"Egg of the Phoenix"

Change is the constant, the signal for rebirth, the egg of the phoenix.

Christina Baldwin

Chapter 1

We all have big changes in our lives that are more or less a second chance.

- Harrison Ford

As the group of nervous eleven- and twelve-year-olds was herded towards the front of the main hall, Draco Malfoy felt as though a gulf was separating him from the rest of his peers. He looked around, finding himself staring into wide, almost fearful eyes. The girl who stood beside him, the one with two large front teeth and bushy hair, seemed to be suppressing shivers of anticipation. The chubby boy behind him was trying his best to quiet the bubble of nervous laughter that was just barely escaping his throat.

The sorting was about to begin. Within moments, each of the first year students would be put into their houses; and ultimately, depending on which house, the stage would be set for their next seven years.

Unlike the others around him, Draco felt smug as the group came to a halt in front of the staff table and the four-legged stool was set down in front of the young students. He alone seemed confident about the sorting. He alone did not flinch as the first name was called to the front. And, in his mind, he was sure what would happen once the large faded hat was placed upon his head – he would be sorted into Slytherin.

It was, his father had always told him, a house of nobility, of pure blood, and of his ancestors. To Draco's knowledge, all the young Malfoys before him had been sorted into the House whose symbol was the cunning snake. It made sense then that he would follow those footprints that had been laid before him.

It wasn't about choice to Draco; there was no other alternative to Slytherin. The concept of being in another house had not even crossed his mind during the wildest of daydreams. His father had indoctrinated into him the fact that Slytherin was best and all the others were for the second (and third) class. It was all in terms of black and white to the young, blond boy. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys were sorted into Slytherin house. There was nothing else to it.

"Malfoy, Draco!"

His name was called, jolting him from his thoughts. The small blond boy didn't hesitate. Instead, he seemed to strut forward, nodding at the two acquaintances he'd known even before receiving his invitation to Hogwarts - two large boys named Crabbe and Goyle. They'd never exactly been close, but they'd spent a few afternoons together, growing up. Their fathers' connections had obviously brought them together on occasion, though none of them had ever been very talkative with each other as children. But now that they were at Hogwarts, it was pretty much a given that the two of them would be at his every beckoned call, given that he was of course, a Malfoy. Draco had the feeling that these two would be just the type of friends that would prove worthwhile in school. They had little brains between the two of them, but were large and hulking enough to intimidate even the bravest and nosiest of students. Things were looking up.

Draco didn't need instruction. He hopped onto the stool with as much grace and dignity that he could muster and awaited the sensation of the ancient bit of cloth being placed upon his head. He didn't have to wait long.

The world before his eyes went completely black and for a moment Draco felt an odd sense of disorientation. The crowded hall, which had been full of murmuring just seconds ago, fell into a deep hush. And from that quiet a voice, deep and old, emerged. It was odd and Draco had the faint feeling that maybe this was what those mad people who spoke to themselves heard all of the time. He was suddenly grateful for his sanity.

"Hmm," the hat spoke without a voice, "How interesting. Smart enough... cunning... what potential you have..."

"What the hell are you waiting for?" Draco questioned impatiently, "You don't need to debate or figure anything out. Slytherin. I'm to be in Slytherin."

"Are you really?" The voice inquired, the hint of amusement in it forcing Draco's mouth into a frown. "I am not so sure, young Malfoy. I can see it in your head. You're ready for Slytherin but I think you'd do well in another house. Maybe better."

"Another house?" Draco felt his confidence waver for a moment as the slightest edge of panic started to nibble its way into his mind. He couldn't imagine what would happen if he was to be sorted into another house. Just the prospect of his father's wrath made him tremble slightly.

"Yes. You're bright enough to be sorted into Ravenclaw... there's a good mind on you, though you seem to be neglecting the pursuit of intellect." The fact that he'd just been insulted by a hat registered in Draco's mind, but he could not react; the hat was continuing in its little speech. "You'd be horrid in Hufflepuff. Not much of a hard worker, are you? Barely lifted a finger since the day you were born. The way children are spoiled these days..."

"Hey!"

"Sorting you into Gryffindor... now that's an interesting thought."

Draco's eyes widened in the darkness. "Gryffindor? The house of Mudbloods and Muggle lovers? I'd sooner be home schooled. By my mother!"

"I'm sure of it," the hat announced. "Yes. No more debate. It's going to be... GRYFFINDOR!"

There was a smattering of applause as the hat was lifted from Draco's head, but the boy didn't hear it. He also did not hear Professor McGonagall's voice as she instructed him to the table at the far side of the room. The only voice he even barely acknowledged was the small one in the back of his head, the one that was purely logical that reminded him - quite adamantly - to breathe. Breathing, it assured him, was quite necessary and important in moments like these when the world was spinning a bit too quickly.

"Mr. Malfoy," Minerva McGonagall repeated for the third time, somewhat annoyed, "if you'd please make your way to the Gryffindor table, we do have others that need to be sorted."

This all had to be some sort of sick joke. Maybe this was his father's way of getting back at him for last week's incident at Borgin & Burkes'. After a blank pause, Draco nodded. Yes. His father would jump out from behind a curtain or from underneath a table at any moment now.

Except there was no sign of Lucuis Malfoy anywhere; no clink of a silver cane rapping against cold stone, no sound of cruel laughter in the distance.

"There must be some mistake," Draco said in a high voice that sounded nothing like his own. "Gryffindor? I can't be..."

"Yes, yes," Professor McGonagall was forcing herself to not yell at the small boy. There was a very tight-lipped expression on her face, one that was meant to look like a smile but failed miserably. "It's a cause for shock and celebration. I'm sure you're quite proud of yourself." She took a step forward as she spoke and reached out for the boy. Taking him by the arm, she got him off the stool and onto the path toward the Gryffindor table where a large amount of students were looking at him curiously. "Be proud of yourself over there, with the rest of your housemates," McGonagall said irritably, before moving back to the front of the room and calling out another name.

Draco found himself sitting in a seat and being clapped on the back by strangers without knowing how he walked himself all the way down the aisle. He was feeling quite dumbfounded. There are, they say, five stages of grief that people experience when going through something traumatic. The first is shock and denial. Draco found himself wallowing in this stage when he caught his first glance of his housemates. Up and down the table he saw smiling faces, red hair, and deep red banners with golden lions roaring mightily. These were not his friends. This was not his table. And those were certainly not his colors.

Draco banged his head against the table and let it rest against the cool wood. This could not be happening. He was having a nightmare. The worst kind of nightmare he'd ever experienced.

"Your name's Draco, innit?" a small voice from across the table said somewhat nervously.

Draco raised his head enough to glare at the boy who'd spoken to him. As he made this swift movement, he went from the first stage of grief to the second: anger. "What do you want?"

"Oh," the boy shuffled back into his seat and seemed to shrink, which was no small task, since he was a rather chubby boy. "I just wanted to say congratulations. Glad to have made it into Gryffindor; my gran wouldn't have seen it any other way." At this, Draco almost tasted his own bitterness on his tongue. "Anyway, my name's Neville. Just wanted to introduce myself..." He trailed off abruptly and looked down at his hands then, finally noticing the dark look in Draco's eyes.

For a moment, he considered reaching over the table and smacking the boy. Had not the whole student body and faculty been around, he probably would have. But instead, simply sat back and let his hands ball into fists. Draco was not in the mood to be surrounded by these people.

"Potter, Harry."

The rest of the school turned its attention to the young boy with dark hair and brilliant green eyes as he walked to the stool and had that damn overly opinionated hat placed onto his head. Draco closed his eyes, weary of what was to come. If he was to share the same house with Harry Potter, he was quite sure that he would be disowned within five minutes of his father learning the news.

When the word "GRYFFINDOR," echoed through the hall, the students around him cheered and burst out in applause. It was so loud that no one noticed Draco burying his face in his hands and groaning loudly. In Draco's mind, there was no possible way that this day could get any bloody worse.

---

Unfortunately, it did get worse. Draco sat on the edge of his bed, still wide-eyed and wordless – he hadn't said a thing since the Feast began, despite the overall friendliness of the Gryffindors. He hadn't even said anything when he was told that he'd be sharing a room in the dormitory with that Neville boy, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Ron Weasley and Harry bloody Potter. Of course, he hadn't really known much about the former three, but those last two…

"Me dad's a Muggle, and Mum's a witch," Seamus was saying with a rather obnoxiously thick Irish accent. "It was a bit of a nasty shock for him when he found out, you can imagine." i Half-blood scum /i , Draco thought, as the other boys chuckled and nodded their heads.

A dark-skinned boy – Dean – piped up next. "Well, both of my parents are Muggles," he said, immediately eliciting a hateful glare from Draco that went unnoticed by the rest of the room's occupants. "At least the Hogwarts letter offered an explanation for eleven years of weird stuff." The laughter could not drown out the i filthy Mudblood /i sign flashing neon in Draco's mind.

"What about you, Neville?" Ron Weasley asked, shifting his weight on his bottom bunk bed.

Draco glanced at the friendly, nervous chubby boy just in time to notice what seemed like a flash of sadness and discomfort in his face. But it was just that – a flash. Neville cleared his throat. "Pure blood," he said. i Waste of it, that's for sure. /i "But, I, uh…I live with my gran. She'll be really happy I'm in Gryffindor."

"I know what you mean," said Ron, running a hand through famous red hair. "All my family – for centuries – has been in Gryffindor. Can't imagine being sorted into Slytherin or something." At this, Draco looked up, catching Ron's eyes. i That /i remark, of course, had been deliberate. The Malfoys had never got on well with the Weasleys, pure bloods though they were. i Blood traitors /i , Draco thought, i the lot of them /i They held the stare for a moment longer than what the other boys thought necessary – it wasn't awkward or uncomfortable though. Between the two young wizards there seemed a wordless connection of animosity. They hadn't known each other formally for more than fifteen minutes, and surely this was the first time they'd ever really spoken together, but the feud that had been passed onto them from their fathers had placed an automatic rift between them that couldn't have felt more natural.

"Harry," Seamus finally said with a small cough. Ron and Draco both blinked and turned their heads to the new subject of attention. Ron smiled brightly; Draco's eyed narrowed so that they were practically closed.

"Oh, don't bother asking for his life story," said Neville brightly. "We all know about him." Harry turned pink.

"I don't," Dean interjected with a furrowed brow. "Tell me."

"Well, um…" Harry stammered.

"He defeated i the Dark Lord /i ," Draco sneered. Everyone turned to look at him, unsure whether to be frightened at the mention of the Dark wizard or surprised at the name that the pale boy had used. Draco stared intently at Harry and continued with false admiration. "There's no i worthy /i witch or wizard who doesn't know him – The Boy Who Lived, the only one who ever survived an attack from the Dark Lord. When he set out to kill, he killed, but for Potter here. And nobody knows how he did it, eh, Potter?"

"Wicked, Harry," Dean marveled as Harry's face flushed even more. Ron and Seamus were glaring sharply at Draco while Neville bit his lip.

"Yeah, quite wicked," Draco mocked. "Left him with that great ugly scar on his head, too." He rolled his eyes. "Oh, and parentless."

Ron jumped to his feet and pointed his wand at the offender. "What are i you /i going to do, i Weasley /i ?" Draco asked as a hateful smile twisted on his face. "You don't know any Unforgiveables."

"Neither do you!" Ron retorted. Draco smirked. The rest of the group shuffled about uncomfortably. Dean and Harry weren't even sure what 'Unforgiveables' were.

Draco scoffed. "You obviously don't know anything about me either."

"I know you don't belong here, i Malfoy /i ," said Ron, lowering the wand slowly.

"Well, there's one thing we can all agree on, can't we?" Draco said angrily, looking around at the other boys. They remained quiet and clearly wary. i Gryffindor courage, I'm sure. /i "I know very well that I don't belong here – not in this house full of Mudbloods and near Squibs and Muggle-lovers. Everyone here knows that I should be in Slytherin, even that bloody hat."

"Then why'd it sort you here?" Seamus asked defiantly.

"I'll give you all that answer tomorrow, after I talk to Dumbledore and clear up this confusion. With any luck, none of you will be sleeping near me tomorrow night."

"With any luck," Harry mumbled. Draco, of course, glared.

---

It wasn't long before Draco Malfoy stormed out of the dormitory, sneering at each boy as he left. Harry Potter noted the chill in the room that lasted a good ten minutes after the boy had gone. He had a bad effect on people, that Malfoy did, especially on Ron. Harry hadn't known Ron for very long, but could tell he wasn't the type to argue with somebody for no good reason. Around Draco, Ron seemed a totally different person.

Thrown into this new world of magic, Harry was immensely curious. It seemed like everyone knew something about the wizarding world. He was starving to understand things. This is why once he felt the room temperature return to normal, Harry felt safe to ask questions.

"What's with him - Draco, I mean?"

"I could spend a few days explaining it to you," Ron said grimly, his blue eyes full of loathing. "But I'd doubt we'd even scratch the surface."

"Do you two know each other?" After Harry asked the question, he realized that the other three boys in the dormitory seemed to quiet and listen in on the conversation. They were just as curious about Draco as he was.

"My dad works with his dad. He's a real git, from what I hear. One of those nutters who believes that the only real wizard is a pure-blooded wizard. It's a load of rubbish if you ask me."

"Why'd he get sorted into Gryffindor?" Neville was the one to ask this question, though he didn't really expect an answer.

"No bloody idea," Ron said quickly, "But I'm pretty sure that even he is surprised about it. I mean, I doubt there's ever been anyone more suited for Slytherin." Having taken a look over at the Slytherin table during the feast, Harry couldn't agree more. Draco not only had the attitude, but he had that snobbish look of Slytherin too.

"It's weird, though," Neville said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, well, hopefully he's transferred out of here tonight," Ron shook his head at Draco's empty bed and the multitude of expensive looking green leather suitcases that were piled in front of it. They put his own second-hand cases to shame. "Slimy git. Sleeping in the same room as him will give me nightmares."

Harry couldn't agree more, but shrugged lightly. He could tell that talking about Draco angered Ron, so he steered the conversation elsewhere. "So what do you think classes will be like tomorrow?"

"I don't know exactly," Ron responded as the other boys listened. "But from what my twin brothers have told me, Potions is going to be wicked…"

---

An hour after his argument with Ron, Draco found himself in an empty common room. Most of the other students had gone straight to bed after stuffing themselves with dinner and deserts. The ones who hadn't been ready for sleep had spent the time to get to know the people they'd be dorming with. Draco, of course, hadn't really bothered. These Gryffindors weren't his housemates and he really had no desire to get to know any in the bunch. All of them seemed a terrible waste of space, most of all, Harry Potter. Someone that powerful should have been more cautious about who he friended. So, after having a quick spat with Ronald Weasel-bee, Draco had left his dormitory for a more quiet setting.

Quickly, Draco put aside the cruel voice in the back of his head that repeatedly put down his housemates. It was a voice that Draco enjoyed listening to greatly, but there was a time and place for everything - this was not it. There was, he told himself, a task to be done. It was of the utmost importance that he get it done as quickly as possible.

"Dear Father,"

The boy ran a hand through his slick blond hair and stared down at the parchment, considering his next move. Those first two words were easy; it was the rest of the letter that would be hell to write. Almost absentmindedly, the boy twirled his quill between two fingers.

Lucius Malfoy was an easily readable man. After spending his eleven years of life sharing meals and his spare time with his father, Draco had come to know how Lucius would react to most any situation. His father was rather easy to deal with if he just tolerated the verbal abuse and then said the right words, or acted in just the right way. That considered, Draco had no idea how his father would take the news of the sorting.

"Dear Father," Draco imagined himself scribbling onto the paper, "I know you've been waiting for my letter to learn of this afternoon's events. It's been a i terrific /i day, to say the least. I've been sorted into Gryffindor house. Had dinner beside Harry Potter (yes, that Harry Potter - The Boy Who Lived) and was asked to pass the potatoes to Arthur Weasley's youngest son. I declined, of course, because I was afraid I'd have caught some of his fleas. I share a dormitory with a half-blooded boy named Seamus Finnigan who has the most intolerable accent. Then, there's a fat idiot by the name of Longbottom. He's lost his pet toad three times today alone. And there is also a mud-blood named Dean Thomas. He sleeps in the bed beside mine. Disgusting, I know. Just wanted to let you know. –Draco."

A small, wicked smile curled Draco's lip. The sadist inside of him could only barely fathom the look on Lucius Malfoy's face if he ever read something like that. Surely, the man would suffer from heart failure after reading the last sentence. And because of this, Draco was half tempted to write his letter out just like that.

But, in reality, Draco was well aware of the fact that if he ever did send his father such a letter, he'd probably be disgraced, disowned, and all traces that Draco Malfoy had ever been a part of the Malfoy family would disappear. His father was like that; a cruel kind of man without a real sense of humor. To Draco, it was both an honor and a burden to be the man's son.

"Dear Father," stared up at the boy, nearly taunting him. This letter wanted to be completed and was nearly daring Draco to finish it. Though he doubted highly that paper had any thoughts or feelings, Draco suspected that it was a masochistic bit of parchment - why else would it want to be finished and sent to a man who would surely tear it to bits once he'd finished reading it?

"Let's just get this done," Draco muttered quietly to himself.

He held the expensive, rather elegant eagle feather quill steady in his hand before scratching out a letter.

"Dear Father," it began, "There's been some sort of mix up. The sorting hat has placed me in Gryffindor house instead of Slytherin. It's obvious that I'm not meant for this place. I'll be speaking to the Headmaster first thing in the morning to be switched. Should go off without any problems. I'll handle this ridiculousness. Even the stupid gits here realize that I'm meant for the greatness of Slytherin. Doubt even the fool Dumbledore will try to argue. I was wondering if you could pull some strings - just to be sure that everything gets taken care of (just in case). Hopefully, by tomorrow evening, everything will be fixed. No need to worry."

He paused and read the letter over three times. By the time he'd finished, he knew that it didn't sound right. After reading this, Draco was sure he father would be livid. He would call Draco a fool and tell him he was a coward who relied solely on his father's high status to fix every problem for him. But it couldn't be helped. Draco couldn't think of any other way to soften the news.

"Tell mother I'm fine and not to worry about me," he added in an afterthought. "I'll write you back as soon as there's news. –Draco."

The boy sat back and sighed heavily. He wasn't looking forward to the response he'd receive. But, he thought hopefully, by tomorrow he'd have everything fixed. He'd wake up early and first find Professor McGonagall and then speak with Headmaster Dumbledore. He doubted that either would put up much of a fight against his request to switch; he was, after all, a Malfoy, and that carried some weight in the wizarding world.

Taking a deep breath, he rolled up the parchment and stood up. He would have to navigate around the castle until he found the owlery, but this task was welcome; Draco would enjoy a long walk, maybe he'd even get himself lost on the way back. Anything that kept him from the Gryffindors was welcomed.

The small boy stood up and nodded at the fire that was roaring in the fireplace. "Tomorrow this whole thing will be cleared up," he said mostly to himself, "Crabbe and Goyle will be listening to me as I tell them how damn ugly the Gryffindor common room is. This will all just be a bad memory that I will eventually forget."

It was a nice thing to believe. But as Draco climbed out of the portrait hole, he felt an ominous sense of foreboding overcome him. Try as he might to be positive, a small voice in the back of his head was telling him that nothing in life is ever really that easy.

---

Author's Note:

Thank you so much for reading.

This fic was the creation of a friend and I who, being bored one summer day, decided that we should try our hand at a fic together. We scoured the internet for ideas until one day we found a random HP fic challenge. It said, "Put Draco into another house." There were no rules and it sounded like such a wonderful idea. We could completely reinvent the HP universe and turn it upside down!

We had lots of fun doing this and plan to add a lot more chapters together (and since we're writing it together… we'll be sure to keep each other on track and writing).

We're very enthusiastic about this (writing fic is always lots of fun).

Please review… it helps us write faster when we know people like this and read it. Reviewers motivate so much!

Thanks for reading!