A/N: Just by the way, I edited the last chapter and added some more bits in. Hope you enjoy!
"Gryffindor!" the Sorting Hat screamed, barely touching his head. The cheers from the Gryffindor table were deafening, though the response from the rest of the Great Hall seemed somewhat less enthusiastic. They all wanted a Golden Son in their house, James thought to himself, heaving a somewhat self-pitying sigh before enthusiastically running toward the Gryffindor table.
It wasn't that he didn't want to be in Gryffindor. Gryffindor was obviously the best house - his uncle George had told him so, as had Teddy and Roxy and Dom. But hadn't they also all told the story of how his dad had argued with the Sorting Hat? James couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. Was he already falling short of his namesakes?
However, when he got to the table, his worries fell away. "Hullo there, you little rascal," Fred said, ruffling James's hair. While at any other time James would have been indignant (he wasn't a kid anymore!), he decided to let it slide… The affection was comforting. And, as he smiled down the table to Teddy and Roxy and Dom, and across the table at his new friend Daria, James realized that the sorting hat was right; Gryffindor was where James Potter belonged.
"Fred Weasley," called Professor Truman, prompting whispers and stares. The first Weasley at Hogwarts in over a decade. The son of George Weasley at that.
Victoire swallowed her own nervousness as she watched her cousin skip up towards the stool. She remembered Uncle George's remarks to Fred at the station - "Ready to be a Gryffindor, Fred? You and Teddy here can carry on in good Marauder fashion! Why I remember once when-"at which point Angelina had cut him off.
"What if he isn't a Gryffindor?" Victoire had asked earnestly. George's smile faltered.
"Well... I'm sure we don't have to worry about that! Weasley's are always Gryffindors!" He said, with gaining confidence.
Fred laughed. "Yeah, and Uncle Ron says you'll disown me if I'm not." This didn't seem to worry Fred, but Victoire felt a wave of anxiety wash over her, even as Angelina rolled her eyes and shushed both her husband and son.
"Don't worry, mon petit," Fleur said, leaning down and kissing Victoire's forehead, always aware of her daughter's sensitivity. "C'est pas vrai."
"Mais, si, c'est vrai, maman! Even I heard Oncle Harry and Oncle Ron talking about it!" Dominique said loudly. Victoire shot her a look.
"Zat may very well be troo, but what is said and la realite is not dee same," Fleur scolded. "Do not scare your seester. Victoire, you will be at 'ogwarts, and dat is what makes you Weasley. Do not worry what is your house, d'accord?"
Victoire had nodded obediently then, but it was not so easy now to trust her mother's words. "Gryffindor!" the hat yelled, and the room, which had been quiet in anticipation, burst into applause. They had expected this response, and so even the other houses seemed pleased, cheering with almost as much enthusiasm as the Gryffindors themselves. Fred, who always seemed to have a huge smile plastered on his face, seemed to smile even bigger now as he sat next to Teddy.
"The Slytherins live in the dungeons - they always want to win," Teddy had told Victoire when she asked him to explain each house. Her family had been talking to her about Hogwarts all summer, but all her Aunts' and Uncles' and parents' words ever served to do were to create questions. Sure, there were four houses - Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin - and on her first night the Sorting Hat would sort into a house... But what were the houses like? Which one did she want to be in? "I'm Gryffindor. We're lots of things, but Gryffindors are known for being brave and good-" here he puffed out his chest a bit "-and we won the house cup last year, too. Ravenclaws are all the best at class and they're all smart and quiet, I think, and they're known for being clever. Aunt Hermione was almost a Ravenclaw. Hufflepuffs... they're supposed to be loyal and hardworking, but I don't think they always are."
"Victoire Weasley," Professor Truman called, and Victoire took a sharp breath of air. She walked quickly toward the stool, and it wasn't until she was sitting that she noticed how much quieter the room had become - much quieter than when Fred, or anyone else, had been sorted. It made her even more nervous.
She knew before the Sorting Hat even touched her head what it would say, and she dreaded the moment. As Professor Truman place the hat onto her smooth, golden-red hair, she felt dizzy and out of breath.
"Oooooh," said the felt-y hat above her, too loudly for her taste. "Part-Veela? And a Weasley? Surprising, different... very interesting."
Victoire was confused as to why the hat did not just yell it out. "A ready mind... those whose Intelligence is surest," he'd said. Where Learning was of the highest value? That's where she belonged. Victoire wasn't one for action - she was one for words and quiet. She certainly was not a Gryffindor - she was shaking under this hat after all.
Finally, the word rang out: RAVENCLAW!
Victoire breathed a sigh of relief and quickly extricated herself from the wordy headpiece, the Ravenclaw table erupting in applause: surprised, but uproarious cheering from the students in blue and white ties. As she neared the table she tried to gage the reaction of the rest of the Great Hall, and saw that they were clapping too - Teddy and Fred, it seemed, were second only to the Ravenclaws themselves. Victoire felt relief wash over as Headmistress McGonagall began to speak, and she resolved not think very hard about being Ravenclaw rather Gryffindor, and instead tried to enjoy her first few hours as a Hogwarts student.
The next day she was nervous again. She hadn't had a chance to speak to Fred or Teddy the night before, and had not yet had any reassuring words from them. Instead she had fielded questions about her family, questions about being part-Veela and, worst of all, comments about how bonkers it was that she was sorted into Ravenclaw. In fact the night had made her so jumpy that at breakfast, when a boy asked her to pass the marmalade, she mistook his questioning poke as a personal affront and nearly screamed bloody murder. Controlling herself, she passed the spread and put her head in hands. Is this what Hogwarts would be like? A series of mistakes? With none of her family by her side?
She was so consumed by her own woe that she hardly noticed when the morning post came flying in and the students around her began to exclaim in awe. When she finally lifted her chin she found a pile of letters in front of her - at least 20 of them. At her peers' prompting, she began to open them to read. Aunt Hermione (including a sentence supposedly from Uncle Ron), Grandma Weasley, her mother and father... they had all sent her letters of encouragement. Well, all were encouraging except Dominique, who had told Victoire that they were disowning her, and whose letter Victoire promptly chucked out.
Sweetheart, her father wrote, I am so proud that you're a young lady at Hogwarts. I hope you and your fellow Ravenclaws give Freddie and the Gryffindors a run for their money for the House Cup (what I mean is - don't get any points docked, young lady!). However, I'm sorry I can't root for your quidditch team (scarlet and gold forever where that's concerned)... Though I don't think you mind that so much. Lots of love and wishing you luck, Papa.
I was nervous, I realized, with a certain level of apprehension. I couldn't help it. My jaw was clenched, my nails dug into my palms. I was almost more nervous than I'd been for my own hat ceremony, and that was nervous. I don't care where Dominique ends up, I tried to tell myself. That bratty little snit would be fine anywhere - she's smart, assertive and just as pretty as me (though as far as I'm concerned - in her those traits usually present themselves as a loud veela know-it-all). Yet, unlike me, there wasn't anywhere I could easily place her... So didn't that mean she would be fine anywhere? Why was I so nervous? And why oh why was our name so late in the alphabet?
"Melinda Muntz," professor Truman called next.
"Ooh, that's Olwen's younger sister," Gilda whispered, poking me excitedly. "I wonder if she'll be in Ravenclaw. I heard she's already amazing at quidditch!"
I managed a small smile, but remained largely paralyzed by nervousness. I bet Dominique isn't even half as nervous as I am, I thought. That's why I shouldn't be nervous about her sorting. She's going to be a gryffindor.
The Muntz girl had come and gone (into Hufflepuff, much to Gilda's chagrin), and now a young boy named Esben Toft squirmed beneath the Sorting Hat - and I knew that Dominique's turn was very soon.
Gilda gave me another poke, "Girl, you look like you're about to break in half. Do you want your bratty sister to be a Ravenclaw that badly?"
I breathed out, trying to look more relaxed. "No, not really," I whispered back. "Actually, I... I think I'd prefer she weren't."
"Yeah, probably for the best. You two were at each others throats nonstop this summer."
"Yeah," I replied, more absent mindedly than I meant. To be honest, I don't really mindwhen we're at each others throats. We don't play very well together, but as far as sibling rivalries go, ours is just talk. I really love her - so my concern for her Sorting has less to do with our relationship and more to do with... well, everything.
Dominique won't even be a hat stall, I tried to tell myself. For the record, I've never figured out why I was a hat stall. Someday I'd like to sit that hat down and suss that out. For now, however, I convinced myself that the Sorting Hat would know right away she was a Gryffindor, and I knew it had to be Gryffindor. I was ok being an anomaly as long as that's what I was - but, somehow, I felt that to be Weasleys our family had be Gryffindor, had to have at least one Gryffindor progeny - and if Dominiqueweren't a Gryffindor? Then that was saying something - about their werewolf blood, or their Veela blood... But if Dominique were just a Gryffindor then there would be no reason to be ashamed.
"Dominique Weasley!"
The now-expected quieting followed. "Gotta love a celebrity sorting!" said Gilda, elbowing me cheekily.
Professor Truman lowered the hat to Dominique's head, and just as it touched the waves of her rosy-blonde hair, the Sorting Hat announced its decision:
"Gryffindor!" - Loud and clear.
...
So she wasn't a hat stall, thought Victoire quite happily. Yet, as she watched Dominique go to the Gryffindor table and be received by Fred and Teddy with hugs, she couldn't help but feel something akin to disappointment.
She wasn't jealous, Victoire thought, as she saw Teddy's brotherly arm around Dominique's shoulder. Gryffindors as a whole annoyed her; she hated their empty bravado and how they rarely tried in class. While she and Fred got on well, they weren't very close, and as far as she was concerned, Teddy was a pain in the arse. She didn't want to be a Gryffindor. She wasn't jealous - that would be false. But, seeing Fred, Teddy, Dominique... and even Septimus Jordan sitting together made Victoire feel a bit left out. That wasn't so wrong, was it?
Molly found a secluded corner in a 3rd floor corridor of the castle to consume her treats. Really, it was awfully nice of Lorcan to give her Valentines chocolates. He was a pretty adorable kid, even if Mel and Gideon found him to be terribly annoying. They're just jealous he's got a crush on me, she huffed teasingly to herself.
Pretty quickly, however, her own amusement faded into embarrassment and she got up to throw the chocolates out. She was on a diet, anyway, she told herself. Just she was about to escape from her nook she heard voices of some other students down the way.
"Ugh, seriously, you muggles don't know anything! The Weasleys are like Wizarding royalty!" one voice, which sounded like it belonged to 3rd year Slytherin, Isa Cerveira, said somewhat shrilly.
"But they don't seem very rich," replied the other, younger, voice, with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment.
Isa's voice quieted slightly, "yes, well, not all of them are - but they do all have social cache, and they've got loads of it. They're all connected to Harry Potter and that's enough for anyone, for better or worse. So if one of them is friendly, you act friendly back... Even if they are Gryffindors - it can't be helped: they're all Gryffindors, the lot of them."
There was no way in hell that Molly was emerging from the shadows now. Thankfully the pair seemed to have stopped moving just around the corner.
The younger girl began again. "What about Molly Weasley? She's a Hufflepuff just like my friend Lysander-"
"Emily, we do not associate with Hufflepuffs! Though if you must, I suppose Luna Lovegood's sons aren't so bad..." - at this she had clearly received a look of non-comprehension - "my god! Read a bloody book sometime! She's another prominent figure from the original DA. And anyways, Molly Weasley is the son of Percy Weasley. That'swhy she's not a Gryffindor."
Isa continued, expecting the younger's ignorance. "Percy Weasley abandoned his family - they said they've reconciled but that's hogwash. She was probably sorted into bloody Hufflepuff in penance... Only real Weasleys can be in Gryffindor."
Molly loved being in Hufflepuff. When she was 11 she had been pleased primarily because she liked badgers and the color yellow, and (to be honest) her older cousins intimidated her, and she wasn't so unhappy to get a bit of distance from them. As she grew older she realized a few things. That while her father was a great, important man - and recognized by many as being so - her family history and his connection to it were not so cut and dry. All of the Weasley Clan loved each other without hesitation, but Percy Weasley was often last in others' fondness and trust. Her father had a lot to be sorry for... and there were moments when Molly hated her father for that. In those moments she clung tightly to being a Hufflepuff: She would be loyal, she would be fiercely loyal.
That being said, no matter how close to the truth Isa Cerveira got, she wasn't there. Percy Weasley, and Molly and her mother and sisters were Weasleys through and through - and a stupid 3rd year slytherin wasn't going to say it was otherwise. By this point Molly was shaking - half in anger and half in abject shame, but it wasn't for long. The girls in the corridor jumped in surprise when they found a third person had happened upon them, and Molly herself was surprised when she heard the third voice interrupt.
"Look here! What's your name?" Victoire's voice rang out. " I mean you, the pompous one."
"Isa Cerveira," Isa said, her voice already shrinking.
"What house am I in, do you think?"
"Ravenclaw..."
"Right. And last I checked, I was a proper Weasley. I'm also head girl, and if you two don't get moving I'll dock 5 points from both of you."
"For what?"
"Dwadling." Victoire stated imperiously, and the two slytherins scuttled off. After a long pause, with Molly still hiding in fear and embarrassment she heard Victoire say, "Molly, you can come out now."
Molly left her hiding place somewhat sheepishly.
"What are you doing, hiding from third years?" Victoire asked, not unkindly.
Molly shrugged but didn't say anything. Confrontation wasn't her thing, talking about her feelings wasn't her thing.
Victoire smiled and swung her arm around Molly's shoulder. "Anyways," she said, "I've been looking for you..."