A/N: In celebration of DH, here's another chapter (familiar to some of you) -- though I'll keep writing, no matter what happens!

Chapter Four

The Great Hall, Hogwarts

1 September 1991

'So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!'

Neville stared at the Hat. After all that talk about a test, about the spells they'd need and how much it would hurt, it was a hat?

On the other hand, it was an enchanted hat. It probably could very well hurt.

He threw a nervous glance at the ghosts, gathered together. The Fat Friar seemed really nice, like Cedric . . . maybe Hufflepuff wouldn't be so bad. Just, loyal, hard-working, patient. It didn't sound that far off.

They didn't sound like duffers, either.

Professor McGonagall — who Harry and Neville had heard plenty about from James and Sirius — stepped forward, holding a long roll of parchment.

'When I call your name,' she said, 'you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.' She paused. 'Abbott, Hannah!'

A girl who reminded Neville vaguely of himself — small, fair, and round — stumbled out of the line and sat down. It was only a moment before the hat declared,

'HUFFLEPUFF!'

Susan was right after her, and his heart rose to hear once more,

'HUFFLEPUFF!'

The Bulstrode that Daphne had mentioned, a strong, heavy-set girl with black hair in a heavy plait down her back, became the year's first Slytherin. She was followed by several more students, then the first of Neville's other friends. Well, in fact he was a bit leery about calling the bossy, overbearing girl a friend exactly . . . but he knew her, and she seemed all right, so that made her practically as good as.

'Granger, Hermione!'

She almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her curly head. She sat there, almost as long as Seamus Finnigan had, and finally, the hat shouted,

'RAVENCLAW!'

Daphne looked horrified even as Professor McGonagall called her own name.

It only took the hat a few moments. 'SLYTHERIN!'

Neville gulped. Would she still be friends with them now? After all, a pureblood from a good family on both sides, like Daphne, probably would be quite popular in her own house. But she waved cheerfully at him as she took the hat off. She didn't seem to really mind. Now there was one of them in each house but Gryffindor — he'd be assured of at least some sort of companionship as long as ended up anywhere but . . . well, where he'd dreamed of ending up.

The next three after Daphne, Wayne Hopkins, Megan Jones, and Su Li, all ended up in Hufflepuff, and then it was Neville's turn. He walked on trembling feet, feeling every eye in the room on him.

'Longbottom, did she say?'

'The Neville Longbottom?'

People were craning to look at him. Neville shut his eyes, and when he opened them, he was staring at the inside of the hat.

'Ooh, a challenge,' a voice said in his ear.

Neville sighed and made himself comfortable.

'A decent mind, desire to prove yourself, plenty of gumption . . . not bad, not bad. Now, let me see . . .'

Not Ravenclaw, Neville thought desperately. I don't care what colour my sparks were. I'd be just awful there. Just put me in Hufflepuff and get this over with. Everybody's still staring at me, I bet . . .

Vague thoughts flickered quickly past. 'Hufflepuff?' the hat repeated. 'Don't be ridiculous. What an odd duck you'd be . . .'

Odd duck. No birds. I really don't want Ravenclaw, sir. Ma'am. Whichever.

'You don't really want anything exceptional, do you?'

I want to not be put in Ravenclaw.

'A bit of companionship, moderate success . . .'

I'd like to be with Harry — but he's not been Sorted yet. And I want to do my family proud.

'Family, eh?' It seemed to be rifling in his head some more. 'Now I understand. You want to be a good wizard, don't you?'

No, I don't really care how good I am . . . I mean, I don't want to be terrible but . . . no, it's the people who want to be really brilliant who are in Ravenclaw. I just want to be normal.

'Well, that clears it all up,' the hat said decidedly. 'There's nowhere else for you but . . . GRYFFINDOR!'

The room exploded into applause, some of the Gryffindors actually jumping up and shouting, 'We got Longbottom! We got Longbottom!'

He then proceeded to embarrass himself by running off with the Hat still on his head, and had to return it; but the laughter seemed more friendly than anything, and so he was smiling broadly when he finally sat down at the table.

They were still cheering wildly when the Hat shouted 'GRYFFINDOR!' again and Morag MacDougal raced towards them, slipping into the empty space next to Neville.

'Hi,' she said brightly, holding out her hand. 'I'm so pleased to be in Gryffindor, aren't you?'

Neville beamed. 'Yes,' he said. Maybe once Harry was Sorted, they could all be friends. 'Yes, I am.'

He glanced up just in time to see Malfoy walking up, the swagger in his step unnervingly akin to Sirius at his most obnoxious. The Hat, to nobody's surprise, declared him a Slytherin almost before touching his head, and the applause began all over again. Then, as he walked towards his table, Malfoy hesitated — paused — glanced over his shoulder. His smirk melted into a delighted grin — he nodded at somebody. Curious, Neville followed his gaze, expecting . . . well, more Death Eater spawn. A Rosier, or Nott, or something like that.

It was Harry.

Neville went cold, unable to tear his eyes away from his cousin, who was waving and cheering as if Draco Malfoy getting Sorted into Slytherin was the most wonderful, unbelievable thing that had ever happened to anyone. Then it was over, and Neville could only gasp in relief.

'Are you all right?' Morag asked. 'You look sick, Neville.'

'I'n fine, thanks,' he said automatically. The moment had passed, and Harry was clapping politely as no less than three new Slytherins — Lilith Moon, Theodore Nott (I knew it!), and Pansy Parkinson — joined Malfoy. Professor McGonagall looked cross, and Professor Snape grimly pleased.

A pair of identical twins were, to general astonishment, split between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, then Sally-Anne Perks went into Hufflepuff, and Harry was walking up to the Hat, head held high. Neville squinched his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable 'GRYFFINDOR!' Instead, he heard . . . nothing.

Opening his eyes, he saw that Harry was still at the stool, looking very pale and small and alone. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Neville swallowed. He had been so sure that, as long as he got into Gryffindor, he and Harry would go through Hogwarts together, not just family but best friends — and somewhere, there had been the less praiseworthy idea that he'd be safe because nobody would dare cross Harry —

Then he thought that Harry did not seem very forceful at all up there, dwarfed by his robes and the Hat. Why was it taking so long? That could only mean that he fit in more than one House, and wasn't so unquestionably Gryffindor as Neville had always believed he was. But that didn't make any sense. Nobody could be more Gryffindorish than Harry Potter. Harry wasn't afraid of anything!

Something that Sirius had said, long ago, sprang into his mind. Courage isn't about fearlessness, Nev. It's about overcoming what fears you do have. And Harry had told him, over and over again — not two weeks ago, he'd said, I wouldn't be surprised if I ended up there, but . . . well, I wouldn't be surprised if I didn't, either. It's complicated.

The Hat evidently thought so.

Harry's lips moved, his fingers clutching at his black robes, and whispers went around the room, growing louder with each second. Neville listened in silent, wretched agony.

'You know, the Wiltshire Potters?'

'Is his father really the Mr Potter in the Ministry?' a red-haired prefect asked enviously. 'My dad says he'll be Department Head one day.'

'I don't know, he's too young, isn't he?'

'But he's done so much more than all those old people — besides, Scrimgeour will be around for awhile.'

Somebody whispered, 'James Potter's son? Really? I didn't know he had any kids — isn't his wife dead?'

'SLYTHERIN,' said the Hat.

Melanie: Yes, I am aware of that (along with several million other people, I imagine). That my Dark Lord isn't Tom Riddle is rather important to the plot.