Ok wow I suck at drabbles? And apparently also at keeping my exposition at minimum.

Here's the thing, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals: the sorting has been done so many times, the 'first look' at Hogwarts has been done so many times, I just HATE it already and could not bring myself to flesh it out. We all read the books. We all watched the movies. We all (probably) have read fan fictions with numerous renditions of this very scene, over and over and over.

So I did it a little different.

We only Sort important names up to Hermione. Pretty much everything else is canon. I've also taken the time to outline our Slytherin buds because I've seen a LOT of different takes on the smaller, less-fleshed out Slytherin characters and god dammit, I want to do my own take on them. I hope you like them. Some inspiration comes from:

Olivieblake, colubrina, ShayaLonnie, provocative-envy (like a lot from them, they're great), and... yeah. There are more, as this is the first Harry Potter fic I've ever written but have been around for a while. I really like their diverse takes on Slytherins, so shout out to those amazing authors!

Cool. That's all (I think) I have to say. We're all sorted here. (lol punnnnnny)

Introduction to Hogwarts II: The Sorting

In which everyone is Sorted

Hermione had never had any particular opinions on water. She enjoyed the aesthetic of rainfall, loved what she had seen of the rocky shores of the ocean, could appreciate the koi pond at Malfoy Manor.

Still, the Black Lake didn't sit very well with her.

Perhaps it was the darkness; it was well into the evening, and that was reflected onto the inky waters they floated precariously above in what Hermione wasn't really sure could be deemed entirely safe. She'd read up on the Giant Squid, and nothing had pointed to it being a distinct carnivore—omnivore was most likely, there was no ruling out that something that large had to get its not-insignificant calories from somewhere—but she still didn't really like sitting in a tiny rickety boat above hundreds of feet of water with who-knows-what-else lurking beneath her.

Water was soaking her left sock, too. She knew it was more probable that it was just from raucous first-year splashing, but the irrational fear that perhaps these boats weren't quite as reliable as Hagrid said they were was impossible to control.

Harry had a lot of good things to say about Hagrid. Hermione could tell, just from basic observation, that he was a dear friend to the Boy-Who-Lived, which meant that it was integral not to say or do anything against him. Draco obviously saw that as well, though he was only able to keep his distaste to himself insofar as refraining from outright snubbing him or showing any outward discrimination. Hermione, on the other hand, who had much more invested in Harry Potter's friendship than Draco, was in turns polite and friendly. It definitely pleased Harry, and although Hagrid was maybe not the sharpest tool in the shed (by a longshot), being a favorite of Dumbledore's—you didn't just send any person to safeguard the Boy-Who-Lived in his first foray into the Wizarding World—that just meant he was all the more valuable. Manipulatable. Being friends with Draco gave her an in with Slytherins; being friends with Harry and Hagrid gave her an in with Dumbledore. Which mainly meant the balancing act of perfect student and friend while inconspicuously doing the things she actually wanted to do.

Dumbledore liked his tools. Hermione could be one of them, she decided, if it would work in her favor eventually.

That being said, she really should be focusing on making conversation with her new friend and trying to butter up a one Pansy Parkinson, who had been neutral toward her at best. What little she could read spoke to a guarded girl who didn't really trust anyone but Draco, born and bred to mingle and socialize and marry and breed again like all Pureblood women.

The question wasn't if she needed to ally with her. Hermione did, if only to stay in Draco's good graces. Childhood friend versus family acquaintance? Pansy would be chosen every time.

The question was how well Pansy could handle power, and if she was so inclined, had an interest in, perhaps, not being a broodmare.

"Welcome to 'Ogwarts," called out Hagrid just as the boat tapped lightly against the shore. Hermione blinked, realizing that she had lost herself in her thoughts and had missed any chance at conversation. She suspected that that would be a problem for her in the long term if she didn't train herself out of it early; she could just space out when there were potential opportunities. All her plans and scheming were useless if she didn't take the chances to act on them. "Step ashore, firs' years, lightly now, on yer feet."

The procession to the doors of the Great Hall was ungainly at best, terrified confusion at worst. Hermione made sure to stay close to Harry, while Draco and Pansy stayed in their general vicinity but did not clump themselves together.

"Nervous?" Hermione asked Harry as the front doors swung open.

"Yeah, a little," Harry replied honestly, which pleased her to no end. Right now, he knew nothing of guile. She would have to make sure he learned it, but this blunt trust in her was useful for right now.

"Me too," Hermione lied.

As Professor Minerva McGonagall led them into the grand foyer before the Great Hall, instructing them to wait silently and patiently, Hermione took a moment to assess her year-mates. None of them looked particularly special, nor did any stand out besides the two boys she had already befriended. The rest of the boys, in turn, were either jittery or trying to pretend they weren't, while the girls were, in general, more composed, if more prone to whispering amongst themselves. Hermione took in the stoniest faces: Pansy and a little group of girls around her who all seemed particularly well-kempt and were likely acquainted; there was an olive-skinned boy with close-cropped curly hair who looked bored in the way of someone who clearly knew was what coming, though he apparently didn't have any reservations letting everyone else stew; and Draco was, of course, as poised as if he was going through a walk in the park, though she knew he was as uniformed as most everyone else.

Hermione made herself sympathetic. She exchanged nervous glances with just about anyone who met her eyes, connecting without words: I'm just as frightened as you.

Professor McGonagall returned and led their little group—it was somewhat small for an entire year of children, wasn't it? Hermione made a mental note that if she played her cards right and kept to social good graces, she could make a very tightknit group of followers with their small numbers—into the Great Hall.

Hermione was no less amazed than anyone else in their year by the grandeur she was suddenly surrounded. It felt a little foolish to gaze and gawk like she had never seen magic before, even if never on this scale. Still, she put on the show. It was pretty impressive in person, she had to admit that, and the illustrations in Hogwarts: A History did no justice to it.

Imagine everyone's surprise when all that was required for their 'trial,' as Hermione had described it to Harry, was a dusty old Hat that sat on your head harmlessly. It would tell you where to go, you would go there, and voila: you had been Sorted into your House.

"Abbot, Hannah!"

And so it began.

'Bulstrode, Millicent,' was the first to go to Slytherin. Tall for her age and bulky, she would probably never be a classic beauty, but her strong, square jaw, light blue eyes, and long, wavy blonde hair said that she would be a handsome woman one day. Hermione wasn't worried about that. She was more interested in the lines of budding muscle under her well-fitting school robes, the extra weight that made her a formidable opponent at this age, if not mentally, then physically.

Draco had Crabbe and Goyle.

Why couldn't Hermione have a Millicent?

(Girls were more vicious, anyways.)

'Crabbe, Vincent' went to Slytherin, and then 'Davis, Tracey.' Tracey was the first person so far she hadn't seen with any particular potential, not that the list was long. However, she was small even for an eleven-year-old girl, mousy and quivering even after she was Sorted. Uncertain, then. A wild card. If she could overcome her clearly multiple fears, she might be useful. If not, she was a number, at least.

'Finnigan, Seamus' went to Gryffindor. It was unfortunate, Hermione mused. She had seen a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Mischief often lent itself to intelligence in various ways—outside the box ways. And Gryffindor, of all places. Missed opportunity, that.

Goyle went to Slytherin, another given. 'Greengrass, Daphne' was yet another to the snakes, and Hermione recognized her as one of the girls standing closest to Pansy with a similarly composed exterior. Her looks were classic, but what Hermione saw had nothing to do with outward appearances: she inexplicably liked Daphne. When she smiled at Pansy, Hermione observed the way her entire face lit up, as if it was meant only for Pansy and that she was the light in her world.

If it had been just that, though, Hermione could have written it off as a close friendship. But she smiled like that at the Slytherin table as she approached. No face left a smile unreturned.

Good.

'Malfoy, Draco'—Slytherin, obviously. Before he went up, she gave him an encouraging nod and a brief smile. Though the Sorting was patently expected, the cheers for the Malfoy scion were the loudest yet and, Hermione thought, the loudest there would be from the Slytherin table. If not for his personality, at least his money and connections.

'Nott, Theodore' went to Slytherin, as well as Pansy. As the next few names were called, tension rose higher and higher in the room. Everyone knew that Harry Potter was being Sorted today and any House with any pride would want him there.

"Potter, Harry!" McGonagall called.

He hesitated before taking a step forward, and Hermione briefly reached out a took his hand. She smiled at him warmly and said, "Remember, what's best for you, Harry."

She saw Harry Potter's first real smile that day. It touched something inside of her, something that not even she could identify, and she decided that maybe he didn't just have to be useful. That soft, unguarded moment when their eyes met and Hermione found that she really did mean what she said, even if she was biased—there was a connection there.

She released his hand and gave him a nod. His step was more confident after that, a straight set to his shoulders and square look of determination on his face.

Clearly, even if he did go to a different House, Harry Potter wasn't going to be dismissed from her life so easily.

As Harry sat under the Hat, it was no quick touch of the head like it had been with Draco, or long moments like it had been with 'Longbottom, Neville.' Instead, it was just an average amount of time—though Hermione was sure it felt like eons to the rest of the school and she even heard murmurings of "Hat Stall"—when finally, a determining factor of history was decided.

"…then it'll have to be—SLYTHERIN!"

Hermione wasn't Sorted yet, so she really didn't have any right to cheer, but she did. Slytherin as a whole cheered as well, but as with anything controversial, the responses were mixed. A select few found it within themselves to even boo him as he walked, suddenly very uncertain, to the table. He was welcomed instantly by Draco, however, and that appeased his nerves well enough.

On the other hand, Hermione made sure to memorize the faces of those who had dared to degrade Harry. They would be receiving some very… interesting hexes over the next several days.

Ron Weasley was one of them, and Hermione took vicious pleasure in that.

More names. Hermione paid vague attention to who was called, but she didn't find anyone likely other than 'Patil, Padma,' who, while she was sent to Ravenclaw, Hermione also just had a good feeling about. Like Daphne, there was a quality that pulled her in on a superficial level, but Hermione didn't like just anyone and thought that something worth cultivating.

"Snape, Hermione!"

And then it was her turn.

At the last name of a Head of House, a hush fell over the hall. Nothing so much as Harry's, but a certain sense of 'What?' There were some vaguely audible questions from Gryffindor table about how her father had gotten a woman in the first place—and Hermione took no offense, because she was very familiar with her father's stunted brand of love—but there were also a few more crass suggestions and Hermione made sure to memorize their faces as well.

Not because she was going to hex them, no. Severus didn't need defending from anyone, much less his first-year daughter. She just needed to know who her possible enemies were.

She sat on the stool. McGonagall gave her a look that she didn't understand but registered as a positive sentiment. That was right; even though they weren't necessarily friends, McGonagall was the only other person Severus truly tolerated at Hogwarts outside of the Headmaster. The hat touched her head.

Well, it seems we have a very versatile mind here, the Hat whispered to her.

That took her by surprise. Nowhere had it mentioned one could actually converse with the Hat.

I'm more a reflection of your mind, it said. A mirror, if you will, with the intention of Sorting and only that.

That was fine. "What do you see?" she murmured.

Ah, that's the question, isn't it? You'd fit into any of the Houses. Hufflepuff, even—though while I believe it would benefit you, the others hurt along the way would not make it a conducive environment for you or them. But yes, your loyalty runs deep once earned, and your instinct to defend and protect is not insignificant.

"Is that so?" Hermione said quietly, alarmed.

Remember, I am only a reflection of you. There was a noise, and if a hat could chuckle, that sound was it. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw suit you separately—your recklessness lends you to the Lions, while your intelligence would be a formidable weapon amongst the birds of Hogwarts. However…

"I belong in Slytherin," Hermione concluded. It had said it was a reflection of her, after all.

Yes, it said. Beneath it all, ambition is your driving force. Loyalty for loyalty, protection for debt. Recklessness and bravery, both necessary to grasp for what you reach. Your intelligence will wrap the gift and tie the knot, but the gift itself you seek is power, and that only comes from ambition.

Hermione agreed and waited for the Hat to Sort her.

A word to the wise, the Hat said, and Hermione almost startled at the unexpected continuation. There is another student I once Sorted, similar to you. They lacked things you have, but you in turn lack for theirs. Not every enemy is a threat, and not every threat is an enemy.

Before Hermione could even begin to ask what that meant, the Hat cried, "Better be… SLYTHERIN!"

I would really like to know everyone's thoughts on Hermione, the noted Slytherins, Harry's Sorting, etc.? Like feedback on this UNCHARTED TERRITORY would be Fan-TASTIC!

Thanks all, hope you have a lovely day!

(Because holy shit it's 4am and I'm not even tired... so screwed tomorrow. Today?)