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Let's make a case for Ravenclaw!Dan, who'd known from young, with irrefutable surety, that he was going to be Sorted Gryffindor. Who grew up on tales of bravery and men with lion's hearts. Who dug up and pulled on his dad's oversized red and gold sweater during winters. Who is currently telling - no, ordering the Hat, drooping over his truly tragic bowl cut: Gryffindor.
Are you sure? the Hat asks, and shows Dan his loyalty to his brother, his ruthlessness in his need to protect him. Shows Dan his ambition, directionless as of now, but there, burning, to do something, mean something, make something of himself. Shows Dan his habit of questioning everything around him, all his natural inquisitiveness, the hows and whys and wherefores.
At eleven, Dan says much later, the Sorting Hat gave me my first existential crisis. Which, thanks.
Now, Dan pauses, and the Hat takes advantage of this to yell: Ravenclaw!
But let's make a case for Dan the Ravenclaw, who isn't Ravenclaw in the way that most Ravenclaws are stereotyped to be. As in he won't be bothered to study anything out of a book that isn't relevant to his interests, and you won't find him holed up in the library on a Saturday night, sieving through thick and dusty tomes full of information he doesn't have time for. But early on, he'll find an interest in Astronomy and Philosophy, the origins and meanings of things. He'll check a book out of the library, forget to return it for weeks on end, procrastinate on his other schoolwork, but he'll find out the reason that black holes exist, study the shit out of the theory and relativity of magic in conjunction to particle physics. He'll scrape through Herbology, but he'll Exceed all his Astronomy professors' Expectations. He'll read an odd sort of reason in dreams, give his Divination professor a headache as he tries to puzzle out the sense behind his tea leaves. He'll spend weeks barely eating as he tries to figure out specifically why magic messes with all things electronic, how exactly he's going to get Hogwarts hooked up to the Internet.
(Now dial it down a notch, into another universe, and let me ask you: do you really think Dan, who sat in class as a child and bit back his retorts to bullies and was labelled a low level disruptor by grade teachers because he talked too much, asked too many questions, and still managed to get into Law at Manchester University, do you really believe he wouldn't excel in Ravenclaw, the House of buzzing and wonder and wit?)
It's not that he has no self preservation. (Trust me, if he hadn't, he'd had to grow some.)
Or that he does not have a sense of loyalty (and fair play).
Or that he doesn't have his own (lion's share of) courage.
It's just that once, Dan sneaks into the Headmaster's room, and gestures to the eagle on his robes, and asks: Why this House? Why not Slytherin? Why not Hufflepuff? The burning question, again, because Dan will always have that streak of self doubt a mile wide: Was I not good enough for Gryffindor?
The Hat says, and while you were busy trying to puzzle it all out, the hows and whys and wherefores, was it not obvious to me where you should be placed?
Which answers one question, but it is Phil Lester, Muggleborn Slytherin, who will answer the other, more pressing one.
But we are getting ahead of ourselves.
So let us, first, make a case for Slytherin!Phil.
Let us talk about Phil Lester, who was born into a perfectly normal, boring, incredibly loving, non-magical family. Who got his letter at eleven, whose parents gasped in delight and whose brother's eyes shone in envy but soon creased in support. Like I said - loving, and love means acceptance, no matter what. Who his future Transfiguration professor took to Diagon Alley and who got chosen by a wand, hawthorne, eleven inches for his lanky frame. Who, when the Hat enveloped his head and debated to itself over whether he should be in Hufflepuff or Slytherin, asked it: yeah, but which is, like, better?
At this, the Hat chuckles, announces, Slytherin!
Later, Phil realises that it was never an answer to his question. And then, rather much later, he realises that there is no answer to his question.
But let's, then, speak of Phil Lester, the Slytherin. Who was lucky - or unlucky enough, depending on how you look at it, to be born in an era where blood does not matter much anymore, but there are still prejudices, especially in an ancient, haughty House like Slytherin. Who finds out what Mudblood means three weeks in, who lets the stares and the hushed, just-that-side-of-combative remarks wash over him.
Who - consciously or unconsciously, we will never be able to tell - develops his own, quiet, cunning strategy for dealing with it. Who is lovely and funny and nice enough to make friends, and ones strategic enough to shut the whispering minority up. Who figures out where the Library is on his own, and the Owlery on the first day, to send his family letters, and which pear to tickle to sneak into the kitchens and help himself to Muggle cereal they never really serve in the Great Hall.
Who finds, immediately, an interest in Herbology and Charms, but also Care of Magical Creatures, treating them with the same wonder and respect he'd treated the dog and fish and hamsters back home. Who is president of the Photography Club by third year, and goes to his Head of House in fourth and asks, what can I do, what future can I have with what I can do?
The Head of House, who is also his Muggle Studies professor, pauses, tells him: what you're dabbling in, it's still relatively new; magic and picture and sound and colour, who knows how it'll pan out - it might not take in the wizarding community at all.
Phil shrugs, says, but it might.
She looks at Phil's bright eyes, the curve of his shoulders. It might, she agrees, and hopes it does.
Drive, they call it, and Phil's got both hands on the wheel.
(Take a step back, into an alternate life, and ask yourself: do you really think Phil, who takes legal action when he feels threatened and who tells you nicely, but firmly, to stop this, stop it at once, who waved his parents' offer of dinner away and made his own way in uni that first day (and all the days after), who was resourceful and ambitious enough to carve a successful living out of something that was barely a career when he started out - do you really look at him, and say, this is not a Slytherin?)
The thing is - it's really not all about your blood, or who you're willing to hurt to get what you want.
And it's not that Phil is not brave (he stepped into Hogwarts, didn't he?)
or hardworking (three Outstandings, six Exceeds Expectations, and one Acceptable)
or intelligent. (In Slytherin, you kind of had to learn how to be.)
The thing is, it's about that at certain point when you look at your life, and you think, this is what I want to do, and, really, nobody can stop me but me.
It's about looking at a boy sleeping in your arms, and realising: this is the boy I love. I would do anything to protect him.
But again - we are getting ahead of ourselves.
First, having accepted these two hypotheses, we will then focus on a tiny moment in time - a space after the Sorting, after the first night in Hogwarts, on a bleary morning and the sudden sharpening of excitement when they realise: this is it, this is lessons, this is magic. Let us, then, proceed to that sudden moment of fumbling in the corridor, the oops, oh, I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking, the it's fine, I'm not even sure where I was heading.
"First year?" Phil asks.
Dan nods, and says: "You're - I think we have first lesson together. Charms?"
"Yeah," Phil says. "Yeah! Be my friend, please, I've been way too awkward to make any."
And then Dan dimples, and Phil stares, and, well, there we go - that is it.
We don't need to make a case for Phil sneaking into Dan's dorm, or Phil giving Dan the password to the dungeons, even as the other Slytherins groan and roll their eyes and tell Phil it's a secret for a reason. Or Dan following Phil into the kitchen, where the house elves have helpfully procured buttered popcorn for Phil in the strange unknown way house elves have; Dan's eyes going wide, oh my god Phil this is literally heaven. Or Dan sitting with Phil at the Slytherin table, and by this time any Slytherins have failed to notice and care anymore because it's just Dan-and-Phil now, Phil and his hands gesturing telling Dan about computers and wifi while Dan looks slightly disbelieving. Or Easter break, which Dan spends with Phil on the Isle of Man, gasping at Google and Youtube and a weird terrible thing they call memes.
Or third year, up in the Astronomy Tower, where Dan is rambling on about the effects of neutron stars on their environments and Phil interrupts him to kiss him for the first time, both of them fumbling and cold in the dark and grinning so hard their faces hurt.
Or fourth year, Dan's tongue poking out as he fiddles with the mechanics of a circuit board, Phil working on a History of Magic essay beside him. Dan's feet reach over, hidden, to tangle with Phil's, a small unconscious assurance, and neither of them look up from their work.
Fifth year, Hogsmeade and bypassing Madam Puddifoot's and going into a tiny dark corner shop with its walls dotted in glowing constellations and Dan cooing over the small strangely-shaped objects which give one a peephole into the vast expanses of our galaxy. Phil nodding vaguely as Dan explains their functions, watching the wonder on Dan's face.
Sixth year, the school making sounds of bewilderment as they attend the Photography Club's exhibition, screens with moving images, yes, but colour and sound too, and how - these aren't painted, this is a new, experimental kind of magical photography and there is a small section at the back, if one thinks to look - no one thinks to look, actually, as it's been spelled to keep most away - a small section at the back, moving photos of dimples and crinkled eyes and the cadence of a voice the president of the Photography Club would describe as one his heart beats to. If he was ever so inclined to be that sappy.
But then - if we accept all this to be true - then let us make a case for one small, final moment, seventh year by the lake and NEWTS over, Dan lying with his head pillowed on Phil's lap. Phil's languidly making complicated, pretty ripples in the water with his wand. Across the lake, the giant squid terrorises a bunch of second years, who look thrilled at the attention.
"You know what's always bugged me?" Dan asks.
"A lot of things," Phil says, and Dan lazily reaches a hand up to swat at his face.
"How school's ending, and I just - I mean. It's not important now, and maybe it never was, but I always thought I had courage enough for Gryffindor." He doesn't mean to say it quite so abruptly, but Phil's fingers card through his hair and the words tumble out. "I don't know. As a kid, I was always told - I thought if you wanted it enough, if you chose it, if you were brave enough - Why do you think I was never, haha, high level insecurity alert here, good enough for it? In your opinion."
Phil pauses. "Well, fair warning, as a Muggleborn, I'm told my opinion doesn't really count, but-"
"Hit me with it," Dan says.
"I think it's not all about what you're worth, or what House you're good enough for. I think it also takes into consideration what would be best for you. Maybe what you want, deep inside. I don't know, Dan. The Hat chose Slytherin for me and I've learnt a lot about myself - what I want to do, what I've got in me to achieve it. In Ravenclaw, you were encouraged to study and really get into the things you love, you know? I don't know if Gryffindor really fosters that culture. You figured out what you love, and you have more questions, but you know you'll be happy looking for their answers. I can't tell exactly why the Hat didn't give you the House you wanted," Phil says, looking down at the blue-bronze of the messy knot of Dan's tie, the slightly white-chapped texture of his lips - the feeling of which Phil is familiarly acquainted with - he looks at his bold loyal smart sharp-edged lionheart, and says, "but - Dan - maybe Gryffindor wasn't good enough for you, and who you were going to grow up to be."
Over on the other side of the lake, the Giant Squid raises one final threatening tentacle, and splashes back into the depths.
"Maybe you're just making all that up to make me feel better," Dan says, his voice just slightly unsteady.
"Maybe," Phil agrees.
Dan takes a deep breath, and takes Phil's hand, closes it over his chest. And a beat passes, and he summarily ruins the moment by saying, "Either way, you're a really great boyfriend, and I'll rim you tonight."
So let us make a case, if you will, for the eagle, and the serpent. And if you accept this theory - let us conclude that it is all that matters, in some ways, and in others, it doesn't matter at all. We play around with various Houses, multiple universes - in all of them, they find each other.