Now

The whispers ran over the tables like rain. Even the upper years, bored of the performance and ready to catch up with friends, peered intently at the front of the great hall where a little boy was dwarfed by the old hat. When had the hat taken so long, they asked each other, what did it mean that it hadn't decided?

He'll be thrown out, a Ravenclaw whispered.

Nonsense said the sharp shake of her companion's head.

A sickle he follows his family, a Hufflepuff nudged his neighbor but was declined.

At Gryffindor, a pair of confused gazes met one concerned one.

"SLYTHERIN."

Silence shot through the Great Hall as the shaking boy removed the sorting hat and handed it to a white-faced Professor McGonagall. His footsteps echoed as he made his first steps away from the table in Red to the one in Green. And if anyone failed to notice his hand drop to his pocket, well, they could be forgiven. After all, they were witnessing history.

There had never been a Weasley in Slytherin before.

. . . . . . .

Eleven years ago

"Mum! Mum! Look what I found!" A small, red-headed boy with far too many freckles burst into the cramped living room clutching a squealing rat in his hands. Molly Weasley looked up from where she was tending her youngest son- only a few months old and rightly irritated at their recent evacuation from the Burrow to some Muggle forsaken, what had the man said, motel?

"Charlie, put that down!" She cried. In her arms, Ron began to wail at the sudden noise.

"But Mum! It's hurt!" Charlie held the small creature up and showed her its paw. It was true- the poor creature's front paw was bleeding slightly and it was missing a toe. The rat hung limply in his hands and she would have dismissed it as ill or in shock, but for the alert eyes.

"Probably got into a fight," She sniffed. With all the war magic in the air, she wasn't surprised that even the muggle animals were battling among themselves. It wouldn't be the first time after all. During the War of Thorne and Briar, even the deer of the wood had chosen sides, or so her mother claimed. "But Charlie, it's filthy. You have no idea where it's been."

At seven, Charlie Weasley was already displaying the Prewett's deep, stubborn streak. Normally good-natured and obliging, when Charlie set his jaw Molly knew arguments would only result in food strikes, blatant disregard of her requests, and dogged insistence on his own way. No surprise. After all, she had been the same way. As if sensing her wavering resolve, Charlie pressed on.

"I'll wash him." He promised, "I'll take care of him and- and it's for Percy, you know? He said he was bored." The four years old looked up at his name- pleased and surprised to be included in his beloved older brother's conversation. He toddled away from where he was 'reading' a collection of takeout menus and glanced up at his older brother.

"Mine?" he asked hopefully, pointing towards the rat. Molly would have thrown up her hands in defeat if she wasn't cradling Ronald.

"Fine! Wash it first though Charlie- and don't come crying to me if it runs away or bites you!"

The rat neither ran away nor bit any of the boys- though it did show uncommon good sense by running to hide in a broom closet when the twins decided to take their turn 'playing' with the new pet. By the time Arthur and William returned with lunch, it was named Scabbers. By dinner, it was as firm a part of the family as any of the boys.

. . . . . . .

Now

Pureblood or Blood traitor- which mattered more?

Theodore Nott resisted the urge to gnaw on the edge of his nail- not trusting the hundreds of miles between him and his father to prevent the old man from catching wind of the discretion and boxing his ears. Either way, he was about to learn the answer.

Subtly might be a Slytherin virtue, but it was not yet ingrained into the youngest and newest members of the house.

. . . . . .

Twelve years ago

In the end, they all agreed.

They all agreed, but, please remember; it was not Peter's suggestion.

. . . . . . .

To: Davis Home

… no need to practice the hexes you taught me yet. Everyone's too upset over another first-year- Ronald Weasley- to really care about me. Yet. I'll put up the wards you taught me just in case….

To: Malfoy Manor

. . . A Weasley! Father, can you believe it? I have to be in the same house as one of the miserable blood traitors! The indignation. I told everyone that you would do something about it. There's no way you can expect me to sleep in the same room as a Weasley! We have a blood feud. Right?. . .

To Nott Keep

. . . What is the history of the Malfoy's and Weasley's?. . .

To: Parkinson Palace

. . . The Malfoy's are dead set against him if you were wondering. Draco had Vince and Greg throw his things out of the dorm. I think he slept in the common room like a dog. He looked terrible the next day. Draco looked pleased with himself. . .

To Greengrass Gardens

. . . Daddy, you must promise to never, ever, ever send me a Howler ever. At breakfast this morning, Weasley, the one that has the dreadful freckles and terrible fashion sense, he got a Howler from his mother! It was simply awful. She said the worst things about Slytherin! It was awful. Everyone stared and his awful brothers didn't even look at him. . .

To Bulstrode Estate

. . . Does blood traitor mean turning on your own? Because his brothers are vicious. The oldest one ignores him completely and the twins have unleashed every prank they have. A family is supposed to stick together. . .

To Zabini Villa (Milan)

. . . Please send more silk shirts. These English are absolute barbarians. Three sets of robes have been ruined by being pelted with stink bombs and I dare not say what else. Really, Weasley might have thought about what havoc he was wrecking on everyone when he was sorted into Slytherin. The entire year is being targeted and the Professors are worthless. Between his family members and his housemates, I really don't know why he bothers to stay in school. . .

A/N: Fragmentary, because this is the compilation of several different plot bunnies. Let me know what you think!