A/N: This was rather fun to write, though my muse pretty much took over my original idea and gave the Marauders the starring roles. Curse her and her crazes. She'll be obsessed with other characters soon enough, but until then I hope I can write a lot about these four. Never thought I'd say that, actually. But I mean it! Hopefully I got everyone in-character here.
The Disclaimer, if you are bored enough to be interested, is at the end. It likes the end.
Warning: Probable errors (canon, spelling, y'know... the Invisible Error Guy came over for a pizza party yesterday and probably screwed stuff up when I was editing); repeated mentions of mashed potatoes, 'flu and gloop; destruction of Hogwarts' property; terrible poetry; and dodgy formatting from this website. Also, Sirius stands on a table. Just thought I'd warn you.
Hope you like!
"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves?" -
Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington in 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone'.
Professor McGonagall - or McGonoghoul, as she would later be affectionately dubbed by this new generation of Hogwarts' students - stood primly next to an ordinary three-legged stool upon which perched a tatty old hat that looked as if it had seen better days. Mcgonoghoul herself looked as if she had had better days, due in part to the nasty bout of magical 'flu she had just finished fighting, but that was neither here nor there to the hundreds of people who were currently staring straight at her - no, straight at the hat: some were nervous, others interested but, mostly, they were bored and hungry students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; yet despite these differences in attitudes there was something that everyone in the room had in common.
They were expecting something.
Just as the expectant air rose to its peak height, a small tear at the brim of the hat began to open, wider and wider, and there was... a cough.
From the hat.
"I am terribly sorry," it said, the tear acting as a kind of mouth and the threadbare patch on its left side 'looking' at the teachers sat at the High Table (the smaller patch on the right moved about wildly), causing several students to gasp, "but I was recently overcome by hat 'flu and am not feeling very well." Here it paused, seeming to take in the reactions of its audience before deciding to continue. "Of course, the Magick the Founders Four infused me with is already healing my most grievous ailment, but it should take as long as the Sorting, and I won't be able to sing my song until after the students have been sorted into their respective Houses."
Hogwarts' headmaster pondered this new information. "You're quite sure that you have... hat 'flu?" he asked, observing the Hat from above his half-moon glasses shrewdly.
The Hat paused as if it were seriously considering its answer.
There was yet another expectant silence.
"Yes," it finally said.
"Poppy?" The Headmaster frowned at this set of unusual circumstances. This was all very odd, even for Hogwarts.
Hogwarts' Hospital Wing witch tapped a finger against her made-up lips, lost in the still-fresh memories of her medical training. "I... well, I don't recall hearing of it. But there isn't much known about enchanted hats, Headmaster. I suppose - if the magic on the hat were to say, weaken, one might say the Hat has - hat influenza," she finished lamely, managing to sound both professional and completely out of her depth at the same time. Spiffy.
Seeing the students' impatience - or rather hearing it, for the concept of 'children should be seen and not heard' had completely gone out the window the moment he'd made the crazy decision to become a teacher -, Albus reached a conclusion that, in the following years, he would come to regret.
Many, many times.
"Very well," he told the Hat, which had started to cough and wheeze in the absence of people talking to it, "you may precede. Just - try not to strain your voice, I do so love your annual musical contributions." A tear came to the old man's right eye. "Ah, music. A-"
"Yes, of course, Your Honour, thank you ever so much for your concern," the Hat interrupted quickly. "Now, time to sort Firsties!" it almost cackled, patches both turning to 'look' at the goggle-eyed First Years.
And that was when I could no longer ignore my misgivings. Peeves - where on earth was Peeves?
McGonoghoul lifted the roll of parchment with every First Year's name on. She would call out each name, one by one, and they would sit on the stool, under the Hat, and wait to be sorted. The Hat would look into their very minds...
"Abbott, Brian," McGoggle called out, and an extremely short boy rushed forward, messy blonde hair hanging over his eyes. He sat down on the stool and put the hat on his head; it covered his face completely.
"MASHED POTATOES!" a voice bellowed from inside the hat!
"W-what?" he asked, confused voice echoing in the large but muted Great Hall.
"Quite a frightened little mouse aren't we?" the voice of the Hat simpered, quieter this time, and he reasoned that it must only be audible to him. They had said it was an enchanted hat, hadn't they?
"I didn't mean to say it aloud," he protested, but the hat did not seem to hear him, for it merely began to sing a nonsensical song, repeating the lyrics several times.
"Abbott Brian, Abbott Brian, steal the horse and eat a lion. Abbott Brian, Abbott Brian, question ovens, Uruguayan..."
Brian decided to try politeness in the face of these unexpected occurrences. "Mr Sorting Hat," he began, "could you please sort me?"
"Not with an attitude like that!" the voice snapped quickly. "You young man are - Unsortable!" It said the last part to the entire audience, judging by the way the words echoed, and it filled Brian with dread.
"What?" No! This couldn't be happening. Surely he'd just fallen asleep in the Hogwarts Express and-
"Get off my stool and never come back."
Brian nearly burst into tears, but his voice was no more than a whisper, "Please, could you reco-"
"NOPE!"
And the hat lifted itself up and nudged him off the stool!
The befuddled students, the mystified ghosts, the startled teachers - all focused their attention on this one young boy, far more intently than the half-interested on-lookers of just moments before. Needless to say, it was a terrifying experience for the eleven year-old child, and he stuttered his way through an explanation. "I-I'm not to g-go to any H--H-House," was all he could manage.
Horrified whispers broke throughout the Hall, and I must confess - well, I don't make a habit of eavesdropping on private conversations, but one couldn't help but overhear - that I watched with some interest as the formerly grinning, messy-haired new student that I had noticed was very eager to be sorted became still and wide-eyed. "They can't really do that, can they? That's what Mum said, Mum said I was just worrying about nothing..." he whined. The poor boy was petrified, and I felt a sudden urge to reach out the arms of comfort, an instinct I had thought long-buried.
He grabbed the red-head in front of him who was looking quite bewildered by everything, and said, "Evans, you were joking, right? They can't really do that - you were lying, weren't you?"
Of course, by this time I had every idea of what was going on. Alas, a dead man's wisdom is often overlooked by the living, and the proceedings continued before I could even think of how to go about informing the Headmaster of my deductions. Although, looking back on these turn of events, I do believe he knew himself. A mystery wrapped within an enigma - that was the Albus I knew.
"Quiet!" Dumbledore ordered, in a slightly louder voice than usual. Presently the buzzing of students' speculations settled down and the Headmaster turned to the unfortunate boy. "Mr Abbott, could you please tell us what you mean?" he enquired patiently.
"I-" the boy began, somewhat calmed by his gentle demeanour, "-well, he - the Hat - he said that I was unsortable and that - that I shouldn't ever come back here again..."
Professor McGonagall gasped and looked directly at the Sorting Hat, which was once again wheezing hoarsely, sounding as if it were approaching the throes of death. "What is your explanation for this?" she said solemnly, ignoring its evident pain. She had had a particularly violent strain of the 'flu but had certainly not let herself become so affected by it!
"I... well..." the Hat hedged. "He was a bit rude, you know," it grumbled, and if it weren't a hat it would have pouted.
Brian Abbott shook his head. He hadn't been rude at all... all he wanted was to go to Hogwarts and learn magic like his family, he didn't even mind where he was sorted!
Professor Mcgonoghoul looked as if she doubted it. "Nevertheless, you must sort every child you are asked to. That is your duty, and despite your illness there is no excuse for you not to fulfil it."
"...Well, fine. He can go to Slytherin."
About five seconds later, everybody seemed to realise that the Sorting had finally, properly, begun, and Brian reluctantly crossed the hall to the Slytherin Table, where he was met with lukewarm applause.
Mcgonagall eyed the Sorting Hat for another heartbeat before turning back to her list. "Alderidge, Matthew," she called, and the requested student approached warily. His stride was steady and he did not seem to mind the attention of the hall, but there was the slightest shaky movement of his fingers as he reached to grab the 'ill' hat.
He had barely touched it when it wheezed out, "Hufflepuff!"
"What?!" Matthew yelled, shocked, but after a few calls to hurry up and "get over it!" (the latter from the Gryffindor table) was forced to join the Hufflepuffs at their table, grumbling all the way there.
Avery, Benedict was the third student to be sorted by the wayward Hat, which originally declared him a 'Hufflein", claiming the forgetfulness of old age when Professor Slughorn reminded him that such a House did not exist. Eventually, having had another (longer) look into Benedict's mind, the boy was allowed to take his expected place in Slytherin House, to much cheering and praising greetings from relatives.
"Black, Sirius!" was the next name called, and at the sound of the boy's surname many - including myself - examined this somewhat striking child more closely. The Black family were known pureblood supremacists, and there were a few cheers from the Slytherin Table before he had even put on the Hat. I looked at the members of my own House and realised that he did not have friends here.
Sirius slipped the enchanted hat onto his head and waited, almost bored, for what would come next. He had heard stories of this process from numerous relatives (most descriptively from his cousin Andromeda), and he knew what House he was expected to get into. What more was there to do but sit and wait for the inevitable green and silver House Crest he would receive?
Except.
Except this wasn't at all like what had been described. Rather than the one voice that would greet him (or not depending on the Hat's, er, stress levels) and then comment on his characteristics and abilities in order to determine Sirius' destined House, there were two, very distinct voices - and they were arguing.
Sirius could only seem to catch snippets of the conversation, however, almost as if most of the exchanges were taking place in a deeper part of the Hat's - 'brain', would it be?
"I was doing this perfectly until...Peevsie, Peevsie, asking Jeevsie... Helga would be rolling in her grave if she knew Alderidge had been sorte... do you have any idea of the trouble you'v... oh Potter you - rottweiler? no, that's just silly..." was one string of garbled sentences that he managed to make out. It continued for what felt like minutes, until, having agreed to disagree for the moment, the voices acknowledged his presence.
"Ah, young Sirius Black, eh? I've been looking forward to Sorting you! Now, what have we here..." said the more 'sensible'-sounding voice that reminded Sirius of some of his creepier relatives. Before it could describe what Sirius had, the other, more mischievous voice cut in,
"Black as a rack, black as a hack, black as a sack, ooh, what a filthy mind! I say Hufflepuff. Or Slytherin, slithering, huffleduff, truffleruff-"
"Peeves," Mr Creep choked, "if you are going to insist on an equal partnership then we need to establish a better working environment. I'm happy to work with you if you just-"
Black tuned them out and surveyed the room, looking at each of the House Tables and thinking - where could he go? Sometimes he felt that his family stifled him, that their opinions should not necessarily be his own... but what use would going to any House but Slytherin be? He would never escape the Black name - and, although sometimes he wanted to, they were just brief fantasies in the scheme of things. At least in Slytherin he would be admired; he would have friends. The Slytherins were very loyal to one another, and there was no guarantee that going to another House would not leave him completely alone.
His Uncle Alphard had always told him that Houses didn't matter, anyway: it was what you did with your life that did.
Black pulled the Hat off before it had even sorted him, muttering something about how he would just have to sort himself if that was the case. What was, I wondered, but when I asked the boy at a later date he merely shook his head and said that some things were best left alone, if only for the sake of one's sanity.
"I'll be a Slytherin," he decided, taking one step towards his future.
"Wait!" wheezed the Hat melodramatically, stopping him in his tracks. "You're a - GRYFFINDOR!"
It was the loudest sorting yet, and there could be no doubt in anyone's mind that it meant what it said. Still, that didn't stop people's outraged reactions. Sirius hadn't expected this result, and he would have no qualms about informing the Hat of his displeasure, telling everyone that this wasn't what he WANTED.
...but if he objected now, in front of everyone, it wouldn't make the best impression, would it? If he was a Gryffindor, he would just have to deal with it... and deal with his family's reactions, too.
The young Black swallowed but made himself take those difficult steps towards a place where he was met with mostly hostility. He chose a seat with space around it and tried to meet the looks that people gave him. The least he could do for his name now.
'The Sorting must go on' would be an apt way to describe what followed. Bones, Marley became the next Gryffindor, before the Sorting - or rather, Peeves - Hat sent the newest Boot family addition to Hufflepuff, and two consecutive Muggleborns became Slytherins; a third, a rather standoffish girl who did not seem to like the look of Hogwarts (not that many students were too impressed by this point, mind you), was named our third Hufflepuff of the new term.
Evans, Lily, the red-head who stood in front of the boy I now recognised as a Potter, was then called to this circus ring, and before the Hat was even fully on her head it declared her a Ravenclaw. Strangely, the voice that said this sounded exactly like the Sorting Hat's own, albeit more strained sounding than I had ever heard it: it was not the imposter's decision at all.
Well, I thought, at least there will be one student this year who finds her true home, even if she did seem to be considering Gryffindor before the Hat's decision, judging by her brief, longing look at Godric's Crest. My dear, I thought, there is no House better than the others - except, that is, for Gryffindor House.
The night wore on, children's stomachs rumbling and teachers in desperate need of some sleep. The Sorting was happening much faster now, but there were still unexpected results and occasionally some strange ways of getting to them - for instance, Lupin, Remus was told to do "eenie meanie mynie mo" to determine his House (Slytherin); and Potter, James, was unpleasantly surprised by a foghorn dropping from the hat onto his head and blasting out a magically enhanced sound. It left him deaf for about fifteen minutes, though that certainly didn't stop him from finding it amusing once the shock wore off. And, after a quick glaring match with the Hat, he was declared an extremely daring and courageous Gryffindor.
The process finally ended with the newest member of the Yaxley family to enter Hogwarts, who became a Hufflepuff and joined the rather large 'we really don't want to be here' group huddled at the end of the table. Or so Pettigrew, Peter (Gryffindor) had inwardly dubbed it, but he had been keeping quiet so far, not wanting to jinx the luck that had given him entry to his favoured House. He'd dreaded the Sorting, had hated the idea of something looking into his head and seeing him as he was - what if he wasn't brave or loyal or clever or cunning or anything? What if it saw something it didn't like and sent him home? But thankfully, the Hat had seemed more caught up in its personal struggles to look too deeply into his mind, and it was almost as if it were brushing him off by sorting him quickly.
Even if the Sorting had to be re-done this year, as several of the older students had said it might be (there was clearly something odd going on, they claimed), Peter had got into Gryffindor once. It would be easy enough to get in again.
With cheerful thoughts about days to come, Peter started to slip, slowly, into sleep...
BANG!
Where the practically empty section of bench at the end of the Gryffindor House table had once been, now stood a rather large pile of mashed potatoes. Sirius Black, wand out, was standing above it, right where the apparently delectable Hogwarts' pastries usually found their home, and he was looking between his wand and the potatoes doubtfully. The lone boy who had had the misfortune to be sitting nearby slid off the seat that was no longer there and fell onto the now not-so impressive mound of starch, causing a squelching sound that caught Black's attention.
"Is it really mashed potato?" he asked, ignoring the other boy's displeasure. He could hardly dare to believe that he had just transfigured something without even knowing what he was doing.
"Mr Black," snapped Professor McGonagall, who had been having a heated but almost silent argument with the Headmaster and had just got to the best part of her rant when this Black child went and disrupted things. "Explain."
That one deadly word made Sirius swallow again. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time: everyone was falling asleep and complaining, so he'd decided to, well, wake them up... but now that he thought about it, it was a pretty stupid idea. He supposed he was getting so worked up about being put into Gryffindor that some part of him decided he needed a distraction.
And since no one else had been providing one, it had seen fit to make him the distraction.
"Uh... well... you see, Professor Mcgonoghoul," he said, badly mispronouncing her name as he stalled expertly, "it's just that, see everyone was falling asleep and-" oh, dear, what could he say?
Just then, an unexpected saviour arrived!
"What my fellow Gryffindor means to say," began James Potter, who after getting his hearing back had not stopped talking once (and even now when all the interesting conversations had finished - i.e. the ones with him in - he had no intention of doing so), "is that-" he paused to survey the Hall from his elevated position -" well, what my fellow Gryffindor means to say is this: the Sorting is still not finished, for we have not heard its song!"
Sirius shot him a thankful look, and the boy grinned back. The rest of the Hall, however, did not seem to think of this as a good thing. "Oh for Merlin's sake!" said one of the new Ravenclaws, "I'm beginning to think Father was right when he told me Durmstrang was the better choice!"
"Just hurry up," pleaded many of the students, looking directly at Dumbledore and clutching their stomachs.
"Thanks for that," Sirius whispered, vaguely registering McGonagall helping that Peter boy up and fixing the transfigured bench, which had already been turning back in any case. Shame. It had been his finest work yet - Peter a l'mashed potato.
"No problem," James said, sticking out his hand. "James Potter. You seem like a decent sort after all."
"Sirius Black. Of course I am!" Sirius took James' outstretched hand and they shook, beginning the start of a friendship that would both kill and save lives.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Very well," he announced, "I will now serve the desserts, for the main courses have no doubt become rather unappetising after all this time; just make sure you don't eat too much, as we don't want you to lose any sleep before tomorrow's classes." Several of the students who had sneaked sweets in tittered, already on a highly enjoyable sugar high. "However," he declared as all sorts of sweet desserts appeared on the tables and Sirius and James jumped down, not wanting to become Sirius and James a l'jam tart, "we will listen to the Hat's song as we eat, for I have been rather looking forward to it."
Perhaps this was why he had allowed Peeves to wreck the honoured tradition of the Hogwarts' Sorting Ceremony.
Professor McGonagall reluctantly put the Hat back down on its stool, being none too gentle about it. The Hat's 'eyes' turned to look at her, patches scrunching up as if to say 'How dare you?', to which she responded with the same frozen look as before.
The Hat cleared its throat indignantly and turned back to the Hall. It took a deep breath and began to recite the most badly plagiarised poem ever, in a very familiar sing-song voice...
'Twas brillig, and the Sorting Hat
Did consider Firsties where they sat.
All mimsy were the Founders Four:
The ugliest lot I ever saw.
x
Beware the Slytherins, my son!
If you be kind, you are not one!
Beware this house of wussy snakes
Or they might just push you in the Lake!
Despite my prior misgivings as to the morality of allowing Peeves to sing a Sorting song, so far he was not doing as terribly as I had expected. Oh, there were the expected insults, but they could do no harm now that the Sorting Ceremony was over. Indeed, several of the students appeared to find it amusing (particularly Miss Evans, who had been giggling since the beginning), and I have to admit it was refreshing to hear one written by someone that had not been making them for centuries on end. It gets a little tiresome when one is old enough to realise that many of the verses are repeated every seven years.
Remus Lupin had been dozing on and off for the past hour, each time waking up with the realisation that the world had ended.
He was in Slytherin.
And a Werewolf.
A Slytherin Werewolf.
It was like a terrible practical joke had been pulled on them all, only it was one that did not make him laugh; a morbid part of his brain had already begun taking bets about how long he would last, and it wasn't looking good: Slytherin was full of suspicious purebloods who would probably be able to tell in an instant that he was not normal. And in the dungeons, there would be no protection for him. Getting admitted to Hogwarts had made him so happy, he should have known something would go wrong... and now it was too late to escape the fate that he'd walked into.
Why had he thought that things would change when he came here?
Remus couldn't even bring himself to eat, so bad was his mood; and not even the slim chance of a re-sort (as there would be, according to the snooty blonde Slytherin Prefect who had been eyeing him with distaste all evening) at this time of night could make him feel even the smallest bit better. And if there wasn't a re-sort then he figured it would be best for him to get some sleep now, because if he was going to die he might as well do it when he could think straight.
He slipped into sleep just as the Hat finished insulting Hufflepuff...
For the first time this night, the applause given for the Hat was actually a happy kind. To keep to the facts, as Boris Binns would say, not everyone joined in (the Hufflepuffs did not even smile), but the Hall's general mood was one of relief that the debacle had ended, and a promise of much frenzied discussion for another day hung in the air. Dumbledore, looking torn between delight, his own relief, and dread of the inevitable complications this had caused, ordered that Prefects should lead students to their Houses, saying that announcements and class rotas would be handed out at a slightly later breakfast time than usual.
What followed would have been a very difficult mess of problems, but unfortunately Peeves did not think it chaotic enough. Tonight's mischief had not yet finished.
The Poltergeist tore out from the poor Sorting Hat, whirling his body round and round and flying through the Great Hall above the students' heads! He cackled wickedly, dived under the teachers' table and grabbed several small buckets of - well, I did not know at this point, but I soon found out - green, blue, red, yellow and pink... gloop.
Grinning madly, Peeves grasped a sizeable amount of the green gunge and flung it onto the students. He then did this with the blue, red and yellow gloop, regardless of where each House stood. Each person did not get very much on them, but it was enough to make them disgusted, and even more disgruntled. Nevertheless, they were not so bad off as the unfortunate Peter Pettigrew, who had had an entire tub of pink slop thrown onto him and was now struggling not to breathe any of it in.
"PEEVES!" roared Argus Filch, Hogwarts' caretaker. The duty of cleaning up after the Poltergeist's escapades usually fell to him, poor man.
Peeves giggled and blew a raspberry at Argus before flying away, out of the Great Hall and away from punishment.
For now.
Teachers and Prefects were mostly ignored as their pupils took off dye-coloured robes, some older students offering to clean them for a small fee, and Peter Pettigrew wailed at the unfairness of it all. Several students who were not happy with their House assignment used the opportunity to slip in near Prefects of the ones they wanted to be in. Remus, seeing an opportunity to avoid death/expulsion, moved to stand with a group of Ravenclaws but noticed the Ravenclaw Head of House nearing his location and ducked into the already forming Hufflepuff line, accidentally bumping into people and shunting them away in the process.
Snape, Severus turned to tell the rude red goo-splattered boy who had just pushed him towards the Slytherin line exactly what he thought of him, but, seeing the green gunge dripping from his dark, greasy hair, a pretty but stressed sixth year Slytherin Prefect hustled him into the slowly forming Slyth line before he could even open his mouth.
Lily Evans saw Severus swallowed up by the Snakes but was unable to rescue him, for the pale, transparent form of the Gryffindor Ghost distractingly asked her a question she hadn't expected to hear. "Miss Evans, would you like to join us in Gryffindor for the night?"
At her startled expression, he smiled kindly and explained that they had not got many students this year and he had noticed that she might be interested in joining the ones they had. Truly, her love affair with Gryffindor had been brief, ending as soon as she'd met her fellow Ravenclaw students and heard about their Common Room. But, she thought mischievously, even if I want to stay where I am I should go, or I might never be able to see the inside of another Common Room. Plus, it felt wonderful to have been chosen specially, especially when everything was so new and confusing, and any guilt she could have had was assuaged by the fact that he hadn't asked her to stay longer than one night.
Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington (or so Lily assumed was his name, having read about Gryffindor's Ghost in Hogwarts: a History) had a voice which carried over the chaos, but she did not trust her own high one to do so and so merely smiled and nodded in acquiescence before following him to a messy gaggle of Gryffindors to the right; Nicholas left to help the Prefects and teachers, leaving Lily standing near the boy she had met on the train - James Potter, that was it - who was talking to the bedraggled Peter Pettigrew.
"Have you tasted it?" James asked, evidently finding Peter's state amusing.
"Blegh, no!" the poor boy squeaked.
"Oh, go on," Sirius Black joined in eagerly, delighted by Peeves' prank (Hogwarts was a far more colourful world than the one he usually inhabited). "Even just a little bit..."
"I dare you," egged James.
"Don't do it, Peter," Lily cut in, not at all pleased with the idea; even in the wizarding world, it seemed, there were bullies. "Just ignore them."
Peter looked between them all, wondering who he should listen to. Potter and Black were pureblood names, he was sure of it; and Evans was only one girl, Muggleborn no doubt. He didn't want to do it, but it would be best to impress his future Dorm mates while he could...
He raised a gloop-covered finger and licked much of the liquid off
it
tasted
disgusting
and immediately spat it out again. James and Sirius cheered. "You actually did it!" exclaimed the Black heir, shocked. "I figured you'd back out or something."
Lily turned her nose up. "Boys!"
James ignored her and looked at Peter calculatingly. "What's your name again?"
Finally, everything was reasonably sorted out and the students were ready to be led to their dormitories. It had been a difficult ordeal, but I held some satisfaction over the prospect that Peeves would most certainly be severely punished. He would not be allowed back at the Feast again, for of the last few who were usually happy to give him more chances than he deserved I could see none who had enjoyed this 'prank'.
"I just wish I could remember that song," James remarked as they waited for the other Houses to finish leaving. "It was so ingenious - Though as in uppish thought... no, that's not it at all... but as in thought?" He gave up with a defeated sigh. "Sirius, do you have any idea?"
Remus heard the question and tried to repress the instinct to recite the verse James Potter was struggling on. He remembered it surprisingly well considering how distracted he had been, and he hated hearing questions go unanswered.
"I haven't the foggiest, Potter," Sirius mumbled through his sudden, heavy exhaustion. "Ask someon' else if you really wanna know."
James looked around stubbornly and noticed Remus staring at them. Knowing that they would soon be separated and going with his instinct, he grabbed the startled weak-looking thing and hauled him into the Gryffindors' line, at which point they began the exodus to Gryffindor Tower.
"Sorry 'bout that," he said offhandedly.
"Um... it's okay," Remus mumbled after a moment, wondering exactly what madness he had got himself into.
"So," said James, walking backwards, "do you know the rest of the song or what?"
"... Song?"
"The Sorting Song of course!"
"Oh, sorry. I know the first four verses... I think." Remus struggled to think and, at James' encouraging look, haltingly recited what he knew,
"'Twas brillig, and the Sorting Hat
Did consider Firsties where they sat.
All mimsy were the Founders Four:
The ugliest lot I ever saw.
x
Beware the Slytherins, my son!
If you be kind, you are not one!
Beware this house of wussy snakes
Or they might just push you in the Lake!
x
The Ravenclaws take quills in hand,
Long time their manxome knowledge'll stand.
They'll rest from study never a day:
Those Ravenbores drain fun away!
x
Though as in uffish thought you sit,
Consider Hufflepuff for a bit
(But only if you're an utter twit -
The Huffleduffer's lamps aren't brightly lit!)"
He felt a little guilty about repeating that last verse, but before he could reflect on it another voice took off where he had left,
"Slytherin and Ravenclaw - and Hufflepuff too,
All you and you and you and you,
But what of the worst of these pimply Four?
The Reckless, Godric Gryffindor?
x
"Hast thou still not slain the Jabberwock?"
'Ric's dear old dad would often mock -
Yet one frab day, the 'Wock he did slay
'Brave' Godric stood the victor of their ugly fray.
x
'Twas brillig, and the Sorting Hat
Did consider Firsties where they sat.
All mimsy were the Founders Four:
The ugliest lot I ever saw."
Lily smiled prettily at them. She hadn't meant to intervene in one of their conversations again, but no song should go unfinished when someone knows the words.
"You remembered all that?" James asked, a little awed. "How?"
"It was pretty easy," she replied, stifling a yawn, "because it was based on an old Muggle poem that's a favourite of mine."
"I knew I recognised it!" exclaimed Remus, sounding confident among their company for the first time. "Lewis Carroll - of course it was. I wonder how the Hat knew it, though. Carroll... wasn't a wizard, was he?"
Lily frowned at the question, inwardly delighted that she wasn't surrounded by idiots. "I don't think so..."
James shrugged as they walked. "Whatever-" the red-head looked at him indignantly -"the important thing is that it was brilliant! I knew Hogwarts would be exciting, but like this? We got to eat all dessert! It makes me want to do some of my own pranking..." He was lost in thought for a moment. "Wouldn't that be brilliant, Sirius?"
They looked at the lagging Sirius when he failed to respond immediately. Peter glanced between him and James before saying, "I'm sure he thinks it's a brilliant idea, James. I mean... I think it's brilliant..."
"Thank you Peter!" James grinned. "Good to know I can count on you." He looked to the pale boy beside him, Whatshisname Lupin. "And you?"
If Remus had one word to describe tonight's debacle, he would not have chosen 'brilliant'. Truly, he had no idea what he would have chosen, but most likely his choice would have been a negative word. Pranking like this - could it really be fun? The only experience Remus had of practical jokes showed them to be cruel, mostly designed to inconvenience people or, worse still, humiliate them.
And yet he got the sense that James Potter was in no way cruel or malicious. "I suppose it could be," he decided, wondering how this might affect his future. Perhaps he would never be able to tell them the truth, so they wouldn't be real friends or anything... but maybe, possibly, James could someday be the faceless friend he had often daydreamed about... even if he were someone merely to talk about the weather with at breakfast, the prospect thrilled Remus to the core.
Lily sighed resignedly, and James could almost hear her thinking, "Boys!". She said, "Well, I don't think it's brilliant at all. Anyone who does is immature," and strode off as if a Kniffler were chasing her and her bright red hair.
James gazed after her. "She'll think the same as us. Even if she doesn't now, someday she will. I'll make her see it."
With that last pronouncement, the boys continued to the Gryffindor Dorms in silence, drained from today's events. A night to remember, Remus thought with a little ironic smile.
Peeves was duly punished the next morning with the promise that he would never be allowed in the Great Hall again, along with several threats of introducing him to an exorcist. The Noisy Spirit took things in stride but, to my intense displeasure, was eventually allowed back to the Feasts (helped, perhaps, by Mr Potter and his group of friends writing a letter to the Headmaster explaining why the world would end if he weren't), though he has been terribly afraid of the Bloody Baron ever since.
Most students would sleep in until well past noon, and after a filling meal the older ones attended their remaining classes while the First Years were re-sorted. What surprised me at the time was that many stayed in the House in which they had spent the night, but then I remembered Dumbledore's words to me one melancholy day: "sometimes I think we sort too soon".
And the rest, as they say, is History.
A/N: Anyone who reviews gets an absolutely amazing invisible, non-existent, non-stick sticker saying "made of awesome" on it.
Anyone who protests, via review, that such things don't exist can give theirs back and get another one - absolutely FREE!
Disclaimer: yeah... everything up there is most likely not owned by me. I dreamed up the plot, but that's not exactly saying much. J.K. Rowling gets the Hogwarts-sy stuff, Lewis Carroll (Charles Dodgson) gave us the delightful poem "Jabberwocky" and you have the rhymezone website to thank for "lion" and "Uruguayan" (yeah, I can't even rhyme "Brian" without help!). Think that's it.
On Lily: In this story, it was the Sorting Hat that sorted her. But really, it was just trying to one-up Peeves and so had only a short time to look into her head to determine her House. If Peeves had not possessed the Hat, it would have put her in Gryffindor straight away. Figured I'd mention that to clear any potential confusion up.
And finally: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!
Thank you.