Betrayed, Chapter Two.

"C-minus in algebra; A+ in coology." -Lindsey Lee Wells, Abundance of Katherines, John Green.


Delusion is a powerful tool. To others, occasionally, but mostly to yourself. Denial never hurts you until you have to stop denying; and by that time, you're completely ready for it.

Theory and reason inevitably go to the bogs when faced with life. This, I suppose, was the case with the Welcoming Feast.

By principle, I never listen to the snotty first-years get sorted. This time, perhaps I knew a few of them, but why break a comfortable habit? It simply made me look more aloof, self-assured, and confident. Appearances are everything when there's instability lurking underneath. So I smiled and chatted with my carefully chosen friends (a concept important as the carefully arranged appearance), plotting and complaining about hunger.

Suddenly, a collective gasp from the majority of the Great Hall broke me out of my bubble. I turned my head ever so slightly to see what was the matter. The eyes were following a distinctive boy with a pointed chin and large brown eyes, who walked as if he had no care in the world. I felt an internal smirk coming on; this guy knew how to act, as he certainly couldn't be genuine. No one is. He surveyed the Gryffindor table critically, and then walked up straight to me.

The first bit I noticed was that he was taller than me, which irked me. Then he opened his mouth and said, "Scoot over, would you?" as if I were his friend. I glanced apprehensively at my companions, keeping an expression of distaste on my face. Rule #1 of cliques: Don't let newbies in arbitrarily. Mine led the school in popularity, so we had even more stringent regulations. The one that rose to prominence when he suavely ambled over and made his request was: Don't associate with younger years unless extremely necessary.

In any other situation, maybe I, the ringleader, could have let that unspoken rule slide. But everyone was watching: the teachers, the Headmistress, Uncle Neville (not by blood)... and most importantly the peers. My next decision had to follow everything I had built up for the past two years.

In my experience, a picture is worth a thousand words, but it's only worth exactly what you expect it to be. So I superciliously raised my eyebrow, a talent I am very proud of, and waited for him to respond. To some, I would be denying him. To others, I would be waiting for him to take a hint. To me- I was giving him a chance.

And he took it. "Has my appearance left you speechless?" he joked sarcastically, mockingly placing a hand daintily on his heart. "It's alright, I have this effect on most people." And then the tall, thin boy squeezed himself next to me, and I was in internal turmoil as the sorting hesitantly continued.

Why in Merlin's name had I done that? I just let him show me up in front of the school. I silently berated myself as I resumed the motions of conversation. It was something to slyly invite him into our group; it was another to resign my position! What is wrong with me today? Why hadn't I at least responded, given him an equally if not moreso witty rejoinder? At least now I had my common sense back. I would respond in the only way I could, having given up the stage. I deliberately inched away from him, completely turned away, my body language sending a clear get-away-from-me message.

But he didn't shrink back and turn to anyone else, no. He was intent on me, for only Merlin (or Potter, as the saying has been going) knows why. He used the extra space to lounge in the wooden bench as if it were the epitome of luxurious seating. "Thank you," he said cheerily, his focus unabashedly on the being-sorted. "I was a bit tight for room. The name's Scorpius; don't ask for my surname. How about you?"

Finally, I made an executive decision that, while ripping my principles to shreds, I believed wouldn't rip up my reputation. I could grudgingly admit that this guy had gut, and if any firstie deserved a response perhaps it might be him. I turned and said, "I'll find out anyway. I'm James-"

"Potter," said Professor Longbottom in his brisk voice. Immediately my mind zoomed into overdrive, trying to determine which misdeed I had been belatedly caught for and possible responses that would leave Uncle Neville in my good graces enough so he wouldn't snitch to Dad. Apparently he even had an annoyingly honest streak in his first year here. Dad calls it honesty and bravery; I call it disloyalty and tattle-taleness.

"Albus," he finished, and all of the thoughts that had invaded my mind were wiped cleanly away. I barely glanced as the little brat wrung his hands and stepped up to the plate.

Scorpius noticed my distraction and I said, "oh, it's my brother being sorted."

"I've never had any siblings. Are you excited for him? Where do you think he'll go?"

"Probably to Huffelpuff, the whiny b-"

"GRYFFINDOR!" the sorting hat roared. My house cheered raucously, but I did not. Some stood up, but I did not.

Albus dashed towards me, gait bouncing in excitement. "Toldya so!" he cried blissfully, and then ran off to find an empty seat; as exemplified before, the area around moi was a bit crowded.

He was accepted immediately, welcomed with open arms. They all saw his strikingly green eyes, his totally convincing innocence (though such naivety is probably real). As I said. Appearance is everything.

The conversation I had witnessed before suddenly clicked for me. Albus was worried about houses. He complained to Dad. And then... Dad gave him a trick. Dad gave him an advantage over the hat, some way to make the hat believe that Albus was a Gryffindor. I mean, come on. I had known Albus his entire life! He is sweet and loyal and cowardly. He is far too sheltered to know more than nothing of the challenges that Gryffindors are known to face. Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff. I have nothing against them, but it just seemed so blasphemous that Albus, just because of stupid genes that gave him the green eyes and gave me Uncle Ron's blue, got this upper hand. This was larger than just me. This was over the entire school. How- How dare he?

The bias was so blatant, so clear. I had never expected, not once in my thirteen years, that Dad could possibly lower himself so far. He had fought, nearly died dozens of times, against prejudice. Bias was just one step away.

I calmed myself. Losing my cool would be so uncool. And I didn't want to look cruel. Cool and cruel were two entirely different things.

"Your fists are clenched," observed my new companion.

"Not anymore," I said, opening my palms and spreading my fingers wide, but Scorpius wasn't looking at me anymore. He glanced restlessly at the empty plates and the tapering line of first-years, reminding me how young he was.

"Is sorting always this slow?"

"Not if you have good company."

"Well, perhaps I'm sitting in the wrong seat."

"Actually, some people are just impervious to fun, no matter how fantastic their neighbor is."

"Ooh. Nice one. And here I thought your responses consisted mostly of arrogant looks and rudeness."

"Says the Malfoy." Scorpius shut his mouth and abruptly turned his head away. Unable to give it up, I said snidely, "Kneazle got you're tongue?" His head turned back to me, very very slowly.

"Don't compare me to him," the boy spat, but his brown eyes had no fight left in them. The change was slightly frightening, so I stayed silent, and the sorting simply continued.

"Weaver, Isabelle!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Weasley, Rose!"

There was a small pause, a moment of hesitation. Then, recovering itself, the hat opened it's brim wide and: "SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherin herself sat for a moment, an expression of slight surprise on her face. Her gaze fell on Albus' agape expression, swept the school, and landed on her goal. Her mouth mustered a smirk and hopped off the stool, having reconciled herself to her fate.

Once again, I deliberated the possibility of the Sorting Hat getting stoned. This time, however, I could vaguely see where it was coming from.

Rose and I have always been a bit close. We had a kind of private companionship; both older siblings, both knowing that they got the bad side of the deal. Rose's problems with her parents were rather different than mine, though. Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione loved both of them equally; but she was, as she put it, the "practice" child. It was Hugo that got the right style of clothes. It was Hugo that learned everything he needed to know when the time was right. Rose was the child of mistakes, the child of miscommunication, the child that would place as second-best in the eyes of everyone else.

Though Rose tried her best to be independently cheerful and perfect, she still hated that part of her. And perhaps it was that emotion that led her to the house of green and silver? I didn't know. But at that moment, I did know that I felt distinctly betrayed.

Betrayed by everything I thought I knew. Betrayed by the rules of the game. Rose Weasley was going to be the first first-year to earn a top spot in the Superior Clique. Rose was going to be my best friend, my first genuine best friend of my school years. Now, Scorpius Malfoy sat next to me instead. And what was meant to be a new era of closeness had turned nasty, for I would never be able to speak to Rose [publicly] again.

Most of my time would be in public, after all. And, at the risk of repeating myself, I have to say: in public, there were rules. And the one that ranked high, higher than the nuances I had previously fretted over, was this: Never associate with Slytherins.

I was a skilled gambler, but now I had lost. My foolproof formula had failed me, and the chips had turned over. The question was: how much wealth remained?


A/N: So, the one-shot has become two! Well, a lot more than that. I'm still trying to figure out where the plot is going to go from here. Know that the first chapter still stands alone as a one-shot.

Also, James knows Scorpius Malfoy's last name because as the top of the food chain, he's pretty well connected and knows the names (even of the freshies!)

This may not be updated too soon, due to both my fail planning and my preoccupation with the Draco Diaries. But please bear with me!

To the great reviewers of chapter one, the oneshot:

Sammi: Your wish has been answered. I'm glad that the perspective is unique for you.

ScOrPiA pOiSoN: Yay! Review! The wonderful leaver of short but awesome replies, Loonynamelass

XSkylarMalfoyX: Wow, the enthusiasm is wonderful!

Lietus: I did! Thanks for the compliments! I'm sure he would enjoy hearing that.

Melinda: Thank you.

Shadrac: I didn't put them in Ravenclaw! *Celebration*