There was something to be said for having your name fall smack in the middle of the alphabet, he thought. Just long enough to watch the looks on all these other fools' faces when they got that dirty old hat dropped on their heads. But not so long as to get completely bored with the whole thing. Just long enough so that the hat wasn't rusty after going a year without use, but not so long as it made... errors in judgment.

Perish the thought!

For there was surely no doubt which house he would land in, none at all. Preordained, it was. Every single member of his family, from his father to his 3rd-cousin-once-removed's great-great-grandfather-- wait, did Hogwarts go back that far? Math wasn't exactly his strong suit, but genealogy surely was. He had a very strong sense of his family's blood, and it all pointed in the same direction. And he was a prototypical member of his family. He had the hair, the eyes, the proud carriage, even the famed sneer. Certainly he wouldn't be the aberration.

Right?

"Draco Malfoy!"

He started at the sound of his name read by Professor McGonagall, then bravely stepped forward, swaggering up to the dias. He looked over at the far table with the notion of rewarding his Housemates-to-be with a taste of the Malfoy smirk. But the world looked a whole lot different from up here. All those faces! And were they meant to blur together like that? Suddenly he regretted all those Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Botts beans he'd eaten on the train.

Then it all went dark, as a swath of old and musty fabric covered his eyes. Well, that was better. Really, it wouldn't do to throw up during the Sorting-- whatever would his Father say?

"Ahhh..... a Malfoy. I remember one like you..." said the Sorting Hat, causing Draco's stomach to begin that unpleasant churning again.

"But you're different, somehow. More difficult. There is plenty of ambition, oh yes, but there is something else... more elusive..."

"Just get ON with it," Draco muttered nervously. "I'm a Malfoy, so put me in Slytherin and be done with it already."

"Slytherin, is it?" the Hat said slyly. "You have the cunning, of course, and they don't make blood purer than yours, do they? But you could be great, you know. Different, a pioneer... in the right place. I think I know just where to put you."

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat yelled.

Professor McGonagall yanked the Hat off Draco's head, but he completely missed the huge, round O of surprise on her face. He sneered and started to saunter toward the Slytherin table when he suddenly stopped dead.

He turned to Professor McGonagall. Or course he'd only been hearing things... that was just his nightmare talking. And the beans.

"WHAT did that thing say?"

"I believe," she said with the straightest, calmest face she could muster under the circumstances, "that you were just sorted into Gryffindor."

GryffinWHAT?!?

"Now please join your Housemates, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco walked like a robot over to the Gryffindor table, only now noticing the dead silence in the room and the shock on his new Housemates' faces.

He sat down with a dull thud, trying not to notice Potter and that nasty Weasley peasant gaping at him. A couple of people smiled and tried to say hello to him, but to his shame, all he could manage was a weak nod. He turned back and looked in despair at the Slytherin table, noticing the dismayed looks on both Crabbe and Goyle's faces. They, of course, having no elusive qualities (or any qualities at all, for that matter, beyond being large) were sorted promptly into Slytherin.

He slowly became aware of two things– the vast quantity of tasty-smelling food spread out on the table (for even though he felt ill, he was still very hungry) and the conversation going on around him.

"I'm half and half. Mum's a Witch, Dad's a Muggle," said one poxy-faced Gryffindor boy.

Better half than none at all, Draco thought, almost blurting it out before remembering where he was.

"What about you?"

He looked over at the one questioning him, an incredibly bushy-haired girl with big teeth and sharp brown eyes.

"MY family is one of the oldest wizarding families in Britain!" Draco declared proudly.

"And what's your name?"

"Draco Malfoy," he told her, astonished she didn't know this already.

"I'm Hermione Granger. Funny, I don't remember any Malfoys in "Hogwarts, a History."

A girl sitting to Hermione's right interrupted the glare he was aiming at her. "Hermione's parents are Muggles, but she sure knows a lot about Wizards already!"

Draco groaned. Great, first a halfbreed, now a mudblood, of all things. What WOULD his Father say?

He completely lost his appetite after that.

As soon as dinner was over, the prefect (another cursed Weasley! How many of the undernourished, patchy-robed gits WERE there in this castle?) led them up the long flights of stairs to the Gryffindor tower. Draco aimed a last longing look at the backs of the Slytherins as they marched out of the Great Hall in the opposite direction.

The officious redhead gave a short spiel as they entered the Gryffindor common room, and then they were sent to their dormitories. Draco dejectedly followed the other boys, but his gloom turned to rage as soon as he noticed that the last remaining unclaimed bed was... right next to Weasley!

He looked from the bed to the uniform set out on a chair, with its glaring maroon-and-gold color scheme, and suddenly felt so angry he was ready to start randomly throwing things. He reached into a drawer and grabbed his golden snitch (tm) pajamas and dived onto the bed, yanking the maroon curtains shut around him.

In the darkness that night, he listened to the Gryffindors' snores and plotted. Surely there had to be a way out of this madness. As soon as morning hit, he would find his owl and send a message to Father. Obviously the Hat made a mistake!

He yawned.

Father will fix it. Father can fix anything, he thought, as he drifted off to sleep.