Tom was in a conundrum.
That was a nice word, wasn't it? He thought, co-nun-drum; it flows out well – cooo-nuuunnnn-drummmm… hmm, I wonder if Mona finished reading that comic I gave her; I need to ask her to return it to Patrick; it wouldn't do to keep it for too long… I should write THAT in the letter!
With a flash of inspiration, Tom joyfully lowered his hand from where its resting place on the side of his head. It had been there for almost an hour now, as Tom contemplated the blank piece of parchment paper in front of him. Which, of course, was what he had been in a conundrum about – what would he write home.
It wasn't that he had nothing to write about – it was his very first letter from Hogwarts. So many things had happened over the course of the day, he had a lot to say. And that, ironically, was his dilemma. He had too much to say! He had kept nibbling at the end of his nibbling-pop (an ever-tasty lollipop his aunt had specifically given him for the sake of nibbling while thinking – she abhorred people who chewed on the end of a quill, 'Why would you put feathers in your mouth?' she would screech, offended and disgusted…)
She really makes the funniest of faces, Tom now thought, as he paused in his writing. He had but written a word – Dear – before his mind took him off into the memory lane. He wasn't surprised though; it had been doing that for the past hour! And this was why his letter was taking so long to write!
Tom looked around his room. He was sitting on his bed – the bed he would be sleeping in for the next seven years! The whole room was decorated in subtle shades of colours, not too bright, not too dull – just right and comfy. But not home – no, not home, he thought, not yet, maybe soon? he hopefully wished.
His room-mate was running about still, putting up things on the side-desk, changing the sheets with a distasteful look on his face, as he removed the ones provided by the school. Tom had to admit, however, that the sheets his room-mate removed from his trunk would make all other covers distasteful in comparison. They looked soft and warm – and personalised with the crest of the other boy's house. Family house, that is, not the Hogwarts's one. Tom did wonder what the boy's family reaction would be to his sorting, but didn't worry much. Since the boy himself was not worried a bit about it.
Sometimes, a rumour about a Family, is just that m'boy – a rumour. As my father always says. Maybe it's the same here. Maybe the rumours about his family being really House-oriented is just that. Though, I can't help but imagine the reaction of his family – they have always been members of the House of Lion; for the heir to end up in this house must be shocking… Though maybe not as shocking as Abe's sorting… Maybe someone jinxed the hat? Where is Abe anyway? Shouldn't he be out of the washroom by now?
Tom looked at the bed right next to him. Right in between Tom's and the Charles' beds, it was glaringly empty. Abe's truck was at the foot of it, still locked, though everyone had entered the room a couple of hours ago. Tom supposed it was good that there were only three per room; Charles didn't seem to be the type to poke his nose into things, for all that he was energetic and exuberant. This would give Abe to calm down from his shocking sorting.
Minerva sure seemed to be having fun though… I wonder what Al gave her – it seemed to be a forfeit of some sort – maybe they had a bet going? Though if Minerva actually won a bet about Abe's sorting, then she was either having fun, or is a hidden seer. Since, who would have thought of a Malfoy in Hufflepuff.
Tom shook his head – he really needed to get on with his letter home; perhaps he too was affected by the sorting – it wasn't just Abe's that was out of the norm. Charles Potter, his other roommate, had seemed quite happy over his sorting. A complete contrast to how Abe had looked when the Hat shouted his house. An already pale boy, turning paler still – he would have become invisible with one more shock Tom snickered!
Minerva, though. For all her boasts about going either into Gryffindor or Ravenclaw – who would have thought she'd end up in Slytherin? Tom had heard her mutter something about 'schemes in the mind' and 'damn Al', as she walked past his table to reach the green-coloured one. He made a note to ask her about it in the morning.
And to think, it had all begun with Al. Alphard Black – the main culprit. It was his sorting that had shocked the majority first. Tom wasn't sure why people were shocked though – a few seconds in Al's company, and you would know him to be a reckless adventurer. And where do reckless adventurers, with more fiery blood than cool thinking, go?
Why! To Gryffindor, of course! And so, when the Hat had shouted what Tom already suspected, Abe had gone into a shock, while Min had groaned something about 'paying up'. And, of course, every other person with Wizarding world knowledge had lost it. A Black In Gryffindor?! They seem to whisper-shout.
And as Dumbledore twinklingly called out the next students name – without giving anyone time to recover – most first year Purebloods seemed to have forgotten about putting up their guard against a mind-reading hat. At least, that's what Tom thinks happened to Abe. Charles, Tom is suspicious, may just be using Al's chaos as an excuse to do what he wants to.
What a start to a new term! A Lestrange in Ravenclaw; a Patil in Slytherin; A Weasley in Hufflepuff; a Caldwell in Gryffindor; and so on. Most of these families, Tom knows, are orthodox about their houses – generations of them have all gone into the same house, over and over again. And if not the same, then similarly aligned – either Slytherin-Ravenclaw; or Gryffindor-Hufflepuff. But not such a drastic upheaval. And there has never been a mention of a 'Potter' in any house other than Gryffindor, and nor of a Black or Malfoy who wasn't in Slytherin.
Okay, that's it! Tom slapped himself (which earned a cheerful, 'Go for it, buddy' from Charles), and tried, once more to concentrate on his letter. Why, he despaired, were words so hard to write, when there seemed to be an avalanche of them in my brain! The words won't stop running inside, and yet there are but FOUR LETTERS on the page. Why? NO More thinking! I WILL WRITE THIS LETTER!
Resolute, Tom once more put his quill's tip on the paper, and continued from 'Dear'.
Dear Father, Aunt Liv, and Mona,A good start, Tom nodded, and continued.
I have reached Hogwarts safe-ARRRARRARARRARARAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
Tom watched as his quill slid across the paper, trailed it over the paper's edge and left an inky line on the table underneath, because he got startled over the loud scream that seemed to fill the castle, but in reality, only filled the attached washroom and his room.
As Tom looked at the splattered drops of ink on his table and the sheets, his ears still ringing due to the echo of the scream – no wait – that was not the echo – the screaming was still going on; he thought that it would be better to leave off his letter writing all together, and maybe just use the enchanted mirror his papa had given him to talk with his family.
Screw experiencing Hogwarts like everyone, Tom vehemently thought, throwing his quill at lunatically laughing Charles, I am going to talk to my family whenever I want!
The screaming, in case anyone was wondering, was indeed by Abe. But he would like everyone to know that he was not screaming, as was assumed, because of his mistaken sorting. But rather because he met a four-feet long snake in the washroom. The same washroom he had gone into to wallow in peace.
"Imagine if you will", he says, shooting daggers at a cringing Tom, "how I must have felt. There I was, contemplating my family's response, when all of a sudden, a weight falls on my shoulders, and it starts hissing. Imagine turning your head and coming face to forked tongue of a snake. Please, I ask of you. Imagine. And tell me if you wouldn't scream.
Abe was also not quite happy about the fact that it was a laughing Charles ('Charles Potter!') who actually come to check on him, and not Tom ('Thomas Hagrid, where were you?'). He was, however, appreciative of both Charles wrangling the snake off of him, and of Tom's apology.
Abe also wished that the rest of his days at school would not be this hectic – he soon came to know that this was what they called a 'pipe dream'.
(Long into the future, Abe would sit his 11-year-old grandchildren down, and teach them his motto – "If you can't beat them, ignore them or curse their existence – then might as well join them, and make them regret everything they have ever done to you.")