Where it all began,(do you remember)

4 0 0
                                    

PART I: The Sorting

Harry Potter tries (and fails) to take all the sheer glory of the Great Hall. The ceiling was that of a starlit sky, elegant in its own right. He wondered how it would feel to be the only one in the hall, eyes on the sky, untainted by the presence of candles. He wonders if this is what it would be like to live in the sky.

The sorting hat sings. It sings of legends and he listens. He listens and decides he wants real friends. He wants to be great, wants to be free.

Professor McGonagall calls, "Potter, Harry"

He climbs up and tries to convince himself that no, the Slytherin are not glaring, and the rest of the hall is not staring, quiet murmurs about him being not that impressive.

The hat covers his eyes (his eyes or his mother's eyes? Does anything even belong to him anymore?)

Interesting, it says. As if he is not a human, just a mutated virus. He feels the scrutiny, from both the hat and the students and realizes he detests it.

He shoves those thoughts aside. He says, voice shaking even in his head, "I want to be great."

You want Slytherin? It has been a long time this request has come from someone like you. You would fit in too, fit in very well. But there is something...

"Gryffindor" The hat calls out. He cannot decide if wants to tear the hat or light it on fire. The hat laughs at his thoughts and says just one word.

Revolution, it whispers

He tries to hide the shiver that accompanies the whisper. He fails when he notices Professor McGonagall frown.

The hall is cheering like it expected this result. Harry for the life of him cannot understand why. Was it expected that he were to go to Gryffindor? Is it that he could only be a hero? The books said it had been in his legacy, to be one. But he longs for something else.

Percy Weasley claps his back, people shake his hand and his scar is lit on fire when he glances at the terrifying man. He devours food richer than anything he has ever seen in his life and loses himself in the stories of innocent children, ghosts and brilliant odd old men 

RevolutionWhere stories live. Discover now