Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews! I am pleased that people like this story so far. Also to address one person in particular, don't worry! This isn't an evil Ron story at all. (I suppose people might think he is by the number of curses he wants to send the Sorting Hat's way, but...) Enjoy!
Hufflepuff's Common Room was brilliant.
If Hermione had been asked for a comparison, the first image that struck her head was that of hobbit holes. Bilbo Baggins could pop out of one of the round doors in the back at any moment, chattering something about his birthday party...
Of course, no such thing happened. But Hermione drank in all the details that she possibly could just the same. The windows were round and plentiful-and though it was dark outside, the view was anything but. Grass fluttered in an unseen breeze, and flowers bowed before its gentle weight. There were plants hanging everywhere, pots tucked into the corners, and even a few smaller plants settled on end tables. Several sofas and chairs were scattered around the room, and they were all over-stuffed and decorated in yellow and black. A patchwork quilt was settled across the centre sofa.
It might not have been the most imposing common room, but it was certainly the homiest.
"Welcome," a slightly dumpy-looking woman with very curly grey hair in bunches and the warmest brown eyes Hermione had ever seen said, popping up from her seat on a chair. Hermione recognised her from the Head Table. "I'm Pomona Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff House. This House will be your family while you study at Hogwarts and I hope far into the future as well."
She paused for breath at the same time a loud croak echoed through the room. Professor Sprout laughed gently and dipped down, coming up with a rather familiar toad sitting on the palm of her hand.
"Anyone lose a toad, dears?" she questioned. Neville went crimson and rushed forward, taking cautious hold of Trevor.
"Sorry, Professor," Neville mumbled, but Professor Sprout only smiled at him.
"Not a problem-Longbottom, was it?"
Neville nodded, escaping back to his position by Hermione.
"As I was saying," Pomona continued, although she'd given Neville a very assessing look that Hermione had just barely caught. "While you are here, Hufflepuff will be your family. I am always proud of my Puffs as they make their way through their school career and onward. Others in Hogwarts may underestimate you and your capabilities, but I never will. You wouldn't be at Hogwarts if you were not a capable witch or wizard." (This time, Hermione knew that look was for Neville.)
"Now, I believe you'd all like to go to bed," Professor Sprout chuckled. "Girls to the left, boys to the right. It's all arranged by year, as well. If you get lost, there are signs on the doors, and the upper years would also be more than happy to assist you. Also-and this, of course, goes beyond merely tonight-should you have need of me, all you have to do is tap any wall with your wand three times and say 'Professor Sprout, I need your assistance.' Got all that?"
The first years nodded in unison.
"Off to bed then," the squat woman clucked like they were a lot of chickens and flapped her hands a bit. Neville looked rather apprehensive as they neared the door.
"All right, Neville?" Hermione whispered.
"Y-yeah, f-f-fine," Neville stammered. A look of relief washed over his face when the door to the boys' dorms opened for him, puzzling Hermione greatly. Unless he was still worried he didn't belong? But he'd been Sorted, hadn't he?
"G'night, Hermione," Neville mumbled, and escaped for the night with the other first year boys.
Harry's thoughts upon viewing Ravenclaw Tower for the first time were not all that dissimilar from Hermione's. The eagle-shaped knocker was going to take some getting used to, he was certain, but he was actually looking forward to answering the riddles if he could. One of the prefects, although he hadn't quite caught his name (Robert something?), had already assured the worn-out first years that the knocker tried to adapt its riddles to the student and that if it still went badly, you could always knock on the door and hope for the best.
The common room was one of the most beautiful rooms he'd ever seen. It was massive and airy, with windows everywhere that overlooked the grounds, hung with blue and bronze silks. The ceiling was high and domed and painted with stars, and by the entrance to the dormitories, there stood a tall white statue of a woman Filius Flitwick had already informed them was Rowena Ravenclaw. She was beautiful but also looked quite imposing.
"How did the Boy Who Lived get in here?" one of his fellow first years, Michael Corner, asked softly, while Flitwick was going over the House rules (in a rather squeaky voice).
Harry shrugged lopsidedly.
"The same way everyone else did?" he pointed out. Corner looked surprised at first, then pleased. Harry wasn't entirely sure why. There were very faint overtones of You're all right, Potter in Michael Corner's face, and all of a sudden, Harry very much wanted his bed so he could properly puzzle it out. He had a sneaking suspicion it was-yet again-to do with his supposed fame.
"I'm glad you're in here," Mandy Brocklehurst said shyly behind him, turning pink when he looked up. Harry couldn't help but smile back.
Ron Weasley was utterly convinced he was the most miserable boy in the entirety of Hogwarts that night, as he trailed dismally behind the rest of the Slytherin first years. His secondhand robes kept hitching up and showing off his trainers, but he couldn't bother to care. Slytherin? Of all Houses the Sorting Hat could have put him in, it chose Slytherin? He felt a fierce envy for the round-faced Longbottom boy and the bossy, bushy-haired Muggleborn girl suddenly. Hufflepuff might be for duffers, but at least it was better than the den of slimy, no-good snakes. Like he was Dark or something.
"Hurry up, Weasley," Marcus Flint grunted, giving him a solid push. It wasn't unfriendly, yet Ron bristled, his face flushing.
"Don't shove me," he spat, but Flint only laughed and shoved him onward again.
The entrance to the Slytherin common room was through a blank stone wall in the dungeons. The password was "serpent."
Of course, Ron thought scathingly. After another glare from Flint, who seemed to have appointed himself Ron's personal jailor, he reluctantly stepped through.
He'd heard from his brothers about Gryffindor. About how warm and cheerful it looked, the grandeur of the red and gold.
Slytherin's common room looked nothing like it. The light had a greenish tinge, and the furnishings were imposing and completely done in green, silver, and black. Altogether, it looked like a place a prat like Malfoy would be completely at home in, and not at all where Ron would.
Not that he had a choice.
He swallowed hard and finally stumbled to a stop just as Professor Snape, the greasy-haired bat of the dungeons himself, billowed past him to address the rest of the first years.
Blah blah blah, Ron thought, trying to stop his hands curling into fists. He didn't belong here. He just didn't. Surrounded by pompous pureblooded prats and so much green and silver, he thought he might go off both colours for good. His hand-me-down-robes and freckles didn't belong with the snobby superiourity complex of Malfoy, or the snooty pug-faced splendour of Pansy Parkinson.
His shoulders sagged. Not that it mattered anyway. Fred and George thought he was a traitor. His parents were sure to think so, too. He wouldn't be surprised if he got a Howler in the morning at breakfast. They might even disown him.
"-Check the board for the time you are expected to show up at my office this week," he finally tuned into Snape's lecture. "May I remind you all once again, these meetings are mandatory and should you choose to skip it, you will find yourself not only having said meeting, but serving a week's worth of detentions at the same time." Ron was sure the man's eyes were on him, but he refused to acknowledge them.
There had to be some way that he could get re-Sorted.