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"Dude, don't worry," Rich said. "We'll definitely be in the same house."
"Yeah, of course," Mike said, trying to sound convinced. He fiddled with the bottom of his tie. As soon as he was sorted, it would magically transform into his house colors--hopefully silver and green. Honestly, he didn't even care where he ended up, as long as it was with Rich.
And he definitely also did not want to be in Gryffindor, where his douchey brother was the Quidditch captain and his sister was a goody-two-shoes prefect. Fuck Robbie and Sarah. Mike would rather die than be in the same house as both of them.
Okay, so, definitely not Gryffindor, and hopefully Slytherin instead, where he and Rich could keep being best friends forever and ever, no matter what.
"Abernathy, Angela" was sorted into Ravenclaw (the nerd house, according to Rich). Meanwhile, Mike had definitely folded a crease into his tie. Hopefully it would get unwrinkled when the colors changed.
"But what if we're not in the same house, though?" Mike whispered as "Anderson, Sean" was called up to the Sorting Hat.
"Seriously, dude, the more you worry, the more likely it'll be that you won't be in Slytherin," Rich muttered. "My grandma told me that you have to be confident to get into Slytherin."
Mike didn't know what to say to that, so he just kept worrying the crease in his tie.
Sean Anderson was the first Gryffindor, and there was thunderous applause from the red and gold-decorated table. Mike saw his brother give a whooping holler, and scowled down at the floor.
“Bauman, Jerry,” Professor McGonagall said in her prim voice.
At first, Mike didn’t see him, and briefly had the nonsensical thought that maybe he was a ghost student, but then he appeared. A tiny kid stormed up to the hat, glared at Professor McGonagall, and declared, “My name is Jay.”
A titter of embarrassed laughter echoed through the hall. McGonagall looked down with a raised eyebrow at Jerry--Jay--Bauman, and sniffed, “My apologies, Mr. Bauman.”
“It’s fine,” Jay said, and Mike could see from all the way in the back of the line that his face was bright red.
He was so small that the hat shrank itself so as to not engulf his entire head. He looked ridiculous, swimming in his deep black robes and glaring furiously at the floor as the hat hemmed and hawed. Something about his whole countenance felt intriguing to Mike. Why was this tiny kid so full of rage? Mike felt oddly drawn to him, like he wanted to know everything about him, starting with what had made him so angry.
“Slytherin!” the hat cried out, and the Slytherins clapped enthusiastically. A smile flashed briefly on Jay’s face as his tie transformed itself into silver and green, but by the time he took his seat at the end of the table, he was frowning again.
“I wonder what his deal is,” Mike whispered to Rich.
“I dunno,” Rich said, in a tone that clearly implied that he also didn’t care.
A few more kids were sorted, and finally, after “Davis, Joshua” was sorted into Ravenclaw, it was Rich’s turn. Mike had an embarrassing urge to hug him and tell him it would be okay, but he stomped it down. (A few weeks before they’d left for Hogwarts, Rich had told Mike to stop hugging him so much, because the other Slytherins would think it was weird. This seemed dumb to Mike, because why wouldn’t you hug your friends?) Instead, they looked at each other and nodded curtly, and then Rich scrambled onto the stool and the hat went on his head.
The hat was barely on his head for two seconds before it shouted out, “Slytherin!”
Rich jumped up off the stool and trotted over to the Slytherin table. He sat down across from Jay, they nodded at each other, and then Rich looked back to Mike and flashed him a grin and a thumbs up.
Mike gave him a thumbs-up right back, forcing himself to smile, even though he felt like he might puke on the floor, right there in front of everyone. The Slytherin table was full of kids who looked like they’d point and laugh at him if he did, which included Rich. Of course, then Rich would make sure he was okay, but he’d definitely point and laugh first.
So, if Gryffindors were douchey jocks, Ravenclaw was a bunch of nerds who would think he was dumb, and Slytherin was full of bullies, then who was left?
Hufflepuff.
Shit.
Rich’s grandma had always told them that Hufflepuffs were stupid. “Very nice, but rather dim,” she’d say as she regaled them with stories about her time at Hogwarts during tea (which Mike always took at her house, along with many meals and frequent overnights on the cot in her attic, because he spent as little time at home as possible). “Those Hufflepuffs. They make nice friends, but they’re so gullible, and the worst students.” Then she would always come up with another story from one of her school classes, which always seemed to end with a Hufflepuff failing in a hilarious way. By the time he was old enough to go off to Hogwarts too, Mike was starting to think that perhaps not all of these stories were entirely true.
But Rich was in Slytherin! With that tiny kid that Mike so badly wanted to meet! And if Mike was in Slytherin too, he’d even share a dorm room with the tiny kid, and that was a thought that was almost too exciting to consider.
As “Packard, Jack” was sorted into Hufflepuff, he was greeted with wide smiles and a little group hug from the other first-years that had been sorted already. It was saccharine and stupid, and yet a part of Mike secretly, desperately wanted that kindness for himself.
“Rosen, Seth” was the newest Gryffindor, and then--
“Stoklasa, Michael,” Professor McGonagall called out.
Mike shuffled up to the stool and looked at the hat. It was old and busted, and looked like it was five hundred years old, which he supposed it might actually be.
He must have stood staring at it for too long, because McGonagall said, “Go on, Mr. Stoklasa.”
Mike picked up the hat, which seemed to be made of some sort of leather. It was much heavier than it looked, and he wondered wildly whether that was because it had a brain of its own as he sat down and put it on his head.
“Ah, another Stoklasa,” the hat whispered in his ear, and Mike jumped, startled. “How do you do? Nice to meet you...yes, all right, certainly not Gryffindor, that much is obvious…”
Mike was relieved at this, which the hat seemed to notice. “And not Ravenclaw either, no, you’d not fit in there at all… This is quite interesting, though, yes… A strong desire to be in Slytherin, but why?”
I want to be with my friend who’s in Slytherin, Mike thought. Rich Evans.
“Ah, but Mr. Evans was sorted into Slytherin for very specific reasons, none of which I’m seeing in your mind,” the hat whispered. “In fact, one could argue that desiring friendship--nay, love --above all else is a very Hufflepuff quality, indeed. What do you think of that, Mr. Stoklasa?”
Mike’s heart sank with disappointment, even as he realized that he knew the hat was exactly right. It just made perfect sense, even if he wished it didn’t.
“You’ll find your place here,” the hat whispered. “The love that you seek is ahead of you.” And then, loudly enough for everyone to hear, the hat shouted, “Hufflepuff!”
The Hufflepuff table erupted in cheers, and Mike looked down at his tie. With a sparkling shimmer, the color transformed from a bland gray to a bright canary yellow and a sharply contrasting black. The school crest on his robe became a badger, rampant and proud, and suddenly Mike felt a glimmer of hope that this was the right choice after all.