Chapter Text
The Sorting Hat sat upon its throne. His small steps and quick breath sounded loud compared to the quiet which overtook the room. Every word he ever heard about Hogwarts and its houses threatened to swallow him whole.
Ron Weasley wanted desperately to achieve all that his brothers managed to and more. He needed to achieve more than any other Weasley. The youngest son but not the youngest child, his unique spot in the house disappeared before it even fermented properly.
The small red haired boy struggled to settle on the chair. I can’t end up in Hufflepuff, Ron shivered at the thought. Fred and George teased him endlessly as things currently stood. His eyes scanned over the tables, taking in each group of students. Ravenclaw wouldn’t be so bad. In fact, his mind wondered as he waited for the hat to find its place upon his head, it might really stop Fred and George and everyone else from acting like I’m an idiot. Ron thought of the bushy haired girl from the train, how stupid he felt when the spell didn’t work. Definitely not Hufflepuff, Ron grimaced. Really, underneath the surface of his uncertain mind, Ron Weasley wished to be Gryffindor. His family's pride with each new Gryffindor son grew more and more evident as Ron grew older. Deeper than that, Ron knew his position as just another Weasley cemented as soon as the hat called Gryffindor. What’s another red-haired Weasley in Gryffindor?
The hat finally met his head. The hat hummed, and Ron’s hands shook. He felt so uncertain about his place in Hogwarts sitting there, staring out at all those students. His eyes caught sight of Harry Potter, who already proved to be someone Ron wanted as friends. Imagine Ronald Weasley friends with the boy who lived!
“Well, another Weasley. Full of courage as always, but there’s something else here. Something different,” the Sorting Hat mused in his ear. Gryffindor it is then, Ron thought with a sigh, but at least it isn’t-
“SLYTHERIN!!!” The Hat shouted without any further consideration. Jaws dropped on the red-haired boys in the room, as well as all those acquainted with them, even as cheers erupted from the green shrouded table.
“There m-must be a m-mistake,” Ron stuttered.
“The Sorting Hat never makes mistakes. Off you go, Mr. Weasley,” Professor McGonagall said, grasping the hat off his head. Ron lost all sense of self as he stumbled off the stool. The Weasley twins gaped as their younger brother, paled to a faint white, made his way to his house table. It made no sense; all Weasleys, even Percy, sorted into Gryffindor. How could the youngest brother not? Ron took the seat next to the infamous Malfoy, whose showed glee at the turn of events.
“Well, it looks like there might be a decent Weasley after all,” Draco whispered. Ron’s eyes contacted with the ice blue eyes next to him, and his face screwed in disgust.
“Funny, I still have yet to see a decent Malfoy.” Draco’s eyes narrowed, but he turned back to clap for Blaise Zabini’s sorting into Slytherin.