Even Unto the Seventh Generation
Chapter Three: The Sorting
Albus walked into the Great Hall, his heart pounding. Above his head, the enchanted ceiling revealed the night sky: a few stars twinkling through drifting storm-clouds. He hadn't noticed them while they were crossing the lake. A thunderstorm must have gathered as they were waiting in the ante-chamber. Not a good omen, he thought. If I believed in omens, which I certainly do not, Albus amended.
He was conscious of two things: the crowd of students at the four long tables, and the pedestal where his new teachers sat. Strangely, the central seat—the one the new headmaster or headmistress should be occupying—was empty. Back at the Gryffindor table, James and Fred were laughing and poking each other with forks. Then, the older students became aware of the first years' arrival. James turned, craning his head. When he met Albus's eyes, there was a smirk on his bespectacled face. James's lips moved as he silently mouthed a single word: "Slytherin."
Albus flinched and glanced towards the other side of the room. Under silver and green banners sat the members of the rival house. Somehow, the Slytherins looked twice as big as all the other students. Twice as big, and twice as mean.
"No!" said Albus, not realizing he'd spoken aloud until his peers glanced his way. Not Slytherin, he finished in his head. Then, he felt someone take his hand. It was Rose. Her grasp was warm and reassuring. She smiled up at him, and Albus relaxed.
"Your hand's all clammy," she observed.
"I know."
"Just ask the hat. Ask the hat for Gryffindor." Now, Rose's expression was different: it was imploring. Albus shuffled uncomfortably and looked away, pretending to examine the other first years. On the boat, he'd been with his cousins, and in the ante-chamber, he'd been distracted. Now was his first chance to study the faces of his classmates. Some were still filing in, but others had entered before him.
The very first to go through the massive door to the Great Hall had been the boy in the wheelchair. A bit behind him was a slight, blond boy. Who was he? Albus wondered. He looked familiar. A memory arose: Albus had seen him on platform nine and three-quarters, standing next to Draco Malfoy.
So that was Draco Malfoy's son. This morning, he'd looked pale. Now, he looked positively green. An appropriate shade. Albus had heard enough about the Malfoy family from Uncle Ron and Louis to know trouble when he saw it. Albus could still remember the time he and James had stayed with Uncle Bill during the full moon: the livid scars raising on his Uncle's face, the pain that made tears spring to his eyes, Aunt Fleur's careful ministrations. Bloody steaks at dinnertime. It was no wonder that—after a lifetime of lunar cycles—even the languid Louis was enraged when he learned that Draco Malfoy let Fenrir Greyback into Hogwarts.
Albus hoped he wouldn't have to spend too much time with Scorpius Malfoy. He also hoped he'd never get caught in between Louis and Scorpius during a full moon—or any other time. Two more excellent reasons not to be sorted into Slytherin.
Albus also recognized Lorcan and Lysander Scamander, then his cousin Marie Delacour, the daughter of Aunt Fleur's sister. Her middle name was "Harriet"—yet another of the many children who had been named after his dad. Marie spent every summer with her aunt and uncle, though Albus didn't know her very well himself.
He didn't have time to seek out more familiar faces. As the door to the ante-chamber slammed behind him, Professor McGonagall set down the stool with the Sorting Hat. From everything James had said, Albus had expected to see a filthy old rag, but the Sorting Hat looked like it had been scoured. The new headmaster's work, perhaps?
Then, the hat began to sing:
Oh, I'm the Sorting Hat, you see—
A thousand years of age.
Not known now for my beauty,
Then was I all the rage.
Conceived by the founding four,
I was made with utmost care.
Each chose from their own private stores,
The ornaments I wear.
Yes, Gryffindor, he handed in
A shirt of finest stuff,
Oft worn upon the battlefield.
That's why I'm somewhat rough.
Ravenclaw made my lining
From her soft underdress,
Which is why you may be finding
My voice like a caress.
Slytherin—why he donated
The ribbon 'round my brim!
A favor won while jousting,
It was the pride of him.
Hufflepuff put me together
With a thread she spun herself.
That's why I've held my shapely form
For eons on a shelf.
Oh, I know about your family trees,
From root to branch of course.
And those that are new to me,
I'll send where I endorse.
For years there's been fallacy,
Believed by all of you,
That Hufflepuff is hopeless,
While Gryffindor is true;
Ravenclaw has the brainy ones,
And Slytherin trains the thugs.
But thoughts like these can wound,
You know, as surely as bedbugs.
I've seen what those that made me
Knew from the very start.
As Dumbledore once told me,
Who you are comes from the heart.
The choices that will form you,
Are shaped by your new house.
If sorted without diligence,
You could turn into a louse.
When crafted by the founders,
I received their special gifts.
I have to use them wisely,
To heal these age-old rifts.
Endowed by one with brains I was,
By another with a heart.
The third gave me his confidence,
The fourth—where do I start?
He gave me the cunning
To choose where you belong.
Now wily wisdom tells me,
A time for change has come along.
As the hat fell silent, Albus could hear a smattering of applause, mostly from the high table. Gradually, students joined in. There was a certain reservation in their response, as well as murmurs of discontent. Had the Sorting Hat just insulted them all?
McGonagall cleared her throat. "An excellent song, I am sure we all agree," she observed. After unrolling a parchment, she adjusted her glasses. "Now, the sorting begins. Bashir, Alexander!"
A dark boy stepped forward, sat, and placed the hat on his head. Soon after, the hat shouted "SLYTHERIN!" and the boy joined his new house.
"Blakeney, Percy!" A few students giggled, and Albus wondered why. He and his Weasley cousins looked at each other and shrugged.
"GRYFFINDOR!" Applause erupted from the other side of the room. Albus held his breath.
"Bones, Marius!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Bulstrode-Boot, Grace!" As a heavyset and ungainly girl walked to the stool, Albus couldn't help but think that her name was a cruel joke.
The hat was silent for a moment, before calling out "GRYFFINDOR!" The surprised expression on the Grace Bulstrode-Boot's face matched those on her new housemates'.
An elbow caught Albus in the ribs. "Don't forget to breathe, Albus!" Rose hissed. "You have to be conscious to talk to the hat."
Albus rubbed his side. "Now that's going to leave a bruise," he whispered back.
"Then we're even." She tossed her curls.
While he and Rose were distracted, they'd missed the names of two more students who had both been sent to Gryffindor. Now, a new girl was walking towards the stool. A shock went through Albus: she looked just like Molly, right down to the wavy red hair—though this girl was shorter and rounder.
"RAVENCLAW!" screamed the Sorting Hat.
"Who is she?" Albus asked.
"Couldn't hear," Rose responded. She looked unsettled as well.
A couple more names were called, and Albus was surprised when Marie Delacour was sent to Slytherin. He squirmed and reminded himself about breathing. He didn't fancy Rose breaking his ribs with her next blow.
McGonagall appeared to be bracing herself to read the next name. Looking back, Albus remembered that as the moment when everything began to fall apart.
"Diggory," McGonagall pronounced, "Cedric the Second."
As a handsome boy with gray eyes walked forward confidently, Albus tried to remember why the name "Cedric Diggory" was so familiar. Of course! He'd been Voldemort's first victim after his return. His father witnessed Diggory's death during the Triwizard Tournament.
This Cedric Diggory sat with the hat on his head for a long time before it finally placed him in Hufflepuff. His new house cheered, but as the boy took the Sorting Hat off, his face was troubled. Doris Dingle, a waif-like girl with huge eyes and a braid across her forehead, was sent to Slytherin. Like a lamb going to slaughter. Albus pitied her.
"Dursley, Hal"—another name that Albus couldn't quite place.
"RAVENCLAW!"
After a girl with dark hair and an upturned nose was sent to Hufflepuff, McGonagall read, "Gaunt, Artemisia."
The name meant nothing to Albus, but caused a stir among the teachers. A few students were also leaning forward with interest. The cross-eyed girl was dispatched to Slytherin.
Next, the Greengrass-Zabini twins were sent to different houses: Blake went to Slytherin, but Bianca was made a Gryffindor. Her sorting broke a long-standing tradition on both sides of their family. She received tepid applause from her new housemates, and the Sorting Hat was booed by Slytherin.
"Hush!" remonstrated McGonagall, moving on to the next student on her list.
The next student Albus took notice of was Caleb Keselman, who wheeled up to the foot of Gryffindor's table. The Potter-Weasley family house was filling up fast.
"Lestrange, Kiera!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
Again, Albus had the nagging sense that he'd fallen into a history book. He began to shift uncomfortably from side to side. He was impatient to get sorted so he could collapse somewhere—anywhere. Except Slytherin. Rose pulled her hand away and wiped her it on her robe.
"Malfoy, Scorpius!"
This one should be quick, Albus decided, as he watched the sick-looking boy walk to the stool. He was wrong. Seconds ticked by while Malfoy sat with the hat on his head, his hands clenched in his lap. Seconds turned to minutes, and Albus could hear the hiss of lowered voices echo throughout the Great Hall.
Finally, the hat shouted, "RAVENCLAW!"
When Malfoy removed the hat, his expression was unreadable. His new house didn't bother to applaud as he took his seat.
Albus stopped listening to the names. He knew he would be called soon, and began rehearsing his plea. Suddenly, he wondered what the correct form of address was for a magical item. "Oh, Most Magical One?" or "All-Knowing Hat?" or just "Please, Sir?"
Was the Sorting Hat a sir? Or a ma'am? Neither? Or—both?
"Potter, Albus!"
As he stepped away from the dwindling group of first-years, Albus could feel Rose's eyes on his back. He would just ask simply. Put me in Gryffindor. No, put me in Gryffindor, please.
But Albus never had a chance to think a single word. The moment the hat touched his head, it screamed, "RAVENCLAW!"
Ravenclaw!
Ravenclaw!
Albus stood. Gryffindor was silent. James looked stunned. Albus was vaguely aware that his new housemates were jumping and cheering. Probably, they were overjoyed to have a Potter in their ranks. As he approached the table under blue and bronze banners, thoughts rushed through his mind:
At least it isn't Slytherin.
But it isn't Gryffindor, either.
Dad had a choice. He had a choice between the two.
I had no choice.
I am nothing like my father.
Glancing behind him, he could see Rose's face: stricken, yet furious. Albus wanted to cry. He sat down. He felt hands slapping his shoulder and heard students greeting him. Across from him sat Scorpius Malfoy, who was staring intently at his plate. Albus did the same. He stopped listening to McGonagall until she got to the Weasleys, last on her list.
"Weasley, Louis!"
"That's LOUIE. It's French."
McGonagall raised an eyebrow, "It's French, Professor," she corrected. The hat put Louis in Gryffindor.
"Weasley, Molly."
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Weasley, Rose!"
"GRYFFINDOR!" Albus's heart sank.
"Weasley, Roxanne!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
Roxanne rushed up to the table and sat next to Albus. Her face was radiant.
"Just think, Al! No explosions!" she exclaimed. "I can finally read in peace!"
Then, Albus remembered all his books—how happy he had been whenever Aunt Hermione gave him her old course books and novels.
"I know you'll appreciate these, Albus," she'd whisper, when Uncle Ron was too far away to hear.
Albus and Roxanne had read too many books, and now they were in Ravenclaw. Then again, at least he wasn't alone. As Roxanne chattered in his ear, Albus protested to himself: I don't belong in this house.
But the sorting was finished; there was no going back.
DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter universe and all canon characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Many thanks to my beta, ladyoftheknightley.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Reviews—and especially constructive criticism—are warmly welcomed.