Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor
WEDNESDAY. SEPTEMBER 1, 1971.
“Adderforth, Adrian.”
A gangly blonde boy, presumably Adrian Adderforth, pushes his way through the clump of students and joins Professor Slughorn at the stool. He takes a seat, and the professor lowers a moth-bitten old hat onto his head.
Severus can’t be bothered to keep his eyes on Adderforth. Instead, they wander about the hall.
Each row of tables is brightly decorated with house banners that match the uniform ties of the students seated beneath them. Red and gold. Yellow and black. Blue and bronze. Green and silver.
His gaze lands there, on the Slytherin tables. On his destiny. He’s waited his entire life to sit at that very table. Now he finally could— He and Lily.
Severus doesn’t even need to look at her in order to know Lily is biting her nails. He grabs her hand and pulls it from her lips. “You’re going to be fine.” He says, leaning close so she can hear him over the cheering Hufflepuffs.
“Aubrey, Betram.” Slughorn calls from beside The Sorting Hat.
Lily blinks up at Severus. She’s trembling. He laces their fingers together and gives her hand a squeeze.
“I’m going to faint.” She whispers.
Severus rolls his eyes fondly, lips twitching. The Slytherin table cheers.
“Avery, Edmund.”
“You’re not going to faint.” He whispers back as the Avery boy pushes to the front. “You’re Lily Evans.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?!” She hisses, chewing a hangnail on her other hand.
“You once threw a bible at Spencer Roach.” He grasps her other wrist firmly with his free hand.
The Slytherin table cheers again. Edmund hops off the stool grinning proudly.
“That was different… and it wasn’t a bible. It was a latin book.” Lily huffs.
“How was throwing a bible at a boy twice your size less intimidating than sitting on a stool? Honestly, Lily-”
“He was bothering you.” She says sullenly. Severus softens.
He feels like something inside of him melts a little– turns all soupy– as he remembers the image of newly turned ten-year-old Lily Evans, cheeks red with fury, digging through her knapsack and shouting warnings at his bully. His Avenging Angel. Her hair had been a halo of fire when she’d helped him off the ground that day. His awe hadn’t been dampened one bit when she’d burst into tears and made him promise not to tell anyone she’d resorted to violence.
“Black, Sirius.”
The Slytherin table cheers a third time. The boy hasn’t even reached the stool yet, and they’re already celebrating. Whatever Lily had warmed inside of Severus turns to ice again. He presses his mouth flat.
Severus had recognized Sirius on the boat. He may not have attended the galas, balls, and cottilions the rest of polite wizarding society had, but Severus Snape was well educated. He had Prince blood flowing through his veins. Of course Severus had recognized The Heir to The House of Black. He made a point not to even speak to the boy to avoid puting his foot in his mouth. Yet, somehow, Severus had already offended the person in his year it was most vital that he impress. He must have offended, for the Black boy to speak to him that way. And Severus is not looking forward to the groveling he’ll likely have to do in order to get on The Heir’s good side.
The Black boy sits primly on the stool, back straight and chin up. The cheers die down as Slughorn lowers the hat unto his head.
It’s quiet.
It’s quiet for much longer than it had been quiet while Adrian, Betram, or Edmund were being sorted.
Gradually, every eye in the hall turns to The Heir. He closes his eyes.
Severus doesn’t miss the way The Heir’s pale fingers tighten around the edge of the stool, gripping it as if he’s frightened he’ll fall off.
What does The Heir to The House of Black have to be frightened about?
“Gryffindor!” The hat roars.
Sirius Black’s eyes shoot open.
The entirety of The Great Hall stares back at him, unmoving, unblinking and utterly silent.
Then, from the very back of the crowd of first-years, someone starts to cheer.
“Yeah, Sirius!” He whoops.
Severus knows that voice. He turns anyway.
The specky prat from the train is clapping fervently.
“Gryffindor!” He shouts, “Suck it, Slytherin!”
Sirius Black’s mouth gapes in an entirely uncivilized manner.
The Gryffindor table comes alive at the notion of forcing Slytherin to, quote, “suck it.” Of course they do, the knobs. They begin hollering uproariously, several of them laughing and pointing at the youngest Slytherin prefect’s shocked face. She blinks furiously, brows furrowed, wrinkling her porcelain skin.
Professor Slughorn removes the hat from Sirius’ head. He whispers something to Sirius that Severus doesn’t catch over the echoing chant coming from Gryffindor.
“Suck it, Slytherin! Suck it, Slytherin! Suck it, Slytherin!”
Sirius scrambles to the Gryffindor table, head down and shoulders hunched.
The chanting continues. Beside Severus, Lily’s head is swivelling wildly. Her eyes widen as she does her best to drink in everything that’s happening.
“That’s quite enough, now!” Snaps the professor. A prefect stands to welcome the Black boy. He’s grinning widely as he offers Sirius Black his hand. The cheers die down under Slughorns’s glare.
She clears her throat. “Carden, Elizabeth.”
Sirius Black was just sorted into Gryffindor. He’d just sullied five hundred years of tradition. Severus can’t help the slimy grin that oozes onto his face. Good Riddance. He supposes he won’t be seeing much of Black anymore, let alone be doing much groveling.
In all the commotion, Lily’s hands had gotten free. Of course, her nails were back in her mouth. Unladlylike. Entirely unladylike. He stops her once more.
“What if that happens to me?” She looks like she wants to wail.
Severus chuckles. “It won’t.” he assures her, “That was… a complete worst case scenario.”
The Ravenclaw table claps.
“I can imagine worse.” She mutters.
“Darby, Reginald.”
“What could possibly be worse than that?” Severus shakes his head.
Lily doesn’t answer. She purses her lips.
Severus– not for the first time– wishes he had the ability to read her mind. He hates secrets.
He’d never been allowed any secrets as a child. Not while his mother was such a skilled Legilimens.
He used to barely even notice it: the slight tickle of his mother’s magic sliding across the surface of his mind, plucking the thoughts she fancied as one might pluck a bouquet. Of course, as he grew older and progressed in his homeschooling, he recognized it for what it was.
Severus is certain that if he knew how to read Lily’s mind, she’d be much happier.
Unfortunately, that is not a skill he possesses. So he settles for squeezing her hand again, instead.
Ravenclaw cheers again.
“What if the hat doesn’t put me anywhere?” Lily’s voice is barely audible. Terror swims in her green eyes. Her hands shake violently in his own.
Severus scowls. “Don’t even think that.” He grips her hand tightly. “You’re one of the most incredible witches I’ve ever met.”
“You haven’t met many witches yet.” She points out humorlessly.
He doesn’t need to. His chest burns with the desire to make her understand that. It doesn’t matter that Severus hasn’t met many witches yet. He knows Lily is going to be great. She’s already great.
“Evans, Lily.”
She doesn’t move. Severus feels his chest constrict even more. “Lily,” He tries to sound reassuring, “go.”
“I’ll trip.”
“I’ll carry you.” He says. He says it like its a joke. Like it’s a playful threat. But it’s not. He would. He would carry Lily if that’s what she needed. He’d put her on his back and haul her to the stool. He’d haul her to the Slytherin common room, to classes, back home to Cokeworth, if she asked him to. Severus Snape is willing. She’s his best friend– his only friend. He wants to give her whatever she needs.
His threat works. Lily lets go of his hand and treads up to the stool. She takes her seat, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
Severus catches her eyes once more before the hat flops over the top of her head and obscures her vision. He smiles at her. She doesn’t smile back. That’s okay. There will be plenty of time for Severus to make Lily smile. She’ll smile at him when he joins her at the Slytherin table. She’ll smile at him when he explains the artificial sunlight charm in the dorms. She’ll smile at him when he snags her some toast at breakfast tomorrow because she’ll probably want to sleep in after-
“Gryffindor!”
The Gryffindors erupt into cheers again.
The ground falls out from beneath his feet.
He feels unmoored. Lily walks to the Gryffindor tables. Her hair blends in against the red and gold. She doesn’t shine the way she should. That’s not where she’s supposed to be. It’s wrong. It’s abhorrent.
It only gets worse as the list goes on.
It only gets worse when the twit from the train, James Potter, gets sorted into Gryffindor as well. He gets exactly what he wanted. Potter. His family is famous for nothing more than making hair potions and being blood traitors. Why does he get lucky?
Why does James Potter get to be in the house he wanted? With all his stupid friends from the boat? With The Heir of The House of Black? With Lily? With Severus’ Lily?
Severus finds himself on the stool, stewing in anger. He feels like he’s broiling. He tries to catch Lily’s eye again, now that he’s at the front. But she’s not looking at him. She’s talking to Potter.
The Sorting Hat is finally on his head and Severus finds that he can’t even bring himself to listen to it as it hems and haws over the contents of his head.
This is wrong. This is all wrong.
The Slytherins are cheering. Lily finally turns to him. She smiles as Severus shakily steps off the stool.
He wants to walk towards her. He wants to join his only friend. Instead, he’s forced to walk away from her.
He recognizes his prefect immediately. The white hair gives him away. Lucius Malfoy, son of Abraxas Malfoy, offers Severus a charming smile. “Severus Snape,” Lucius grasps Severus’ hand, giving the flimsy thing a firm shake, “Pleasure to meet you. Welcome to Slytherin. Have a seat.”
Severus wonders, momentarily, if Lucius Malfoy has any idea that Severus comes from the Prince family. But that thought feels foggy and far away. His ears are ringing as he sits.
Severus isn’t an idiot. Of course he’d always been aware that there was a chance Lily would be placed somewhere other than Slytherin. He knows that Slytherin isn’t exactly crawling with muggleborns.
He’d simply always been certain he would end up in Slytherin, and it was impossible for him to imagine a life at Hogwarts that didn’t contain Lily Evans.
They belong together. They’re better together.
If that hat had placed her anywhere else, it might have been fine. But Gryffindor? Gryffindor?
Lily is as good as gone to him now. The thought makes his eyes sting.