Of A Sort
by FernWithy
September 1, 1969: It Begins
Part Three: The Sorting Ceremony
The Sorting Hat's song echoed for a moment in the Great Hall as its words sank in. A few students offered feeble applause; most stared at it in a bewildered manner. At the staff table, Albus Dumbledore watched it quietly, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth. Several ghosts drifted out of the walls, setting aside their tradition of waiting for the feast to begin. The Bloody Baron crossed his gray arms and stared impassively at the Hat. A few of the first years jumped back at the sight of the spectral visitors, but they didn't scream. The quiet held for less than a minute, but as the years passed, most of them would remember the silent moment as an eternity.
Then Minerva McGonagall took in a sharp breath and unrolled her scroll of names. "Anderson, Margaret..."
The sword on which he...!
Narcissa Black clenched her jaw against an urge to cry out.
Lucius had warned her that the sorting agent--he had not mentioned the Hat per se, but he had told her everything else she would need to know--was hardly as unbiased as it pretended to be, but she hadn't believed him, not really, not until now.
"It holds part of Slytherin's mind," he'd told her as they walked across the moors this summer, "but it clearly takes little notice of his wishes."
"Because it Sorts the Mudbloods?"
"Among other things." Lucius climbed onto a stone wall, letting his cloak billow behind him in the strong wind. He looked over his shoulder at her. "There are slanders about Slytherin. The... agent... didn't speak to me directly, but Bellatrix told me that when she was Sorted, it told her that if she wasn't careful, she would 'follow Slytherin's path to self-destruction.'"
"Self-destruction? Bella told me that he was hounded from the school and left to die when he crossed Gryffindor."
"A somewhat more accurate picture of the situation." He looked away from her. "But you'll learn quickly that at Hogwarts, they imagine the other Founders to have been reasonable--they would have taken him back, as long as he renounced all the beliefs that mattered to him."
Narcissa sighed, and climbed onto the wall beside him. Since his father had died last year, Lucius had been spending a great deal of time with Bella, but this summer, Bella had taken up with Rodo Lestrange. She and Lucius had never dated--Bella only dated boys who were stupid and easy to control, and Lucius was neither--but he seemed to be at a loss for what to do with himself anyway, and by default, he had spent most of his summer holidays walking in the wilderness with Narcissa. His father had always told him he was not serious enough about his position in the wizarding world, and as they walked, he tried to come to terms with what it meant to be the head of the Malfoy family. He seemed to need to work it out for himself, so Narcissa remained quiet, and just let him talk.
"Our traditions go back for centuries, longer than the illiterate Muggle filth can count. We were choosing their kings while they were following pigs into battle. But now, we're meant to adopt their ways, and their standards. Have you seen what they get up to, Narcissa? Do you know the sort of people your other sister associates with?" He wrinkled his nose in disdain. "They rut like animals in the mud, and sound like them when they talk, as well."
Narcissa blushed. She hadn't heard the word "rut" in general conversation before, and it sounded dirty. "Surely, that isn't allowed at the school?"
"No." He sat down on the wall and stared moodily out across the heather. "Not yet, at any rate. But Dumbledore is such a Mudblood-lover that we'll undoubtedly be seeing a half-naked frolic on the Quidditch pitch any time now. Wouldn't want them to feel that their culture, if they can actually call it that, is being ignored, after all."
"You don't think Andromeda has..." Narcissa couldn't finish the thought.
Lucius looked at her shrewdly, then shook his head. "She's a Pureblood," he said. "Whether she likes it or not. She wouldn't."
It wasn't the most reassuring answer he had ever given her, and she had lost the rest of the day in a haze of worry that her sister was cavorting in a field somewhere with undressed Muggles. Every time she'd looked at Andromeda that evening, she'd flashed on the idea that Andromeda might have let that Mudblood boy she'd been spending time with hold her hand, or even kiss her. It was a revolting notion, and Narcissa hadn't been able to swallow a bite of her dinner.
"Baylor, Nicholas."
She took a sharp breath and brought herself back to the Great Hall. The sword on which he fell, indeed.
She glanced around and saw Lucius and Bella watching her from the Slytherin table, Bella with an encouraging smile. She was going to have a rally tonight in the Common Room, and Narcissa wanted to be right there listening to her. Lucius nodded to her and gave her a tiny smile. She felt herself blushing. He was too old for her now, but she'd worked out the years. By the time she left school, he would still be quite young enough to be unmarried, and she would be quite old enough to be available.
"Black, Narcissa."
Bella waved her hand generously. Without realizing that she meant to do it, Narcissa glanced over at the Gryffindor table, where Andromeda was sitting at the edge of her seat and biting her lip. Narcissa turned away, turning her nose up as she did so.
"Please take a seat, Miss Black," Professor McGonagall said, holding out the tattered Hat. It was an ugly, filthy thing, and Narcissa did not relish the idea of putting it on her head, but tradition was tradition. She took it and sat down.
"Miss Black?"
She put it on.
Inside the Hat, she could smell years of dust and children, and feel the moist warmth of her own breath puffing up against her skin. Thank heaven Lucius had been able to clean up the mess from Sirius's Dungbombs--that would have been horrible in here.
"Ah," a voice whispered in her ear. "What shall we do with you?"
Narcissa didn't answer.
"I can hear what you think."
Then it's hardly necessary for me to make words of it, is it?
"It makes it much more interesting."
You told my sister she would self-destruct. And you slandered Salazar Slytherin.
"I was there, little one, and I remember."
"Hmmph," Narcissa said aloud, and reached for the brim of the Hat.
"No, wait."
She lowered her hands. Very well.
"You show quite a bit of courage."
Narcissa recoiled in horror. Surely, it wasn't contemplating...
There was a soft sound, something like laughter. "A House you are determined to hate is never one you belong in. Though I wonder if it might... no. You are not a Gryffindor. Your courage is... specific. And Salazar Slytherin did not lack courage when it was needed."
You might consider singing that next year.
"I do see ambition in your mind. Not ambition worthy of your talents, but ambition nonetheless. You're a difficult girl to deter when you want something."
Relief flooded through Narcissa, too strongly to even maintain anger at the Hat. Then it will be--?
"SLYTHERIN!"
The last Potter had been blasted off the Purs tree two years ago.
The woman herself--a Vega Black-Potter--had done nothing in particular to warrant being erased from existence, having been dead for nearly thirty years, but Mum had blasted the rest of the Potters off the tree in a fit of pique when she was fifteen, during the Grindelwald War, when a Potter on the Wizengamut had sent a Black cousin to Azkaban for treason. Vega had been spared because old Phineas Nigellus, her uncle--still wheezing about the house at one hundred twenty three at the time--had a soft spot for her. (Sirius shared a room with Nigellus's portrait, and found it hard to believe that the snide old codger had a soft spot for anyone, but that was the story Kreacher had told him, and he'd been laughing, which was usually a sign that it was true.)
But Nigellus was long gone now, and Mum was head of the family. When Alya Black decided someone was going to go, someone bloody well went. She'd raged all day when James Potter's father convinced the Wizengamut to authorize Aurors to confiscate Dark Magic artifacts, annoyed that she had no one left to erase except poor Vega. It struck her as too unjust for a single burn mark.
Sirius had watched the whole thing from the sofa, where he and Regulus were playing a subdued game of Exploding Snap. He'd thought about tweaking Mum about her wild hair and sputtering, but Regulus was a bit scared, so he'd let it go. He hadn't thought much about the Potters, though. Usually, Mum's hatred was a good recommendation, as he'd told Peter earlier, but quite honestly, the Potters sounded like a crowd of rule-bound killjoys.
Being wrong was a fine thing.
James Potter nudged him in the ribs and motioned toward the greasy-haired boy from the train. Someone had cleaned him up, but he was already frowning again, glaring at the Muggle-born redhead he'd been helping Malfoy torment. James tipped his wand in that direction and grinned wickedly.
"Black, Narcissa."
Sirius shook his head slightly as Narcissa brushed past him and went to the stool, winking to acknowledge that he agreed--Greasy-Hair needed someone to lighten him up a bit. But Andromeda had begged him on the train not to get into any more trouble, at least until after the Sorting. ("It's alphabetical," she'd said as she Vanished the Dungbomb residue on his hands and robe. "If you can't make it all the way to Black, you're not ready for school.") It was her first day as a prefect, and she'd promised him that if he made her act, she'd hit him twice as hard as she'd hit anyone else, since Lucius was expecting her to favor him.
A pale hand reached between them and nudged James's wand back into his robes. Remus Lupin smiled sheepishly and glanced at Professor McGonagall, whose eyes were darting their way while Narcissa held whatever Council she was holding with the Sorting Hat. Sirius wished for a camera--the vision of Narcissa wearing something that looked like that was too good not to preserve for posterity.
"Where do you want?" Peter Pettigrew whispered.
"Anywhere Bella's not."
"But aren't most of your family in Slytherin?"
"Andromeda's not."
"Still..."
"I'm not going to Slytherin."
Peter looked at him uncertainly, and a flutter of nervousness began in the pit of his stomach. He was ambitious enough, and... well, he wasn't sly, but he did like to play tricks, and there was the fact that his great-great-grandfather had been headmaster of the school and a Slytherin...
No.
It would not happen.
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, and Sirius looked up to see her looking at him sternly over the rim of her glasses. He nodded and flashed her a grin that usually got him out of trouble with Andromeda, but it only earned him a tightening of her already thin mouth.
"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat called out, and Narcissa removed it and flounced over to the Slytherin table, where she sat down between Bella and Lucius. She presented her cheek coquettishly to Lucius, who gave it a quick peck as a congratulations.
Sirius put his finger in his mouth and made a gagging motion. James Potter turned bright red trying not to laugh.
"Black, Sirius."
Sirius straightened up and went to the stool. McGonagall sighed deeply and shook her head as she handed him the Hat.
If it puts me in Slytherin, he thought, pulling it on, I'll just run away and live as a Muggle.
"That's a bit extreme, don't you think?"
Sirius jumped, surprised that the Hat had already been listening to him. Not really, he thought. It can't be that bad, can it?
"You would walk away from your whole family?"
Wouldn't you?
"I've found many of them interesting."
Well... one or two. I'd miss Andromeda. And maybe Regulus. He's a git, but... well, it's not his fault.
"And you have so much talent in our world. You would give up magic, only because you don't like your cousins? Give it real thought, lad."
Sirius thought about it. Yes. If I had to be part of Bella's group, I'd break my own wand.
"I believe you mean that."
Good.
"Well, there will be no need for such drastic measures. Your mind is sharp--sharper than I've seen in some time--but it lacks the subtlety that Slytherin valued."
Thank you.
"And your willingness to break all of your ties... I don't believe Hufflepuff would be the proper house for you."
I'm not wild for studying, Sirius offered hopefully.
The Hat laughed. "Well, in that case, there's only one House left for you. I hope you won't run away from
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"There you are," Gilderoy Lockhart had said on the train, cleaning the last of the Dungbomb mess from her hair with a wave of his wand, and giving it a little twirl so that it would wave gently. "You don't want that kerchief covering up your pretty red hair, do you?"
Lily grabbed the flowered scarf (also clean now) and wound it around her fingers. "My sister made it for me," she said. "She's learning to sew. My mother made the dress, and Petunia made the kerchief to go with it."
"Oh. Well, in that case, you should wear it until it's time to change into your robes."
The compartment door open and the boy called Tonks leaned in. "Are you alright, love?"
She nodded. "Yes. Thank you."
"Can I talk to the little one for a minute, Gilderoy?"
Gilderoy bowed extravagantly to Lily, put his wand in the pocket of his robes with a comical flourish, and left the compartment. Tonks came inside and closed the door. "I can't believe they made Malfoy a prefect."
"Is he always like that?'
"Yes. Bellatrix Black as well--that was the older girl. I don't know the younger boy. The little girl is Bella's sister."
"Naturally."
"Watch it, now. As it happens, Bella has another sister who's quite delightful."
"Sorry."
He shrugged. "Do you have a name?"
"Lily Evans."
"I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Evans. Ted Tonks." He held out his hand, and she shook it. "Now, I meant what I said. Don't let gits like Malfoy ruin this for you. Hogwarts is a good place. The wizard-born aren't all like him. They aren't even mostly like him. His sort have just been getting loud lately."
"Why?"
"No idea. Well, an idea, but I don't really know much about it. Andi Black--the sister I told you about--thinks there's someone out there agitating. Bella was always mean, but she only started making a religion of meanness a couple of years ago. Going on about the 'Old Magic'--honestly, most of that rot sounds well-outgrown to me. But they've got it in their heads that we Muggle-borns are going to destroy their way of life or some such tripe."
"I got a few issues of the Daily Prophet when I was in Diagon Alley. I saw some of that."
Tonks grinned. "Jumped right in, didn't you?"
"A bit," Lily said. "I was very excited when my letter came."
"You keep right on being excited."
She frowned.
"I mean it, Lily. I wish you hadn't run into Lucius Malfoy first thing, but sooner or later you'd have had to notice him. They're there. You'll have run-ins with them, we all do. But ignore him. Enjoy Hogwarts. Love the magic. All that and so on." He smiled.
"I couldn't very well ignore him today."
"No. But we look after one another. That lot that came for you--all Muggle-borns, except for Andi and Gilderoy. Don't feel obliged, but we'd love to have a girl who spit in Malfoy's face on her first day."
Lily grinned sheepishly--Mum had always encouraged her temper, apparently believing it was a redhead's birthright and that much in the world required outrage, but spitting in Malfoy's face had been rather daring, and not very bright. Still, it felt good to know she'd done it. "I'm in," she said.
"We call ourselves the Muggle-born United Defense Squad. M.U.D.S."
"That's horrible!"
"It drives Bella quite mad, using a word that's supposed to make us feel awful. That's good enough for me." He waggled his eyebrows.
Lily had spent the rest of the train ride with the various members of M.U.D.S., trading stories about first forays into the magical world--Lily's seemed spectacularly uninteresting in context; Mum and Dad had been ecstatic about her letter, saying that it proved what they'd believed all along about the great power of the human mind, et cetera, et cetera--and filling Lily in on the various social structures they'd encounter at Hogwarts. The byzantine interrelationships of the Pureblood families made Lily's head spin. When they'd arrived at Hogsmeade Station, Benjy Fenwick had brought her to a gigantic young man named Hagrid and asked him to look after her especially, since she'd had a bit of a rough trip. She felt silly accepting this, since she felt considerably better now, but Hagrid had taken her aggressively under his wing, cursing "those ruddy dolts" and muttering about how Dumbledore would set things right soon enough. After admonishing her to "keep yer pretty head up and smile bright," he'd left her with the rest of the class.
A cheer erupted from the Gryffindor table as Sirius Black took his place beside his cousin Andromeda. She hooked an arm over the back of his neck and punched him in the shoulder.
"Camden, Benedicta," Professor McGonagall called when the cheering died down. A frightened looking girl with dark brown hair made her way to the stool, looking nervously to each side, and sat down. She put on the Hat.
"RAVENCLAW!" it called out.
Lily let her gaze drift while the Ravenclaw table welcomed Benedicta Camden. James Potter came into her field of view--he was already looking at her, and he waved cheerfully. He'd found her wandering around the platform and guided her onto the Hogwarts Express, for which she was grateful, but then he'd refused to listen to her, embarrassed her, and indirectly caused her run-in with Lucius Malfoy. And he seemed to have befriended a boy who found it amusing to cover his cousins with dung.
Still... they'd both come after her. That was something. Even before the M.U.D.S., James and his friends had come to help her, and against older students.
She shook her head. There was time enough to make friends later; she didn't have to decide tonight which side of the line James Potter would fall on.
The Hat sorted "Collins, Elhanan" into Hufflepuff and "Crenshaw, Roger" into Slytherin. After Roger Crenshaw, Professor McGonagall called a boy named "Dexter, Michael." Lily recognized him from Platform Nine and Three Quarters. She'd seen him wandering about before James found her. Muggle-born.
He stepped up to the stool, and a loud hiss came up the Great Hall--not from the students, but from the air. McGonagall put her hand sharply on Michael's shoulder and glared out at the room. "That will not be tolerated," she said. "Finite incantatem."
The hissing vanished. Bella Black, at the Slytherin table, had an unpleasant smirk on her face.
Michael Dexter put the Hat on and it declared him a Hufflepuff after a moment of silent discussion, then McGonagall looked down at her list again. "Evans, Lily."
Lily took a deep breath and stepped forward, accidentally brushing the dark-haired boy who had cursed her on the train. He turned and glared at her, pulling his thread-bare robes away as though she might set them on fire. She met the glare, not wanting to look away first.
"Miss Evans?"
Lily nodded and stepped away from the boy. She sat on the stool. James Potter sidled to the front of the group, the two remaining boys in his little circle trailing in his wake. He gave her an encouraging sort of smile, so genuine that she couldn't help but return it.
She put the Hat on.
"Let me think..." a voice said, before Lily had a chance to become accustomed to the slight sense of motion in the fabric.
All right.
"Odd. You've given no thought to your House."
I don't know anything about them, except what... you sang. For a brief moment, the strangeness of having a conversation with a hat struck Lily--a part of her half-expected to suddenly wake up and smell breakfast cooking in Mum's kitchen downstairs--but she shook it off. Though I'd rather not be housed with Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Black, if it's all the same to you.
"Mm," the Hat said. "No, you care far more about how you accomplish things than if you do. You wouldn't belong in Slytherin."
Lily nodded.
She supposed it was odd... all of this happening in her life, seeing a Hat sing, listening to its descriptions of the Houses, and yet she hadn't spent a second speculating on where she would live for the next seven years. But as long as she wouldn't have to look at Bella every day and remember the stink of the dung being spread on her face, she quite honestly had no preference. She was just curious. What would the Hat see in her mind? It was rather like the horoscopes in the newspaper that Petunia read obsessively every morning.
Another laugh from the Hat. "It's quite unrelated to astrology," it said. "Well, I think your House is clear. I see a great deal of loyalty and devotion in you, but you wouldn't be satisfied in Hufflepuff. You have too much of a need to jump into the fight."
I don't like fighting... I...
"I can see into your mind," the Hat reminded her gently. "And from what I see, you are a
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"There is something I want you to understand," Dumbledore had said when Remus Lupin's parents left the parlor. "As Headmaster, I must stress that our rules are not to be broken lightly, but for a moment, let us set aside the fact that I am your Headmaster, and recall that I was also a student at Hogwarts." He smiled.
"Sir?"
"Remus, a great many arrangements have been made to accommodate you, and you know better than anyone that your condition is not a minor matter."
"Yes, sir."
"But I want you to listen to me and hear me. Your lycanthropy is not a standard by which you will be judged. If you should find it necessary to break a rule, you will be in no more danger of expulsion than any other student."
"I don't understand."
"To put it plainly, you will be a Hogwarts student. You are not there on a trial basis to see if a werewolf can successfully attend school. Your attendance is not an experiment to be called off at any moment. You are a legitimate student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And the decision of whether or not we will accept lycanthropic students in the future is not dependent upon you." He smiled and leaned forward. "In other words, Mr. Lupin, you are quite free to be eleven years old."
Remus had laughed, more than a little bit nervous. "Thank you, but really... I don't break a lot rules. I--"
"You've had nearly no contact with other wizards your own age, or anyone your own age for that matter. Give yourself a chance to find out who you are and what you do."
Now, as Lily Evans took the Sorting Hat from her head and made her way to the Gryffindor table (where she was welcomed with much celebration), Remus looked up at the head table. Dumbledore was watching him with a slight smile. When he noticed Remus looking back, he raised his goblet.
Remus took a deep breath and nodded to him. He was still feeling slightly shaky--the moon was only three days past--but most of his equilibrium was back, and his strength had returned in time to lug his trunk to the station this morning. He'd been afraid he wouldn't be able to, and that would have required explanations. As it was, he had more than three weeks before he even had to think about the moon again.
There were enough other things to think about.
So much for not breaking a lot of rules.
He hadn't even been Sorted yet, and already he had gotten involved in a fight and lied to older students. He'd pulled his wand on a prefect back on the train, though he supposed that couldn't really be considered rule-breaking, if the prefect was hurting someone else.
"Fortin, Michael."
"SLYTHERIN!"
Remus put his hand into a pocket of his robe (a quickly altered hand-me-down from his father, who had muttered an embarrassed apology about finances), and drew out a small brass eagle. It turned its head importantly and looked at him.
"Ravenclaw?" James Potter whispered beside him.
Remus nodded. "Both my parents. And my... well, a lady we're friends with. She gave me this." He shrugged and put it back in his pocket, hoping that Professor McGonagall would interrupt again before James asked about the lady, who happened to be one Elizabeth Phelan, a delightful woman who had, on a not terribly delightful night when he was six, turned him into a monster. She was very happy that he would have a chance to go to school. She and her husband had both been Ravenclaws, just like Mum and Dad (though Elizabeth and Maddoc were older), and the lot of them had sat around in the parlor last night, reminiscing about the wonderful library in the Ravenclaw Common Room. Remus was looking forward to getting his hands on it.
"Hendrickson, Louise."
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Ravenclaw would be all right," James said in a noncommittal sort of way. "Be nice if all four of us were in the same House though, don't you think? The four of us from the train?"
On Remus's other side, Peter Pettigrew's face broke into a rather silly smile, looking entirely pleased. Remus grinned. He did like the others from the train. But they weren't...
Well, they weren't at all like him.
"Kendrick, Benjamin."
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"I think I want Ravenclaw," Remus said tentatively. "But perhaps, if we're in different Houses, we could still, you know--" He stopped, horrified to realize that he'd been about to say play. "We could be friends," he said.
"Too right," James said.
"Lupin, Remus."
Remus nodded a farewell to James and went to the stool. Ravenclaw, almost certainly, Ravenclaw. He glanced at McGonagall, who was giving him a strange smile as she handed him the Hat.
Better to be in Ravenclaw, really. They would have his books, and as much as he liked James and Sirius and Peter, if they all ended up together, Remus had a feeling he would be in a great deal of trouble. After all, if it hadn't been for them, he could have had a nice, uneventful trip, enjoying his book--
The Hat laughed. "Your trip wouldn't have been nearly as interesting, would it?"
Remus blinked. You heard that?
"You don't seem to require a great deal of encouragement to get involved."
Er...
For a long time, the Hat didn't speak, just squirmed a bit on his head. When it did speak again, its voice was different, thoughtful. "You might have been a Ravenclaw once. Your mind is attuned to the beauty of learning..."
But not now?
"No."
Because... Remus gulped. Is it because I'm a... you know, don't you? Dumbledore said you would know, and wouldn't tell...
"A lycanthrope?"
Yes.
"You're changed. The amount of courage you need to summon to do things others take for granted has made you different."
Whatever fun there had been in the day seeped out of it. I'm not who I would have been, then. I'm not... me.
"Who are we? Are we only what we are born as? Only what we choose? Only what happens to us? A wonderful question."
I don't especially like it.
"That's the Ravenclaw in you. There's no good answer to be found, so the question bothers you. It may interest you when you're older and you've read some philosophy."
It's my life. If I'm not who I would have been...
"Then you are like any other person who experiences a change in life," the Hat said firmly. "Your mind will grow on its own--you have a great deal of natural curiosity, and you don't need Ravenclaw House to stimulate that. But your courage, that shines through. You knew what you needed, and you've acted on it already, in the act of coming here at all, and in coming to the defense of others.
"In short, at your core, you are a
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Stupid, Peter scolded himself for the tenth time since he'd brought up Sirius Black's family. Stupid, stupid.
Obviously, Sirius hadn't wanted to be in Slytherin, and reminding him that his whole family was... what on Earth had he done that for? There was just an empty space, and someone needed to fill it by saying something, so naturally he'd said the first foolish thing to come to mind. Granted, once he'd realized that Sirius's family was that Black family, he'd had a hard time thinking about anything else, but still, saying it...
Stupid.
"Ravenclaw would be all right," James said to Remus Lupin, not far away. "Be nice if all four of us were in the same House though, don't you think? The four of us from the train?"
Peter's heart jumped into his throat. The four of us.
Potter hadn't heard the stupid thing he'd said to Black, but maybe, just maybe...
He let himself hope.
"Lupin, Remus."
Remus Lupin went up to the Hat and put it on, and James Potter drifted over to Peter. James was obviously not very good at standing by himself.
"What about you, mate?" he whispered. "Know which House you want?"
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, and Peter looked up to see her frowning. James flashed her a grin and waited for her to look away.
"Don't know," Peter said, as quietly as he possibly could, but of course that was a lie. He'd wanted Gryffindor before--a house full of heroes--but he was afraid that if he said it, he might jinx the possibility. And since Sirius was already there, it was the only house where all four of them could be.
"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat called out, and Remus Lupin, looking a bit dazed, made his way over to the table, where Sirius Black and his cousin Andromeda welcomed him. Lily Evans, the Muggle-born girl from the train, gave him a pretty sort of smile.
That's two of us.
The strange chill twisted in his spine again, as it had on the train when James had casually said, "Well, we're all here." A goose walking over his grave, as Granddad used to say. Why was there suddenly an "us" for Remus and Sirius to be "two of"?
He supposed it didn't matter. It was probably just the card game. He hadn't met anyone else, so it seemed like they were his own group. Mother always said that Peter jumped at vapors.
Still.
"McCrea, Alice."
A dark-haired girl made her way up from the back of the crowd and sat on the stool. There was a bit of laughter from the tables as the hat caught on the edge of a large bow she had in her hair, but after a moment, it slid down and began whatever silent conversation it was having with her. Apparently, it didn't have much to talk about; it was only a few seconds before it declared Alice McCrea a "HUFFLEPUFF!" Mertonson, David and Millington, Ann were also Sorted quickly, into Slytherin and Ravenclaw, respectively. Ann Millington was apparently a Muggle-born; the Slytherins glared at her as she scooted to her table. Peter noticed the greasy-haired boy from the train watching her leave with a decidedly malevolent expression on his face.
James Potter shifted restlessly from foot to foot beside Peter as "Nettles, Zelda," a dotty looking girl with frizzy blonde hair, was placed in Gryffindor. From the corner of his eye, Peter could see James working his wand across his fingers with a kind of easy dexterity born of nervous energy. Peter had a momentary fear that James's restless hands would suddenly cast an accidental spell--it wasn't really safe behavior to twirl a wand around--but he pushed it away. James knew what he was doing.
"O'Malley, Finian."
Someone nudged Peter from behind, trying to get to the front. Peter stepped aside. Finian O'Malley was a short, skinny boy with blotchy freckles and glasses as thick as James Potter's. He was wearing a Muggle watch, and Peter could see bell-bottomed blue jeans under the hem of his robe. Peter nodded to him in what he hoped was an encouraging way. If people like James and Sirius were going to be his friends, he'd have to be a leader for other students.
He was about to go back to his own thoughts when he heard someone nearby--in the direction of the Slytherin table--whisper, "Prolapsio." No one else seemed to have heard the spell.
Finian's feet shot out from under him, skidding him forward until he collided with the greasy-haired boy, who jumped back with an expression of fury. Finian grabbed his robes to get his balance, his face turning bright red. "I'm sorry, mate, I just lost my--"
"Get your filthy hands off of me," the other boy said in cold, clipped tones.
Professor McGonagall's eyes widened as her mouth thinned. "Mr. Snape, apologize," she said.
The boy--Snape, apparently--glared at her dully for a moment, then said, in a voice that offered no sense of apology at all, "So sorry."
Finian nodded uncertainly and made his way up to the stool. The corner of Snape's nose twitched nastily as he watched.
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Pettigrew, Peter."
Peter took a deep breath, hoping against hope that he would be able to go into Gryffindor with Sirius and Remus, and probably James. Courage, he thought. I will have courage.
He straightened his shoulders and looked at Snape, gathering his courage to speak as clearly as he could. "You're the filthy one," he said, and went past without looking back. McGonagall was shaking her head in frustration as she put the Hat on his head.
"Ah," the Hat said. "I see you have a preference."
Gryffindor, Peter thought. Oh, please, Gryffindor.
"I see that you want to be brave..."
I am brave. Really. I broke my ankle last summer and I didn't even scream.
"It's not bravery that makes you seek Gryffindor. You feel a part of a group, a community..."
I like them because I'm brave with them. I--
There was a sudden crack, and Peter felt the world tip horribly for a moment, then he was spilled out across the floor of the Great Hall. The Hat flew from his head and landed at McGonagall's feet as his chin slammed onto the floorboards, sending stars dancing through his head. As he fell, he caught a fleeting glance of Snape, his wand raised, looking vindictive.
"Mr. Snape, I-- Mr. Potter, no!"
James Potter's dexterous hands had stopped their restless fidgeting. When Peter turned his head, James's wand was raised aggressively over his head, pointed at Snape. "Fossor!" he shouted.
Two bright red spots of greasepaint appeared on Snape's cheeks, and his sharply beaked nose ballooned into the red ball of a clown's.
The laughter began while Peter pulled himself to his feet. For once, it wasn't directed at him--people were pointing at Snape with great hilarity. Snape himself was turning as crimson as the hex features James had given him, his enlarged nostrils flaring, his fists clenching.
"ENOUGH!"
Silence fell.
Peter turned to the head table, where the headmaster, Dumbledore, had risen from his seat. He came around the table silently, almost gliding, and stood before the remaining first years. "Mr. Potter," he said, "Mr. Snape. You will both come with me now."
Snape stood coolly for a moment, then straightened his shoulders and put his wand in his pocket. There was an expression of supreme disdain on his face. James's wand remained raised.
"Mr. Potter."
James looked up at Dumbledore, breathing hard.
"James," Dumbledore said, "put your wand away, and come with me."
Warily, James lowered his wand.
Dumbledore put one hand on his shoulder, and the other on Snape's. "Professor McGonagall," he said, "you may continue with the Sorting. I will see to Mr. Snape's and Mr. Potter's Sorting when you have finished with the Hat."
McGonagall nodded, leaning down to pick up the stool. She waved her wand, and a leg appeared in a gap Peter hadn't noticed before. It stood solidly.
"Mr. Pettigrew," she said. "Please continue."
Peter looked after James and Dumbledore (and Snape), who disappeared through a small door near the head table, then took a deep breath and returned to the stool. McGonagall handed him the Hat.
It didn't speak immediately when it slipped over his head. Peter waited for nearly half a minute before he thought to it, Are you hurt?
"No." The Hat sounded surprised. "Why do you ask?"
Well, you were thrown. Do you... well, know what happened?
"I am aware."
Oh.
"You wanted Gryffindor..."
Yes.
"You'll never be happy there."
I will.
"You're not without talent, Mr. Pettigrew. Nor without intelligence. Nor without courage. But you will always be in the shadows in Gryffindor. You'll be outshone."
I'll be better if I'm with people who make me better.
"You believe that."
Yes.
"And you're willing to sacrifice your chance to shine on your own, in order to become a better wizard."
Yes.
"That, Mr. Pettigrew, is the clearest sign of bravery you have shown. Clearer, certainly, than foolishness about not screaming when you've injured yourself."
Then I can...
"If you are certain."
I am.
"Then let it be
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Dumbledore led them into a smaller room that was lined with portraits. James recognized a painting of a man with a walrus mustache as his great-great-uncle, Elliott Potter, who had been a liaison to the Muggle Prime Minister at the turn of the century. Uncle Elliott frowned down at him impressively.
James sighed. His great-grandmother's portrait at home was the same, always looking at him like she couldn't believe he had the gall to be the last Potter, and would prefer to sack him in favor of someone else. Dad said not to pay her any mind; she'd never liked boys much. "You should have seen the robes she expected me to wear!" he complained frequently, with a roll of the eyes. Her mother-in-law, James's great-great-grandmother, was much better. Grandmother Vega's portrait always greeted him with a mischievous grin and asked what sort of scheme he was planning. It was pretty much the same grin as Sirius Black's, which wasn't surprising, as Grandmother Vega had been born a Black, much to her daughter-in-law's disapproval. He wished they'd been able to bring her portrait to the station today; he'd have liked to wish her goodbye along with Mum and Dad and Auntie Luisa and the grandparents.
"You two will wait here," Dumbledore said, indicating two high backed chairs near the fireplace. He waved his wand and a plate of sandwiches appeared on a table. "I expect you both to be uninjured when I return." He fixed James with a look of deep disappointment.
"Yes, sir," James said.
Snape said nothing. He took the chair further from the door and sat in it stiffly, his hands curled into claws on the arms. He looked at neither James nor Dumbledore.
Dumbledore shook his head. "Finite incantatem," he said, and the clown markings faded from Snape's face.
Snape didn't respond to it in any way.
"Mr. Potter, make an attempt." Dumbledore frowned again, then went back into the Great Hall.
James stood beside the empty chair for awhile, watching Snape, who didn't move. It wasn't fair--why should Dumbledore except James to be the one "making an attempt"?
Still, if he didn't...
James didn't want to think about it. If Dad thought he'd been making Dumbledore's life difficult, Dad would make Great-Grandmother's portrait look warm and welcoming. He sighed and sat down, leaning toward Snape with his elbows on his knees. "Look, mate, that got a bit out of hand out there."
Snape glared at him dully.
"Well... I suppose I shouldn't have used that hex. It... wasn't very nice." James held out his hand, feeling rather pleased with his apology. He could be the bigger man, even if Snape didn't have the good grace to apologize for dumping Peter on the floor while he was at it.
Snape examined the outstretched hand like he'd never seen one before. After awhile, he looked up. "You're joking."
James withdrew his hand and rolled his eyes. "Fine. Have it your way."
Snape nodded and turned to stare at the fire. The flames made strange patterns on his pale skin, and made his eyes look flat and black.
James took a sandwich and tore into it moodily. In all his daydreaming about going away to school, he hadn't imagined being in trouble with Dumbledore before the first feast, or being covered with blood before he even got to school. Dad had told him the Dark Arts were rising again; James had been instructed in no uncertain terms to steer clear of them. Dad was fanatic about that. Losing three brothers and seeing his sister left barren in the war with Grindelwald had hardened his opinions on the subject. "Talk to your Auntie Luisa," he'd said. "If you're ever tempted to try the Dark Arts, ask her what they did to her when she married a Muggle."
James hadn't asked. He'd read about the Grindelwald war--and the Muggle war that had coincided with it--and he didn't need anyone to convince him to stay away from the Dark Arts. Dad had taken him to Germany last summer, and they'd walked silently through the graveyards that had once been wizarding villages. An old man in Mittelreinbach kept a museum, and he'd showed them... horrible things. Grindelwald had allied himself with the Muggle madman who'd been leading Germany, and he'd used prisoners and captive soldiers from the Muggle war to experiment with new curses and new ways to kill. He'd called beasts to rampage in the forest and...
James shook his head to clear it. He'd had nightmares about Grindelwald since he was small, and if he let himself get sucked into them, he'd be jumpy all night. Instead of dwelling on it, he slammed his sandwich down on the table and stood up.
Snape looked at him with vague curiosity.
"You're a piece of work," James said. "The Blood Curse, because someone accidentally ran into you with some Dungbombs?"
"Accidentally."
"Yes, accidentally. The world doesn't revolve around you, you know. We didn't even know you were there. And what did you pick on poor Peter for?"
"What did I..." Snape wrinkled his nose. "I won't be called filthy by a fat little blood traitor. Or a spoiled rich one." He sniffed in James's general direction. "Do you think I don't know who you are? Who your family is?"
"My family has been in the Order of Merlin since... Merlin."
"Merlin was the one who ruined wizarding life in Britain. Muggle-loving half-blood traitor. His mother was a Muggle, you know. They say that his father was a demon. What do you think, Potter? Are we demons?"
"Of course not, but--"
"He tried to tie us to the Muggles. To the people who were burning us and calling us devils."
"Well, it didn't help that there were wizards running about bleeding their children to make Potions!"
"It was our way. Who was a half-wild half-blood to tell us what we could and couldn't do? The Old Magic is our heritage. It's--"
"It's sick, is what it is. Did you see what happened in the war with Grindelwald? Do you know what he did to people?"
"To Muggles. They deserved it. Do you know what their books say? 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.' Nice, isn't it? So we just gave them back a bit of their--"
James grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him up, heart beating quickly. "They weren't doing a thing to us!"
"Mr. Potter!"
Snape's eyes darted up, looking over James's shoulder, and James knew before he turned what he would see. He sighed, and let Snape go, then turned. Dumbledore was standing in the doorway, the Sorting Hat in one hand, looking furious.
"He said--" James began, but Dumbledore cut him off with a sharp look.
"I'll be speaking to Mr. Snape," he said. "And I'll be speaking to your father. I don't imagine he'll take this lightly."
"But--"
"James."
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry."
Snape didn't say anything. James was starting to get the idea that Snape would sooner swallow an ashwinder egg than apologize.
"I want to speak to Mr. Snape alone," Dumbledore said. "So you take the Hat, and go out to whatever table is assigned to you."
James sighed and sat down again, taking the proffered Hat. "Professor, I..."
"We'll talk later, James."
"All right."
He put on the Hat, letting it slip over his face and encase him in darkness.
"You're a hot-headed young man," the Hat said.
Particularly when I've got a pound or so of wool around my ears, James tried, hoping a joke would cut the Hat's impression of a temper tantrum.
It laughed. "Your mind is in so many places. You don't settle easily on a thought, do you?"
Not really.
"Well, I believe we can eliminate Ravenclaw. You have a good mind, but your temperament is all wrong."
My mother said that. She was a Ravenclaw.
"I remember." It shifted aimlessly on his head, and James imagined it hemming and hawing. "Well, yes," it said. "Yes, I think that will do..."
What will?
"Do you really need to ask?"
Will you answer?
"It's not really necessary, since we're outside the ceremony, but if you like... Welcome to
"GRYFFINDOR!"
James Potter pulled the Sorting Hat from his head and handed it to Dumbledore. Both of them were smiling. Potter punched the air in celebration of his grand election into the house where the rest of his compatriots had landed. Severus rolled his eyes.
"Yes, James, congratulations. I imagine your father will be pleased," Dumbledore said, shaking Potter's hand.
"When he finishes being angry with me," Potter said lightly. Clearly, he didn't have a very good idea of what it was like to have someone actually angry with him. "I don't suppose..."
"No, James. The letter will be sent tonight."
"All right. I'm sorry, sir." He shrugged. "I suppose... well, you know... I shouldn't have stepped in."
"I take it you will remember that next time?"
"I'll try."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow suspiciously, then waved his hand at the door. "Go join your new House, Mr. Potter. The feast is just beginning."
Potter nodded and left. Severus heard a huge cheer come from the Gryffindor table before the door closed behind him.
Dumbledore stood in front of the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back for a long while, saying nothing.
Severus sighed. "I suppose you'll be writing to my father as well?"
Dumbledore finally turned around to face him with a discomforting, penetrating gaze. "No," he said. "No, I will not."
"But--"
"Don't imagine I'm taking your behavior lightly. But I will keep my own council about the matter. I... remember your father."
"Of course you do. He worked on your side in the war."
"He was a strong fighter, Severus."
Severus raised his chin and looked Dumbledore in the eye. "Very strong, against unarmed women, with the whole Ministry backing him up."
"I'm sorry about your mother."
Severus didn't have an answer for that. He just slumped a bit in the chair, then looked away from Dumbledore and stared at the fire. The flames licked the sides of the fireplace, sometimes leaving black trails of soot against the stone. After-images flickered behind them, leaving a pattern of gold light in the air.
His parents were not Dumbledore's concern. It had been a mistake to even bring Mother up. Bellatrix Black had warned him on the train that Dumbledore might try to use him to get inside--"He'll come on as a great confessor," she'd said, "and he'll ask you to confess about us."
Severus crossed his arms and waited for Dumbledore to speak again. If he asked for information about Bella, he was going to find out that Severus Snape wasn't so easily manipulated.
"I can't just let it go," he said after awhile. "You were involved in two confrontations on your first day, and you certainly seem to have instigated this latter one."
"It was the Pettigrew boy--"
Dumbledore held up a hand, and Snape fell silent again. "Mr. Pettigrew came to the defense of a Muggle-born you had insulted. His methods leave something to be desired, but you, Mr. Snape, were the first to torment a classmate. You will serve three detentions with me this week."
"And Sirius Black, with his Dungbombs? Will his father get a letter? Or will he get detentions?"
"Little as I may like Dungbombs, they aren't prohibited items on the Hogwarts Express. And Mr. Black's fate is not, at any rate, your concern."
Of course. He started all of it, and nothing will come of it.
Severus bit his tongue and looked away from Dumbledore.
"Mr. Snape, I know you're angry. I know you have cause to be."
"Do you."
"I remember when we found your mother, hiding in the ruins at Tintagel. She was sixteen. She'd learned a lot from Grindelwald's people. It was how she stayed alive."
"I don't wish to discuss my mother."
"Perhaps your father? He was the one who found her, you know. Took care of her. Nursed her back to health."
"I don't wish to discuss either of my parents with you." Severus physically turned away, curling up sideways in the chair.
"Very well. If you ever do wish to discuss them, I want you to feel free to come to me. I knew them both well, once."
"I won't."
Dumbledore nodded, as if he'd expected nothing else. "Very well," he said. "Mr. Snape, for you own sake, perhaps you should--"
"Stay away from Bellatrix Black?" Severus finished. "What a surprise."
"I was going to say you should try not to brew your anger. Miss Black would do well to learn that lesson as well, but I will not tell a student with whom he may associate. Think of what is right for you, not what's poison."
Severus shook his head and took in a sharp breath. Bella was poison? She was out there giving people hope. Telling them that they weren't monsters, that their power was their own to use as they saw fit. Her cousin was the one spreading mayhem and chaos.
"With that, I'll leave you to be Sorted," Dumbledore said, his voice sounding weary. He held out the tattered Hat.
Severus looked at the Hat without touching it, then swiped it away quickly. He didn't put it on his head right away.
"You need to put it on."
"How many lies will it tell me?"
"The Sorting Hat sees the truth, Severus. I suggest you listen to it."
Dumbledore turned and left the room, his robes swaying around him in a stately way. The door clicked shut.
Severus stared at the Hat and it stared mutely back. What would the Hat call truth? It was aligned with Dumbledore, as Father was, and Father had given his impression of the truth about Severus last night--unclean, traitorous, and dark. Just like her.
Mother had told him the story, of course, many times before she went away. Severus had never believed it, not really--Father was distant and cold, and he couldn't imagine them caring for one another and speaking nicely in a hospital ward while she recovered from her near starvation. But she swore it was true. She'd promised not to use the Old Magic anymore because he didn't like it, and then they'd married. Even then, before Serenus died, Severus remembered Father testily telling her not to call it "Old Magic." She'd apologized quickly and said "Dark Arts," but when he wasn't there listening, it was always "Old Magic." Always.
And then there was the accident, and it had all exploded, like an overheated cauldron. After Mother had gone away, Father had demanded that Severus tell him everything she'd taught him, all the secrets they'd shared: What filthy lies has she filled your head with?
Undoubtedly, the Sorting Hat would see it all.
But there was no choice.
Severus Snape put on the Sorting Hat.
"I was beginning to wonder," it said, "whether or not you intended to try me on."
I don't care what you say.
"You're not unclean, you know," the Hat said. "Or evil."
Severus felt hot blood in his cheeks. He didn't like having the Hat speak his own words to him. He pushed back at the alien presence in his mind.
The Hat squirmed on his head, twisting a bit, then said, "That's not a productive way to do this. But you're certainly strong-minded."
Thank you.
"Yes... I can see great skill in you, great discipline. But what to do with you..."
Do as you like.
"You believe you would prefer Slytherin."
I would prefer Slytherin.
"Yes, yes... I can see it in you. You have little patience for restrictions on your power."
Why should I? It's mine, isn't it?
"Your mind is good, and you have courage... I wonder if it would be better for you..."
Hmmph. Well, why not Hufflepuff? Haven't I some bumbling around skills as well?
The Hat didn't get angry. It just laughed softly. "You, Mr. Snape, will never fit into Hufflepuff. That I can assure you. But perhaps Ravenclaw? Or--"
Not Gryffindor.
"Yes, I see that."
For a few more seconds, the hat moved randomly. Severus imagined it frowning and fidgeting. "Very well," it said. "In the end, Ravenclaw isn't for you. It's a house where rules are followed much too carefully, and questions that are of interest to you are too far from the blood.
"In short, Mr. Snape, your instinct is correct. You belong to
"SLYTHERIN!"
The Great Hall was quiet at last, the only light the faint twinkle of the stars from the enchanted ceiling. The sliver of the moon which had shone earlier was long set, and the house elves had swept away the remains of the Sorting Feast hours ago.
The ghosts came silently through the walls. The Bloody Baron swept to the center of the room and surveyed the others, saying nothing. Sir Nicholas floated forward, seeming to have something to say, but in the end, simply fell silent. The Grey Lady made no move from her spot by the Ravenclaw table, and the Fat Friar, uncharacteristically solemn, turned away from all of them and knelt in prayer. Other Hogwarts ghosts, including their newest addition, little Myrtle, hovered in the air. Myrtle gave a shaky sob, but had nothing to offer, and was not asked for anything.
Even in the days of Grindelwald, none of them had seen a Sorting so fraught with tension among the students. Then, it had been a danger from outside. Now, the fight had been brought into the Great Hall itself.
Each ghost looked at the others, pearly gazes shifting nervously, each knowing that someone had to begin talking.
But no one did.