from betraying what she thought.

"Did the Hat consider you for Ravenclaw, too?" asked Theo blandly.

She jumped. She had forgotten he was there.

"Yes, it did," she said reflectively. "I'm quite glad I came here, though."

"I was considered," said Theo, still bland, "but I was sent here, naturally." He took a bite of garlic potatoes. "

Hmmm, thought Story. Then Theodore hadn't chosen to come here, like I did. The thought was slightly disconcerting. She shook her head.

"Hey, look, Potter's back!" snickered Draco.

She spared a glance over at the Gryffindor table, but it didn't matter much to her. It was just so that she didn't have to explain that head shake to Theo Nott.

"And Granger was with him," said Pansy viciously. "God, she has got to be the ugliest Mudblood ever."

Being pureblooded doesn't make you particularly beautiful, thought Story, but she kept that thought deep down in the corners of her mind. If her sister and her friends knew about Story's opinions on blood status- the whole thing was ridiculous, frankly, and if wizards insisted on pureblood marriages they would all be dead in a few years- she would be ostracized, never allowed to have a friend. Slytherins were allowed to have differing bloodlines- Tracey was three-quarters pureblood, and Scarlett only a half-blood- but opinions were generally meant to be the same. If they weren't, then life in the dorms was usually much more unpleasant for you.

She wondered if maybe she should have gone to Ravenclaw after all. It was too late, anyway.