Work Text:
“Weasley, Ronald!”
Ron sat on the rickety stool he’d been hearing about from each of his brothers in succession, year after year. The story always changed; Charlie’s description was closest, he thinks. At least his story didn’t involve trolls, like George had confided the previous year, nor electric shocks as Bill had casually let slip when he was much younger. But in all honesty, the worst part about the stool was that everyone could see him, alone, on full display. Shouldn’t have worried about that, he thought wryly, as he watched the majority of the hall glance at his hair and then go back to their muffled conversations.
When the hat was placed on his head, his suspicions were confirmed. “Another Weasley,” he heard softly in his ear, “impulsive like the rest. That’ll get you into trouble, you know.”
I know, Ron thought bitterly, I’ve only been hearing it since I was four years old.
“Resentful, eh?” came the soft lilt again.
I’m not jealous, he reasoned. Just maybe … tired? Not of my brothers, of what people see. People barely glanced at me when I got called. What am I supposed to do with that? I’ll be Weasley, not Ron, for at least four years here.
“Forethought,” the hat chuckled, “is a trait that few of your brothers possess, I’ll give you that. A strategic mind, too. Think before you act, Ronald Weasley. Use your newfound tact wisely. Stubbornness, impulsivity, both very Gryffindor traits. Although, you’d do great things in Slytherin, make no mistake…”
Ron stiffened under the brim of the Sorting Hat. They’re looking now, he gritted. When was the last time a Weasley was sitting here for more than ten seconds? But no, he thought furiously, I don’t think I’d be “great” at all with the snakes.
He heard an exhale in his ear. “I almost put your brother Percy into Slytherin, you know. He convinced me I was wrong. I don’t think I’ll make that mistake again. Better be…”
As the hat was lifted off his head and he stood, taught, all eyes, especially those at the green-clad table on the far right, snapped to him. “SLYTHERIN” echoed in his every footstep all the way off the stage and to the last table.
He stopped at its head, glancing quickly at the other newly sorted students sitting down. Every last one looked like a quintessential pureblood, from their perfectly styled collars to the expressions of disdain practically dripping from their noses. Ron caught sight of one girl, however, at the very end of the bench, who seemed out of place. Two of a kind, he grumbled, and sat down to her right, with the sorting ceremony to his.
“I’m Tracey,” she said brightly, if not with a touch of apprehension, sticking out a hand and smiling. Ron was surprised by the familiar gesture, but was reaching out his hand until “Zabini, Blaise,” was summoned to the table and took the seat to Ron’s right.
After the first-years had all been sorted, Ron stayed silently in his own thoughts, coming out of his haze only long enough to hear the end of the Headmaster’s speech. “Blubber, oddment, tweak!”
Ron blinked. “What in Merlin’s name was that? Words of wisdom to the nutters in the room?”
One of the boys who looked like he could have killed Ron with a single blow laughed loudly. The rest of his new cohort looked to him, and then swiveled to Ron.
He looked back at them, heart beating fast -- shit, that must be a Malfoy, right? Blond hair, looks at me like I’ve got dirt on my nose -- but decided to cut his losses and turned instead to the boy sitting next to him. “Ron Weasley,” he offered, nodding at the boy who had been sorted right after he was.
“Blaise Zabini,” he nodded back after a quick pause.
“Weasley,” came a drawl from slightly further down the table, from the pointy boy who Ron was absolutely sure at this point was a Malfoy, “we’re well aware of your name. I think your posse of blood-traitor brothers sit over there,” he smirked slowly, pointing one elegant hand at the Gryffindor table. “Let us enjoy the feast without smelling something awful all evening, would you? Why don’t you go join them?”
“Because I don’t want to,” came spilling from Ron’s mouth, even as he silently cursed himself. This is what the hat had meant, obviously, he groaned internally, that I need to be less impulsive.
But the first years didn’t seem to be offended by his outburst; rather, they stared at him not with animosity, but with intrigue. A girl across from probably-Malfoy caught his eye then -- her hair was possibly brighter blonde than Malfoy’s, Ron noted with surprise. Did Malfoy have a sister? Is this the Malfoy heir? I’m behind, dear Merlin -- along with the slight, brown-haired boy sitting across from Ron himself. Both looked at him blankly, but Ron thought he could see something behind their eyes. Glittering? He opened his mouth to defend himself, but thought better of it quickly. Impulse control, he reminded himself, let them speak first, if they’re so interested.
The two Slytherins he had noted earlier shared a glance, communicating so rapidly that Ron almost missed that there was a world of meaning behind it. The girl spoke first:
“You don’t want to?” Her voice was casually yet carefully neutral, Ron noted. Definitely-Malfoy glared at her, but she and the other boy were still fixed on Ron.
He glanced around; every new first year had dropped all pretense of eating and was fully ensconced in the conversation, except for the boy who had laughed at his impression of the Headmaster earlier. Doubtless-Malfoy followed Ron’s gaze, and smacked the boy on the arm. “Goyle!” he hissed, eyes swiveling back to Ron.
Ron took a deep breath, starting slowly, “If I wanted to be with my family, why aren’t I sitting with the Gryffindors?” Bill hasn’t been around for a while, he thought, and he was always nice to me, but now he’s gone. Charlie and Percy were fairly self-absorbed, though in different ways, and I haven’t trusted the twins since I was four. Plus, a little sister isn’t the same when you’ve grown up with five older brothers.
The brown-haired boy adjusted his glasses, reminding Ron sharply of Harry Potter. In all the commotion, he’d almost forgotten about the boy he’d met -- befriended?-- on the train. He nodded at Ron. “Theodore Nott.”
Ron stiffened. He knew the Notts. Well, knew of them. But he wasn’t about to forget the sorting hat’s advice. He nodded back. “Ron Weasley”. The blonde girl across from Almost-Certainly-Malfoy to him introduced herself as Daphne Greengrass.
So, not another Malfoy, then. Good. He was pretty sure he could only handle one blond smug git on his first night. He nodded back at her, smiling. Seemingly bolstered by the others’ introductions, the girl sitting on the other side of Tracey nodded cautiously. “Parkinson. Pansy Parkinson.” The girl sitting opposite her did the same. “Millicent Bulstrode.” Ron inclined his head, willing himself not to balk in the face of all his parents’ old rivals. Everyone turned to The-Boy-Who-Was-Totally-Malfoy.
Malfoy -- please let this be Malfoy, Ron thought, or this will be awkward-- paled even more, if it was possible. He seemed betrayed by Nott and Parkinson in particular. He rolled his eyes, recovering quicker than Ron had expected.
“I’m Malfoy.”
Thank Merlin.
“Draco Malfoy,” Now-Confirmed-As-Malfoy continued, “and this is Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.” Ron internally grimaced at the fact that Malfoy had to introduce his cronies; couldn’t they speak for themselves? Maybe not, Ron added to himself, glancing at them again. He nodded to each of them in turn, and Malfoy at least looked placated. Ron caught Nott’s eye and smiled. Nott glanced at Daphne and they both smiled broadly back at Ron. He was pretty sure he had two allies. Well, three, if you counted Zabini, who had been nothing but cordial towards him. Four, if you counted Tracey, whose last name turned out to be Davis. Strange that he didn’t recognize it, but maybe she was from a foreign family? Or maybe six, if he counted Parkinson and Bulstrode, and eight if he counted Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom had greeted him with a nod when they were introduced. So that would be… everyone except for Malfoy.
The conversation eventually turned to Quidditch, which Ron was more than happy to talk about. He got a scoff from Nott about the Chudley Cannons, but there was a twinkle in his eye that assured Ron that it was good-natured. Daphne and Draco were both particularly vocal during that conversation, and it reminded Ron that these children, with the exception of maybe Tracey and Zabini, had grown up together, played together, probably learned magic together.
I’m an outsider, Ron glumly thought to himself as they finished their last plates of dessert. Sure, he had participated in the conversation, and yes, he had made a joke about Malfoy’s obsession with the Holyhead Harpies that had made even Goyle laugh heartily and Nott let out what sounded to be a rare chuckle. But when he thought about it, he didn’t have experience making friends. He had had the twins for a while, and to some extent, Percy and Ginny, and occasionally he had met Luna Lovegood for tea, but that was a full family affair.
Resigned to his fate but determined to at least attempt to make a friend, he traipsed out of the Great Hall with Zabini and Tracey, smirking at a Hufflepuff first-year’s attempts to get up from his bench gracefully and failing miserably. They had almost gotten to a giant staircase when Ron caught sight of Malfoy standing in the middle of the hall, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Parkinson, Nott, Bulstrode, and Greengrass were standing off to the side, seemingly staying out of whatever conflict this was.
Facing the terrible trio down was an older Ravenclaw, at least a 4th year. “Malfoy,” the Ravenclaw simpered, “I’ve heard of your father.” To his credit, Malfoy didn’t flinch that obviously. He had his wand out in an instant, threateningly staring up at the other boy. The Ravenclaw looked frightened only for a moment, but Ron was petrified. He saw no outcome other than the inevitable: Malfoy getting trounced in a duel by a student at least three years his senior. Malfoy definitely didn’t even know any spells strong enough to discomfort anyone. There was no delaying what would surely happen, Ron thought. Unless…
Bracing himself, chiding himself for his lack of “tact”, as the hat had called it, Ron strode forward next to Malfoy. “I’m not sure what this is,” he began, “but should you really be judging him for what his father might have done?” The Ravenclaw and Malfoy both stared at him. “Aren’t you a Weasley?” The older boy asked, cautiously. “Why are you hanging around with a Malfoy?”
“See, this is what I mean,” said Ron, a bit of a scowl making its way onto his face. “I’ve been sorted into Slytherin, if you haven’t figured that out yet, so obviously I’m not like the rest of my family.” Malfoy went a bit pink at that and muttered something under his breath. Ron was pleased to see that he was a bit embarrassed by his earlier comments at dinner, but pressed on nonetheless.
“And picking on a first-year on his first day of school? Really, don’t you have better things to do?” At that, Daphne burst into giggles, and Ron turned to see the rest of the Slytherin first-years, along with some lagging Gryffindors, including Harry Potter, Percy, Fred, and George, and a girl he recognized from the train (what was her name? Gordon? Greenwich?), all watching, enraptured by his little speech. Nott gave him another appraising look, and Parkinson seemed to warm up to him by the second. Insulting people, Ron tucked away for later, makes you popular in the snake hole. Well, he should probably stop calling it that. Or should he? He really had no grasp of what Slytherins did in their free time besides pick on firsties and learn dark magic, if Fred was to be believed.
The Ravenclaw sputtered for a moment, but Ron knew that he had lost the battle. There was no way out of this without looking like a bully or an utter fool. The Ravenclaw chose the fool, and silently ducked out of the hall and up the stairs, followed by a cacophony of jeers, mostly from the Slytherins.
Percy and the twins eyed Ron curiously as McGonagall came down the hall, causing the throng to disperse. They left without a word, but Ron saw Fred and George exchange a series of looks that he’d learned long ago meant they were having a deep and silent conversation. Harry Potter shot him a quick smile, although it didn’t have the same warmth. It seemed that the Boy-Who-Lived had already met Malfoy, and didn’t think much of Ron for sticking up for him.
Is that what Ron had done? Had he spoken up for Malfoy, of all people? Malfoy himself seemed to have that question on his mind. The Slytherin first years hurried down the stairs after their Prefects, and walked through a stone arch deep in the dungeons that shimmered and vanished as soon as Tracey, bringing up the rear, walked through it. Malfoy turned to Ron as soon as they were all through, conscious of the rest of their year listening intently.
“So,” Malfoy started hesitantly, “what was that?” Ron thought for a moment. Why had he done that? “Because,” he realized, “House trumps blood. It’s what my mum always said, although I think she might have meant family over blood purity…” Malfoy and Nott looked a little paler at that last part, but Ron pressed on. “That’s not what I think, though. I think it means that your -- our House, Slytherin House, comes before the relationships I had before. I’ll stick up for a classmate before I defend Percy in the halls.” He paused, realizing that they probably didn’t know who Percy was, but figured they got his meaning.
“Point is, you might not have said more than a few words to me in the Great Hall, but I’d wager that’s because you have an opinion of my family, as I had one of yours. Most of your families, actually,” he added, glancing around at who was listening. “But I’ve proven that those opinions no longer stand. So, why did I do it? Because I’m not bound to who people think I’m supposed to be.”
Zabini whistled beside him. Ron went a little red, but stood his ground.
Malfoy considered this, and swiftly led Crabbe and Goyle up the stairs to where their Prefect was pointing.
“Be down in 30 minutes, after you’ve picked a bed and unpacked a bit,” the boy was shouting, “for a full House meeting.”
Ron let out a breath, and eyed the rest of his year. “See you in a few,” Greengrass said brightly, and led the rest of the girls in a different direction, towards a different Prefect who was waiting impatiently. Parkinson, Ron noted, didn’t seem to take kindly to Greengrass declaring herself the unofficial leader. Another thing to store away, he supposed. That left Nott and Zabini. “Impressive,” Nott finally said. “Who knew a Weasley would be so calculating?”
“Ah,” Ron found himself responding, “but we’ve established that I’m decidedly different from my family, haven’t we?” Zabini laughed at that. “We certainly have,” he trailed off. “What should we call you, then?” Ron shrugged. “As long as it’s not Ronald, I don’t care.” Nott smiled at that. “Fine, then, call me Theo, not Theodore.” They looked expectantly at Zabini, who huffed. “Well I have a normal first name, thank you very much, which you are both free to call me by. Just Blaise will be fine.”
Nott — Theo nodded, and gestured to the hallway where Malfoy and company had vanished a few minutes earlier. “Ron, Blaise, shall we?” Blaise turned to Ron. “I’m ready to deal with the bodyguards if Ron is.” “I was thinking the Terrible Trio,” Ron admitted, “but the bodyguards work too.” The three boys walked down the hall and into the first year dorm. Malfoy had taken the bed furthest from the door, and Crabbe and Goyle had taken the two closest to it. There were three left: two in the middle, facing each other, and one directly across from Malfoy. All three boys looked at each other, and made a beeline for that last one; Ron bet that Crabbe and Goyle snored up a storm.
But before he could join the race between Theo and Blaise, Ron heard a voice from the other side of the room. “Weasley.” He turned to see Malfoy sitting on his bed, watching him intently. Before he could say anything, Malfoy nodded to the bed next to him and gestured that Ron should take it.
Ron walked a couple of paces towards the bed, cautiously. He stopped; remember the Hat’s advice, Ron, he scolded himself. Think about things. He regarded Malfoy cooly. “Are you asking, or telling?” Theo and Blaise had finished scuffling by now, but neither moved away from the desired bed, choosing instead to watch this new development. Such Slytherins, Ron thought, before remembering that, oh yeah, he was a Slytherin, and oh yeah, he’d just said about the most Slytherin thing he could think of.
Malfoy swallowed, all earlier traces of bravado gone. It was a long few seconds before he replied. “Asking.” Ron felt his nervousness wash away, replaced by genuine happiness (and was that a hint of pride? He was apparently taking to this Slytherin thing quickly. Trust the hat, I guess).
“Sure, Malfoy,” he answered, casually walking towards the proffered bed and watching his trunk materialize at its foot. He sat on it, facing Malfoy. Ron decided to take a second leap of faith as Theo gave up and sat on the bed across from where he now sat. “I think better introductions are in order. I’m Ron.” He offered a hand across the space. Malfoy hesitated, but took it firmly in his own. “Draco, then.”
“Call me Blaise, then,” interjected Blaise, sitting smugly on his own mattress. Theo smirked. “And Draco here already calls me Theodore, which I’ll have to hex out of him, but I suppose it’ll do.”
“Vince.”
All four boys whipped around to see the bodyguards sitting up and paying attention to every word. That’s embarrassing, Ron thought, maybe I can’t think of them as the bodyguards anymore.
Goyle followed suit. “I’m Greg.”
There was a silence, and then Confirmed-As-Malfoy — no, Draco, (man, that was going to be fun to say in front of the twins)— broke it. “Did you mean what you said earlier, Weas-- Ron? About House trumping blood?” Ron inclined his head. “Every word.”
Draco sat back in his bed. “Well,” he began with a smirk which was far less grating now that it wasn’t directed at Ron himself, “I’d better inform the girls.” Theo actually laughed at that. “Draco, I think Daphne’s already got the girls prepared for this exciting bit of news.” He turned to Ron. “Daphne’s got what she calls the “Slytherin sense” about people, you know. She knew you were going to be a fine addition to our crew as soon as you started talking.” Ron reddened a bit further at that, but allowed himself a laugh. “That’s good.”
“More than good,” Vince — wow, they were on a first-name basis quickly — interjected, “it took her a month to warm up to me.” Draco muttered “four, more like,” under his breath, and then they were all laughing, most of all Theo, who knew Greengrass the best, and Greg, who apparently wouldn’t pass up a chance to laugh at his best friend.
As they walked back down the hall to the Common Room, Ron glanced at Draco, who caught his eye and held it. They both eyed the girls coming down the opposite hall, and both stifled snorts at how put out Parkinson looked following Greengrass. Ron sat down on one of the small sofas clustered in a circle, and Draco sat right next to him without a second thought. Ron smiled. Maybe he’d get through this year after all.