Rebel, rebel!

In between the one day each year where it leaves the shelf, the sorting hat thinks and waits. 

It’s grown to be a rather philosophical thing. How could it not be, when all there is to do is ponder? So it sits and it thinks, thinks, thinks, thinks. And right now he thinks of students. On a night where eleven year old children are curled up in their homes all over Britain, unable to shut their eyes, because tomorrow, their lives change. 

Tomorrow, they’re wizards . 

No person, creature, or hat has ever been quite so fascinated with the human mind as this one. Each year, it’s dropped onto the heads of future magic wielders, and each year, it sees the same things. It sees whispering, excited little kids asking where they’ll find themselves sorted. It sees the minds of these kids and where they wander; what directions they want to run in. It sees faces filled with joy, with fear, with disappointment, with pride. It sees students of all ages and years, talking to each other in tones that drip with judgment, and sees them misinterpret what it does.

I can’t believe my brother’s a bloody Hufflepuff. I didn’t know I was related to a coward.

I shouldn’t have trusted him to begin with. Why was I ever friends with a Slytherin ! Cunning bastard.

It’s just in their nature, isn’t it? Gryffindors are always so self-righteous.

God, listen to her! She never shuts her bloody mouth! Know-it-all Ravenclaws.  

They speak the names of their opposing houses like cusses, like the words taste foul and they want them off their tongues. And the sorting hat sits, and it watches. It watches with some swirl of pity and enchantment. These children, they don’t see . They don’t see what the hat is really doing. That they all hold the traits they’ve been mocking, that they all could have ended up in whatever house and turned out just as brave or smart or kind or cunning. Because the hat doesn’t choose who you are. That’s your own volition, that’s ever changing and ever growing. The hat places you because of what you chase. What you admire. What you value .

So, on the night before September sixth, 1971, the sorting hat sits and thinks. And it thinks about how this year, it will watch the students be as ignorant to what’s before them as they are every year. The sorting hat thinks and waits.

*

Rain tapping against her window, Lily Evans can’t even close her eyes in her excitement. 

She’s about to be a witch.

All she can see in her mind’s eye is faces. The faces of every kid who ever called her names, who ever poked fun at how often her hand was in the air in class, who ever told her she was too scary and loud to be friends with. It wasn’t her fault she was scary or loud, that’s just how she was. She was excited and bright when she was happy and she was poignant and blunt when she was mad. She’ll admit, she can see why she may be a bit too scary. Having fought three of the most brash and brutish jocks in her class (she sees their faces too), she’s got a bit of a reputation, but they deserved that. They were bullies. She was simply sticking up for the kids they were picking on. She knows that violence wasn’t the answer, she does. She just got so angry . 

But that’s okay. She’s allowed to be like that now. 

She’s about to be a witch.

Magic is loud and scary, isn’t it? It’s bright and in your face and-

And it’s magic. 

Those faces aren’t the only ones that she sees. She sees her parents, and they’re proud and happy for her. She loves her mum and dad; they understand. They see how little she fits in here- in the muggle world, as she’s learned to call it- and they were thrilled to know that there was a place where she could be her . She’ll miss them, she knows she will, but she can’t quite bring herself to mind right now. She sees Petunia’s face, sharp and pinched and annoyed- at Lily, of course, always at Lily- but she knows that she’ll miss her sister too. She sees Severus, smiling at her while they doze in the grass and talk about what Hogwarts might be like. He’s the only reason she knows anything about magic at all, and he’s one person that Lily won’t have to miss. He’ll be right there with her, and they’ll be able to go to school together, and become wizards together, and they’ll be best friends together forever and ever. Lily can’t wait. 

She falls asleep in the late hours of the night, to the sounds of her coexisting petty, excited, and loving thoughts, and to the sound of the rain against her windows.

*

Marlene McKinnon loves flying like she loves breathing.

She just… does.

She doesn’t think about loving it, or doing it, or how it works; she just does it. It’s a fact of her life. And soon, she’ll be able to play on a real team. Because she’s going to Hogwarts. 

Hell yes. 

“Mar, kiddo, come inside! You’re getting your pyjamas all wet!”

“ Mooom , I’m practicing!

“Young lady, listen to your mother!” Bringing dirty dishes to the kitchen, her father laughs. Her mum laughs with him. Just tonight, they’ll humour her usual antics. But they draw the line at flying out back, in the dark, the night before school starts, in the cold rain. 

With a begrudging hmph, the girl guides her broom down to the grass below her. Then her sock-clad feet squelch through the rain soaked grass, squish-splash, squish-splash, squish-splash, and she throws herself into the back door of her house, broom in hand, wicked grin across her teeth. 

“Did you see me? I was still flipping and soaring and stuff, even though it’s raining. I’m, like, destined to be the best player ever.”

“Oh, you certainly are,” her dad laughs, bright blue eyes creased at the corners with smile lines from years of being the happiest, nicest man alive. Also, being the best Quidditch coach alive. His star (and only) pupil can vouch. “But now, you’ve got to be the best student ever.”

Jokingly, Marlene takes in a contemplative breath. “Hmm, that doesn’t sound as fun,”

The three all laugh again, and then all join in a hug that Marlene soaks with rainwater. 

“We’re so, so, proud of you, sweetheart,” her mother smiles, holding her face in her hands. Marlene beams right back at her.

“We always are,” Her dad claps her shoulder, smiling just as big as his daughter is. “You’re the brightest kid I know. You’re gonna be amazing.” 

The eleven year old giggles. “ Yeah I am,”

Her dad erupts in laughter again, and her mom snorts. “Go change, kiddo. Then it’s straight to bed. We’re up bright and early for the train tomorrow. We’re meeting James and his parents there.”

“Aye-aye, Mom,” she says, giving a salute and turning on her heel. 

“We love you, Marlene!”

“I love you too!”

And with a slam of her door, and a change into warm PJ’s (that haven’t spent any time in a stormy sky), Marlene tucks herself into bed, and falls into dreams of chasing gold through the wind and roaring cheers of her name beneath her.

*

“Severus Snape, get down here,”

As he always is, his father is sneering. He speaks like it hurts to talk. And that always makes Severus’ lungs burn too. He sits at his plate, stained wood chairs against a stained wood table, in the dark, cool dining room that somehow manages to always feel damp, even when the weather outside is simply cloudy without a drop of anything falling from it. There’s one flickering lamp above his head as he sits with his dad. Eileen Snape isn’t there with her husband and son- but that’s not new. It's barely surprising, she never is. Severus sits across from his father, taking small bites of salad and chicken while he looks determinedly at his plate. He can feel his dad staring at him, sharp black eyes that look exactly like his own boring into his soul, but he doesn’t lift his head. Not until he hears him clear his throat and he knows he can’t stay staring downwards any longer.

“Yes, Father?”

“You start school tomorrow.”

He takes a deep breath. “I do.”

A nod. While Severus’ hands are still, his father’s fork and knife are flitting through the food on his dish. He’s always fidgeting like that, and it never fails to keep his son on his toes. Then again, he’s usually just as wary anyways. Though that’s equally Tobias Snape’s fault as anything.

He’s not wary around Lily, though.

Never Lily.

“You’d be better staying here, you know. In a normal school. For normal boys.”

“I don’t want to.”

Turning back to his food, his father snarled, but didn’t argue. This was one of few times where Severus’ mother was adamant about something. And Salazar, did she want her son to be a wizard. A Slytherin. She’d already tainted her good, pure family with his worthless muggle of a father, and he wasn’t going to taint it more. He was going to bring the blood in his veins back to its former glory, and he was going to do it well. He’d be what his mother wasn’t. 

“Then you’d best do well. You’ll do whatever it is that your mum wants you there for and you won’t do anything stupid.”

Severus couldn’t quite stomp the indignation out of his voice. “Of course not,”

“Good. You’d best remember your place.”

You’d best remember your place, you muggle.You are beneath me. “I will, father.”

“Good.”

A cold but welcome silence falls between them as Severus finishes his dinner and then carries his plate to the sink to wash it. I’ll fix what my mother broke, he thinks, while scrubbing viciously at porcelain and looking at the clouds outside his kitchen window. And I’ll prove my father wrong.

*

Mary Macdonald is so, so scared. But she’s also so, so ready.

“You okay, Mary? You’re practically shaking,”

She whips her head from where she was staring at her ceiling to face her dad, eyes squinted in defiance and hands clutching the pale pink blankets on her bed. “Of course I’m okay. I’m going to a magic school.”

She doesn’t miss the way her dad stiffens at the word. Magic. She can see why it would be a scary thing. She can see why he’s so reluctant to send his only child to a world he doesn’t know, a world with bubbling cauldrons and monsters and spells, but she still gets a bit defensive when he does it. Because yeah, it’s scary. But it’s her scary.  And she’s set on the idea of going towards it, of learning about every nook and cranny so that it stops being as scary as it seems. Mary Macdonald likes to live in spite of fear. Her father says that she has a petty bet with it, and she always has to prove it wrong. She can’t say she disagrees. Magic is just another fear for her to fight off, and she knows she’s going to do it.

“Yes, well, if you’re going to make the train tomorrow, you’re going to want to get some sleep. Mum and I will give you a big hug tomorrow at the train station.”

The girl nods. “Okay, Dad.” 

“I love you, Mary. So much.”

“I love you too..”

As he leaves his daughter’s bedroom, clicking off the light, Mary thinks. She’ll miss her parents a lot. She’s practically starting a whole new life, leaving them in her old one. But she’ll be fine. She’ll learn to handle that too. Just like she learns to handle everything. Just like she learned to sleep without a night-light, not to scream when she sees a spider, and to avoid crying when kids started saying mean things. She’ll learn not to be scared without her dad to read her bedtime stories and her mum to braid her hair. And she’ll learn not to be scared of magic wands and broomsticks and calling herself a witch.

Mary falls asleep, with only a few tears trailing down her cheeks and onto the cushion of her pillow, to the sound of crickets in her backyard and wind blowing through the night.

*

“Awh, Reg, you’re gonna be fine,”

The boy sniffed, glaring at a spot on the dark floorboards of his brother’s room with shining gray eyes. The brother in question was lounged comfortably on his bed, his bags packed and ready for the next day beside him. The next day, which Regulus Black would spend alone at Grimmauld. Alone without Sirius, and the self-sacrificing protection that came as a package deal with being loved by him. And if Sirius wasn't there, how could he love him at all? He’d probably forget all about him, find a new person to call his brother, and he’d never come back home and Regulus would be alone forever. At least, that’s how he saw the situation. Instead of saying that, he settled for something more simple. And, of course, less emotionally charged. “You don’t know that,”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do, actually” Sirius laughed, with his usual carefree grin plastered to his face, and he curled his legs against his chest and gestured towards himself with his hand. Reluctantly, Regulus scuttled forwards and hopped onto his brother’s bed, still sniffing. “Listen, Reg, I’m not gone forever. I’ll be back for Christmas and I’ll be back for spring and and I’ll be back for summer. And I’ll write you as often as I can, I swear,” He punctuated the promise by pounding his fist against his chest, never letting his grin drop. “And next fall, you’ll be right there with me. And we’ll do school, become wizards, and learn magic together as brothers alright? You’ve just got to wait a little. I promise.” 

And when had Sirius ever broken a promise if he’d made it to Regulus?

“...Okay, I’ll wait,” 

Sirius laughed again, barking, loud, and very Sirius . He really stuck out like a sore thumb in their house; like purple against yellow, blue against orange, red against green. He was a wall between a brother and parents. 

And now, that wall was being torn away. 

“You’ll really write?”

Sirius scoffed in mock exasperation. “You’re quite persistent, aren’t you? Yes Reg, I’ll write.”

Though his eyes were still wet, Regulus lifted his chin proudly. “Good. I try to be.”

“Yeah, you do.” Pulling his brother into a hug, Sirius patted his head. “I’ll miss you, Reggie.”

“I’ll miss you too, Sirius.”

But as all nice moments end in Grimmauld, the piercing and posh voice of Walburga Black cut through their conversation. “Sirius! Regulus! Souper!”

Sirius pulled himself away from his brother with a rather dramatic sigh. “Well, one more dinner and I’m done for a while. Might as well.” He opened his eyes, which suddenly seemed so tired, and looked at Regulus with a smile, weaker than the ones before it. “Maybe I won’t even cause a scene.”

The younger boy snorted. “Not likely.”

Sirius opened the door to his room, revealing the vast expanse of stairs, doors, and the kitchen below. Right at the back of the building was a huge arch-shaped window that was being hit ceaselessly with a downpour of raindrops. Ironic, Regulus thought, that fits my mood. While his big brother, his hero, walked out his door and down the dark wood steps, Regulus wiped at his eyes and took a breath before following. He wanted to stay upstairs and mope, but he knew better. It’s best not to keep his mother waiting.

*

“Our future Gryffindor champ, eh, Dorcas?” 

“ Ugh , sweetie, your mother is about to cry ,” Fanning her face, Dorcas’ mother smiled. A big, watery smile was drawn across her face, and the hand that wasn’t flapping in front of her was cupping her daughter’s cheek. “You’re going to do great in Gryffindor. Your father and I are so, so proud.” 

Her dad grinned. “ Especially if you become a Quidditch champ.”

Dorcas rolled her eyes at her parents, a lump in her throat. “I’m not in Gryffindor yet, am I?”

Her mum rolled her eyes right back. “Oh, yes, yes, but you will be, won’t you? Our Dorcas, our brave little flyer, you’re sure to end up in Gryffindor just like we did.”

She gulped. “Yeah, ‘m sure I will.”

“Well, you’d best get some sleep,” her mum started, kissing her daughter's forehead. “Don’t want you missing the train or anything.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Mum. Goodnight, Dad. Love you.”

“We love you too, kiddo,” her dad finished, and with that Dorcas closed the bedroom door on them, turned off her light, and flopped into bed.

God. 

God.

She had no chance.

She knew, she’s known, she knows, that she won't be in Gryffindor. She’s not brave; she doesn’t really care for bravery at all. She doesn’t really know where she’ll end up, but she knows it won’t be there. 

She’s so tired of pretending she will be.

She’s been trying to piece together where she’ll end up. She’s stumped between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw; she’s loyal, very loyal- she’ll do anything to help those she cares for. Once, her next door neighbour was crying, because she’d gotten a bad grade on a quiz at her muggle elementary school. So naturally, Dorcas helped her forge a new quiz, and she may or may not have magicked her way into having the teacher believe the grade was that all along. She’s always been rather good with charms like that; trickery. She’s quite smart, she’s always chasing knowledge. Every time someone brings up a topic that seems important, Dorcas rushes to the library to pick out books and study up. She wants to know everything. She likes contributing to the conversation, and she can’t stand not being able to. She’s also smart enough to know that it doesn’t matter. Her parents are Aurors; bloody good ones at that; and they’re very set on the belief that Gryffindors are the only ones who can do their job. They’re good people, they really are, but God , sometimes they can’t see past themselves. And that makes Dorcas scared.

Because no matter how similar she thinks to them, no matter how much she wants to help their cause, she can’t be the type of hero they want her to be.

Dorcas Meadowes falls asleep when the rain starts hitting her window and lulls her from her scared thoughts. Resigned to her fate, as smart or loyal but never brave, she dreams of what it might be like if she were sorted how her parents would’ve liked.

*

Remus Lupin is on the verge of at least seven crises. But that’s not the best state for an eleven year old, so he’s trying to fix that. Maybe bring it down to five.

The way he plans to calm himself is the same every time he gets panicked; he reads.

In, out, flip the page.  In, out, flip the page. 

He reads.

To be honest, he can’t really do anything else right now. The full moon was yesterday. He’s still sore all over, he’s got some scabbed over cuts across his back, and his bones have just barely healed thanks to some healing magic from his dad. Sitting and reading is the most productive activity he can do tonight. But luckily, he loves reading anyways. So it’s not all bad.

Normally, Remus likes fiction. He likes to read about friendships and unbreakable bonds, and imagine himself there in the writing. But tonight, that’s not what he’s looking at. Tonight, he’s holed away in the corner of his living room- ice packs to his stomach, back, and right leg- curled up in a cushioned seat beside a singing record player; and he’s reading about Hogwarts.

Admittedly, reading about magic isn’t exactly the best way to take his mind off of it. But he doesn’t really care. He wants to read, and he can’t stop thinking about what tomorrow will look like, so it’s the clear middle ground. He’s reading and trying to stop his mind from wandering. 

He’s really, really scared. Scared sick. Every time he thinks about everything that can go so horribly wrong , an overwhelming wave of nausea overtakes him and he has to shut his book for a second. Remus is ridden with secrets. And none of them are the normal gossip-y secrets that most kids have and spread around like plague- his are dangerous secrets. His secrets will get him thrown out of school, if the students find out. And he’s worked so hard for this. He’s worked so hard to be as smart and good as he can possibly be, and he can’t lose everything he’s climbed towards because someone figured him out. He can’t. 

He’s trying, really trying, to slow his breathing. Each intake of air hurts his chest, and his eyes are watery and wet. This is so dumb, half of him chides. You’re crying over something that hasn’t happened.

But it can, The other half adds. It can and it will.

Slamming the copy of Hogwarts; A History that he’s long since given up on properly reading, Remus takes a deep, shaking breath.

So what if it does. 

I’m a werewolf that managed to work so hard that they let him into school, he thinks. He lets himself sit in the thought, lets pride stop the gaping fear-induced wound on his mind from festering.  And no one can take that from me.

There, in his living room loveseat, Remus promises something to himself. Maybe someone will take his secrets, and maybe someone will throw them into the air and let them seep through it and into the ears of every single kid there. Maybe he’ll lose everything. That’s part of the risk of being in his place ,and he knows that. But even with the risk, he’s going to do it. He’s going to go to normal school, with normal kids his age, and he’ll soak up whatever he can learn like a sponge. He won’t take his opportunity for granted.

And maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to find friendships like the ones he finds in his books. Maybe he can finally be less lonely.

Remus falls asleep in his chair with ice packs all over, a book in his hand, while lost in his thoughts; to the humming of jazz playing in his ear. 

*

“To your room, Sirius.”

He can feel his heart in his throat, he can feel tears pricking at his eyes, and he knows that he’ll need to vanish a bruise on his stomach before the train tomorrow. But somehow, despite all that, Sirius Black thinks that he hasn’t ever been so damn happy in all eleven years of his life.

He’s leaving Grimmauld.

He’s about to have his own life.

He’s leaving Grimmauld. 

During dinner, his mother didn’t quite appreciate his… well, his something. His general demeanor, maybe? His lack of grovelling? Sirius wasn’t quite sure. But sometime before he could clear his plate, her wand was out and she was whispering some curse and there was a sickening pain in his gut before he could even react.

But that’s nothing new. That’s just Walburga Black.

Sirius was fine with that. 

Perfectly fine.

He wouldn’t even be in this house tomorrow.

So he’s perfectly fine.

He’s in his bed, now, lights turned out and staring up at the ceiling. Everything around him is a deep shade of green. He’s never liked it, he hates the way it makes the room feel cold. Cold and… calm. Some primal urge inside of Sirius’ blood craves chaos, craves loudness. He doesn’t like how still the green wallpaper, blankets, and curtains make his room seem. He prefers something louder. Loud like him. He thinks that it’s probably his fault, honestly, when his mother gets mad. He certainly eggs her on. He has a nasty habit of rising to every threat thrown before him, and it’s the same thing that gets him hurt. It’s probably the sole trait that really sets him apart from the rest of his house; his self-sacrificing need to rise to the bait. He loves it. He hates it. He wishes everyone had it. He wishes he didn’t.

Despite the fact that his ribs ache, and he can actually hear his heart beating, and he’s pretty sure Regulus is crying in the other room, Sirius can’t suppress a grin. 

He’s leaving Grimmauld.

*

Peter Pettigrew is very, very annoyed. 

When his mum and dad first started arguing, he’d been upset by it. He’d sit in his room, back against his door, and he’d hold tears behind his eyelids and cries behind his lips. They just got so loud , and it was so scary , and eight year old Peter didn’t know how to handle it. But by age ten, he’d come to terms with the fact that he couldn’t get the fighting to stop, so he decided quite simply that he’d just stop caring about it. So now, when his parents are yelling, all he can do is curse the headache he’ll have by the end and wish that they didn’t have to be doing this while he packed for school. 

Somewhere in him, somewhere he doesn’t want to reach, he does care, though. He wants to be able to bite back for once, he wants to go downstairs and tell his parents to shut up and be adults for a minute.

Really, he knows, he just wants to be like James.

He really can’t wait for school. He hasn’t been so excited in ages- but how couldn’t he be excited now? He gets to stay with his best friend, and they get to go to school together and become wizards together and graduate together, it’s going to be the peak of Peter’s life, he just knows it.

The idea of getting to go to school with his best friend, his best friend who always bites back, always goes and tells people off, is the thought that Peter plays over his parents’ raised voices from behind his bedroom door. Then he throws his packed suitcase off the bed, tucks himself in, and looks out at the dark, blank sky in his window. With that he drifts off to a dreamland where he and James work together to fight monsters, and evil cloaked wizards, and blob-people made from shadows that only speak in screams that sound something like “ Jesus, Enid! You can never just fucking listen to me, can you? I hope to God that our son doesn’t turn out like you, you and your stupid fucking -”

*

James Potter craves excitement. He figures it’s why he likes flying so much. 

“Goodness, Jamie, look at you go!” Like always, his mum’s laugh is warm and bright, and like always, her words make James’ chest swell with pride. Fleamont Potter holds his wand beside her, casting some kind of invisible umbrella over their heads. Both parents look up at the sky, through the sheet of rain pouring down, at the smiling face of their son, soaring around on his broom. 

“I think we’ve raised the next best Chaser, Effie,” James’ dad chuckles, proud as ever, as his son continues to do laps and dives and tricks through the air. 

“Yes, yes, I’m sure we have- but honey, it’s really getting late. You should come inside now so you aren’t tired on the train tomorrow.”

From his broomstick, James pouts. “Mooom,”

“You’ll be able to fly at school, honey. Hooch’ll be a better teacher than I ever was. Come down!”

His parents still grinning at him, and him still pouting back, James lowers himself onto the ground, thick black hair now plastered to his forehead with rainwater.

“Good flying, kiddo,”

“Thanks Dad,” James beams, bounding across the yard and towards his house. Both his parents continued with hearty laughter at the sight, and ran straight after him.

“You’re all ready for tomorrow, Jamie?” His mum asked, calling down the long, cozy hall of bedrooms towards the door that her son was behind, changing into his pajamas.

“Of course I am!” He called back, voice indignant. How dare his parents assume that he, who was probably the most forgetful kid on the planet, had forgotten to get ready for school? He did not care for their insinuation. 

“All right, all right, good,” she chuckled, and James could imagine the look she was giving his father as she spoke. He gave a hmph that they couldn’t hear. 

Not to brag, but James is quite proud that he actually didn’t forget to get ready. How could he? When tomorrow was going to be the start of the best part of his life? Please, James was ready days ago. Honestly, he just needs to be passionate about something to remember it. And good God, was he passionate about this.

He and his friends had a plan. Him, Peter, and Marlene were all going to be sorted into the same house. Gryffindor, of course. Then he and Peter would be the school’s prank gods, and they’d make sure that anyone rude or bigoted would face a very funny- and very public- justice to their actions. Him and Marlene would get onto the house Quidditch team, James as Chaser and Marlene as Seeker, and they’d win the Quidditch tournament every year they were there. Then he'd fall in love and have a romance that went down in history. Therefore, by the end of his Hogwarts career, he planned to be a hero, a Quidditch star, and a suave gentleman all at once. Foolproof plan, right? Who could stop James Potter? Hell, he was a wizard. Every single person he was about to go to school with for the next seven years was a wizard! 

Who could stop any of them?