A Heart as Loud as Lions

Chapter One: The Sorting Hat

The Great Hall was at the same time quieter and louder than usual, that year. It was 1991, and Harry Potter was among the scared first-years awaiting to be sorted. Of course, each House strongly hoped to claim the Boy-Who-Lived for them, and some of the oldest students – mostly Gryffindors – were even betting a few galleons on the result of his sorting. Whispers filled the big room, and even the professors couldn't sit still as Minerva McGonagall read the names in alphabetical order. She was at the letter H at the moment. The students could only produce forced, brief applauses. The result was a strange atmosphere, full of anxiety and anticipation, blurry and tense.

After Lisa Landon joined the Hufflepuff table and Isabelle Macon was assigned to Slytherin, it was Draco Malfoy's turn. Nobody really gave it a second thought, knowing the boy belonged to Slytherin, just like his whole family before him. The excitement grew, for only a few people were left before Harry Potter.

But something happened.

Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on Draco Malfoy's head, and the boy winced, as most first-years did. Then the Sorting Hat yelled its verdict. "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Great Hall exploded. Draco jumped up, throwing the Hat away. The stool fell. The Slytherins rose, enraged. The Gryffindors protested, horrified. Chaos reigned, until Professor Dumbledore blocked a hex fired by a Slytherin seventh year. Then the whole room froze.

"Students, go back to your House table. Mr. Malfoy, I assure you I understand your surprise, but the Sorting Hat always has a flawless reason for its choices, and I believe you should join your house-mates. Professor McGonagall, the other first-years are still waiting to be sorted..."

"Of course, Headmaster," the witch stuttered, looking over the young pupils. "Aaron Nixon is next."

The sorting resumed, in a still silence this time. Nothing that could be considered abnormal happened, and though the lions cheered when Harry Potter joined them, everyone's words were on the young Malfoy.

The boy in question was sulking at one end of the table, refusing to be in contact with his fellow mates. He was fuming. He was a Malfoy! What was the stupid hat thinking, placing him in Gryffindor! What would his father say? Draco was also scared. His mother had taught him good from bad, and he didn't like many of his father's ideals, but he also knew he couldn't do much about it. He was a Malfoy and a Black, and he was the only child of one of the most powerful pure-blood families. Certain things were expected from him, great things in fact, and he couldn't even start his school years in the right way!

It was the shortest dinner in Hogwart's history. The Head Girl and Boy were mature enough to help the professors maintain an apparent calm, but the atmosphere grew tenser as minutes passed, and when it was clear that only a few oblivious first-years were actually eating, the Gryffindor prefect Samantha Dorkin stood and walked to the professors' table, asking if they could all be dismissed. The professors, still quite taken aback by the unusual and unexpected events, were more than happy to oblige the request, and quickly asked the eight prefects to escort the younger students to their dormitories.

Samantha wasted no time in gathering the youngest lions, keeping her eyes fixed on Draco Malfoy. Being a muggle-born, she personally didn't care about Houses; one was sorted where he or she belonged, she believed, not where his or her parents had been sorted in. But she knew that most of her school-mates didn't see it that way, and the Malfoys were considered a 'Dark Family', though those words had no real meaning to Samantha. How could a child be blamed for his father's – or grandfather's, or even great-grandfather's – mistakes? Little Draco had nothing to apologise for, but much to be afraid of. For that reason, she intended to always be near him, ready to step between him and the many students that would, without a doubt, try to hurt him. Samantha was, though, distracted by the Weasley twins, two third-years, who were in fact ready to play a controversial prank on the blond boy. By the time she managed to stop them, intimidate them enough to make them leave, and detect two hexes fired by Slytherins before they hit their target, Draco was gone. Samantha looked around, tried to ask Oliver Wood if he had seen him, but quickly resigned herself to the fact that she wouldn't find him with so many people around. So, she escorted the first-years (minus Draco) to their dormitories, explained the rules and prepared herself for a sleepless night.

Meanwhile, Draco was casually walking in an apparently desert corridor of Hogwarts. He was proud of himself for having managed to escape the other students, but he was feeling off. He couldn't imagine what his mother and father would say when they heard of the sorting. He hoped they wouldn't show up at school and punish him. He also hoped they wouldn't send him a howler, although the latter option was better than the former. Maybe – and at the thought Draco's mind was allowed some ease – his father's power, money and connections would be enough to have Draco switched to Slytherin, where he truly belonged and where he was expected to be.

Draco continued his slow walk, not caring about getting lost in the unknown labyrinth that was the castle. He was thinking about his mother. He tried not to miss her, because eleven-year-olds (and Malfoys) weren't supposed to miss their mummies like little babies, but he did. His mother was always kind to him, unlike his father. Yes, she punished him sometimes, but she didn't hurt him. And she never told his father! She also taught him a lot of interesting things, like geography, and traditions, and even foreign languages. And games! Draco loved to play games with his mother.

During his childhood, Draco had also learned a bit about politics and pure-blood families, but most of them were Slytherins, and none of them were Gryffindors. His father never talked about Gryffindors, he despised them. He said they were blind blood-traitors and that Dumbledore was full of luring lies. And now Draco was one of them!

"Going somewhere, traitor?"

Draco stopped on his tracks. A group of students was walking towards him. They were all older than him, and Draco thought he recognised one of them, he was a Pucey. Draco tried to stand taller. He brought his right hand to his wand, inside his robes pocket, ready to cast the few spells he knew.

"I don't think so, firstie. Incarcerus!"

Draco couldn't repress a scared yelp as his hands flew behind his back, tied together. His ankles attached to one another, and he fell, hitting the back of his head against the wall. For a moment he shut his eyes, praying not to shed any tear, but at the same time not caring if he did, because it hurt too much to hold it back.

"So much for being 'brave', uh, traitor? Such a little piece of scum, you are. What's next, crying for your mummy?"

The other students laughed, and Draco blushed. He was so embarrassed! How dared they treat a Malfoy like a dirty mudblood? Although, on a second thought, Draco did feel like a traitor. He was sorted into Gryffindor, after all, where all his family's enemies were. He couldn't stand it.

"Let me go!" he screamed. "My father will hear about this! And you'll be sorry!"

The laughter grew among the group of Slytherins, and Draco started to feel desperate as he hopelessly tried to free himself.

"We'll let you go, scum, but not before teaching you a lesson." Pucey told him with a scary grin. "Crucio."

"Protego!"

His heart in his throat, Draco glanced at his left. A girl was standing beside him, her wand raised, producing a shield between the two of them and the others. Draco noticed they seemed to be slightly afraid of her, although she clearly was younger than them.

"And what would your father say, Adrian, when he hears you got expelled for using the Cruciatus on a fellow student? After making sure he can't defend himself?"

The shield slowly disappeared, and the girl cast another spell in a lazy movement. "Conjunctivitus."

Adrian Pucey and his fellow Slytherins screamed and simultaneously brought their hands to their eyes, dropping their wands.

The girl smirked, and freed Draco of the invisible laces that tied him, before helping him to stand up.

"You'd better go back to the dungeons, boys. We wouldn't want Professor Snape to come seek you, would we?"

The five of them gasped in horror, then scampered off.

"I don't think they'll bother you again," the girl told Draco, "Not for a while, at least. Oh, and Professor Snape is the Potions professor, and he's Slytherin Head of House."

"I know," Draco said stiffly. "He's my godfather."

"Oh. Well, are you all right? Should I walk you to the Gryffindor tower? I'm in Ravenclaw. My name is Astraea Jameson."

"Jameson?" Draco repeated, realising she wasn't a pure-blood.

The girl – Astraea, what a wizarding name, he thought – arched her eyebrows in a somewhat frightening way, and Draco unconsciously took a step back.

"No, thank you. I'm all right. I can walk by myself."

"As you wish. Good night."

"Good night." Draco managed to let out before she disappeared. What a strange person she seemed.

x

Astraea went back to her common room. She had brief conversations with a few people, then she headed to the fifth-year dormitory. Astraea was actually supposed to be in fourth year, but she skipped a grade, so she would be taking her OWLS that year. Some people were jealous of her abilities, other were scared. All Astraea knew was that she had been able to do great things with her magic ever since her birth. Her parents and older sister always told her about how her accidental magic was so frequent and powerful that it not only left them astonished, but it also hurt them physically once or twice, due to its strength. Her mother claimed that it was as if Astraea's magical aura was constantly pulsating around her. Once at Hogwarts, Astraea had found out that not only she already knew all the theory behind the spells of more customary use, having watched her mother, but she also had no problems learning new ones. She always succeeded the first time, just like she could memorise at first sight every potion's preparation steps, history dates and facts, and plants properties. The Headmaster had offered her to be sent ahead of two school years, but she had only wanted to skip one, preferring to maintain some sort of low profile, although it was quite impossible. Everyone knew of her abilities with her wand.

Glad to be alone for the moment, Astraea changed into her muggle pyjamas, and sat on her bed with a blue quill and some parchment.

Dear Mum, Dad and Dora,

since you wished to know where Harry Potter would be sorted, I'll tell you. He's a Gryffindor, like his parents, and he seemed happy and relieved about it.

An interesting thing happened during the sorting ceremony, and I'm not talking about the hat's song. Draco Malfoy was sorted into Gryffindor as well. Of course no one, including him, took it well. Many Slytherins tried to hex him; Adrian Pucey even cast the Cruciatus Curse, but luckily I was following Draco and I cast a Protego in time, and he wasn't hit. The professors were also quite a bit shaken, but I hope for Draco's sake that they'll pull themselves together for classes.

My first lesson, tomorrow, is double DADA with the new professor, Quirinus Quirrel. He has a good reputation and I'm excited.

I'm sure Minny's writing her own letter to you right now, but I can't help but tell you about her sorting. She's a Lion! I was really expecting (and hoping) to have her in Ravenclaw with me, but apparently there's more to her than books, eh.

I'll write again tomorrow,

Trae

After carefully rereading her letter, Astraea stood up and attached the parchment to her Christmas Island Hawk Owl's paw. "There, Copper. Fly to Mum and Dad, girl."

She opened the window and watched it disappear in the night sky, then she returned to her bed, ready to sleep. She was worried about her sister and about Draco, but she resolved she couldn't do anything about it. Clearing her mind, exercise she did every evening, she gratefully embraced the silence of the empty room, and gave in to sleep.

x

Draco lay motionless on his bed, hidden by the curtains. The other boys in his dormitory hated him, and although they didn't try to attack him they had insulted him, especially that Ron Weasley, who, to make things worse, had claimed Harry Potter as his best friend. Draco had been ordered by his father to befriend the Boy-Who-Lived, and he had failed. Thomas and Finnigan weren't muggle-borns, thankfully, and all they did was ignore him, which was fine to him since he didn't plan to interact with them. On the other hand, Neville Longbotton was a problem. Draco knew what his Aunt Bellatrix had done to Longbottom's parents, and while he couldn't blame the other boy for being both scared and furious, he was annoyed by his attitude.

Draco brought his hand to the back of his head. It hurt, and he wished he could tell his parents about how those boys had hurt him, but the more he thought about it, the more he was sure he was going to be disowned. For the first time in his life, Draco felt like he didn't have anyone to turn to. The few friends he had growing up were all sorted into Slytherin, and he was sure they would no longer talk to him. His parents would hate him. His godfather... Uncle Severus! Excited, Draco sat up abruptly, before remembering he wasn't allowed to wander around after curfew. For a moment he considered going anyway, because surely his uncle would excuse him... but he had no wish to cross the common room again, and he didn't know how to find the dungeons. And what if somebody attacked him again? The girl was in the Ravenclaw tower now, she couldn't protect him... Draco blushed again. He couldn't believe he had been saved by a muggle-born girl! He was ashamed. He hoped no one told his father, because Lucius hated cowardly, and Draco had been anything but brave that night, and if his father heard the story, he would punish him without a doubt.

Lying down again, Draco decided he would get up early the next morning, and look for the dungeons so that he could talk to his godfather. Surely he wouldn't turn him down. Uncle Severus had told him on multiple occasions that he would always help him if needed, that all he had to do was ask. So, despite his pride, the next morning Draco was going to give him his puppy-eyes look and ask.