Full Description: Draco Malfoy had grown up thinking that he had to be in Slytherin when he finally got to go to Hogwarts, or else the world would fall apart. That's the way his parents treated it, always going on about how Slytherin was the House for the Malfoys, the only good house in the entire school, the only place he would fit in. Except... now he isn't sure, because yes, everything feels like it's falling apart, but at the same time he feels relieved. All the pressure he's felt his entire life has finally been lifted, and he can't change it now. He's not a Slytherin. He's not who his parents wanted him to be. But, finally having some proof of that makes him realize that maybe he never really wanted that. Maybe he always secretly wished to be something else, to be someone else. Though, how will his parents react to this? What will happen to him now? He's a bloody Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake! The last house his parents wanted him to be in! What would they do to him? Disown him?

A/N: I just randomly got this idea and decided I was going to attempt to write it. I posted it on Ao3 a week or so ago, and I guess I'll just put it on here now too. Sorry for the slight out of character ness of Draco, but I hope you enjoy this anyways!

Draco Malfoy stood among the rather large feeling group of his fellow first years as one by one they walked up to the head of Gryffindor house, Minerva McGonagall, and had the Sorting Hat placed on their head. Everyone had at least somewhat nervous expressions on their faces, all except him that is. He kept his face completely void of emotion, not allowing anyone to see any of the fear he felt himself. The strength of his emotionless expression was almost creepy, too flawless to not have been created over years of fear of showing one's true feelings. Most eleven year olds were not capable of such a mask, of such skill at hiding, in fact it was not normal for one to be so good at it. The only one in the hall his age whose forced blank expression could rival his was that of Harry Potter, who had tugged his fringe forward so that it was covering his eyes, which were forcefully blank behind his glasses. Draco glanced at the raven haired boy for a brief second before his silver eyes wandered back to the front of the hall, coming to rest on the old hat sitting on a girl's head.

What if he didn't get into Slytherin? His father would surely disown him! Except… did he really want to be there for himself, or was he simply too afraid of what would happen to him at his father's hand if he wasn't? No, I want to be in Slytherin. I want to. I want to. And I will be in Slytherin. He told himself firmly, yet the small ounce of doubt continued to flicker and grow like a flame caused by a match being tossed into a patch of dry grass.

"Malfoy, Draco." His head snapped up to look at the strict looking witch in emerald green robes, forcing himself to swallow down his doubts. Everything's going to be fine. You'll put the hat on and it'll put you where you're supposed to be. Draco lifted his chin up high and forced a confident smirk onto his face as he sauntered up the two steps to the small wooden stool standing on three rickety legs. The stool squeaked softly below the blond as he sat down and he felt his shoulders tense slightly as the old hat was placed on his head, sliding down over his eyes and obscuring everything in the Great Hall from his view.

"Interesting. Very interesting. You are a rather unusual Malfoy, quite unlike your father, though that is well hidden." Draco tensed up again as he heard the voice of the Sorting Hat whisper in his ears a few seconds later, loud and clear like the sound was surrounding him, filling the air like tiny gnats. "Hmm… I sense much ambition in you, and a deep need to prove yourself, yes. There is a lot of potential lying beneath, waiting to be uncovered, but where to put you? You could do well in Slytherin, but is that really where you fit? No, I don't believe so." Draco gulped, shaking his head weakly and making it slip further down on his head. "Hmm… let's see… You have a strong heart, yet are afraid to show it. Ah, I think I have it… Yes, I think I do... " His entire body seemed to flinch in anticipation the moment the hat said that, his mind pleading that he would be in Slytherin, even if he didn't fully fit in there. There he would at least be left alone by his parents and everyone else.

"GRYFFINDOR!" The blond's eyes snapped open, widening in a look of fear and confusion as the hat was slowly taken from his head and the bright light of candle flames washed over him once again. A shocked hush had fallen over most of the Great Hall, many of the Slytherins looked disgusted, confused, and ever so slightly horrified, the Gryffindors looked surprised, but not necessarily disdainful, despite the fact that the son of a possibly former Death Eater has just been sorted into their house. He swallowed thickly and shakily stood up, all of his earlier confidence gone, replaced by an uncomfortable shakiness that made him feel like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. His silver eyes flitted around at the people looking up at him and then slowly made his way back down the steps, wishing he could be walking in the opposite direction just so that he wouldn't have to deal with those looks of confusion being sent his way. The moment he reached the first step applause suddenly broke out from the Gryffindor table and he looked at them in shock, almost stopping in the middle of the stone steps. Why were they applauding for him, a Malfoy? Malfoys weren't meant to be Gryffindors, they weren't meant to wear red and gold!

Except… he was. He was, Draco Malfoy was a Gryffindor. Somehow. That was something he needed to accept now, even if it was the exact opposite to what he had thought would happen to him just twenty minutes ago when he had been led into the Great Hall with the other First Years. Gulping again, trying to calm his nerves and fears, he approached the Gryffindor table and sat down at the far edge of the bench, his shoulders tense and eyes downcast. There was no telling what they might do to him if he sat close enough to them, if he tried to talk to them like he hadn't looked down on them his entire life for no reason besides his parents' opinions. That's what everything in his life had always been, every one of his choices, his opinions, his thoughts, they had all been fed to him by his parents like meat to a tiger being held in a zoo. He had never been given his own choices, never been allowed to have his own opinions on things, had never been allowed to speak up for himself.

All he had ever wanted to do was get his father's approval, but now there wasn't a chance of that anymore. He had done the worst thing he possibly could, he was put in Gryffindor, the very last house his parents wanted him in. He could be disowned for this, and what would he do then? Where would he go? He had never been particularly talented when it came to making friends, the only ones he had were chosen by his parents and they didn't really have any more of a choice than him.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shove those thoughts aside, only to have his attempt disrupted by a firm hand on his shoulder. His eyes flew open and he tensed up all over again, half expecting to see his father standing behind him with a disappointed scowl and a dangerous glint in his eyes. However, instead his gaze met that of a redheaded boy, who smiled ever so slightly at him.

"Welcome to Gryffindor." He said before releasing his grip on Draco's shoulder, turning back to face the front of the hall as a brunette girl, surname being Moon or something of the sort, was sorted into Ravenclaw.

Draco stared at the older boy in shock, though he tried his best not to let his surprise show. The redhead was obviously a Weasley, the son of the man who was basically the rival of his own father, Lucius Malfoy. Why did he greet him as if he were… as if he belonged? As if he were his equal? His father had always told him the Weasleys were blood-traitors, terrible people who had betrayed the Wizarding War and who looked at the Malfoys like they were scum. Why wasn't that what was happening? Had his father been wrong? No, no, he couldn't be wrong. He was his father, the one person who always had the answers and who didn't lie, no matter how harsh the truth was, he couldn't be wrong about the Weasleys. The older boy was probably just being polite for show, yes, that's what it must have been. But why bother doing that when everyone already knew about the rivalry between their families?

"Potter, Harry!" Professor McGonagall's voice ripped him out of his slightly confused and panicked thoughts and his head snapped forward to watch as the one and only Harry Potter shakily walked towards the stool in the front of the hall. Whispers followed the statement, the sound likes wind blowing through tall, thick grass. Then a sudden hushed silence fell over the hall, not too unlike the one that had taken place when he had been placed in Gryffindor, as the raven-haired boy sat down on the rickety wooden stool and had the ratty brown hat placed on his head.

For at least two whole minutes nothing seemed to happen and the hall fell back into hushed whispers, this time slightly nervous however, not excited. Why was it taking so long for the hat to sort Harry Potter? It seemed obvious to Draco where he should be, so why hadn't the hat just called out "Gryffindor" yet? Surely he wouldn't end up somewhere else, like Slytherin, right? That seemed like the last place a person like Potter would end up. Then again, Gryffindor felt like the last house he would be put in, yet here he was, surrounded by older students wearing scarlet and gold. Draco looked around at those sitting on the bench beside him, and just as he was debating maybe actually moving a bit further down the bench so he didn't look like he was actually trying to avoid everyone, the Sorting Hat finally exclaimed.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Potter's shoulders visibly relaxed as the hat was pulled off of his head and he stumbled off of the stool and down the stone steps towards the Gryffindor table, relief visible in his facial expression. Cheers and applause, at least ten times louder than when he had been sorted, erupted from the students around him as Harry sat down next to Draco on the wooden bench and glanced around before running a hand through his already messy hair and looking down.

"We've got Potter, We've got Potter!" Two identical redhead twins began chanting and without fully wanting to, Draco clamped his hands over his ears and glared up at the older boys. There's no need to rub it in the face of the other houses. Okay, I would if I was in Slytherin or some other house and he got into it, but Gryffindor was just obvious. It's just a house anyways, it doesn't mean anything. He thought a bit bitterly, only to have a voice in the back of his mind immediately snap back at him. Says the boy who's terrified of what him being in Gryffindor means.

Draco shook his head ever so slightly and slowly lowered his hands as the noise calmed down and the hall fell back into relative silence, waiting. Harry's face was flushed in slight embarrassment and confusion, his fringe falling in front of his eyes like a curtain of black silk. He fidgeted nervously with his wire-rimmed glasses and his emerald green eyes were focused intently on the table in front of him as if its surface was ten times more interesting than the people around him. The Sorting Ceremony quickly resumed and of course the Weasley was in Gryffindor as well, as expected. How in Merlin's name was he meant to fit in with these people? He had never been the Gryffindor type, he was supposed to be in Slytherin! Why would anyone accept him here? The Sorting Hat couldn't have been right, there was no way he could actually fit in better with the "brave", idiotic Gryffindors than with the sly Slytherins who had grown up surrounded by. There had to have been some sort of mistake. Except, when he really thought about it, it struck him how maybe that wasn't true. He had always secretly thought that his family and "friends" had been too arrogant and self-centered for their own good, but simply thinking something like that couldn't make him not Slytherin… right? How can one simple thing, like being sorted into a different house than you were always told you would be, change and complicate things so much that it was all he could think about?