Summary: When Hogwarts announces their need for a new Potions professor, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are deemed best for the job. Each is desperate to have the job, for different reasons, and since there's only room for one of them… chaos inevitably erupts. DM/HG with hints of RW/PP.

Sanctuary in Potions

Chapter Four: That Blasted Sorting Ceremony

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Draco grimaced as he watched the other teachers hurry to and fro, obviously stirred up by the news that came to them. The first years were arriving any moment soon, and now the others were busy with arranging decorations and all the other nonsense to make the kids feel more welcomed and at home. Turned out this whole welcoming thing was a big deal to teachers, and since he was already a teacher… this should be a big deal to him as well.

Too bad it still wasn't.

He looked at one side and saw McGonagall – Minerva, whatever – usher the older students into the Great Hall. He cocked his brow as some students – the female kind – gave him lingering glances as they passed by. Draco obliged them; he gave them a smile full of teeth and in turn heard quite a few collective sighs of adoration and worship.

Well, he thought, burying his hands in his pockets, this might not be so bad after all. Draco knew he looked absolutely smashing when he put that teacher's robes on. Made him more dignified and imposing at the same time. Dignified and imposing Malfoys tend to have dire effects on women of all ages, shapes, and sizes, which guaranteed that, during his stay at Hogwarts, women of all ages, shapes, and sizes would definitely flank his feet and kiss the mere ground he was treading on.

No, not so bad after all.

He turned and got ambushed by a bush made of hair and… paper.

"Oh, damnit!" the bush muttered.

Once he got all the hair out of his face, he recognized that the owner of these frizzy things was none other than a minion of the devil spewed out from hell to torment his heavenly existence on earth.

"Granger, you idiot," he snapped, looking down at her as she bent on her knees to collect the cascade of paper near his feet. "Look where you're going!"

The said minion looked up at him and glared. So predictable of her, really. "Do you mind?" She gestured at the sea of sheets.

What, you expect me to help? Draco stepped away and made no move whatsoever to aid her pick up her trash. "By all means, proceed." And then, with a swish of his robes he left.

Well, he thought, moving towards the Great Hall, even with the major inconvenience of her being here, this still might not be so bad after all. It was uncanny of him to be optimistic, but he found out that that if he didn't opt for a more positive outlook then he might just succumb to wrapping her up and sending her to Azkaban as an early Christmas gift to the Dementors. Not really a bad idea, considering the relief it'd bring him, but of course as a professor at Hogwarts he had to maintain an aura of wisdom and fortitude around him. People with auras of wisdom and fortitude around them did not send otherpeople as gifts to Dementors, no matter how tempting or right the said plan was.

Plus, I don't think I have a big enough wrapper with me.

Someone bumped into his shoulder and walked past him. Draco resisted the childish urge to grab her hair and pull her back. Remember, aura of wisdom and fortitude, he told himself, balling his palms to fists.

Granger paused and looked at him. "Do you always have to be in my way, Malfoy?"

He gave her a smile full of lip. "Do you always have to be infuriating, Granger?"

She gave him a full scan with her eyes. Changing topics she muttered, "I see you've come unprepared. Not that I expected you to be otherwise."

"Just because I don't carry books or papers with me doesn't mean I'm unprepared, you insufferable know-it-all." He cocked his head to one side. "Besides, I don't need them anyway. It's the first day of class. It's unthinkable to give the students lessons this early."

"So says the insufferable git," Granger retorted acerbically. "Fortunately, I don't have that demented logic of yours." And she turned and walked away.

Wisdom. Fortitude. Breathe. One, two, three.

Four. Five. I am a man of wisdom. I will not hex her to oblivion. Six. Seven.

Breathe. That's it. Eight, nine, ten.

Feeling calm enough to not heed the strong desire to tear the head out of a particular woman's shoulders, Draco strode forward and entered the Great Hall.

It was strange to walk this familiar path and not head towards his familiar seat at the head of the Slytherin table. He found himself looking back as he passed. Now, the person occupying his seat was the youngest brother of Millicent Bulstrode. At least he's worthy, he thought, claiming the chair besides Snape. At least he's pureblood.

Not that blood matters nowadays.

The older professor nodded at him. "Draco."

"Snape."

"Severus," came the automatic correction.

"Snape."

"Ah." Snape's eyes held that knowing gleam. "Still haven't forgiven me for hiring Miss Granger, I see."

At the mention of the name, Draco tossed a glance her way. She was seated beside Minerva, and the two were chatting amicably. "Among other things," he replied easily, grabbing a napkin and flattening it on his lap. He reached for a loaf of bread and began tearing it to small pieces.

"As courtesy, we don't get to eat until the first years have been sorted," said Snape, as he drank from his goblet.

"And there's… what, thirty or forty of them?"

"Fifty-six," Snape answered.

"And we're supposed to wait until all those damned children are sorted?"

"Each and every one."

"Rubbish," Draco commented as he helped himself to some potatoes. "Lucky for me, I don't care much for courtesy."

Snape chuckled, and looked on with what seemed like approval in his gaze.

He felt someone staring at him as he chewed his food. He looked at his side, and predictably Granger was looking at him with pure disgust in her gaze. Draco lifted his fork and made a big show of placing a potato in his mouth. She grimaced, then shook her head.

At that moment, several noises crowded the Great Hall. Draco dropped his fork as he realized that indeed, the first years had arrived. As a group, they looked tiny and in complete awe of the magical ceiling above them. Collective gasps and pointed fingers soon added to the heaps of excitement emanating from these children.

"Welcome, welcome," said Dumbledore as he materialized from the side and deposited the Sorting Hat on the empty chair at the front. The noise completely died down as he spoke in loud tones. "In behalf of all the professors, I say we are pleased to see that all of you arrived safely. I trust that the journey went well?"

"Yes!" answered the brave ones in the group. Draco gritted his teeth. Gryffindors, he thought in disgust. He glanced at the side and saw Granger stand and wave gaily at someone. He followed her gaze, and a surge of anger assaulted him as he was greeted with an all too familiar color. Without thinking, he trailed her as she left the table.

"Excellent, most excellent," Dumbledore was saying. "Before we begin, I will ask each of you that, as soon as Professor McGonagall call your name you should sit on this chair and let the Sorting Hat sort you. There are four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. The Sorting Hat will look into each of you, see the qualities you have, and select the house you will belong to. But allow me to give you the Sorting Hat itself to explain everything…" He waved a hand, and the hat sprung to life, burst into song:

Another year for you and I

Has already started,

Now my task I must perform

And get you all sorted.

Put me on, I see your mind

And all that's lurking there,

Put me on, I see your heart,

And all that's left to bare.

So come to me, sit on this chair,

And we shall soon begin,

Trust in me and I will reveal

Where you'll stay from herein!

Four houses there are to choose

That which suits you the best

Each house its own, each one as good

And mighty as the rest.

In Gryffindor the brave resides

With all those noble and bold,

In Hufflepuff the honest lives

And loyalty is all but old!

In Ravenclaw the clever dwells

Intelligence their trait in common,

In Slytherin the cunning stays

Amid those with wit and ambition.

So put me on and I will reveal

Where you'll stay from herein,

Be it in Gryffindor, Hufflepuff,

In Ravenclaw, or Slytherin!

-

"Ron! Pansy!" Hermione made a beeline to her friends, trying to be discreet in calling their attention and failing miserably at it.

Pansy spotted her and tapped her husband, who was busy staring at the midst of children. "Hey," she said as soon as Hermione had firmly deposited herself on their side. "First day!"

"I know," said Hermione with a big smile. She looked at Ron. "Say, you're looking a bit nervous."

Ron grinned sheepishly. "Just wondering about Lot's house, that's all."

"Not," interrupted Pansy, "that he needed to wonder. I say she's in Slytherin and that's the end of it."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You two still at that Gryffindor/Slytherin issue?" she asked before Ron could say anything.

"Hell yeah," Pansy said. Her eyes were glinting maliciously. "We even have a bet about it."

"I feel that if I ask what's at stake the answer would undoubtedly scar me for life," she retorted dryly.

"Undoubtedly," echoed Ron, his eyes also gleaming mischievously. Pansy's influence, no doubt. He then lifted his hand and waved. "There she is!"

Hermione followed his finger and there, in the middle of the group, was Charlotte Weasley. The shock of red hair gave her identity away, along with the green eyes and the generous scattering of freckles around her (pug) nose. Truly, there was no mistaking who this child's parents were.

"Oh, she looks so grown-up!" said Pansy, in a suspiciously teary tone.

"Seems like only yesterday that we're the ones being sorted," Hermione said low, watching as Minerva called 'Abbey, Marie'.

"Hufflepuff!" the Sorting Hat howled.

"She definitely looks life a Hufflepuff," Ron commented blithely, sending Pansy a meaningful look.

Pansy sighed loudly. "Hair color is not the basis for sorting, Weasley. For the last time—" She paused, then smiled hugely. "Draco!"

Hermione and Ron both wore identical looks of revulsion as Pansy eagerly wrapped her arms around Malfoy. The latter wasn't too hesitant to return it with equal amounts of enthusiasm, either. "Pansy! Looking good, I should say."

Three seconds elapsed. Then, "All right, enough with the touching." And Ron, bless him, pried Pansy off of Malfoy's hold.

"Oh, right," said Malfoy caustically. "You two are together now."

"Eleven years," bragged Ron in sotto voice. "Happily married."

Malfoy fixed Pansy a look, then shook his head. "Pansy, Pansy." He clucked his tongue for good measure.

His expression of disappointment for Pansy's choice of husband did not escape Hermione. It aggravated her to no end. "Why are you here, Malfoy?" she asked.

He gave her another smile full of lip. "I work here, Granger."

"No, I meant—"

"Oh, right," said Ron acidly. "You're a teacher now."

Malfoy gave Ron a glare that could turn his red hair white. "You got a problem with that, Weasley?"

"You bet I do, you pasty—"

"Hey!" said Pansy suddenly, her eyes on the first years. "Is that a Longbottom?"

True enough a splitting image of Neville was walking towards the Sorting Hat, a very smug expression on his young, chubby face. The Hat wasn't yet on his head when it cried, "Slytherin!" in a loud voice.

Malfoy and Pansy both wore identical looks of revulsion on their faces.

Hermione grinned. "I could just imagine Neville and Luna's reactions when they learn Neil's in Slytherin."

"That's it," concluded Malfoy, pointing at the child. "That's the downfall of Slytherins. The day a Longbottom becomes one… of… us…" He shuddered.

Pansy proved she was still a Slytherin through and through when she shared Malfoy's distaste. "I didn't even know Longbottom's got a son." She tugged at Ron's sleeve desperately. "You have to talk to Lot, Weasley. Tell her to stay away from Longbottom. To think of her… fraternizing with a Long—"

"Who's Lot?" asked Malfoy casually.

Ron and Pansy stared at him like he was not of this earth. Not very far from the truth, thought Hermione, since this man's certainly a minion of the devil himself! "Charlotte Weasley," she replied slowly, as if she was talking to a dumb child. Which she certainly was, when she noted that a blank look was still on Malfoy's face. "No? How about Charlotte Patrice Parkinson Weasley, then? Ring any bells?"

At that, Malfoy seemed to have sprung to life. "You two have a daughter?" he demanded.

"Oh, good job Malfoy," said Ron sharply.

Pansy crossed her arms over her chest, an acidic expression on her face. "You know, I was thinking why on earth I was mad at you, Draco Malfoy. Now I remember." She hit him on the arm. Hard. "You didn't answer any of my owls you vexing son of a—"

"Hey!" Hermione interrupted, glad for an excuse to break this heated argument up. "It's Lot's turn on the Sorting Hat!"

And the four of them watched as the girl in question sat on the chair and had the hat placed over her head. The Sorting Hat seemed to have thought for a long moment before it announced, "Hufflepuff!"

The looks on Ron and Pansy's faces were exquisite indeed. Both mouths were sputtering in outrage and the color on them had decided to take a permanent holiday.

It took all of Hermione's strength to not laugh out loud. "I guess that solves your little bet, huh?"

"This… this is impossible," said Ron, apparently lost in a world of his own.

"My daughter, a… a…" Pansy winced. Then fixed Ron a very angry expression. "This, Weasley, is all your fault." Without another word she stalked away.

"My fault? What the—Parkinson, get back here!" And cue his exit as well.

Hermione watched them leave with a fond smile on her lips. She had no doubt that Ron and Pansy could fix this little problem, as they always did when they had little problems in the past. The wife told her before that all the husband needed to cool off were a bit of cuddling and some cockroach clusters on a Pansy platter.

She told the wife she really didn't want that kind of information about her friend, thank you very much.

"Those two always like that?" asked Malfoy.

Hermione looked at him. "Let me put it this way – the day they stopped acting like that is the day they get a divorce."

He grinned. "I guess that's what you get when you marry a Slytherin to a Gryffindor."

"Exactly," she said, chuckling. "You get hell."

And apparently, they both realized that they were having an almost normal conversation between them. Muttering some excuse, Malfoy left. Seconds later, Hermione followed.

"Let the feast begin!" said Dumbledore, and this announcement was drowned by the sounds of spoons and forks against plates and platters against wood.

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Author's Notes: Oh, thank you very much for the reviews, guys! Please keep 'em coming!