Author: Meltha
Rating: PG at this point, but likely to rise
Feedback: Yes, thank you.
Spoilers: Currently, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Again, this will rise.
Distribution: The Blackberry Patch and . If you're interested, please let me know.
Summary: Draco's first glimpse of Hogwarts and the results of the Sorting.
Disclaimer: All characters are created by J. K. Rowling, a wonderful writer whose works I greatly enjoy. I have borrowed them for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.
Author Note: Some information double-checked through the Harry Potter Lexicon.
Sorting Things Out
When the train began to slow, Draco could feel it through the bottom of his shoes, and the sensation seemed to rest in the pit of his stomach, hopping like a peppermint toad (which, incidentally, made him wonder if that Neville kid had ever found his pet). This was it. They were almost there.
Draco gave Crabbe and Goyle each a punch in the arm to wake them up. He'd actually originally tried tapping them, but it didn't seem to register with either at all. As they finally opened their eyes and yawned lazily, Draco put the cover back over his owl's cage, earning him a disapproving hoot.
"We there yet?" Crabbe asked sleepily as he scratched his head.
"Nearly," Draco said, wondering if he should carry Persephone himself or leave her for the house elves to sort out.
A quick glance down the corridor showed that no one else was carrying a cage, and, as he expected, the Prefects were calling loudly that everyone's luggage would be taken care of. At least some things seemed to be up to standard at Hogwarts, then. Still, this also meant he probably wouldn't see Hermione again until the actual Sorting since she wouldn't have to return to the compartment for her baggage.
Crabbe, Goyle, and he all made their way simultaneously into the throng of students who were laughing, yelling, pushing, squealing, and, in the case of those who were obviously other first years, staring about in abject terror, completely unsure where to go or what to do. Draco had enough presense of mind to realize that step one was to get off the train car, so rather than stand about with his mouth hanging open in stupified terror as a particular blonde girl in pigtails was doing, he, followed by wordlessly obedient Crabbe and Goyle, descended the train steps and found himself on the railway platform. Step two became clear as soon as a hairy walking mountain came into view.
"Firs' years! Firs' years this way!" Hagrid called loudly, and as much as Draco was aware that he wasn't technically supposed to think of him as human, he did feel a small thrill of relief at seeing somone he at least recognized.
A few minutes later, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were seated in a small boat. Draco noticed most of the other boat were carrying four students apiece, but as the boat's edge had sunk significantly closer to the the lake's surface as soon as his two new friends had taken their seats, Draco wasn't about to risk sinking by adding anyone more. He'd heard about the giant squid and didn't fancy a personal introduction.
The nervous talking of all the new students turned to hushed awe as, at some unknown signal, all the boats left their moorings and began to glide noiselessly across the surface of the glass-smooth water. It was, cliched or not, absolutely magical when he saw the silhouette of the castle resolve itself from the surrounding velvet darkness, its windows blazing with hundreds, perhaps thousands of flickering lights, all the way to the top of what he was sure must be the astronomy tower.
"Pretty," Goyle murmured, his face showing awe.
"Eh," Malfoy said, trying his best to sound unimpressed, "it'll do."
Maybe it was even good enough for a Malfoy. However, the real test would be the people inside it: were they any good at what they did, did they understand their places in the scheme of things. As he watched the castle grow closer and closer, its reflection looming enormously on the star-studded surface of the lake, Draco had the smallest bit of doubt creeping into his mind. Hogwarts was huge, and rather like with the train, he was beginning to feel unusually small, perhaps even insignificant in comparison. With a shake of his white-blond head, he banished the ridiculous thought in time for the boat to come to a comfortable and delicate stop on the far shore.
"I guess this is our port, boys," Draco said to the other two.
Goyle got out of the boat at once, still staring up at the castle's ramparts, but Crabbe was just sitting there.
"Crabbe?" Draco asked. "Something wrong?"
Crabbe looked at him, and Draco realized he was green as a pickle.
"Don't tell me you're seasick!" Draco said, laughing. "There wasn't a ripple out there!"
"Too much candy," he said miserably, then his head disappeared over the side of the boat, followed by a horrible retching noise.
Draco curled his lip in disgust, but patted Crabbe on the back somewhat sympathetically.
"Done?" he asked.
"Yeah," Crabbe said, stepping cautiously onto dry land.
"Good," Draco said, trying not to let the incident get him feeling queasy himself. He wanted to make a wisecrack about taking over the school or being the new princes of Slytherin, but in all honesty he was a bit concerned that if he opened his mouth again, he might do a very good imitation of Crabbe's previous indisposition.
The gaggle of first years approached the castle cautiously, Hagrid's lantern bobbing a good ten feet over their heads and creating bizarre shadows on their faces. No one spoke much other than the occasional "Excuse me, didn't see you there," or "Hey, watch where you're going!" in the dark. As the gigantic door of the castle slowly swung open on its hinges, Draco saw a tall woman, her robes a deep green, standing silhouetted against the light coming from a large, impressive entrance hall. At first he couldn't make out the features of her face, but she seemed quite nicely proportioned..
"Firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said respectfully.
"Thank you, Hagrid," she said, "I'll take them from here."
Oh, Draco thought after hearing her voice. She's old. So much for that fantasy.
Over the next few minutes, the professor briefly explained the idea of the houses, the concept of Hogwarts as four families, and a variety of other things that practically bored Draco to tears until she told them to hush and wait to be called in. The first years were left standing outside what they assumed must be the door to the Great Hall, and the command to be quiet needn't have been given at all. No one felt much like talking as the minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity spent standing on a tiny ledge over a deep pit.
Then, without warning, a cavalcade of ghosts suddenly slipped through the wall behind them. Draco refrained from screaming, but only just. The poor blonde with pigtails had practically jumped into the arms of the tall boy next to her, earning her a "Darlin', not that I mind, but you're on my foot and I'd like to be able to walk without a limp into the Sortin.'"
"Sorry," she said, her face bright red, and Draco had to grin that at least someone was more nervous than he was.
"Hufflepuff," he said to Crabbe and Goyle quietly, gesturing to her. "Wait and see."
But the door had opened and McGonagall stood there, beckoning them in, and all at once Draco knew he'd turned as dead white as the ghosts. This was it. In the next few moments, he would either be admitted to Slytherin or else shame his entire family. His mouth went dry as he processed down the center aisle with the rest of the first years, barely registering the faces of all the other students who were following them towards the front with their eyes. He dimly heard Hermione from somewhere behind him muttering facts about the ceiling and was amazed she was composed enough to notice it. He certainly wasn't. In fact, he had no intention of looking up, fearing a deadly bolt of lightning at the least.
When the entire group had moved all the way towards a stool at the very front of the room, McGonagall took the Sorting Hat and put it on the stool. Then, unbelievably, the thing started singing. Draco didn't take in much more than it listing off the houses again. He hadn't expected the thing to be warbling at him. There was, he thought, a point at which magic was just plain showing off, and a magical hat that in addition to having the power to read personalities also happened to be a relatively good tenor was somewhere a league beyond that point.
When the last notes had died out, along with the predictable thunderous applause, McGonagall began calling them up, one at a time, in alphabetical order by last name, beginning with Blonde Pigtails, as Draco had taken to calling her internally. Just as he'd predicted, Hannah Abbott was indeed a Hufflepuff, and Crabbe and Goyle looked duly impressed while Draco allowed himself a rather smug grin that turned a bit weak as reality hit him again.
One by one, each student was sorted, and he caught only a few names: Bones… Brocklehurst… Bulstrode (whom he would remember never to pick a fight with)... Poor Crabbe looked terrified when he sat on the stool and the hat was whipped onto his head. It seemed to struggle for a moment, though no one could hear the conversation going on between the two, before it finally called out a loud "SLYTHERIN!"
"Well done, mate," Draco whispered as Crabbe headed towards the green and silver decked table, smiling all the way.
Several more names were read, and each house was gaining students, sometimes with one ahead, now another. Draco tried to keep track of who was going where, but it wasn't easy. There were too many new names all at once. With a little gasp, Goyle went forward, and the hat seemed to have less trouble placing him than Crabbe as it sang out "SLYTHERIN!" once again, but Draco had taken that as a given after Crabbe. He was more interested in the next girl.
Professor McGonagall stumbled a little over Hermione's name, and as she walked past, her bushy hair somehow even bushier with nerves, Draco gave her what he hoped was an encouraging wink and a nod, though he wasn't sure she saw it. She nervously sat on the stool, and the hat paused a while before it gave its final, incontrovertable verdict.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Draco stood dumb-struck. Gryffindor? But… why? She was obviously intelligent. Even Ravenclaw he could have understood, perhaps, but the rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor was the stuff of legends. As she came past him down the steps, he couldn't think of how to react. All he knew was he was sorry for her failure… and that he was desperate the same thing wouldn't happen to him.
More names were called, and the group was getting smaller. All at once, he heard "Malfoy, Draco," spoken, and he moved forward as though he were in a dream. The sound of his footsteps seemed abnormally loud on the stone floor, and he thought again of how he still hadn't got his father's knack of nearly feline silence. He turned round to face the hall packed full of students, every face turned towards him, and it didn't even seem like they were blinking. He sat, feeling all at once that the stool was picked to make the students feel like utter berks as their legs dangled into space, making them appear six years old. It probably had taken all of three seconds for him to take his place, but it might as well have been three hours. Then, he saw the shadow of the hat move over him, could sense it reaching closer to his head, it was nearly there.
"SLYTHERIN!" it screamed.
It was almost anticlimatic, not that he was complaining. In fact, he wasn't even sure if it had actually made contact with his head. Draco let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and strutted to the Slytherin table, where he was roundly patted on the back. Still, though, there were two names he was particularly interested in, and they shouldn't be far in the distance.
Draco scanned the girls who were still left to be Sorted, wondering which was his bride-to-be, but he hadn't long to wait.
"Parkinson, Pansy," McGonagall said, and he realized he was on the edge of his seat.
It was another slow-motion moment as the small crowd on the stage paused for a moment, and then one of the black-clad figures disengaged itself from the rest. He was aware of her shoes first. As opposed to the rest of the group, who were wearing perfectly identical robes and hats, and nearly identical trainers or non-descript boots, this girl was wearing emerald green satin slippers with a sparkle of rhinestones over the toe that glittered as she walked, drawing his eye to the outlandish difference at once. From there, his gaze travelled upward (sadly, he couldn't tell much at all about her under that baggy black robe), finally coming to rest on her face.
He didn't really have too much to complain about, he thought, though she wasn't as attractive as he was. Then again, he couldn't expect the poor girl to live up to his high standards, at least not at eleven. She had remarkably smooth-looking fair skin, a sharply pointed jaw and equally defined cheekbones that gave her an expression of haughty disdain fitting her social level, an upturned nose that rather reminded him not unpleasantly of his mother, and dark eyes that flashed almost angrily. Her hair was nearly the same shade of black as her robes and cut just below her jawline, swinging in what he had to admit was a quite fetchingly way as she sat down on the stool. Before the hat was even on her head, he knew what it was going to say, and he wasn't wrong.
"SLYTHERIN!" it called out at once, and then she was walking towards the table.
Correction: she was walking towards him. Cue panic. Of course she would be walking towards him, he thought. She would have watched him be Sorted earlier, so she would already know who he was, and it wasn't as though he really blended well in a crowd. He blinked, and she was at his elbow. She gave a cool glance to the boy sitting next to him.
"Who are you again?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Theodore Nott," he said, running a quick gaze up and down her robes.
She smiled, one side of her mouth going up higher than the other.
"I want your seat. Leave," she said, and there was something in her voice that prompted Nott, despite having a good five inches worth of height on her, to get up and quickly go to the other side of the table.
Draco was rather taken aback, but not necessarily in a bad way, as she slipped between him and the boy to her left, then gave him an appraising look.
"Good evening," she finally said, and he remembered his manners and inclined his head towards hers in recognition of her greeting.
"Evening," he said, then fished about desperately in his head for anything to say until something he'd read once in a magazine article about girls came back to him. "Ehm, nice shoes?"
She smiled again, a slow smile that suggested he'd said exactly the right thing, then glanced under the table at her slippers.
"Mummy and Daddy weren't happy about my wearing them; they thought it would be too showy, but then what's the point of coming to this dreadful little school if not to show off? Those are real emeralds, by the way," she said, wiggling her toes inside them to set them sparkling like green fire. "You really like them, Draco?"
"Sure. Slytherin green and all that. Not that I want to borrow them or something," he added quickly.
She laughed, though he thought it was rather a strange sound, almost as though she'd rehearsed it. It sounded… he couldn't help thinking that oddly enough her laugh sounded like her shoes: expensive and coldly glittering.
"I'm glad of that," she said, then glanced back up to the Sorting stool. "Oh, look, the Potter boy is up."
Draco directed his attention back to the front of the room. This was the only other person he'd really been curious to see Sorted. If Potter wound up in Slytherin, Draco supposed they had an opportunity of patching things up, which would please his father, but if not, well, the die was probably cast. He watched critically as the boy sat on the stool for what seemed like an age, far longer than any other student that night, and yet the hat remained silent, though Potter's mouth seemed to be moving without a sound as his face screwed up with concentration. Something was going on, that much was certain. Then, without warning:
"GRYFFINDOR!" it called out to wild applause from the far table as Harry Potter jogged over to be congratulated enthusiastically.
Oddly, the thought occurred to Draco that Harry Potter was now in the same house as Hermione. He didn't know why that irked him, but it was almost like having an itch he couldn't reach: out of his control, but annoying.
"Should have known," Pansy sniffed quietly at his elbow. "He looks like a weak-willed, wishy-washy, brainless sort of do-gooder."
Draco grunted agreement as the last few people were sorted, ending with Blaise Zabini, who might, Draco grudgingly thought, be almost as handsome as himself. Thankfully, Dumbledore's speech was brief, some four or five words, and then the food appeared on the tables. There were piles of it, immense loads of practically everything he could imagine, including, yes, his favorite roast. The house elves in the kitchens must be extremely talented, Draco thought as he chewed. This was easily the most delicious, succulent roast he'd ever tasted. Perhaps the Malfoy estate elves were holding back? No, he thought, stabbing a particularly golden-brown potato with his fork, not possible. Who would ever take offense to being a servant of a Malfoy? A house elf couldn't possibly ask for more than that.
Draco listened with half an ear to the start of term announcements, including a rather eerie one concerning a painful death for going down some corridor or other (personally, until he was certain where he was going, he'd make sure not to go down any corridor first), and then the room started to empty as students went on their way to their new homes-away-from-home. But before the general melee swept everyone in separate directions, Draco subtly extracted himself from the Slytherin crowd, cautiously approaching the far end of the Gryffindor table. Gently, he tapped Hermione on the shoulder, and she turned around with a start.
"Oh," she said, looking relieved. "It's you. Sorry, I guess I'm still a little on edge."
Draco smiled, glancing nervously in the direction of the Slytherin table, but no one seemed to be looking this way.
"Look, just wanted to say I'm sorry you wound up in Gryffindor," Draco said, earning a look of loathing from the boy who'd become so closely acquainted with Hannah Abbot in the entryway.
"It's okay," Hermione said with a smile. "I think I'll do well enough here."
"Even so," Draco said, feeling uncomfortable, then saying in a rush, "still friends, then?"
Hermione looked mildly surprised, then nodded. "Of course we're still friends. I don't even know anyone else yet. All this house business is really rather silly, isn't it? I mean, we're all at Hogwarts, aren't we?"
"Right," Draco said, feeling oddly relieved. "I've got to go. Goodnight."
"Night," she said, following the rest of the first year Gryffindors out of the hall and off to wherever Gryffindors went.
Draco returned to the Slytherins just in time to bring up the rear, his sidetrip completely unnoticed, or so he thought.
"Where were you?" said a voice he already recognized, and the tone was not amused.
"Just giving my condolences to someone I met on the train who didn't wind up in Slytherin," he told Pansy, though he really didn't see why he had to explain himself to her.
"Oh," she said, eyeing the back of Hermione's head as she disappeared through the door. "For pity's sake, does she have a doxy nest in her hair? I haven't seen anything that bushy that wasn't, well, a bush."
She turned back to Draco, smiling agin.
"Some people just have no taste at all. I'm sure she'll be much happier with her new little friends at her own social level… far below ours," she finished as the line went down a long set of stairs, heading towards what Draco assumed must be the dungeons.
He couldn't help feeling that, while Pansy certainly showed proper Slytherin and Pureblood pride, there was something just slightly unpleasant about her attitude. In a way, it seemed to mimic the place they were going. Why should the great and powerful rulers of the Wizarding world be stuffed down in the basement like a bunch of out of season Yule ornaments? It was damp down here, and there was an unpleasant odor of mildew. When they finally reached the entryway to Slytherin, the prefect, whose name Draco didn't bother to learn, told them to remember the password for their common room: "Salazar."
At the word, the door slid open, and a large, stone-floored room came into view. Green chairs were scattered around the common room, and a very large fireplace was lit with a warm blaze that did a good deal to make the rather austere surroundings more homey. The first year boys and girls were separated, Pansy giving him a wave goodnight as she disappeared down a hallway with the rest of the new Slytherin girls. Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, and Nott were grouped together in a single room decorated with five large four-poster beds with emerald green and silver coverings. The walls, the same cut stone as the floor, were hung with green velvet drapes. There were several windows, which rather surprised Draco at first since they were many floors below ground, and, if his mental geography were correct, under the lake as well. On closer inspection, these proved to be magical portals through which they could see the Hogwarts grounds, receive fresh air, and even have owl deliveries. Draco tentatively stuck his hand out one and wondered what window high up in the castle his detached hand was sticking out of.
Draco's trunk was sitting at the edge of one bed, and a note placed on it stated his owl had safely arrived at the owlry and had been set loose for the evening. He opened the trunk and carefully inspected his clothes, then arranged his books that he would need for tomorrow's classes. He took his pajamas out, then wondered briefly whether he should simply change where he was or if that was usually done in the lavoratory, but a glance around showed that Goyle was already into his own, and Blaise was just pulling on his nightshirt. Draco realized he hadn't had the chance to introduce himself to his other roommates.
"I'm Draco Malfoy," he offered from across the bed, noticing out of the corner of his eye that the poles of the four-poster were actually carved with snakes. Well, he thought, home sweet home indeed.
"Theodore Nott," said the boy across the room, who was really quite tall for a first year, though he offered nothing else.
"Blaise Zabini," said the black boy across from him, "though I'm sure we all know each other's names already after the Sorting."
"True," Draco said. "It just seemed the polite thing to do."
"I'm tired," Goyle said, yawning.
"Yeah," Theodore agreed. "It's been a long day. I'm turning in."
"Probably best," Draco admitted, though he'd rather hoped the others would want to stay up for a while. He'd never felt less sleepy in his life.
"Does anyone know when Quidditch season starts?" Crabbe asked as he climbed into bed.
"Try-outs are soon, though there's no point in it for first years; we're never chosen," Blaise said.
"Oh, I don't know," Draco replied with a shrug. "There's always an exception to the rule, isn't there?"
Blaise regarded him steadily. "Perhaps," he admitted, then slipped under his covers, rolled onto his side, and became as still as stone. Draco found it a little unnerving.
Draco himself got into bed shortly after, and the sheets were startlingly cold to his bare feet. As he was the last one to bed, the torches burning in brackets on the walls automatically dimmed, and Draco was alone with a swirl of thoughts: Hogwarts, the Sorting, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, Hermione, books, Potter, Quidditch, Persephone, the first day of school tomorrow, not to mention the roast that was sitting like a brick now in his stomach. He stared up at the ceiling, not sure what to make of any of it. Finally, in the early morning hours, he was drifted off to sleep.