Wow, a HP fanfic, I didn't think that would happen. Ever.
Note Replacing The Other Note: Since I've received only one review, I'll assume almost no one likes this story. If so, can someone please tell me what I'm doing wrong? That'd be nice, because improving my writing is the main reason I'm doing this.
Harry Potter and all associated characters are copyrighted by JK Rowling. The only one I made is Sarah Brighton, unfortunately.
A student's first impression of the Great Hall is said to mould their entire future at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The sight of the night sky seen through the Great Ceiling sends many into an awed silence, and the glow of a thousand candles floating above the tables have a likewise effect. The tall, imposing silhouettes of the teachers earn them a little slice of respect and an extra large helping of teeth rattling fear. The sound of chatting teenagers welcomes the new students into their life for the next seven years and encourages them to make friends quickly.
That is, it welcomes them into their life in a haunted, rickety old castle that likes to torment students out of spite and encourages them to make friends quickly for their own safety.
Except, that last bit wasn't true. Not the castle, which took a particular interest in creating new and interesting booby traps every week just to see how far it could damage someone without actually killing them, but the sound of chattering students. It was strangely absent. In it's place was a strange, breathy silence that consisted of a lot of people trying to be quiet at once and failing. Someone in the back coughed.
It was slightly unnerving, the way the silence had spread outwards from the doors as soon as they opened. It had been like a strange domino effect, knocking over each and every student on its way to the head table (though, not actually like a domino effect, because that would cause quite a lot of confusion and the weight of some of the Hufflepuffs would probably send their victims to the Hospital Wing). By the time the first years made it into the room it had spread all the way to the end of the Great Hall, which only served to make the small children even more confused and nervous than they already were.
And every single person in the hall was staring at them. Someone was probably going to end up wetting themselves.
The cause of the sudden hush was a small, black haired little boy shuffling his feet in the middle of the first years. His bright green eyes were turned to floor, as if he didn't want to return the stares being directed at him. The son of the famous Harry Potter, who had defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort at the age of seventeen, Albus Severus Potter was fully aware of the reflected glory he was receiving, and was not very happy about it. Nevertheless, his small face wore a smile that melted nearly all of the hearts around him. It put them in mind of kittens and teddy bears and other things cute and pure. It was such an innocent smile that most people assumed he was thinking of fluffy little puppies or rescuing baby birds.
This is because most people are extremely stupid. Many a child has gotten away with setting fire to something with a pair of cute, puppy dog eyes and a "But I didn't mean to, Mummy." Only the most experienced of mothers know the danger signals and make the appropriate response, which is "Oh no you don't, you little bugger! Get back here!"
Albus was, in fact, also thinking of setting fire to something.
Namely, the Sorting Hat.
It seemed like a stupid idea to him, to split all the students up into four groups. All it did was encourage prejudice and petty rivalries. Besides, the idea of the Sorting Hat in of itself was rather disturbing. It could see into your head and watch every single cheek burning moment of embarrassment you ever went through. It could look into the dark recesses of your mind and identify your deepest, most well kept secrets. It could-
A low sniggering sound interrupted his thoughts. It was deep and sinister, and spoke of dark corners and foul deeds. It was the kind of snigger used by demons when tormenting lost souls with hot pitchforks and Blonde Bimbo albums. It was the laugh most connected with communists, or extremists, or whoever else the Americans had decided was evil. Suffice to say, it wasn't very nice.
There it was again! A soft snigger almost beyond hearing. It was coming from the blonde boy, Scorpius Malfoy, who was currently wearing the Sorting Hat.
The disgusting old hat was laughing.
If he concentrated, he could hear it whispering to the Malfoy boy. "…Well, you do have a nancy boy for a father, don't you? Now, what House shall I put you in? I'll just have a look see at your memories."
A pause.
"Gosh! Is that you wearing a tutu? Wasn't it embarrassing? It sure is fun to watch, I can tell you that."
Another pause.
"Well, well. Started that a little young haven't we? Just make sure you don't end up going blind."
Malfoy' face got redder and redder as the Sorting Hat combed through his memories, but thankfully there was only a few more comments dissecting his private life before he was sorted into Slytherin. By the time he got off of the stool the colour of his head reminded Albus of an over ripe tomato. He was even tinged with green, like the little mouldy bits you get when you leave it in the fridge for too long. It almost looked as if her were about to-
Oh.
The entire school watched as Scorpius Malfoy made his way over to Professor McGonagall, who was gesturing desperately at the large bucket placed next to her. Only Albus heard the sinister giggles of the Sorting Hat over the retches of an eleven year old boy.
His innocent smile grew wider. All it would take was a couple of matches, and if he cleaned up all the ashes afterwards no one would ever need to know...
--
James Potter, on the other hand, was not very interested in the spectacle of Malfoy throwing up his guts in front of the entire school. He was one of those children who rarely focus on anything other than themselves, and when they do pay attention, it's either to shout at someone or ask for money.
The problem he was currently occupied with was the school uniform, which despite his best efforts, he could not get to look the least bit attractive. It consisted of a long, flowing robe, a white undershirt, a striped tie and in winter, God forbid, a matching scarf. He had done his best by untucking the shirt, deliberately loosening his tie and mussing his hair up.
He thought he looked quite handsome. Everyone else thought he looked as if he had been mauled by a small bear.
Just as he was thinking of rolling up the sleeves of his robes for extra effect, his ears picked up on a line of conversation he was actually interested in. Quidditch.
"I really think the Chuddley Cannons have a chance at the cup this year. Didn't you see what they did to Ireland last week? And they used to be the best team in the world!"
James joined in with a comment of his own. "You don't know what you're talking about, Stevens. The Chuddley Cannons have about as much chance of winning the cup as a tissue has of staying dry when put within 50 metres of Moaning Myrtle."
"Oh yeah, Potter? Want to start a fight over it? I could-"
"Oh, would you meat heads please shut up about that stupid game?" interrupted Sarah Brighton, a fifth year girl. "You'd think it was some sort of bloody religion, the way you go on about it."
The boys stared at her for a while, and then glanced at each other. She was insulting Quidditch. The heretic.
"Look, Sarah," said James, his voice slightly strangled. He was trying to hold back the urge to call on the British Team to smite her for her blasphemy. "You're good at book smarts and that sort of thing, but you're not an expert on Quidditch so-"
"I have a right to comment on whatever I like, Jock Boy. Especially Quidditch. Just give me one good reason why I shouldn't criticise a sport that has a high chance of inducing brain damage by bludger. Oh, and James? Why do you look like you've been hit by a tornado?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Your uniform! Oh, never mind. The point is…"
The point was long and boring. Sarah was good at extensive, mind numbing speeches, and everyone knew it. There were several groans as she began a long winded rant about the dangers of playing catch 50 feet up in the air with balls that tried to kill you.
--
If James had been listening, which he wasn't, he would have heard a far more interesting conversation taking place on top of Albus' head, the current residence of the Sorting Hat.
"Look, why do you have to peek inside my brain just to see where to sort me? Couldn't we just have a multiple choice test or something?"
Hats, unlike disgruntled students, did not have the ability to groan. It gave it a good try, though. "The founders were paranoid that one of their students would decide to take themselves and half the school out in a suicide bombing, okay? Apparently it was all the rage back then."
"Your point being?"
"The Sorting is a customs check. Scan this student, they're clean, scan that student, whoops they're just a little bit extremist, better cut their head off. That sort of thing."
"Wow, I never knew the founders were so…"
"Violent? Yes, I know. Now let's have a look at your mind, shall we?"
"Er, you see, the thing is… um, you shouldn't do that… because, um…"
Neither can hats screw their faces up in rage, so the Sorting Hat settled with shouting. "I saw that thought, you little git! You're thinking of setting fire to me, aren't you?! Oh, you'll pay for that."
"Oh, yeah? And how, exactly, as a battered old hat, are you going to enact your revenge?"
"I have the power to sort you wherever I like, thank you very much. Tick me off and I just might put you in Hufflepuff."
"You're allowed to do that?"
"I'm called the Sorting Hat for a reason, brat. It's kind of my job." There was a brief interim, in which both parties passed through the barrier of silence into the dark domain of Not Talking to One Another. But, unfortunately, the Sorting Hat couldn't hold itself in for very long. "Wait, I saw that thought too! How dare you use such foul language? I know just where to sort someone like you. Oh yes, you belong in…"
"Oh, crud."
"…SLYTHERIN!"
--
Sarah's rant had finally ended. Now, there was a verbal battle beginning between the Quidditch Fundamentalists, lead by James Potter, and the Secular Atheists (Headed by Sarah Brighton and Rose Weasley). James was just about to make some scathing comments about the heretics' hairstyles when the Sorting Hat shouted out his brother's house.
If he had been drinking anything he would have spat it straight out again, right onto Sarah Brighton and her supporters (and serve them right it would've, too). As it was he made due with dramatically rising to his feet and screaming.
"What?! There must have been some sort of mistake! I demand a recount! Oh no you don't, Albus, put that hat back on!"
"Mr Potter, would you please calm down?" said Professor McGonagall, rising from her seat. "There's no need to shout like that. And what have you done to your uniform? You look like you've been run over by a flock of wild geese."
Albus watched as his brother was eventually restrained by his friends. He viewed the proceedings in interest as they tied his hands behind his back, forced him into his chair and, in the case of Sarah Brighton, knocked him out with a small dinner plate. It all looked very methodical, but then again, they'd probably had a lot of practise.
Eventually he made his way over to the Slytherin table and sat down next to Scorpius Malfoy, who was muttering something about hormones. Albus thought about what would happen when news of his sorting got back home. Suddenly, the future looked extremely bleak.
After a brief silence, he said "You know, I'm probably going to die when my mother finds out about this."
Malfoy nodded. "Me too. If my father hears about the tutu he'll probably kill me himself. And as for the other bit, well…"
"Want to join my 'We're Doomed' club? We've got jackets."
"Really?"
"No."
"Okay then."
And the world became a little bit brighter.
That's all there is, folks. There may be more eventually, but, as I said before, that depends.
Also, I know I overuse italics slightly. Its just something I do.
