From The Beginning (Dramione)

Realizing A Mistake

"Oh, this is a tough one," he muttered. "Definitely clever enough for Ravenclaw, but what does this girl value? Sets big goals for herself, I see. Friendly enough, but no, this is not a Hufflepuff. Oh, this girl's definitely got some nerve! A tough one indeed." The hat hummed. "Let's see... You belong in... GRYFFINDOR!" The last word was shouted so that the entire Great Hall could hear.

Gryffindor, they wear red and yellow, Hermione reminded herself. She scanned the room and found her table was the second from the left, where her classmates clapped for their new member. She sighed, trying to release the nervousness from her system. She took a seat near the front of the table. The boy she sat next to was clearly related to Ron. Tall, with red hair and an abundance of freckles.

Hermione turned and watched the rest of the Sorting. The next person to catch her attention was Neville Longbottom. He must have been the most nervous of them all as he stumbled across the stage to the stool. He nearly flinched away from the hat when McGonagall place sit on his head. Hermione could almost see his mind racing.

There was definite pause before the hat declared, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Neville, unlike Hermione, did not seem to relax as he made his way to his assigned table. "Welcome, Neville," Hermione said, gesturing to the seat next to her, hoping that this would ease his nerves somewhat. But Neville only offered a small, detached smile as he took the seat next to her.

Meanwhile, Draco stood in the same place Hermione had mere moments ago. He waited quietly, trying to distract himself, and only being successful for less than a minute at a time.

He gave the Sorting his undivided attention when he heard Professor McGonagall shout, "Granger, Hermione!"

Draco watched the bushy-haired girl half-walk-half-run over to the stool and allow McGonagall to place the hat on her head.

Even though he knew it was next to impossible since she was a Muggle born, he hoped she could be sorted into Slytherin. He would never be able to excuse a Muggle born to his father. But maybe, maybe, if she was a Slytherin, it could do something. Besides, the Houses were created centuries ago. Certainly the expectations weren't the same as they had been at the time. She could get in because she was cunning, ambitious, or proud.

But Draco had gotten his hopes up, and was disappointed when he heard the hat shout, "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Longbottom, Neville," shouted the Professor.

That meant Draco was next.

After a brief silence, the hat called the boy a Gryffindor. Draco almost began to walk before McGonagall said his name.

Heart pounding, Draco strode over to the stool and took a seat. The old witch placed the hat on his head.

Slytherin. Slytherin. Slytherin. Draco repeated the word over and over again in his mind.

"Slytherin, you say? But you could do so well elsewhere. Loyal, and fiercely protective of the ones you love. I could call you a Gryffindor..." The Sorting Hat murmured in his ear.

No! I have to be a Slytherin. Make me a Slytherin, please. Draco begged.

"Alright," the hat sighed. "If that is your wish. SLYTHERIN!"

Draco sighed in relief and walked stiffly over to the table on the far left, where students in green and silver robes were applauding his arrival.

Hermione watched him join the Slytherin table, somewhat disappointed that he hadn't joined her. Then she corrected herself. It was no wonder he hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor. Gryffindors valued bravery, and anybody who wouldn't talk to her because of her background was clearly a coward.