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Chapter Four—The Sorting

Dear Harry,

I'm sorry I haven't invited you to Italy. I'd love to have you come, but my mother has reasons she doesn't want to invite anybody we don't know well. But I look forward to seeing you on the train.

I'm also sorry this letter is so short, but we had to perform a ritual this morning and I'm still tired.

Sincerely,
Blaise.

Hey Blaise,

That's all right! Your mum is brilliant, so she must have good reasons if she doesn't want me to come right now.

Diagon Alley is pretty brilliant, too. Tom lets me have breakfast every time of the day I want it, and Hedwig and Artemis really like the sausages. I ate such a big ice in Florean Fortescue's shop the other day that I got sick. It's something I watched my cousin do a lot. It isn't as much fun as it looked like, though.

And I went back to Flourish and Blotts and got a huge stack of books. There are more about the history of Dark Lords in Britain, and it's all so weird, you know? People act like they don't have any choice but to follow these Dark Lords, or else run away and hide from them, so they can just do whatever they want. But if people stood up and fought them together, then I think they could probably defeat them.

One day I went to Madam Malkin's because I tore a hole in my robe and I thought she could repair it for me, and there were all these people there. There were cameras flashing and everything. I asked a woman with green glasses what was going on, and she looked at me like I was stupid and told me that Neville Longbottom was there. It seemed weird to me that everyone was so excited when they must see him all the time, but I just left and came back the next day. The hole in my robes got repaired.

I think I did see Longbottom through some of their backs. Poor bloke. He was all hunched over and looked like he was about to be sick any second. Maybe he doesn't like the fame? I don't know, he was really pale and sweaty.

I have lots more to tell you, but we'll see each other on the train in just a few days, and that's probably just enough time for Hedwig to get to you with my letter! I hope you have a fun last few days and see if you can do rituals that just make you sleep. There are some in the books I bought. Maybe we can try them when we get to Hogwarts. Sleeping through a ritual that helps you learn stuff at night and not being exhausted the next morning sounds great.

Have a great rest of your summer!

Sincerely,
Your friend Harry Potter.

Blaise holds the letter gently between his fingers, stroking the sides of the parchment for a second. Then he becomes aware that his mother is staring at him, and clears his throat, putting the letter down near his plate. "Harry's well," he says, and begins to eat the delicate paella that their house-elves brought from Spain that morning.

"And he doesn't wish to visit us?"

"He says that he thinks you must have good reasons for not wanting him to visit, so he told me about what he's been doing in Diagon Alley and said that he'll see me on the train."

His mother's face is a study. Blaise pays close attention to his food. She'll be upset if she thinks he's laughing at her.

Mother doesn't clear her throat for several minutes. "Blaise, be honest. What do you think of Harry?"

"I think that he's as sincere as a dog," Blaise says bluntly, meeting and holding her eyes. "He isn't pretending when he says that he likes us, or that he trusts you, or when he talks to me about what's going on in Diagon Alley. I believe him when he says that he didn't have any idea about magic before Hagrid brought him to the Alley. And I'm glad that he's got away from those awful Muggles by staying in the Leaky Cauldron."

Mother stirs her tea with a simple flick of her fingers, making the spoon rotate by itself. "It might not be the safest or wisest course for a child, staying by himself in the Leaky Cauldron."

"It's public," Blaise says, leaning a little forwards. "And apparently Tom the barkeep has taken a shine to Harry. Harry told Tom he was a Muggleborn whose family didn't respond well to learning about magic, which in some ways is true enough." Blaise takes a breath. Time to see if I know Mother as well as I think I do. "And I would be a fool if I didn't think the first letter you sent him had protections on it that would establish themselves in a web around the room and Harry."

Mother sits still. "Is that what you think?" she whispers.

"It is."

Mother continues to watch him with bright, cold, neutral eyes for so long that Blaise is tempted to look away. But he knows he's right. He keeps staring, and after long moments, Mother inclines her head with a small smile. Blaise tries not to show how relieved he is as he settles back into his seat.

"Yes, my son," Mother says. "I did think it wise to place protections on someone you had become attached to so strongly, and who might be in danger because he is incredibly naïve about the dangers of the magical world. It would hardly do for you to lose your first true friend before the Hogwarts Express even left."

"Thank you, Mother."

Mother smiles at him one more time, and then begins talking lightly about the ritual they'll have to perform the night before Blaise leaves. Blaise does hope that he can stay awake for most of the train ride so he can spend time with Harry. Perhaps he can even talk Mother into taking the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, so they can meet Harry there.

Harry is a little sad when his stay at the Leaky Cauldron comes to an end, but he's also thrumming with excitement. It's the first of September, and he has a train ticket, and Tom told him how to get to Platform 9 ¾.

He leaves early in the morning, and walks through the barrier with only a small flinch. The gigantic red train on the other side takes his breath away.

"What do you think, Artemis?" he whispers under his breath as he walks towards the platform and glances around. It looks like there might be a few kids on there already, but not many, and the ones Harry can see are all hugging their mums and dads. He feels a little twinge, but pushes it away. He has Artemis and Blaise and Hedwig.

"I think it is very smelly," Artemis says dubiously, sticking her head out from his robe pocket only to lash the air once with her tongue and then duck back down inside.

Harry laughs. "But brilliant," he says, making sure to keep his voice low as they climb onto the train. Harry opens Hedwig's cage and asks her to go to Hogwarts. Hedwig insists on grooming his hair for a moment before she leaves.

"If you say so."

They have a friendly argument about the train as Harry searches for a compartment to sit in. There must be more people on the train than he first thought, because some compartments that look empty at first have a trunk on the rack or a robe slumped haphazardly over a seat. Harry finally finds an empty one near the middle of the train and heaves his trunk into the rack.

"You almost spilled me on the floor," Artemis says.

"Don't get near the outer edge of the robe pocket, then."

This gives them something to argue about until Blaise arrives, which he does a few minutes later with a small smirk and a rap on the doorframe of the compartment that Harry hears at once even over Artemis's hissing. "Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

"You know it's yours," Harry says, and grins at his friend. Although Blaise's mother said they couldn't come to the Leaky Cauldron to leave with Harry because of security concerns, at least he's here now.

"Always best to check," Blaise states primly, and goes to put his trunk up. Harry jumps up to help him, and this time Artemis does slide out of his pocket and have to wrap around his arm. Her complaining makes Harry laugh, and Blaise, too, when Harry translates for him.

They sit down across from each other a minute later, and Blaise raises an eyebrow. "I can practically feel that you have something you want to ask, Harry. Go on."

Harry laughs. "Sorry. I just want to know what the rituals that you and your mother were doing, if that's okay."

Blaise taps his foot against the floor. Harry waits patiently. Blaise didn't explain them in the letters, saying that it would have to wait until they met in person. Well, here they are, in person, and Harry wants to know.

"Some of that is my mother's private business," Blaise says slowly. "It has to do with how she lives, how she—well, suffice it to say that she holds a position of some responsibility. I don't even understand all the details. But rituals that she performs heighten the security on our home and others. I help her with them, and that drains less of her own magic and lets her return to protecting us faster."

"Oh, is she like a copper?"

"A what?"

"An Auror," Harry says, remembering the term now from the books that he's read this summer.

Blaise grins. "It's—well, it's not the same, but yes, sort of. She guards and protects. It's just that the enemies she guards and protects against aren't the usual ones that you'd find on a stroll down Diagon Alley."

Now Harry is even more curious, but Blaise doesn't seem to want to talk more about it, so Harry pulls out the book he told Blaise about, the one on rituals that let you learn things in your sleep. "I know you've been doing rituals all summer, but do you want to learn about a few more?"

"Ones that can happen when I'm asleep sound like exactly the kind of rituals I want to learn," Blaise says firmly, and moves over so that he's sitting next to Harry. Together, they lean over the back.

Harry's heart can't actually beat its way out of his chest and burst apart with happiness, but it sure feels like it's trying.

"First years this way!"

The man calling is the large one who confronted Blaise and his mother in the bookshop with Harry, as if they had done something wrong. Blaise feels a sharp frown tugging down the corners of his mouth, and does his best to look neutral as he gets in a boat with Harry. He can't be seen openly disliking too many people here. There are enemies of his family who will assume that he means to poison them and track his movements too closely.

Blaise doesn't intend to poison them. But he does mean to use his time here at Hogwarts to do certain things that he doesn't want his enemies watching.

"I will join you," a haughty-looking pale boy declares, and climbs into the boat before either Blaise or Harry can object.

Blaise shrugs when Harry looks at him. They saw the pale boy briefly on the train, apparently stalking back in fury from some kind of confrontation. It doesn't matter to Blaise much who he is—although he has a fair idea—and he already knows that he can't avoid the company of people he finds unpleasant forever.

"My name is Draco Malfoy."

Thought so. Blaise's study of the politics of magical Britain included plenty of mention of the Malfoys, and their looks are distinctive.

"Blaise Zabini," Blaise says, nodding as if he doesn't care about Malfoy's reaction, but watching sharply inside.

Malfoy's inhale is so sharp that he starts to choke as their boat gets moving. Harry is looking back and forth between Blaise and Malfoy with a puzzled expression on his face. He probably thought, based on what he's said and the books Blaise and Mother sent him, that the Malfoys were some of the people who would get along with the Zabinis.

Harry still doesn't understand the extent of Mother's formidable reputation, or how much Blaise would give to soften it.

"I—I hope that I haven't given offense," Malfoy says. He's flushing, and too obviously trying to watch the position of Blaise's hands on the boat's sides.

"Not yet," Blaise says, and smiles the way Mother taught him.

Malfoy turns his head away in obvious discomfort, and then his eyes fasten on Harry. He sits up as if hoping this is someone he can bully. "What's your name?" he says. His voice drips contempt that makes Blaise tense. There's no reason to despise Harry. He hasn't been rude, or loud, and he isn't wearing Muggle clothes that make him look terrible the way he was when Blaise first met him.

Then Blaise sees Malfoy's eyes fixed on Harry's hair, and sighs. Yeah, there is that problem. Malfoy probably considers anyone who doesn't have hair as slick and straight as his own to be unrefined.

"Harry Potter," Harry says, tilting his head. He doesn't understand all the tension, that's clear, but his voice is calm. "Your father's name is Lucius Malfoy, right?"

Malfoy puffs up and starts talking about Lucius as if he, personally, has done all the things his father is famous (and infamous) for. Blaise catches Harry's eye, and Harry winks at him and glances back at the castle as it comes into view.

Blaise appreciates the shine of the light through the castle's windows while his mind engages in a whirling dance. Harry has distracted Malfoy on purpose? Maybe there's a hope that they'll be together in Slytherin after all.

Harry loves the Great Hall immediately. From the soft, contented hisses coming from his pocket, so does Artemis. Harry's glad that she appreciates the size and the warmth and the starry ceiling in a way that she couldn't the train. He would hate it if the magical world kept disappointing his best friend.

The witch who told them they would be Sorted is a little stern and frightening, but not as much so as Aunt Petunia, so Harry can accept her. And then the Sorting Hat opens its mouth and sings, and Harry is so excited that Blaise puts a hand on his shoulder.

Harry glances at him.

"Don't bounce up and down," Blaise whispers, his mouth close to Harry's ear, so at least no one around them in line is probably hearing. "It's not the kind of power you want to have or picture you want to paint." And he steps back, just as Professor McGonagall calls out the first name on the list, Hannah Abbott.

Harry nods sheepishly to Blaise. He doesn't understand all the nuances of the wizarding world yet, like why Malfoy got so tense around Blaise or why Blaise seemed to know who Malfoy was immediately. But he knows a bully when he sees one, and how to distract one. And he knows that he wants to be one of the people who will be respected enough that the bullies leave him alone. He stands still.

Blaise smiles at him, just as the Hat cries out for Abbott to be Sorted into Hufflepuff. Blaise claps. Harry does, too. He notices that the Hufflepuff table is exploding into cheers, and thinks it wouldn't be so bad to go there.

But he does wonder if some of them might be like Hagrid, nice and friendly on the surface, but upset once they find out about Artemis. He's resigned to hiding her, but it would be harder if his Housemates wanted to be around him all the time and wanted him around all the time.

"It's going to be torture waiting until the end," Blaise mutters to him. "At least your name is near the middle of the alphabet."

Harry nods absently as he watches people Sorted into Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, then Slytherin. There's more silence and less clapping for that one, a Millicent Bulstrode. "Why's that?" he whispers to Blaise.

"The House rivalry thing? I know I sent you a book about it."

"Well, yeah, you did," Harry admits. "I just didn't think they took it so seriously that even the first-years are part of it."

Blaise shrugs. "I hope you don't go to Gryffindor. It would make it considerably harder for me to associate with you."

Harry grins. Blaise isn't saying that he wouldn't associate with Harry, just that it would be harder. "I don't think I'd make a very good Gryffindor, for the same reason I wouldn't make a very good Hufflepuff."

Blaise glances at him with a brief flash of confusion in his eyes. Harry taps his robe pocket.

"Of course." Blaise shakes his head. "I forget people's idiotic prejudices sometimes."

He sounds as if he wishes he could forget them forever. Harry leans his shoulder briefly against Blaise's in solidarity, and watches the line in front of them dwindle.

The one who really makes the people at the tables, as well as the other students standing with them, stir and mutter is Longbottom. He looks more confident as he walks towards the stool than he did when Harry saw him in Diagon Alley, but not that much more confident. Harry considers what it would be like to carry the whole burden of magical Britain's hopes on your shoulders, and is glad that he doesn't have to suffer through it himself.

Longbottom sits down on the stool and pulls the Hat onto his head with a sick-looking expression. Harry wonders idly what House he's hoping for. Probably not Slytherin, but does he want to be in Hufflepuff, or would he feel smothered there?

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry blinks, then claps politely as he watches Longbottom almost run off with the Hat before dropping it on the stool again. The next student steps forwards to pick it up, and Blaise sneers next to Harry. "Pathetic."

"Do you think you could carry the whole weight of a country convinced you'd defeated a Dark Lord?"

Blaise gapes at him for a second, then says, "Of course not, but my mother would never have tolerated that nonsense. It's pathetic that Longbottom's family didn't protect him and stop those rumors from spreading."

"Oh."

"I know that you don't have parents, Harry, but you are welcome to share my mother."

Harry grins at Blaise. "I never had a brother. My cousin was pretty awful. But I'm glad you're my friend."

"Potter, Harry!" Professor McGonagall calls before Blaise can reply.

Harry takes a deep breath and straightens his shoulders before he walks towards the Hat. At least he isn't attracting the kind of interest or attention that Longbottom did, but there do seem to be more people staring than normal. Harry only knows that his parents died in the war with Voldemort; he doesn't know how or when. Maybe some of these people do, and the Potters were their enemies or their friends.

There's one professor at the Head Table who seems to be glaring at him especially hard, but then the Hat falls on Harry's head and cuts his vision off.

"Hello there," the Hat whispers.

Harry jumps. The Hat, luckily, doesn't slide off his head.

"Um, hello," Harry thinks back, and hears the Hat laugh a little, before it begins to mutter in a low voice that sounds like it's at least partially directed at itself instead of Harry.

"You have a good memory…a desire to learn and understand the world around you…oh, and you're not afraid at all of the things you don't know, are you? This is all very intriguing, Mr. Potter. But I do think that you're right about not fitting into Hufflepuff. Not with the secret that you're hiding."

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" Harry asks, barely moving his lips. He can hear a few people murmuring. He wonders if they're just eager to get on with eating their meal, or if they thought he would go somewhere right away for some reason. He really does have to learn more about his family at some point.

"No, of course not. You could be a good fit for Gryffindor, perhaps, but—no, not Slytherin. You want to protect your friends, but you don't want to climb a ladder of social power."

"Just use power so that I can keep my friends safe and get people to leave me alone," Harry agrees, thinking of the ways that Mrs. Zabini is teaching him to use power.

"So, I think the best choice for you is the House of wit and learning," the Hat says, and it sounds like it's smiling, even though Harry has no idea if a talking hat can smile. "Fond of books, wants to know everything, is more interested in friendship and learning from his friends than in being afraid of someone that other people are rightly wary of."

Harry starts to ask if the Hat knows anything about the rituals that Mrs. Zabini is performing or the way that she's sort of an Auror and sort of not, but the Hat's brim rips open and it shouts, "RAVENCLAW!"

Harry blinks as people break into applause and cheering, and takes the Hat off to put it on the stool. He whispers thanks as he jogs over to the table. Ravenclaw is a pretty good choice, he thinks. His Housemates will probably do a lot of their own research and studying and not insist on being so close to him that they'll discover Artemis or his Parseltongue. And Slytherins can associate with Ravenclaws just fine, from what Blaise said.

The girl who Sorted into Ravenclaw just before him gives him a small smile as he sits down next to her. "Padma Patil," she says.

"Harry Potter, but you just heard that," Harry says, grinning as the next name is called out.

"Did you want to come to Ravenclaw?" Patil asks, leaning in a little.

Harry thinks that he might have asked the same question, and that Patil was definitely Sorted into the right House. "I was thinking more about where I didn't belong, honestly."

"I wanted Ravenclaw."

Harry nods to her, and then turns to face the line of waiting students again, holding his breath a little as the list gets shorter and shorter, closer and closer to Zabini, the last name on it.

"Zabini, Blaise!"

The buzz of noise that rises at his name nearly overwhelms McGonagall's voice. Blaise lifts his chin, his mother's voice returning to him. Never let them see that you are uncomfortable.

He walks up to the Hat as if he's strolling down the corridor to his own bedroom and picks it up, placing it delicately on his head.

The Hat laughs gently, but it's not mocking, so Blaise doesn't mind that. "Oh, yes, you are so determined that you are going to Slytherin you won't even consider another House, will you?"

"No," Blaise whispers, and thinks of his mother and the light of strange suns shining in through the windows of their home, of how Harry has Parseltongue and naivete and needs to be guarded, of how Blaise will someday have a reputation even more glorious and deadly than his mother's. "I know where I belong."

"SLYTHERIN!"

Blaise smiles and takes off the Hat. The Slytherin table is engaged in subdued clapping, as if they aren't sure that they want him. A lot of people are staring and silent and not trying to clap at all.

One person, of course, at the Ravenclaw table is applauding hard enough to make up for all of them.

Blaise winks in Harry's direction and walks over to sit down next to Theodore Nott, who he recognizes because of his pallor and dark hair, the same way he recognized Malfoy from tales of his family. Nott glances at Blaise and nods a little, then leans back so that Malfoy can ask a question the way he's obviously panting to do.

"I really meant no offense in the boat," Malfoy says quickly. "And if Potter's a friend of yours, then he could be a friend of mine."

Blaise thinks he manages not to glare at that. He doesn't want Malfoy finding out about Harry's Parseltongue, or Artemis, or tormenting him the way it would be easy for a spoiled boy who cares about blood status to do. "We'll discuss it, I'm sure," he says, and twists a scowl into a smile as the food appears on the table.

He keeps an idle eye on Harry, who's talking with a Ravenclaw girl and seems to be enjoying the food, and relaxes a little when there's no outbreak of gossiping to Harry's disadvantage. He finally turns his attention to his own plate, and the way that people shy away from him even here.

Well. When you can't do anything to change something, use it to your advantage insteade.

Blaise fully intends to use it to his advantage. And his mother's. And his family's.

And Harry's.