Chapter 2: Sorting

The trip to Kings Cross was filled with anticipation.

Though originally I was not particularly enthused by the prospect of the magical world, the more time that passed, the more that changed. The overarching Voldemort plot was set to resolve itself, with the notable exception of a brief stint where I would have to go into hiding in my final year, but with that exception, I was basically free and clear. Of course, if I felt the need to interfere in the plot, then that would change, but that was a problem for another time. This rather comforting notion was accompanied by the additional revelation that I would be going to a school where breaking the laws of physics and bending reality was a part of the course-material.

Oh, the possibilities. The endless, appropriately wacky, possibilities.

As such, in the days leading up to the journey, I spent much of my time in my room, carefully reading over many of the textbooks that I had bought in Diagon alley. I don't know why I expected them to be interesting, but I quickly found that they were just as dull and dry as my old school textbooks had been. Even still, I ploughed on. They might have been dry and ponderous, but I had been to university, and it didn't get much more dry than that. This was, by comparison, a doddle.

And sooner rather than later, I found myself on the platform of Kings Cross station. I said my goodbyes to the matron who had driven me here, closed my eyes, and charged at the pillar between platform nine and platform ten. Amazingly, I sailed right through, and did not, as I had expected, suffer a traumatic head injury. With some time to kill, I milled about the platform, walking up and down the length of the Hogwarts express, trying to decide if I was impressed or disappointed at the fact that I would be using a magical steam train. It didn't even look magical, but rather like a bog-standard steam engine.

Initial impressions aside, when the time came, I clambered on board with everyone else, lugging my trunk with me, only to find that the time spent exploring platform nine and three-quarters had allowed all of the other students to fill out the compartments. I didn't want to sit with any of the older years, for fear of being pranked up the wazoo, and all the first-years seemed to have crowded themselves into the remaining compartments, excitedly chattering in a manner which I could already tell would give me a headache.

The only one left had two boys sat in it, one with red hair and the other with black. I rolled my eyes at this turn of fate, and opened the compartment door, "Do you mind? All the other compartments are full."

Ron nodded, "Sure, mate. Plenty of space."

I extended my arm and offered to shake, "Name's Matthew Crawley. Can I ask yours?"

"Ron, Ron Weasley." He had an excited look on his face as he pointed to Harry, "He's Harry Potter!"

I stared at Harry blankly, who begrudgingly lifted his hair to show his scar as proof, and then back to Ron with a look of wonderment on my face, "Are you really? Ron Weasley, I mean?"

Ron looked utterly baffled, "What?"

I collapsed onto the seat with a satisfied huff, my trunk now stowed in the overhead space, "I figured Harry was tired of being gawped at. Figured I'd cut him a break."

Harry smiled, "Thanks, but it's not necessary. As I was telling Ron, until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about being a wizard or my parents or about Voldemort-" Ron gasped as if he were an offended suburban housewife, and Harry merely looked confused, "What?"

"You said You-Know-Who's name! I'd have thought you, of all people-"

"I'm not being brave or anything. I just never knew you shouldn't. I've got loads to learn... I bet, I bet I'm the worst in class."

Ron chimed in reassuringly, "You won't be. There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough."

I nodded along sagely, "Take me, for example. I'm in the same boat as you, never knew anything about the magical world till a few weeks ago."

"Oh, are you Muggleborn?"

I shook my head, "No, pureblood. But from what I can gather, ol' Voldy murdered my parents too, and I spent my childhood in an orphanage."

Ron looked at me pityingly, and Harry seemed sympathetic. An awkward silence descended on the compartment again, till it was mercifully broken by the trolley lady, offering up a veritable cornucopia of magical delights. Harry immediately rushed off, and I could see him shelling out to buy a handful of everything. When he returned, his coin-purse significantly lighter and his arms full of sweets, he began to chow down. Noticing our lack of cavity-causing joy, Harry thrust one of the chocolate frogs in our direction, clearly offering to share.

Ron's ears burned pink, and he mumbled something into the sandwich his mother had made for him. I nodded, smiled and took one, "Thanks, Harry. I saw some in Diagon when I went school shopping, but I'm too poor for this kind of stuff. This is awfully nice of you."

Ron looked a little bewildered by my evident lack of pride or shame, but was simultaneously encouraged by not being the only filthy poor in the compartment, and begrudgingly accepted the offer of chocolate and sweets. Harry seemed more fascinated by the cards accompanying the frogs, though Ron was content to stuff his face. The next hour or so passed in delight as I bit down into a chocolate frog, somewhat disgusted by the wriggling hunk of chocolate melting in my mouth, and I gagged at the taste of vomit when I mistakenly popped one of Bertie's hellish beans in my mouth.

Cue the laughter at my expense, and the half-joking vow to kill Bertie when I came of age.

Neville poked his head inside, asking for his toad and, unable to help him, we sent him on his way. He came back a few moments later with Hermione in tow, just as Ron was about to demonstrate a spell to turn his rat yellow. One failed spell and flurry of condescension later, and we all introduced ourselves. The encounter passed quickly, and I mostly kept silent, only offering a last minute suggestion to Neville as they left for him to ask an older student to summon it.

Not moments later, Draco Malfoy burst into the compartment, obviously looking out for Harry Potter. If I thought Hermione was condescending for lecturing Harry about his own life, boy was I in for a shock. This kid spoke... well, exactly how I had expected him to speak. Like a spoiled child with more money than sense, and more allowances than discipline. Once he'd made that remark about Harry's parents, as technically the only adult in the room, I felt the inexorable urge to discipline the boy, "My Malfoy, is it?"

He looked me up and down with contempt in his eyes, "Yeah, and who are you?"

"My name is Matthew, and I just wanted to interject and ask you a question before you could continue. You said earlier that some families are better than others, correct?" He nodded slowly, sensing a trap but not understanding where it was coming from, "And judging from your words, I would be correct in surmising that you are from one of these better families?"

He nodded more confidently as Ron's ears turned pink and Harry levelled an angry, bespectacled glare in my direction, "Of course I am."

I nodded sagely, "You also said earlier that if Harry wasn't more polite, that he might go the same way as his parents. His valiant, famous and almost universally well-regarded parents. And yet, you come into this compartment, slinging mud and acting like one of the same riff-raff that you decried not moments ago." I adopted a more authoritative and imperious tone as I spoke, reminiscent in a sense of the great Tywin Lannister, if only more high-pitched, "Do you think your parents would be proud of such appalling behaviour?"

Draco spluttered in place, his pale face turning an angry red, "Leave now, Mr Malfoy, and I'll say no more of this. Don't, and not only will I find your father, I will write him a rather scathing letter detailing his son's indiscretions."

After a moment of tenseness, Draco threw his head back, acting as though he believed me to be beneath him, and stormed off to sulk with his two goons. Ron and Harry looked at me with strange looks in their eyes, "What?"

Ron shuddered, "Bloody hell, mate, you sounded like my dad there for a sec, when he really gets angry."

I blushed at the compliment and scratched my head, "Thanks. I do try."

With that sorted, Ron and Harry began to talk about Malfoy, and we changed into our school robes at Hermione's prompting. When the train finally arrived, we disembarked, leaving the majority of our belongings in the trains in our trunks, and all clambered into a series of rickety looking boats. The view of the castle was appropriately impressive, and even I , the jaded old man in a child's body, found myself transfixed by it. Soon enough, we found ourselves beyond the castle doors, being led into the equally impressive space that was the Great Hall.

There was a great deal of chattering and awed sounds at the grandness of the Hall, and shortly after, the Sorting Hat broke into song. It was a lengthy yet entertaining one, and was followed by a round of applause after which the sorting ceremony began in earnest. When my turn came to sit under the hat, I will admit that I was apprehensive.

As the brim touched my head, the hat's voice appeared in my head, "Oh my... Well, I have to say, this is very strange indeed."

I resisted the urge to grimace, "I know. I know it's mighty strange, but I was rather hoping you could keep it a secret. I mean no harm to any child in this castle, and just want to live my life."

"Hmm, I can see that." There was a lengthy pause, "Very well, then. Let's see. Not a bad mind, but that's to be expected, now isn't it? Lot of talent, lot of ambition, not much bravery. No, you're too cunning to be brave."

I could see the direction this was headed, and made to pump the brakes, "Not Slytherin, anywhere but Slytherin. Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw would be nice. Please."

The hat only seemed to find this amusing, "I am normally quite charitable with the sorting, however, you're an adult in a child's body. Unless you want me ousting you, whereupon I expect you will spend the rest of your life being poked and prodded in the Department of Mysteries, you will go where I say you'll go, and you'll like it. And frankly, judging by your recollection of future events, I think you can do the most good in," the next word was spoken aloud in a booming voice, "SLYTHERIN!"

Feel free to comment and let me know what you think.