Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it.

INTRODUCING THE FIRST YEARS OF 1991: PART ONE

Unfortunately for Mistletoe Potter, some things just couldn't be missed. An example would be meeting the Ron Weasley. Again. This time, in Madam Malkin's Dress Robes for all Occasions. Of course, just what he was doing in a dress shop, being fitted with new robes, was a story in itself, reserved for another time.

Nonetheless, there the boy was, red-haired, freckled, poorly dressed, unchanged in every aspect except height. He was scowling.

"Ow!" he snapped, "Watch it, will you?"

Madam Malkin tutted, ignoring the boy with astonishing ease. Sensing Mistletoe's incredulity, she smiled sweetly and sighed. "Boys. Their reactions are hardly different."

Mistletoe nodded, wishing wholeheartedly that Ronald Weasley, the annoying twat who had hated her the moment she won him in a chess match and refused to shake his slime-covered hand, would remain in his ignorant state and not notice her. At all.

But of course, the way of the world meant Ron would take the instant Mistletoe poised her head to face the back of his vivid red hair to swivel his own head round and see her.

Perhaps he didn't recognise her, still caught up in the frenzy of his robe fitting, for he grinned at her wholeheartedly. It had, after all, been years since the first and last time the two of them had met. Mistletoe briefly wondered where Percy Weasley was and what he had become.

"You're going to Hogwarts too, aren't you?"

Inwardly, Mistletoe groaned. She really, really didn't want to have this conversation right now. Perhaps if she ignored him altogether, he'd get the message. Her eyes glazed, staring right through him as he shot her another smile.

"I'm a first year, but my brothers before me went to Hogwarts, and my parents, so I know what to expect."

Was he trying to impress her? She wondered briefly. Or perhaps it was just his subtle way of letting her know he was a pure-blood.

"What about you?"

Silence. Mistletoe stared straight ahead, ignoring the dimming grin on Ron's face and pretending, instead, to be in a far, faraway place.

"Oi, are you gonna answer that?" he continued, a little irritated. "You do know I'm talking to you, right?"

Mistletoe turned round slowly, then knowing she was cornered, said slowly. "I beg your pardon? You were talking to me?"

He glared. "Yeah. Do you see anyone else I could have been talking to?"

She thinks, she plots, she strikes. Mistletoe formulated a plan, then with a big virtual smirk, said sadly, "That's the problem. I can't see anyone else." Truth. She could see him, but no one else. The subte

At the corner of her eye, Ron's mouth fell open. "Merlin," he breathed, "you're blind!" Well, not so true. But since she hadn't stated the conviction, there was no one to blame if Ron were to find out the truth but himself.

"That's hardly a nice thing to say, you know," Mistletoe said in a very convincing tone of offence.

"Sorry," Ron muttered with a little more sympathy. "It's not every day you meet someone with an illness the healers at Saint Mungos' can't fix."

"Hm."

"It must be magical then. Your eyes are such a scary colour. For a second, I almost thought they glowed. Like Merry Potter's eyes. Did you know? They say they're the same colour as the Killing Curse and that she zapped You-Know-Who just be looking at him."

"Interesting." It all truly was. Just what on Earth was Ron Weasley talking about? She couldn't wait to head back home and question Snape about it all.

"But you're going to Hogwarts, right? Are you Muggle-born?"

"No."

"Oh." He almost sounded disappointed. "Well…which house d'you reckon you'll be in?"

What? What on earth was the boy talking about? Not wanting to seem completely ignorant, she gave a vague answer. "Any of them are fine by me."

"Oh. I suppose. We don't know until we get there, anyway."

"Of course.

"Imagine being sorted into Hufflepuff."

"Yes," Mistletoe nodded, thinking of Snape's pending interrogation, "imagine."

"I want to be Sorted into Gryffindor. It was where my parents went."

Hadn't Severus told her Gryffindor was the founder of Hogwarts? So who were these other houses named after? Sensing Ron's shaky tone, she decided to take the chance to scavenge for more information. "So because your parents were in Gryffindor, does that mean you will be?" she asked in a neutral tone.

The boy looked confused. "Well, no."

"Ah. Well, then you're free to be in whichever house you want to be in. You didn't sound too sure about being in Gryffindor anyway."

"But I am sure," Ron urged desperately, "I'm very sure. Generations of Weasleys have been Sorted into Gryffindor. My entire room is in red and gold! I can't not be in Gryffindor!"

"Why Gryffindor?"

The question threw Ron off for a moment. "Eh…well, because it's the house that values bravery and courage…and chivalry…it's the best house! Albus Dumbledore was a Gryffindor, you know!"

That did it. If the Hogwarts' own Headmaster was from Gryffindor and Snape, Professor Snape who, though possessed with extraordinary spite, did not seem to much like Gryffindor either, then it had to have been Albus Dumbledore himself who had commanded him to cover up the existence of those other houses. The question was, why?

"You know what, Ron?" Mistletoe said tartly. "Just because the role models and head figures in your life have been in Gryffindor, doesn't mean you're going to be, either. No matter how much they force one house onto you, guess what? There's still going to be a sorting process and you'll be where you belong, not where they wish you were."

Before Ron had a chance to reply, Madam Malkin butted in. "Dear, your robes are complete. Would you like me to wrap them?"

"No thanks," she said sweetly, stepping off the fitting stool. She smirked briefly at Ron and said, "see you at Hogwarts, Ron," before making her way to the counter.

As usual, she left him speechless, this time wondering just who the girl was and how she knew his name.

-witchery-

The thing about Ron was that he was constantly being forgotten. Or ignored. Or overlooked. When his mum wasn't busy blowing her top off at Fred and George, she was fussing over Ginny or repolishing Charlie's old school badges with that proud glimmer in her eyes Ron had never seen her look at anyone else. He supposed the rest of them were just complete let-downs. Sure, Percy was, well, perfect, but he was also in Slytherin. His mum had felt utterly betrayed when Bill grew his hair long and got his ear pierced. And Fred and George? That went without say.

In the end, it came down to two things: where he was on the Weasley family tree and the colour of his hair.

The thing about being second last was that you never got the full benefit of being the spoilt youngest, nor could you escape the admonishing of your older siblings being handed down like second, third, or fourth hand clothes.

Whenever Fred and George did anything wrong, his mum would yell and yell at them until she was sick of yelling at them then turn to him and say things like, "You'd better be good when you're at Hogwarts, young man."

So many times, he wanted to say that he would. That he was going to be good. Even better than Percy. But nothing made any difference. His mum would get that teary look in her eyes whenever he'd try to defend himself by saying that he "didn't do anything, honest!" and reply softly with a "but you will, Ron. Mark my words. You boys will be the death of me…"

Then there was the other side of the deal. His mum expected his brother's antics to pass onto him, but so did they. Fred and George would always pop up saying things like, "Ron'll be in Slytherin, won't he brother? Nah, Ickle Ronniekins wants to be in Gwyffindor where his mummy wants him." Then there was Percy, always starting off their conversations with the words, "Now, Ronald, you and I both know you have the potential to be great, as long as you know how to use it…"

He just didn't know what he wanted anymore.

Ron wasn't the bravest, nor the best-looking. He acted rashly on impulses, loved food too much to dine politely, couldn't help the fact that books were more effective at sending him to sleep rather than teaching him and never bothered to waste time forming pranks he'd never have the gust to pull through.

Which was why in every universe that owned a Ronald Bilius Weasley, what he saw in the Mirror of Erised would always be the same.

I just want to be loved. Loved, worshipped, adored. Someone famous. Someone better than all my brothers combined.

He talked too loudly, sometimes said things he didn't mean, wished people could just read his mind or something and get what he meant, so that they could just leave him alone and dreamt of a day when his family wouldn't be so poor.

But when it came down to it, he just wanted to go to Hogwarts and have a good time.

The second problem lied in the colour of his hair. There was no question that Ron, just like his many siblings, had inherited the famous Weasley hair. That, unfortunately, became the problem.

Ron: Why couldn't he have black hair? Or brown? Or even a shocking bright blue? In the end, when the lot of them lined up behind his father, he'd just be another tally on the Weasley Count, just another Weasley boy.

-witchery-

"Anything for you, miss?" The shopkeeper asked impatiently, irritated at the fact Mistletoe had spent so long perusing his bookshelves but still hadn't decided to purchase anything.

"When I am ready, I will choose," Mistletoe replied steadily, though her own patience was slowly dwindling. How to find a book Snape could not possibly disapprove of (Dark Arts? Heavens no! Even a historical book on old Wizarding families? Not over his dead body!) Then, inspiration struck.

"Excuse me sir," Mistletoe called back, "would you happen to have any books concerning Hogwarts?"

The shopkeeper sighed loudly. "Well, there was 'Hogwarts: A History' but I'm afraid we're out of stock. A young witch managed to snatch it perhaps minutes earlier."

"Has she bought it already?"

"Why no. She's still in here, in fact. You'll find her at the Charms section."

She did, indeed, find a girl skimming the Charms section with utter reverence. Her brown her was incredibly bushy, hiding most of her face except for two large front teeth that "Incredible," she muttered, "teacups can sing! Letters bite! Amazing!"

Muggleborn, obviously. Mistletoe prepared herself for an enlightening conversation. She cleared her throat. "Excuse me?" she said in as much of a humble voice as she could muster. "Erm…is that book you're carrying yours?"

The girl's head shot up curiously. At the sight of Mistletoe, she sniffed snobbishly. "Yes, it is."

Mistletoe frowned. "Oh. I'm sorry. It's just that…I really wanted that book too. Would you mind if I took it from you? Please?"

The girl frowned suspiciously. "I do mind. I got the book before you, fair and square. You have no right to take it from me," the girl said, overly indignant.

Mistletoe rolled her eyes. "Which is why I'm asking you," she gritted. "You're a Muggleborn, aren't you? Imagine being born from a Wizarding family, and still forbidden from knowing anything about magic, or Hogwarts, or even what should have been your birthright. Imagine being robbed of your everything that should have been yours, all because of incidents that were not of your control -"

Now, now, that's pushing it. Mistletoe stopped herself, witnessing instead the Muggle-born's apologetic expression. "Oh. You're a Squib, aren't you?"

Mistletoe froze. What is it with people assuming things I'm not today?

The girl continued. "I suppose you'll never go to Hogwarts anyway. Sorry."

And just before Mistletoe could withstand any more of the girl, the Muggle-born girl's pity, the girl actually handed the book right into Mistletoe's hands. And she didn't look the least bit sorry that it was no longer hers. Well, well, well. Miracles never cease to exist.

At her incredulous face, the girl shrugged. "I suppose I can always order another copy. And besides, I'll be there by September anyway. It's alright."

Inwardly, Mistletoe almost felt guilty. The girl was obviously a bookworm know-it-all who, like her, hated ignorance. She almost smiled at the prospect of sharing qualities with a girl not only Muggle-born but one who seemed like her complete opposite.

She turned to go, but not before she picked up a copy of 'Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts'. It was one of the more interesting books the Muggle-born had tucked under her arm.

By the time she reached the end of Chapter 7: The Fall of You-Know-Who, needless to say, she wasn't happy.

-witchery-

Waiting patiently at the Apothecary, critically analysing his purchase of dried sprigs, was Snape. At Mistletoe Potter's angry aura, which he had felt the instant she entered the store, he realised, finally, that it was time for Mistletoe Potter to learn of her legacy.

"I must confess, it took you far longer than I expected for you to finally work it out," he said calmly, as soon as the door closed behind them.

"Gryffindor, Snape? Truly?" Mistletoe muttered angrily. "Were you ever going to tell me about Hufflepuff or the other houses? And – my father was a pirate? A book I picked up today mentioned a witch named Merry Potter. Care to explain why said witch sounded suspiciously like this one, except there was some mention by her of destroying the darkest wizard in modern history, which everyone, even Ron Weasley knew, except me – and why Merry?"

Of his time at Hogwarts spent as a Hogwarts professor, it would be safe to say that Snape hated Gryffindors. Very true indeed, but what no one bothered guessing was the fact that he hated Ravenclaws even more. Granted, the girl didn't seem much like one, but couldn't children ever just take in what they were told and stop asking questions?

"Of all people, Snape," she continued, "I thought you'd understand. I detest unknowing. I abhor unawareness. And most of all, I - loathe - ignorance."

Snape sighed. As usual. He thought about the clump of – horror – white hair he'd discovered last night lurking behind his pitch-black hair and decided he had deduced the source of his premature aging.

"Before you continue, Potter," he said with surprising assertiveness, "listen carefully to what I must say."

Mistletoe glared.

"The choice to hide as much of the Wizarding world as possible from you was made on the behalf of Albus Dumbledore, who is, as you know, Headmaster of Hogwarts. He predicted your aversion to less than approved sects of magic, and therefore exerted his power as the head in order to keep you in the dark and ignorant for as long as he could."

Mistletoe fumed.

"Just because I routinely practise Legilimency on Muggles? On, come on!"

"Legilimency is considered by most borderline Dark Arts. For a child such as yourself to be so adept in the art without any previous training, it is almost…unspeakable." Mistletoe smirked, but before her smugness was short-lived. "Of course, there is also the fact that you have the personality of a future dark wizard."

"Witch," Mistletoe corrected. "So according to Albus Dumbledore, I'm the next Dark Lord?"

"I wouldn't quite take that as a compliment," Snape said sharply. "Perhaps you still don't realise. As much as I loath to admit it, you are a very important person in the Wizarding community. So too is Dumbledore. You may have defeated the Dark Lord, but Dumbledore also defeated the Dark Lord Grindelwald before our time. He has full control over most of the future of the British community, being the head of the best magic school in Britain. As Chief Mugwump of the Wizengamot, he has power over potentially all of magical Britain's welfare."

"Including mine."

"Now you're thinking. Unofficially, Dumbledore is the most powerful wizard in Britain. He has the power to restrict, constrain and confine you breathing space to a tenth of what I have allowed you. The Ministry will strangle you within inches of Azkaban. If you do not change your attitude or at least pretend you are somewhat normal, do you understand that it will be a case far worse than withheld information?"

It was now that the girl finally understood. A certain look dawned on her face, and though Snape doubted he had succeeded in reforming her, he was certain his warning had gone to heart. Perhaps Dumbledore's future plans for her wouldn't be necessary. The tests, the conflict awaiting ahead, perhaps there wouldn't be any need after all.

"But you let me wander around Diagon Alley, alone!" Mistletoe said quite some time later. "Unless…you wanted me to find out?"

Snape smirked.

"Huh. Dumbledore must have had quite the upper hand for you to agree."

…and Snape scowled. Some things never changed.

"Severus?"

Snape turned, caught momentarily in the surprise of his ward uttering his name without contempt or mockery. A year ago, he would have been strongly reminded of Lily Potter, but now all he could conjure to mind was a curious, somewhat innocent eleven-year-old who truly didn't know what she was getting herself into. For years, Mistletoe Potter had been used by her Muggle relatives as almost a seer – she controlled the family wealth, circling the shares she knew would do well, and the shares she knew wouldn't. She had always been in control of her destiny, always so certain she would grow up to – in her words – rule the world.

But the Wizarding world, Severus knew was different. Every bit of logic and science had fled her, and so too had the certainty and the predictability. It wasn't fair, not even fair for a girl well on her way to becoming the next Dark Lord. Well, Lady.

"Yes?"

And Mistletoe looked at him, looking with eyes full of question.

"Just why Merry? Of all the baby names my parents liked, why that?"

-witchery-

Malfoy Manor was every part the grand and luxurious fortress Mistletoe had imagined the Malfoy family would live in. There were even albino peacocks prancing around the gardens (plural, as there were three – the entrance garden, the herb and vegetable garden and the flowering garden). Framed portraits of prominently dressed wizards decorated the walls of every room, tapestries displayed the Malfoy coat of arms and the Malfoy ancestors' place in magical wars. Malfoy Manor was, pronouncedly, a grand home with not a single sense of warmth or hospitality in its essence.

Draco, who spent at least ten minutes of every hour boasting his Malfoy pride ("Father works in the Ministry, you know…so did his father…and his father's father…"), did eventually stay true to his word, sort of. After a quick tour of the mansion that for lasted half an hour, he dragged her eagerly to the Quidditch Pitch and instructed her to watch.

For hours.

"You'd better be watching, Potter," he shouted, puffing his chest out and holding his broom, Mistletoe thought, in a way he thought showed off his skill.

By the third hour, in which Mistletoe's patience had very nearly run dry, a house-elf suddenly appeared, bowing very lowly before her before croaking up at the sky at the top of his lungs, "YOUNG MASTER MALFOY! YOUR GUESTS HAVE ARRIVED!"

Draco finally, finally flew down and got off his broomstick with the exaggerated poise that reminded Mistletoe of his peacocks. He grinned at her, oblivious to her exasperated boredom. "I invited my friends for an afternoon picnic with us, Potter. Come, let me introduce you to them."

Mistletoe nodded stiffly, wondering what kind of friends Draco could possibly make without offending/boring to death/bribing. Probably pureblooded, aristocratic children like him.

Six of them, well-dressed in wizarding robes and looking impeccably groomed, each adopting a look of indifference (although with lack of good looks for some of them, the indifference could also be mistaken for stupidity), greeted her with surprising interest as Draco introduced them.

"Friends, Merry Potter. Potter, these are my friends – Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode."

Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson. All familiar names, of course. Definitely pure-blood.

(A/N: These were Death Eater acquaintances of Lucius Malfoy. The others are unmentioned, as Millicent is a half-blood and Zabini and Greengrass come from neutral pure-blood families.)

Mistletoe noted that Draco introduced every friend with an ounce of pride, even Pansy Parkinson, whose personality Mistletoe instantly recognised as subject to the Obsessive Wife Syndrome, and Crabbe and Goyle, who had immediately stalked to his side like bodyguards. Bulstrode's face was largely blank, except for her curious and slightly awestruck eyes. Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini both seemed like classy, well-nurtured people with good looks, people worth noting down for their connections.

"Merry Potter," Daphne Greengrass mused, shaking her hand politely. "Ever the honour."

"Please, call me Mistletoe. The name Merry emerged from the legend of a one-year-old baby. The nickname no longer fits."

"Draco, oh Draco, you wouldn't believe what I saw at Diagon Alley the other day. You remember the Longbottoms, right? Well their son, their heir, Neville or something, he's going to Hogwarts too! That whimpering pudge of uselessness! Him! Hogwarts! Well it turns out his family gave him a toad – a toad, can you believe that? – as a reward for not being a squib. Oh, but I haven't reached the best part yet! About the instant the woman at the counter handed the thing over – and I stayed silent the whole time, even though she had the worst hair I've ever seen – the Longbottom boy yelped louder than a roaring hippogriff, and the poor thing got itself wriggling inside his pants!"

Ah yes, Pansy Parkinson. The unremarkable girl said all of the above, eyes stuck to an unimpressed Draco Malfoy, while she languidly shook Mistletoe's hand. Mistletoe stared at her, a little incredulous at the strong resemblance her face held to a pug.

"He had to take his pants off just to get it out!" Pansy continued delightedly.

"Did you get a good look?" an amused and equally unimpressed Blaise Zabini shot back. Parkinson turned an instant deep red. Millicent, Daphne, Blaise, Mistletoe and even Draco all snickered a little.

"Of course not!" Parkinson shrilled desperately, eyes still on Draco, "I would never do anything disrespectful!" Not without you, Drakie-poo, Mistletoe felt like adding for her.

Blaise turned to Mistletoe, a smirk donning his lips as the rest of them watched Parkinson cling on to Draco, who basked in the attention. "Don't mind her. I'm the only one with a sense of humour around here."

Millicent snorted. "I don't know what your definition of humour is, Blaise, but it must be different to mine, seeing as you are not funny."

Blaise scoffed while Daphne and Millicent snickered. "Picnic, my friends?" Malfoy interrupted.

Mistletoe opened her mouth to answer, only to be beaten by Pansy, who said loudly, "Of course, Draco!"

Oh, yes, Drakie-poo, whatever you want!

The party proceeded to the Malfoys' perfect front lawn. There in the middle of the well-trimmed grass lay an epitome of perfection. The 'picnic' turned out to be an entire lunch setting brought outside, carefully balanced with chairs, napkins, glistening crockery, and, of course, the food.

Malfoy sauntered over and sat himself at the end of the long dinner table, the classic accessory Mistletoe had always imagined a grand manor or castle would have. He seemed content in dragging Mistletoe over with them, sitting her down beside him and motioning his companions to join them.

The house-elf hovered around her, forcing her to bite back a comment. His hands trembled as he placed her napkin down on her lap with refined grace. He them proceeded to interrogate her.

"Does the Great Merry Potter need anything else? Anything at all? Anything Dobby can get her?" When she shook her head, he purposefully chose to ignore it, disappearing into the air and popping back before she had had a chance to be surprised or relieved, this time appearing with a pillow. "Just a little something for your chair, miss."

Parkinson looked on with an envious look of disbelief across her face, Draco stared at his house-elf, disgusted. "Did you hear him? Can they sound any more pathetic? I didn't even get anything. And I'm his master. Where's his sense of loyalty?"

Pansy simpered and listened attentively, nodding with fervid enthusiasm. Millicent scowled while Crabbe and Goyle nodded dumbly. The only three normal people on the table, Mistletoe, Greengrass and Zabini, exchanged a knowing smirk.

"Attention seeker," Blaise coughed.

In agreement, Daphne picked up her fork and waved it imperiously for a few moments, mimicking Malfoy's autocracy. Mistletoe smirked, merely leaning back into her pillow, extremely satisfied with Parkinson and Draco's faces as they watched the house-elf appear once again, this time with 'just a little something for your feet, miss.'

"Dobby?" Draco sighed loudly. "Don't you have anything for me? Your actual master?"

The house-elf blinked. "Would the Young Master Draco like a foot massage?"

The group stared doubtfully at Dobby's thin, twig-like fingers. "Oh, never mind. This is clearly not the time and place for a massage."

Blaise snickered. "Oh, but it's fine with us, Draco. By all means, go ahead."

Draco's pale face reddened. Daphne smirked, pleased at Draco's discomfort. "Yes, Draco. We insist."

Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, and Mistletoe Potter. The three of them exchanged a Look. Here, three souls momentarily learnt to coexist peacefully and simply live.

Question: What was it? Perhaps the beginning of a beautiful friendship? The emergence of the deepest betrayal amongst kin? Or simply three children who shared sentiments and channelled sarcasm?

Answer: It was still too early to tell. What was meant to come would come. Fate, after all, always won.

-witchery-

Gryffindor had founded Hogwarts, but so too did Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff and, a name she was very familiar to, Salazar Slytherin.

Mistletoe wasn't stupid. The name Slytherin was one exalted amongst snakes, yet used by Ron Weasley as an insult. "Bloody Slytherin," he'd muttered at Mistletoe.

Sometimes, the Wizarding World just didn't make any sense. Why, in the union of a school and sanctuary, had the founders decided to split up their students so cruelly and harshly, until with the exception of Hufflepuff, each founder only chose to teach the ones found worthy? Perhaps they had thought nothing of it, but as the years went by, Slytherin wanted only purebloods at Hogwarts, Ravenclaw only wanted those of wit and talent, and Gryffindor those brave at heart.

"Why doesn't anyone just…I dunno, take out all these houses?" Mistletoe muttered, frustrated. "I mean, in the one thousand years they've been around, nothing good has come out of them. People get so…selective in who they befriend and interact with. Why not simply demolish the restrictions altogether?"

"The problem lies in the fact that nobody wants to see any of the houses gone, not even Slytherin. The Wizarding World likes exclusiveness, just as it enjoys rejection. There are names of old pureblood families with lines so deeply rooted in a certain house, until to speak of a name is synonymous as to speak of a house."

"The gathering you witnessed at Malfoy Manor was Draco's attempt at banding together a Slytherin force that would seize power over the first years as soon as the student entered Hogwarts. Every single one of the students you met yesterday has deep ties to Slytherin, with many generations of their line having been Sorted into the house."

"Except for me," Mistletoe suddenly realised. "Why weren't any friends from Gryffindor invited?"

It was a question Severus Snape seemed to find extraordinarily amusing. "By Merlin on my deathbed…Nothing personal, Potter, but Gryffindors and Slytherins just happen to hold a thousand year grudge against each other."

"…okay." The Wizarding world, Mistletoe soon realised, was a very strange, strange place.

-witchery-

September the first came, inevitably. Nervous first years dusted themselves, overloaded their trunks with sweets and untouched textbooks. Prefects inspected their badges, proudly and yet with a touch of anxiety. Mothers wept for their children, fathers stood awkwardly on the sideline, waiting for the peace that was about to settle.

A multitude of Weasleys tumbled through a solid wall between Platform Nine and Ten. Nearby, a wizened Muggle blinked, then frowned and shook his head. Excitement filled the air. And already, people were beginning to form unofficial alliances, choosing the individuals they would stand by for the next seven years.

Ron Weasley drifted. He was slightly late, arriving on the train, his nose was smudged on one side, and all compartments had been taken. Of course, eventually fate found him at the door of the one compartment with room spared for him.

"Excuse me," he said timidly at the lone figure whose face was drawn to the window. "Can I sit here? Everywhere else is full."

Theodore Nott half-smiled, eyes glued to a point on the compartment door reflected on the glass. In truth, he had prepared to be alone. "Of course. Sit."

Ron took his time, closing the compartment door at snail's pace, then straightening out his clothes and ruffling his hair, shifting his position on the seat until he was certain he had discovered the best possible seating position in the longest time possible.

In another universe, it would be Harry Potter Ron found in the near-empty compartment, but a multitude of variables had rendered this universe different. Harry Potter was not on the train. There sat, instead, a silent, still boy who looked far less approachable, and Ron was reluctant.

"I-I'm Ron," he soon found himself saying, "Ron Weasley."

The boy sitting opposite him smirked, a little venom-lacking perhaps, but nonetheless smirked. "And I'm Nott. Theodore Nott."

Ron's eyes bulged. Nott paled momentarily at his discomfort. He prepared his speech, one he had mentally recited over the years that had led him through the accusals, the lies and the bullying. Just because I'm a Nott doesn't mean I'm evil, or that I deserve to die.

"Theodore?" Ron's eyes were still wide, somewhat amazed. "You must have a shorter name I can call you with than that."

Theodore blinked, then shrugged. Inside, his heart pounded with hope. "Dunno. People have always called me Theodore, or Nott."

This time, Ron's eyebrows rose. "Erm…I'll call you Nott then."

Nott didn't argue. He merely gave Ron his first good look, then said, "Your nose is smudged, did your know?"

Ron coloured. "Er…right…" He frantically dapped and the dirtied patch, rather blindly until Nott took out a compact mirror and passed it to the boy who blinked, then wordlessly took the mirror.

A brief interlude passed as Theodore refocussed on his window and Ron tried to think of something that would not only begin a conversation lasting the entire duration of the trip but also one that would make the two of them bond forever, thus not leaving either to fend in the mystery that was Hogwarts on their own.

"Erm…I…what house do you think you'll be in?"

"My parents came from Slytherin," Nott simply answered, his eyes glaring at Ron to say otherwise.

Ron nodded. "Fair enough." Yes, Ron had come a long way from the headstrong, slightly foolish boy he had been when Mistletoe Potter had tied him at chess all those years ago.

"And you?"

Ron shrugged. "Mine were both from Gryffindor."

"Oh."

Another silence fell on the two very different boys who really had nothing to say to each other. Nott thought about being in Gryffindor. Ron thought about being in Slytherin. That, and what the blind girl he'd met at Diagon Alley had said to him.

"You do realise just having parents in one house doesn't mean you won't be in another?"

It was the bravest, most sensible and probably the smartest thing Ron Weasley in any universe had ever said. Nott thought the opposite.

It was cowardly. Just another excuse not to be in a house he was crafted to be in.

It didn't make sense. How could children with Gryffindor parents not be Gryffindors, with Slytherin parents not be Slytherins? There was such things as old, traditional families that always got sorted into a certain house, especially amongst Hufflepuffs, because loyalty was an inherited trait. It had to be.

And it was stupid because a boy like Ron Weasley should be the model Gryffindor boy, and Gryffindors were prejudiced, nonsensical and unthinking.

But Nott, strangely enough, was glad Ron was different.

-witchery-

By late afternoon, one thing was certain: Merry Potter was not on the train.

Draco Malfoy sighed. "I say we scout for more potential acquaintances."

"By acquaintance," Zabini interrupted with a smirk, "I'm sure you mean slaves, admirers, allies and – dare I say it – Merry Potter?"

Greengrass and Bulstrode snickered. Pansy rolled her eyes. "Don't bother," she said dismissively, "she probably met up with a bunch of devoted Hufflepuffs. Now as I was saying about -"

"Has anyone heard?" Zabini asked boredly. "Supposedly Theodore Nott managed a place in Hogwarts. He's on this train, sitting in one of the other compartments, right now."

It was enough to perk Malfoy's interest and infuriate Parkinson. "Do you ever refrain from interrupting, Zabini?" she snarled.

"Nott?" Malfoy choked. "He's on the train?"

He stood up immediately, Goyle and Crabbe following. "Yes, Draco, Nott's on the train. I suppose you'll want us to pay him a visit?"

-witchery-

By the time Ron had begun his sixth attempt at conversation, Draco Malfoy had flung open his eighth compartment, in the hopes of finding his friend.

"Finally," he huffed before straightening up and returning to his indifferent posture. "So I heard you were on the train."

Nott nodded. "And here I am."

"Care to tell me why you didn't bother replying to my invitation?" Draco demanded.

Nott shrugged, almost wishing he could turn back to view the moving landscape, if not for the fact that he really didn't want to anger Draco. "I didn't feel like it."

In a rare sight of supreme wonder, Draco Malfoy dropped his usual arrogant face and adopted a new one. One that made Ron Weasley think the boy whose family he was brought up to hate actually had a shred of decency in him, for he almost seemed, well, worried. "Merlin, Theo," Draco groaned, "You've got to talk to us. We do care, you know. How's your mother?"

Nott shrugged again. Little changed in his facial expression. "Dead."

Draco huffed again, clearly unsatisfied and to Ron, a little sad. "So that's why Father told me you were going to live with your father." There was a pause as Draco waited for Nott to say something. It made Ron feel as if he wasn't the only one who struggled to find conversation with the boy. "I apologise, Nott. I know you loved your mother."

Nott half-smiled, eyes detached from Malfoy and focussed instead on Crabbe and Goyle. "Don't be. You didn't kill her. A blatant disregard for ill health and prolonged subjection to the Dark Arts did."

Still sitting opposite him and unnoticed, Ron Weasley gulped. Perhaps Nott wasn't just a boy keen to be in Slytherin, perhaps he was one of those boys…

"Oh, and who are you?"

It took another two seconds for Ron to realise Malfoy was talking to him. He swallowed. "I'm Ron. Ron Weasley."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Oh. A Weasley. Of course."

Ron sneered, hating the way Malfoy had said 'Weasley'. "Oh, and no point guessing who you are. Blonde hair, robes that should fit a king if only one wore them, you must be a Malfoy."

Draco Malfoy gaped.

Ron turned to Nott, whose usually expressionless face almost seemed surprised. "I don't know why you're friends with someone like him, but I won't bother ending it. The two of you must share some qualities if you can actually stand each other. I guess I'll be seeing you around."

In all reasoning, Ron should have left the conversation right then and there. He should have exited the compartment and found friendship in Neville Longbottom, perhaps Hermione Granger. But unfortunately, some things stood in his way.

The Obstacle: A smirking Blaise Zabini, a bored Greengrass who had been dragged along, a Draco Malfoy who was not yet finished and decided he had to have the last word, and a Hermione Granger, a girl who entered the compartment moments later, trying to pin down the whereabouts of a toad, as well as its owner. (We'll get to that part later.)

"Ron Weasley, are you?" Zabini drawled. "Pleasure. This is Daphne Greengrass. And I'm Blaise Zabini."

Ron opened his mouth, wanting to say something but finding himself momentarily dumbfound. Merlin, why are they all so nice?

And Blaise wouldn't stop smirking. "You should know better than to get on the wrong side of this one, Draco," he said amusedly. "His brothers are the sneakiest pair of Slytherins Hogwarts has seen. You just might wake up one day with your head stuck down a toilet."

Draco Malfoy – gulped. Then quickly regained his posture in a way only a Malfoy can possibly achieve. "Well, I guess I've changed my mind about you," he drawled. "Do sit down, won't you?"

Ron – gulped. He looked from a grinning Zabini who had yet to move from the door of the compartment, Daphne who had already taken the seat furthest from Malfoy, Nott, who in his silence seemed somewhat nonchalant, and Malfoy, smirking a smirk the epitome of the Devil.

This next split-second decision of which Ron Weasley made would pretty much change the course of his life. He could either leave, surely on bad terms with every individual in the carriage, or he could stay and see what was in for him.

He sat.

-witchery-

Surprising as it was, Pansy Parkinson had got it right. Indeed, the reason Mistletoe had not met up with her acquaintances was precisely because a bunch of friends (whom, similar to Malfoy's gang, was also rather tight amongst themselves and somewhat devoutly loyal to the people they had known since birth) had made it their business that Mistletoe, clearly alone and therefore friendless, possibly even Muggle-born to their unknowing eyes, would not officially enter the Wizarding World on her own.

"Oh, you can't sit alone!" Susan Bones exclaimed. "Join us!"

"You don't have to be alone ever again," Hannah Abbott added.

Mistletoe stared. Something wasn't quite right with this compartment…Unfortunately, the door behind her had already slammed shut, leaving her with no choice other than to sit down with the first years, each holding an almost scary grin.

"Susan Bones," Susan introduced.

"Hannah Abbott," Hannah chimed in.

"Ernie Macmillan," Ernie added.

There was a pause in the friendship chain, as the three students waited for Mistletoe's reply with frozen smiles.

Mistletoe coughed. "Er, Ginny Weasley."

"A Weasley?" Zacharias Smith said suspiciously. "You're related to the Weasley twins, aren't you?"

"Dunno. The surname 'Weasley' only brings to mind one Wizarding family, so unless either of us are muggle-born, which we're not, I highly doubt the possibility that we aren't related."

Actually, that was true. The Weasleys and the Potters were sort of related, through the House of Blacks. But then, so was almost every other pureblood family.

Zacharias Smith still wasn't too convinced with her innocence. "Your brothers, they were Slytherins. The worst of the lot."

Mistletoe smirked. "So I hear. Slytherin House would be my preference too."

Susan, Hannah and Ernie all but gasped. "You want to be in Slytherin?" Hannah said incredulously.

"That's the worst house there is!" Ernie declared vehemently.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Ernie, but the Sorting Hat in all fairness sorts a person by their most dominant traits, not by any sort of good and evil ratio."

"Well, Hufflepuff's where we're all going," Ernie said indignantly, as if waiting for her to challenge him.

"Exactly what makes Slytherin House so evil?" Mistletoe said curiously.

The four of them scratched their heads and glanced blankly at each other. Merlin, you can tell they're not the brightest.

"Well," Susan began, "Slytherin was really, really selective of who he wanted at Hogwarts."

"He tried to ban Muggle-borns!" Ernie once again protested.

"Um…So? It's not like any of us are Muggle-born."

Once again, the four of the gasped in horror. It's almost as if I've insulted the very principle their pathetic lives were built upon. Which, in all fairness, was probably what I did.

"Think about it, friends," Mistletoe continued before anyone could interrupt, "a thousand years ago, times would have been extremely different. Within Muggle communities, they burnt people whom they suspected of witchcraft. It was stupid to learn magic when these witches and wizards would just go back to their muggle homes where they were prosecuted for these very things anyway."

Three first years stood, almost on the verge of an epiphany. Zach, however, still needed some convincing. He snorted. "Honestly, Weasley, you'd think he was doing them a favour. Slytherin wanted to kill and hunt down Muggles. As in, like it was a sport. What a wonderful job of protecting them there."

"Yes, but Muggles are different from Muggle-borns. People back then really did believe Muggle-borns were inferior. To a Muggle, it was like social class. Being pureblood was like peerage, but being Muggle-born was like being a commoner: completely and utterly pointless and unworthy of learning magic. And then imagine the Muggles: to wizards back then, they were like animals. Everyone practised blood magic back then, and that involves human sacrifice. Most of the times, Muggle."

This time, everyone paled. Being pureblood, all of them knew what Mistletoe was talking about.

"E-even Hufflepuff?" Susan squeaked squeamishly.

"I assure you, Hufflepuff was no different."

"But…but…" Zacharias still didn't quite get the gist. "Hufflepuff was supposed to be kind. She wasn't cruel!"

Mistletoe shrugged, relishing in the fact that she was crushing young hearts. "She probably didn't see it as such."

It was at this moment in history that the compartment door opened and a notable figure in the playing out of fate walked in. In the form of a nervous, round-faced little boy, no less.

"E-excuse me," he muttered. "But have you seen a toad at all?"

The passengers exchanged a glance before shaking their heads. "I've lost him!" Neville Longbottom wailed, "He keeps getting away from me!"

Now here was a lonely little boy fate had cruelly tormented by stealing away his only companion. He was overweight, had only the slightest more magic than a squib, loathed the fact that his parents had been in St Mungo's for the past ten years, and the only thing that frightened him more about losing his only buddy, Trevor, was being sent back home to face his many relatives who had hoped he would live up to the image of his parents.

Mistletoe didn't know all this, of course. She had merely looked at this pathetic boy, torn for a moment between bullying him, as she would have done in the middle of a Muggle school courtyard, and gaining him as a possible future ally/worshipper/friend(?).

Then she glanced at the people behind her. Well, she supposed the Mighty Albus Dumbledore might approve…

It was wonderful. It was fate. Simply put, it was Meant To Be. "It's alright." Mistletoe patted his back. "By the way, may I introduce you to these wonderful people? You simply cannot sit alone."

"Er, I'm not really-"

Cue the sugar-sweet, scary smiles.

"Join us."

"You don't have to be alone, ever again."

Mistletoe swallowed back rising nausea. To her, those words seemed creepy. To Neville it was almost his dream come true.

And so began the start of a truly wonderful friendship.

-witchery-

Zabini, still grinning, slammed the compartment door shut, and sat next to him. Ron swallowed. Who was worse – Malfoy or Zabini? He really couldn't decide.

"Blaise," Draco said, unimpressed, "what are you doing here? And where's the rest of the gang?"

"You mean your soulmate?" Daphne uttered boredly, distracted by her expression in her handheld mirror. "We decided it'd be better to leave Parkinson behind." She momentarily lifted her eyes off the accessory and arranged her flawless face into a smirk. "You don't mind, do you Draco?"

Malfoy scowled. "And where's Bulstrode?" he demanded.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "As if you need her around. She's a half-blood, her looks are less than average, and you don't exactly impress her with your pureblood pride. What's the point of having her around?"

Draco sent her a withering look. "Are you stupid? Merry Potter is half-blood. You can't expect her to suddenly fit in with the rest of us purebloods at the blink of an eye."

Daphne shrugged. "Did quite fine last week. Besides, she's Snape's ward. What did you think she'd be like? As if Professor Snape would seek guardianship over a potential Gryffindor."

It was here that Ron Weasley remembered he existed. "H-hey!" he protested. "There's nothing wrong with Gryffindor."

Every eye in the compartment stared at him in disbelief. Ron fidgeted.

"…Right," Blaise said, cutting the awkward silence. "Moving on from that momentary lapse of memory in which we may have forgotten you were born and raised a Weasley…"

Was it possible for Ron to feel any more insignificant than what he did then? Possibly not. Did he regret sitting down instead of leaving? Perhaps a little. Did he want to leave now? With all his magic.

Ron cleared his throat, feeling like he should day something. "Er. I…support the Chudley Cannons…?"

It was Ron Weasley's favourite topic, perhaps to most of his family a rather dull one. Percy, after all, referred to his books, the twins were more interested in setting the other on fire, and Ginny…well. Ginny was a girl.

So it was quite a surprise when the person who liked Ron the least became the first to break the stunned silence.

"Chudley?" Draco Malfoy repeated with disbelief. "The Chudley Cannons?"

Ron glared. "Yes. Problem?"

Draco sniffed. Nott coughed. Zabini fought back a smirk, though that in itself was a great feat. "No," Draco said was feigned nonchalance. "It's just that…I support the Chudley Cannons too."

Well. It wasn't fate, nor destiny, not even the Creator's sense of humour when Ron and Draco, two very, very different boys, stared at each other for two seconds, then promptly began to discuss everything concerned with Quidditch, especially the Chudley Cannons.

That did it. When Ron began to talk, he just couldn't stop. And this was Quidditch. It didn't matter that he was discussing the matter with Draco Malfoy of all people. Why hadn't he thought of it earlier? Nott had to have something to say about the greatest sport in the wizarding world.

Now if only things were left as they should have been. But no, Fate loved her cruel jokes.

It was ten minutes later, Hermione Granger actually entered a room full of purebloods, each with some hope or aspiration concerning Slytherin, its founder who had cherished persecuting Muggle-borns like herself.

Perhaps she would have survived, had she appealed to Ron's conscience in some aspects. But Hermione Granger wasn't just knowledgeable – her purpose in life was to let the whole world know she was a genius, equipped with a mouth that never stopped talking in a patronizing tone, and a face that really wasn't the prettiest. So as it stood, Ron Weasley wasn't too keen in coming to her defence.

Unsurprisingly, all hell broke loose.

-witchery-

To those of you disappointed at the abrupt cut, in which the Hogwarts Express hasn't even arrived at Hogwarts yet, sorry. This chapter just grew, and grew…and grew…I promise I'll post the next chapter in the next two weeks. In the meantime, check out my poll and basically tell me what you think about what sort of person Merry Potter should turn out to be.

Notes:

Firstly, I have always been mystified by one thing: in the first Harry Potter novel, Hermione Granger announced having read Hogwarts, A History to most of the first years as they arrived at Hogwarts, yet she had not known how she would be sorted, nor the tale of the Sorting hat.

Second, Theodore Nott is mentioned by JKR as a Slytherin who distanced himself from the majority of his house, thus not being part of Malfoy's group, yet equally pureblood and perhaps smarter than Draco, who actually saw him as an equal.

So how can two very different boys (one who wanted attention, another who thirsted escape) possibly be friends?

Also, I realise Draco Malfoy is supposed to rule tyrannically over Slytherin, but he was so arrogant, petty and prejudiced, I reckon probably most of the Slytherins in the other houses were annoyed with him too. Blaise Zabini was noted in the sixth book as a boy with arrogance rivalling Malfoy's: Where Malfoy was arrogant and totally prejudiced in hating Muggle-borns, blood traitors and Muggles, Blaise's arrogance encompassed beyond just those of 'inferior' blood, but even the Death Eaters who were, in essence, men who should have been proud that instead bowed down to a half-blood master.

And last: I have always felt the treatment of Hufflepuffs by the majority of the Wizarding world incredibly unfair. Being Hufflepuff wasn't about being unwanted by the other houses, being soft or stupid. It's about loyalty to Hogwarts.

Hope everyone liked that chapter. Just a reminder, I've edited the other chapters, and just for those of you who have read the previous chaps before editing, the biggest changes occur in INTRODUCING PETUNIA DURSLEY, where the extra scene of dropping Mistletoe off with her relatives, and INTRIDUCING MISTLETOE POTTER, where much more is explained about her circumstances, are added.

Happy reading! Review with comments and any ideas as to the path Mistletoe should take: Light, Dark or Grey.

MaskWithATruth