That Evening
Two doors the size of three Hagrid's stacked on top of each other reveal a breath-taking auditorium in a church-like setting referred to as the Main Hall.
Candles magically hang and levitate from the ceiling hovering over the students. Individual fires erupt from intricately crafted statues lining the walls as we pass.
Professors of all different shapes and sizes are seated in a line front and center.
The freshmen were told to wait at one of the lengthy cherry wood tables until further instruction. I remain in the company of the trio of redheaded brothers. I had zero interest in losing track of them again.
"There's Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor-" Ron is interrupted by his rowdy brothers loud cheers. "And Slytherin."
Fred howls "Booo!" cupping both hands around his mouth.
"So, I take it that the Weasleys are notorious Slytherins, then?" I lamely joke. Fred and George give me a sympathy 'ha ha' before taking a seat on either side of me on the bench.
"Listen mate." George wraps his arm around my neck pulling me into a headlock. "Us Gryffindors are fierce, courageous, brave.."
His twin mirrors the adjectives making silly mannerisms while flexing his muscles.
"But most importantly, we get all the ladies."
The boisterous crowd of guys surrounding us burst into cheer and laughter.
Within a matter of seconds they fall deafly silent.
I peer over George's shoulder and make eye contact with one of the professors in her mid 60's. She's very thin, and is wearing a bright emerald robe with a pointed black hat. Her expression is stern and impassive.
She aggressively taps a rolled-up piece of parchment on both twins' shoulders from behind.
"Professor McGonagall," they briskly acknowledge in unison.
"Good to see you ma'am," Fred notes. "Looking lovely as always."
"Save it, Weasley. Join your class," she demands pointing her thumb in the other direction. "The both of you."
Without missing a beat the twins and upper classmen divide to their designated tables. They scramble to each respective table representing the four houses.
"Good evening students," Professor McGonagall addresses the freshmen at the forefront of the auditorium. "It's time to begin the sorting ceremony. When I call your name, I will place the sorting hat upon your head who will then assign which house you belong in. Such assigned house shall remain your home for the duration of your time here at Hogwarts."
"Good luck mate," Ron whispers with a nudge of his elbow. "I'll see you at our table."
I finger the collar of my dress shirt to breathe some air down my neck. I had been compartmentalizing the hesitation I've felt ever since I heard about the whole 'house' situation.
To be honest I had the gut feeling that I wouldn't end up with my friends.
I still hadn't really wrapped my head around the difference between each house.. but I sure as hell knew that I wasn't one of the Weasleys.
Don't get me wrong.
They're a group of great blokes; each brother a part of a wholesome family who was unconditionally loved and cared for.
I couldn't resonate with that.
And this was aside from their overall cheery disposition and light-hearted façade that tended to oppose mine.
My hope was that their positive influence would help shine some light during my time here at Hogwarts. So, I keep the pessimistic thoughts to myself.
Besides, maybe the tired old hat could be manipulated; it was one of my finer qualities, after all.
At least that's what my parents have always told me.
'Too smart for my own good'.
I think back to the days as an eight-year-old; peering outside my bedroom window watching the kids on my street ride bikes and play hop scotch together. All I ever wanted was to feel accepted and to be part of a group.
But whenever I complained about being withheld from such, my mother emphasized that I was simply ungrateful and a spoiled brat. Apparently, a brand-new game console or television was supposed to fulfill my inner loneliness and insecurities.
Aside from being manipulative and ungrateful for yearning for normalized socialization, I've battled suppressed anger issues all of my life. In high school when the self-instigated fights came to fruition, my father reprimanded that I was throwing tantrums simply to get attention.
Well, maybe if he had given an ounce of attention other than to yell at me for poor grades, or whipping my arse for tracking mud into the house, I wouldn't throw as many tantrums.
Brilliant problem solving, dad!
Speaking of which; my 'smart mouth' was the main reason for getting smacked around, and why I have a significant cigarette burn on my inner forearm.
All I ever wanted was to feel that I belonged; to not be withheld from what my parents thought that I should be, as opposed to growing up like a normal child who finds out on their own who they truly are.
My art of 'manipulation' was the only way to get around their asinine treatment in the first place. It was self-learned to influence situations to my benefit.
Was I being manipulative?
Barely.
I preferred to call it cunning.
I turn to Ron giving him a reassuring head nod. "See you there, mate."
30 Minutes Later
"Harry Potter!" McGonagall calls me to the front.
I temporarily make eye contact with the headmaster who adjusts in his seat in noticeable intrigue. I anxiously crack my fingers like a mad man from beneath my draping robes.
And yes, I'm wearing trousers.
I sit on the stool straight as a board and place both clammy hands in my lap. I gaze across the sea of students who had noticeably turned silent while watching with great intent.
Ron and the twins lean forward at the Gryffindor table erratically waving and silently cheering. Hermione sits across from them who had just been placed. She leans her elbow against the table with her head rested against her fist. She gives a bashful smile and joins them in waving.
I close my eyes as the weighty leather hat is placed upon my head. I lightly cringe as it wobbles back and forth, adjusting itself for the best feel.
"Hmm.. difficult" it begins. "Very difficult."
I patiently hold my breath with eyes squeezed shut.
"Plenty of courage I see," the sorting hat continues.
Courage. That was one of the qualities George had listed. Good. On the right track.
"A thirst to prove yourself.."
Yep. I'm a serious lacrosse player after all. I'm no stranger to competition.
"But where shall I put you?"
Gryffindor.
"I'm not so sure," it replies to my inner request.
Well, you should be. Put me in Gryffindor.
"Gryffindor, eh?"
I nod my head, eyes clenched shut, the grasp of my clasped hands tightening.
"But there's a fire burning inside of you!" the magical hat roars startling me. "A dark fire. A fire within.."
Okay, well you got me there..
"A fire not too different from a student I attended to many, many years ago."
A pin drop could be heard across the massive hall. And if I didn't know any better, the rest of my classmates were just as uneasy and nervous for me as I was. Beads of sweat form along my forehead and I pray I don't get the ornery hat dirty.
"This feeling, I'm afraid, cannot be ignored..."
Damn. I bloody knew my gut feeling was right. But come on! I need friends! Don't ruin this for me.
"Friendship isn't everything, Mr. Potter," the hat insists. "I must place students in the correct house where proper teaching will cater to their needs. Whatever those needs are destined to be."
It was painfully obvious that my gut premonition was proving to be correct. And although the mind reading hat was open to negotiation with my requests, it certainly wasn't receptive to obeying them.
Ah, screw it. Stupid bloody hat. Hopefully they'll still be my friend once I'm placed in-
"Slytherin!" the hat roars.
I let out an exacerbated sigh as my eyes slowly flutter open. I sharply inhale in response to the audience surrounding me. They appear intimidated, restless, discontent; all the while avoiding direct eye contact with me. And unlike previous students who received applause from at the very least their own house, each table is dead silent.
Each professor is dead silent. I instinctively turn my head to the row of teachers behind me.
Hagrid's eyebrows are furrowed and he slowly shakes his head in disbelief. My heart drops as my eyes drag to Professor Dumbledore who holds a similar expression. His lips are in a thin line and his eyes are shut in what appears to be deep disappointment.
Somehow I had just managed to let the entire wizarding world down within a matter of seconds.
McGonagall finally removes the dreaded hat from my head as I quickly bolt from the stage.
I accelerate my feet toward the table decked out in green and silver with my head held low. I'm mortified, pissed, and more than anything fucking confused.
Granted, Slytherin held a bad rap according to Fred's boos.
But why the bloody hell didn't anyone else get this response after being placed in the troublesome house?
"Potter," a familiar voice hisses. I look up to find Malfoy seated at the very end of the Slytherin table next to Crabapple and Gargoyle.
At least there was one person in the auditorium who had a smile, or more so a mischievous smirk, on their face. Malfoy tilts his head to the side silently offering a seat.
"Thanks," I mutter under my breath as I plop on the bench.
"I underestimated you," he states in a low tone. His eyes glow as they excitedly scan my face in a way that makes my stomach churn. The sinister facade that I had previously picked up on eagerly comes to the surface.
Unlike before, he reaches out his arm and offers to shake my hand. I lower my eyebrows as my left hand hesitantly nears his.
I had been faced to make a deal with the devil and was left with no other option in the moment.
I sternly grab his hand with a firm shake as the smirk widens on his face.
"Meet me in the Common Room at 11 PM sharp," he instructs. "We have matters to discuss."
I give a dismissive nod as I turn my attention to the Gryffindor table. All three Weasleys solemnly peer at me from across the room.
Malfoy follows my line of vision and possessively throws an arm around my shoulders. I resentfully peer at him from the corners of my eyes as he pulls me closer. "Welcome to Slytherin, Potter. I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun together."
