Chapter Text
Prologue.
All was going pretty smooth so far. A girl named Teresa Agnes was the first Gryffindor, shortly followed by someone called Harriet Joseph. Zart Brophy and Siggy Jeffries headed off to Hufflepuff, much to everyone’s amusement, since they’d both been boasting about packing their things and getting back home by feet if they end up in the house they eventually did. Ravenclaw welcomed Jeff Glen, Brenda Howarth, Aris Jones, and Clint Keegan, coming off as the house with most newcomers yet.
Drizzling rain shattered from above, not a single drop making it to the ground. It looked quite fascinating, giving Newt a strange sense of power, because there’s rain – the tameless force of nature, yet it could never reach him despite all its infinite might. The Great Hall looked bright as ever, as if the ceiling wasn’t being savaged by lightning; and frankly, people inside didn’t seem to care much either. All eyes were glued to the lanky blond boy, grasping the stool under himself so hard, his knuckles went white, whereas Newt himself didn’t tear his gaze from the sham sky that would have been starry if it wasn’t for the storm.
That, until an old wizard’s hat with its brim way too large even for an adult, was drooped on top of his head carelessly, covering his eyes and a part of his nose. Newt only managed to cast one last terrified glance at his sister and the Asian boy shuffling nervously next to her, before suddenly sinking into darkness.
There it is, the boy mused, drinking in his own bitterness; I look like a complete moron on my first day in Hogwarts.
“How interesting,” a tiny voice crunched terrifyingly close to him, and Newt almost jumped, startled. “You’re quite special, aren’t you?”
Newt mentally scoffed. This hat probably says that to every other kid, he thought, and froze when a barely audible “wrong” sounded in his ear.
“You sure do love mistaking your bravery for weakness, little Sir,” the hat continued, seemingly not noticing that the words didn’t make sense to the blonde. “I see a lot of challenge in you. How truthfully interesting -- daring I may say, oh indeed -- not a bad mind you got there, too.”
Newt rolled his eyes, gesture hidden from audience by the hat covering his eyes.
“Yes, I can clearly see it -- you don’t realize how smart you are, do you?” To his surprise the hat let out a chuckle, if a low rumbling sound could count as one. “Your wit stands out -- this, I like, yes -- you’re witty but at the same time you’re too kind to go hard on people you know you can destroy with only carefully chosen words -- how very interesting, however, you Sir -- you’re too kind for your own good…”
Yea, I know that. Quit wasting time. Newt couldn’t help getting annoyed, his impatient nature giving. It was also the pressure of knowing over a hundred pairs of eyes were staring at him, probably as irritated as ever for the amount of time this takes. The hat couldn’t possibly make everyone wait this long for an answer; usually the sorting would take a minute, top.
“Oh.” The light touch of the hat’s weight tightened slightly around his forehead, and if that didn’t sound ridiculous, Newt would have thought the hat was frowning.
His imagination already started building up the image of Professor Paige jerking the hat away from him, telling him to get out of here, that all has been a mistake and the sorting hat stayed silent for so long because Newt didn’t fit in to any house.
To his horror, Newt realized he’s failing without even doing anything, at his very first day, in front of the people he’s going to spend years studying with.
No, he suddenly thought, aware that the hat could hear. It’s not my fault. It’s the hat. It’s the hat’s fault. Why won’t it do its buggin’ job for…
“SLYTHERIN!” the dull yell vibrated through his eardrums and Newt’s heart immediately jolted in delight. He hadn’t failed. He did it.
The hat was being removed from his head straight after, and the boy had to squint, defending himself from the overwhelming flow of brightness that seemed to have grown in saturation from the last time he saw it. This made him wonder how long he had been wearing the hat.
The thought was vaporized in an instant when cheers and whistles exploded from the right corner of the hall and Newt locked his eyes with his sister’s and then Minho’s, grinning. Both kids were waving at him frantically, eyes gleaming with joy for their friend. Newt couldn’t help but feel warm at the fact of having someone care about him this much.
It was surprising, since he’d only met the Asian in the train. He liked the guy immediately, which was rare, seeing as Newt was picky when it came to choosing his company. He’d learnt that Minho’s parents were muggles, and found pride in using the word “pureblood” to describe himself. He’d secretly hoped that he and Minho would be in the same house, because they seemed to get along pretty well and Newt wasn’t sure he’d make any good friends in school at all, so he intended to grasp to the Asian’s presence tightly.
By the time he made it to the table, he got patted on the back several times and a few voices called his name from too many different directions to pay attention to them all. His new house seemed rather excited to have their first Greenie, and at last, Newt didn’t mind the attention.
Someone rather tall and cold pulled Newt into a hug, and the blonde had to gasp for air by the time he was released. A boy with skin the color of Swiss dark chocolate, and eyes a shade or two deeper, towered over him, a goofy smile across the face. Dense black Afro hair made him look less intimidating than he could have appeared, and whilst Newt was busy staring, the boy offered him a handshake.
“Rahman. Rahman, Alby." It took Newt a moment to realize that’s the boy’s name.
“Isaac Newton. Newt for short,” he said back, looking at Alby, while he shook a few more hands stretched out in his direction. The boy looked about Newt’s age so Newt assumed he couldn’t’ve been too old. Probably a year or two above him.
“Welcome to Slytherin!” someone said from across the table as the blonde settled.
Newt would’ve thought a few names flew by whilst he was being greeted, but then, he realized that his twin sister should come right after him, seeing as they have the same surname that almost always got them adjacent to each other in alphabetic lists.
Sonya was set atop the stool, holding her back straight and strained gracefully as they’ve always been taught at home. The hat, of course, covered almost her entire face, shuffling around, as if the movements made its pondering easier. It’s been a while now. Confusing the sorting hat probably runs in their blood, the boy guessed, smiling amusedly at the funny thought, when the voice called out a loud “SLYTHERIN!”.
Newt was immediately on his feet, clapping and cheering perhaps a little too loud for all he cares. He would never admit, but the boy was actually quite relieved to have his sister by his side, at the same house. They haven’t really been apart… ever, and weren’t exactly planning for that to happen anytime soon.
Sonya hugged her elder twin tightly and slid on a seat next to him. They distantly heard someone named Chuck Odonnel being sorted to Hufflepuff, whilst Newt introduced Sonya to Alby. The next name made him still and stop talking.
“Park, Minho,” Professor Paige announced hastily, eager to get to the end of her long list.
The tall figure looked absolutely unfazed, as it climbed on top of the stool. Funnily, the hat almost fit Minho, oversizing his head only a tiny bit. Narrow black eyes were scanning the room rapidly, searching for familiar faces, but after a while they gave up, heaving shut. Newt wondered what the hat whispered into Minho’s ear, hoping it had anything to do with Slytherin.
Slytherin. Please, please, please, Slytherin.
Every nerve in Newt’s body throbbed in anticipation. In a perfect fairy tale his friend would undoubtedly end up next to him and his sister, and they’d get to hang out in the Slytherin Common Room every evening, doing homework and discussing the latest edition of “The Daily Prophet”.
Life, unfortunately, is not a fairy tale. It took one sharp yell of the word “GRYFFINDOR!” for Newt to realize that. Nonetheless, he gave Minho a thumbs-up, when the brunet found his gaze and grinned happily, waving.
The newfound Slytherin couldn’t help but feel a bit frustrated, blaming fate for being so unfair on him; but the bitterness was soon forgotten, when he found himself nodding through a story Alby was telling, about how Peeves (a poltergeist, wandering around the castle and causing as much harm as he could muster, Newt gathered) once pulled the hem of Madam Pomfrey’s skirt all the way up, and how he still sees the sight in his nightmares.
In the meanwhile a few kids got sorted here and there, Winston Taggart and Gally Tanner joining the Slytherin house, and ending up getting involved in Newt’s and Alby’s conversation.
Ben Tomlinson made his way to the Hufflepuff table, and the last kid plodded towards the stool, before his name was even announced.
“Woodcock, Thomas.”
Newt almost chocked on air, and Gally rushed to pat his back several times, not considering his strength, and causing even more strangling sounds to escape Newt’s throat. “Wood-cock?” he managed between the wild laughter and throttling, while wrapping a hand around his neck.
“That’s one hell of a last name,” Winston sniggered, as they followed Thomas’s route to the Gryffindor table with their eyes.
“Dude, this is awesome,” Thomas Woodcock said in the opposite side of the room, looking around himself in pure awe. “My grandad was a Gryffindor, mum’s gonna be over the moon!”
“That’s so cool,” Minho managed, while stuffing pork into his mouth.
“Dude, yeah. We’re lucky to have gotten here, y’know.”
The Asian’s head jerked up, with a tiny piece of meat dropping to the table from his lips. “Why’s that?” he asked curiously. To Thomas’s suspicious glare, he replied with a shrug and a single phrase explaining and excusing all nescience. “Muggleborn.”
“Oh,” Thomas swallowed his food, drinking a couple gulps of juice over it. “I duno exactly. They say Hufflepuffs are dumb. Ravenclaws are boring. Slytherins are evil. That makes Gryffindor pretty much the best choice of ‘em.”
Minho stared, then opened his mouth to say something, but wasn’t given the chance to do so. In an instant there was a neatly manicured hand smacking Thomas’s nape so hard he almost face planted on his plate full of ketchup.
“That’s nonsense.” The icy voice, cutting off Thomas’s yelp of pain, belonged to a girl with eyes so blue you’d think it’s a separate little galaxy, consisting of one huge sea of pure-azure. Her silky black hair weaved down to her waist. Minho noticed that her smile was sympathetic.
“Shut up, Teresa,” Thomas called, regaining his composure.
“Excuse this ignorant little idiot here. I’m Teresa. And what he said are just stupid stereotypes people love to believe for no good reason. I see you come from a family of muggles.” To Minho’s great delight there was no judgement in her voice. “Don’t let mongs like this fool you with false information.” She glanced at Thomas with a tiny smile, before adding “He’s nice, really. Just rarely dumb, that is.”
“Do us all a favor and shut your…” Thomas groaned when another hard smack landed on the back of his neck, but managed to hold his head from jerking forward this time.
If Minho hadn’t already learnt that Thomas was the only child in Woodcock’s family, he’d think that these two were siblings, cause they sure as hell acted like ones.
He’d only later learn that they grew up together, since their families were ridiculously close, to the point where they ended up buying houses in the same block to be able to visit one another daily. Interacting with Teresa was his retribution, Thomas assured, although it wasn’t a secret for anyone that he stealthily did love his almost-sister.
The powerful sound of someone’s laughter thundered from above and Minho reflexively shot his head up to look. His eyes went wide and a twinkle of curiosity rather than fear glimmered in the dark pupils.
“Is –is that a ghost?” he asked warily, watching a tall, greyish-transparent figure floating gracefully above their heads.
The figure must have realized that it’s been noticed, because in a minute it was facing Minho and Thomas, darting eyes from one boy to another. “Allow me to make our acquaintance, gentlemen,” it barely looked a few years over seventeen “Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington. The Gryffindor house ghost. Welcome to our modest company.”
Thomas went rigid. “I’ve heard about you!” he suddenly exclaimed. “You’re Half-Man Nick!”
The ghost wrinkled its nose, mumbling something about preferring to be called Sir Nicholas and combed a hand through the messy hair that must have been blonde at some point but now looked a boring shade of grey.
Someone from across the table echoed “Half-Man? What’s that s’posed to mean?”
“You see,” Nick grabbed his hips and flung himself forward, leaving a pair of legs floating on their own, whilst his body detached. “Headmaster Dipper warned me about that elevator. Yet I still got my friends to descend me into the lift shaft. Whatever was inside didn’t seem very happy about the intrusion. It slit me in half.”
After staring at the kids’ terrified expressions for a while, Nick probably got bored and excused himself to fly away, somehow gluing his torso back to his feet.
“That’s one funny fella,” Thomas grunted, looking over at Minho. “What’s fazing you?” He asked, noticing the expression on the other boy’s face.
A moment of hesitation followed.
“What do they say about Gryffindor?” Minho suddenly opted to ask the question that had been spinning in his mind since Thomas mentioned what Teresa labeled as 'house stereotypes'.
“Nothing.” Teresa shot him an estimating glance, rejoining the conversation. “Our house is great. And so is Hufflepuff, they’re actually a great company, by the way. Same goes about Ravenclaws, a friend of mine got sorted there tonight, and she’s the best person you’ll ever meet.”
A short pause followed, and Minho realized that Teresa wasn’t going to continue.
“What about Slytherins?” he prompted, curious as any other muggleborn in this whole new world.
The girl exchanged a short wary eye-contact with Thomas.
“Yeah,” she mumbled absently, staring at her plate. “Slytherins are evil.”