The bits in bold below are lifted from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. I own nothing.
Trollific
"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."
Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair.
"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."
She left the chamber. Harry swallowed.
"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Ron.
"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."
Harry's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But he didn't know any magic—
Professor McGonagall stepped back into the chamber, holding a long roll of parchment.
"When I call your name, you will step into the Great Hall to be sorted, and the doors will close behind you," she said. "Abbot, Hannah!"
Susan Bones stepped into the Great Hall, nervously looking around at the eager faces of the students seated at their tables. The walls were draped with cloth banners depicting the four houses, and thousands and thousands of candles floated in the air, below a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars.
It was marvellous. Then the stench hit her.
She looked straight ahead and stopped in her tracks aghast — right in front of the teachers' high table, restrained by glowing chains was a beast twice her height, its skin oozing slime as it roared and dragged its massive spiked club around itself. A mountain troll.
"Miss Bones, go forth," came Professor McGonagall's voice from behind her. Susan turned around, looking up at the aged Scottish witch in absolute terror — towards the angry troll?
The Professor looked back impassively. Susan gulped. The professor sighed, grabbed her by the shoulder and started pushing her forward.
"Professor…?" Susan whimpered as they came to a stop just out of the Troll's range. Why weren't the students recoiling from the stench? McGonagall stepped back, and Susan was alone. With the Troll.
"Miss Bones!" came a loud, commanding voice from the direction of the high table. She looked up and — Albus Dumbledore! The Headmaster! He knew her Aunt well; he would put an end to this charade—
"Your task is this — fight the troll." And with that, the wizened wizard in the purple robes sat down and popped a grape into his mouth.
Merlin.
She whirled about, looking for friendly faces in the crowd of students, and found none. The anticipation was palpable.
"I—" she started, facing the high table again, trying to ignore the massive lump of snarling flesh trying to smush her in front. She took a deep breath and said, "You can't possibly expect a first-year to take down an adult mountain troll on her own, can you?"
"Oh?" questioned a portly witch wearing a yellow overcoat from the high table as Dumbledore started juggling with the grapes on his plate.
Merlin.
No friends, no comrades, nobody to watch her flanks—
Oh. Wait. What was it her Aunt always told her? Get into the opponent's mind, Susan. Hmm.
She looked at the troll.
"Mister Troll?"
The troll looked at her, baring his teeth. Ew.
"Food?"
The troll tilted its head in confusion. Susan slowly stepped to the Ravenclaw table to her right, the troll's beady eyes following her, and the table.
Elves? Kitchen elves? Now would be a great time...anything with meat will do.
A platter of some sort of chicken preparation popped into existence in her hand, and she hopped away, swatting the hand of an over-eager Ravenclaw.
She held up the platter, closed her eyes and hoped for the best. The troll started to make a weird noise, and Susan realised it was laughing. She cracked open one eye.
Well, shite. In perspective, the amount of food she was offering wasn't particularly substantial for a beast that—
"HUUURFFFFF!" the Troll roared, and she dropped the dish in fright.
The table of the badgers started whooping.
Seamus Finnegan strode into the Great Hall, faltered, and then continued walking. There was a massive Troll in here, but everyone evidently knew there was a Troll in their midst and weren't reacting so it would be rather foolish to fuss about it.
Boy oh boy, it seemed the Troll bathed even less than his old man. Now that was quite something.
He came to a stop where a yellow line was drawn on the floor, the professor humming appreciatively behind him. He puffed up his chest with pride — his Ma had said to create good first impressions at the feast; those would help later on if he ever accidentally burnt someone to death.
"Mister Finnegan," cried the bearded bloke sitting at the big table — who was he again? Ma had said the Headmaster was someone terribly important, but the name had sounded all fancy so he hadn't paid any heed — as he grabbed a handful of black grapes from the plate beside him. "Your task is this — fight the Troll."
Bloody hell. Well, nothing to be done about it. Seamus bowed stiffly towards the high table, nodded to the students on either side — oh, weren't they all eager and everything to watch a bloodbath — and hefted his wand.
Blaze of glory, his Pa's voice said in his brain. Blaze of glory.
"RAHHHHHHHHH!" he shouted as he ran towards the Troll.
"GRYYFFFFFFFF!" roared the Troll.
Flames burst out of the end of his wand, and then someone tackled him from behind and it all went black.
Anthony Goldstein adjusted his glasses as he took in the environment.
The floor was scorched and going by the soot-covered boy being celebrated by the Gryffindor table, he had used fire to evade the Troll.
Anthony clicked his tongue. The new Gryffindor got lucky — fire was no way to defeat a Troll. Not that he had read anything about the creatures before coming to Hogwarts — they were far too advanced to be covered in the first or second year — but it was common knowledge that Trolls were created by Dondarrion the Dreadful in the fires of Mount Vesuvius. Of course they would have flame-resistant skin.
He hesitated. No, those were the Trolls in his tabletop RPG at home. Not actual Trolls. Bugger.
He looked past the Troll, idly noticing the shimmering air around the rest of the student body (aha! So that's why they didn't notice the stench), and said, "Headmaster Dumbledore? Is there...a time constraint?"
The Headmaster paused, a grape balanced on the tip of his tongue. It was quite a comical sight, but Anthony reasoned it would be neither polite nor conducive to his chances with the Troll to laugh.
"Ehs oh uhhy uh eeh he kwee," said the Headmaster.
"There's no hurry, but please be quick," translated Professor McGonagall from behind him.
Anthony raised an eyebrow. "You're contradicting yourself, you know. In the same sentence."
Dumbledore shrugged and popped the grape into his mouth.
Anthony sighed. So unprofessional, eating during work hours. Really. "Can I at least do some research in the Library?"
Dumbledore shook his head smugly as the tiny man beside him started squeaking and banging the table.
So that's how it was going to be, huh?
"Well sir," Anthony said, in his best lawyer impression, "I know a great deal about lawyering and all the other bells and whistles, and you are in violation of. The. Law!"
"Which law?"
Oh, that oh-so-smug grin hiding beneath that darned beard…
Anthony's lip quivered.
"I'll filibuster this gathering!"
McGonagall snickered behind him. Anthony huffed and turned around, striding past her.
"Respect," he grumbled as he walked, "is a two-way street, and I hope you all have realised—"
The troll roared and Anthony stumbled.
"—And gods please don't kill me I'm meant to do great things I promise I'll perform a highly erudite and complex and difficult to perform ritual to the great god Cthulhu in your name and pleaseeeee…."
The troll grunted.
"Raaaahv," it grumbled as it sat down on its haunches.
Anthony stood up on shaky legs as he fixed his tie. He looked around the Hall as Professor McGonagall led him to the Ravenclaw table.
"We can all forget that ever happened, eh? We're all friends here…"
Daphne Greengrass flounced into the Great Hall, stumbled over her own feet and fell to the ground face first.
"Yes, thank you very much, I will remember your assistance," she mumbled as Professor McGonagall pulled her to her feet and episkeyed her nose.
She smiled radiantly, looking and walking straight ahead. The troll stared back. She scrunched up her nose in disgust, turning to the Professor by her side.
"Professor, there appears to be a Troll in the Great Hall of this magnificent institution on whose Board of Director my father sits," she said, sending the professor a significant look.
Professor McGonagall looked at her askance. Daphne shrugged. "'My father will hear about this!' is Draco's line so I had to think of something else, didn't I?"
"How prudent of you."
"Anyhow," said Daphne, turning to face the drooling troll, ignoring the stench like she ignored the riff-raff of the student body on either side. "Father was correct; the standards have fallen. Well?"
She directed the last question to the Headmaster, who was licking his purple-stained hands. Why—she shook her head. Best not to question the ways of great Warlocks such as Dumbledore. As her mother always said before her suspicious disappearance in Cardiff, there was a method to their madness.
"Hm? Oh. Fight the troll."
Daphne laughed. "It is refreshing to know that even wizards of your age hang on to their sense of humour, Headmaster Dumbledore. Now, do tell, what is the actual process for being sorted?"
The Headmaster regarded her coolly as he picked out two grapes from a bowl in front of him.
"Miss Greengrass," he said, holding a berry in each hand, "Which do you prefer? Black grapes—" at this, he held up his right hand with the named grape, "—or green grapes?"
He held up his other hand, and Daphne smirked. An indirect test. Of course.
"Headmaster, I'm going to have to say...neither."
Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up. "Well, as you wish, young lady," he said as he threw the two berries over his shoulder. "Now, fight the troll."
Daphne sighed. The jape was stale now — did he not understand that? Well, she should humour him. She sighed again, for theatrical purposes this time as she spun around in a slow circle, regarding the student body.
"Hell-low, HOGWARTS!" she shouted.
The Hall fell silent. McGonagall's eye twitched. Daphne smiled at her.
"Just so you know, I'm going to do the Marcus Antonius routine. Rouse the peasants of impure blood to revolt against the tyranny of the treacherous High Table..."
She glanced back at the High Table. The sallow-faced man in black robes was rubbing his forehead.
"SHIDERRINN!" shouted the Troll, and Daphne started in surprise before catching herself, and running to the Serpent's table, who received her with bemused expressions.
"Well, that was an interesting sorting, don't you think? More interesting than the usual do of placing you on their heads and you shouting out their houses…"
"...Albus, I do not appreciate being turned into a Troll just because you wanted the sorting to have more spectacle."
"Give it a decade or two, you'll get over it."
"...Albus?"
"Oh, did I not mention? You're stuck as a Troll, Hat."
"ALBUS!"
"Oh ease it, I'm just kidding. Or no — I'm trolling you! Ha!"
"Sod off."
A big thank you to Webstriker and the other great people at the Harry/Daphne discord server (link in my bio) for initial feedback, and to DarkPhoenix on the Prince of Slytherin for the prompt. Let me know whose sorting you enjoyed the most, and thank you for reading!