(TSN/HP) in my head, harry's a dick, ron's a conspiracy nut, and hermione's only moderately sane
Harry Potter and the Lives and Occurrences of Other People
[ part i of fuck knows]
The cheering dies down for Zooman, Adele who skitters her way over to the Gryffindor table wearing an expectant sort of grin. Harry's hands hurt from clapping; yeah, it's exciting and all: new students, new term, seeing all his friends after a summer at the dismal Dursleys', but really, it's just been a long day. His arse hurts from sitting. His pumpkin juice is getting warm.
'Zuckerberg, Mark,' McGonagall pronounces in precise, exacting syllables. Harry sits up on his knee to peer over his housemates' heads so he can get a look at the last first year being called up to the stool. But Zuckerberg, Mark is tiny and thin and very far away. Harry catches a glimpse of a pale face and unkempt hair right before it is nigh swallowed whole by the Sorting Hat when it is placed on his head.
'Come on, come on,' Lee Jordan mutters, practically bouncing out of his seat. It’s been an epic streak of Gryffindor, then Slytherin, then Gryffindor, then Slytherin again for the past sixteen first years. They’re tied dead even, and from across the hall, Harry could see the anxious energy that's vibrating through the Slytherin table as well.
'Just watch,' Ron says into Harry's ear. 'He’ll go to Ravenclaw.' Harry nods noncommittally. He likes getting one over on Slytherin as much as the next proper Gryffindor, but right now he's hungry enough to slaughter and eat his own cow.
'Go Gryffindor!' whispers Neville with a vehemence that is frankly uncharacteristic. Sometimes, Harry wonders if Neville is actually a Hufflepuff that has been grossly misplaced in one of those 'legacy picks' that the Sorting Hat 'definitely doesn't do.'
Speaking of which, the hat is taking an inordinate amount of time with Zuckerberg, Mark. 'He’s gotta be muggleborn or something,' Seamus Finnigan leans over and stage-whispers to Dean Thomas.
'How do you figure?' Dean whispers back.
'Because, no way the hat ever takes this long--' though Dean never finds out why, because at that moment the Sorting Hat shrieks triumphantly, 'Slytherin!'
A collective groan overtakes the Gryffindor table, a low undertone to the whooping that breaks out from across the hall. Lee Jordan's fists actually connect with the table, a bit too close to Hermione's juice for her comfort, evidently, as she snatches it up with alarm.
'We’ll get 'em next year, mate,' George and/or Fred Weasley assures his friend, clapping a friendly had to his shoulder. Lee looks like he might cry.
Dumbledore finishes his yearly address with a festive 'whizz, bang, boodle!' and food begins to appear on the platters in front of them. Harry snatches up a serving spoon before the cottage pie has even finished layering itself into its dish. 'I swear the food's always slightly better at the Sorting than any other day of the year,' Ron sighs, loading his plate with pot roast and mash. 'It’s like, who are they trying to impress? It’s not like our educational system offers a whole lot of variety when it comes to school choice. They could serve us vegan tofu lasagne every night and we'd still come here.'
Harry nods, and chews and hears 'accio mac and cheese!' from the other end of the table. Heads duck in unison under hands, though the conversation barely glitches as a casserole flies through the air towards the cluster of first years. There’s a clatter. 'And goooooaal!' someone shouts. 'Who’s boss? I’m boss!'
Harry peers idly over between mouthfuls of potato to see who indeed is boss. It’s a round-faced little first year spooning macaroni onto his plate, chattering animatedly at anyone in a ten foot radius, 'Hi, I’m Dustin, Dustin Moscovitz, what's your name? Isn’t this place the coolest?'
The girl next to him extends her hand politely. 'Hi, I’m Erica. It's nice to meet you Dustin.'
'Awww, look at the firsties making friends,' Lavender coos. 'Aren’t they adorable? Come, Parvati, let's go mother them.' They get up from their seats and squeeze themselves, giggling, in between two tall, blond, remarkably similar-looking first year boys.
'Robbing the cradle,' Hermione intones with not a little disdain, which doesn't quite work with her words when she adds, 'They are quite good-looking though. Just look at those jaw lines.'
'They’re eleven!' Ron asserts.
'You say that like it would ever stop our love,' Dean Thomas trills in his best 'I’m-an-enormous-floozy-no-wait-I’m-just-Lavender-Brown' voice. There begins a modicum of chuckling, but it is eclipsed by the laughter that erupts suddenly the Hufflepuff table. The Gryffindors turn and glower at the interruption.
'How rude,' Hermione tsks before daintily prying open her custard tart.
Harry chews on his chocolate eclair as he watches a Hufflepuff nesting ritual with no particular interest. They’re playing ice-breaker games or something, going around to every member of the house and lovingly making sure no first year is left without an upper-form big brother/sister of some sort. There’s a dark-haired boy who isn't joining in though, perched at the very end of the table, pouting miserably into his pudding.
'Hey buddy,' Ernie Macmillan coaxes, approaching him. 'Why the long face?' The boy looks up with enormous, teary eyes. 'First time away from home?' Ernie guesses sympathetically. 'Don’t worry, you're one of us now; we'll look after you.'
It’s as if those words were a pin taken to a water balloon, Harry observes, because the boy explodes into all sorts of bodily fluids then: truly impressive amounts from such a small boy.
'I wasn't supposed to be one of you!' he wails, and then muffling his face in his hands. The noise in the hall dies awkwardly for about ten seconds as everyone turns and waits for drama, but conversations gradually resume as the boy fails to detonate into streamers and fireworks. Ernie rubs comforting circles into his convulsing shoulders, still murmuring soothingly. Harry hears, 'Father said that I wasn't to hesitate when they put the hat on my head, because hesitating is a sign of weakness, but Slytherin had all these snakes and no one was smiling and father's going to be so disappointed in me!'
Ernie frowns. 'Ed- It’s Edward isn't it?' The boy makes some indistinct reply. 'I’m sorry, Eduardo, that's it. Why did you want to be in Slytherin?'
The boy sniffs. 'Father says it's the best house because it stands for ambition and no one ever got anywhere in the world without ambition.'
'I see,' Ernnie replies. He bends his neck, searching, until the boy looks up and meets his eyes. 'But Eduardo, how about hard work? How about being fair to people, and being loyal to your friends? Do you believe in hard work and fairness and loyalty?'
The boy nods earnestly, scrubbing his face in his sleeves, still hiccuping with tears.
Ernie smiles gently. It makes his fat face fatter. 'See? You do belong here. The Sorting Hat has been doing this for hundreds of years, for thousands of first years. Do you think it would have put you in Hufflepuff if it didn't think you were meant to be here?'
The boy shakes his head vigorously, and Ernie continues, 'There now, that's got to count for something, hasn't it?' The boy gives a sort of reluctant nod and Ernie smiles again. 'Have some lovely pumpkin juice and some ice cream. Get some sleep tonight. You’ll feel better in the morning.' The boy sniffles one last sniffle and does what he's told.
The prefects have started gathering the first years to the side of the hall. 'Avoid the rush!' Ron announces, heaving himself up from the table, shoving scones into his pockets as he goes. Hermione follows with a vaguely admonishing air, with Harry lingering a bit behind. Ernie’s still talking to the new boy, smiling encouragingly, but it's the eyes that watch them that catch Harry's notice. It’s Zuckerberg, Mark from the Sorting ceremony, loitering in his seat long after most of the Slytherin first years have jumped up like the eager little vipers they are to join their prefects in the corridor. His eyes are very blue but very opaque, and Harry doesn't once see him blink.
Reptiles in kind, Harry thinks, and goes off to join his friends.
A/N: I know the Winklevii aren't the same age as Mark & Friends, but shhhh