ANATOLE'S BODY THRUMMED AS HE STOOD IN THE HUDDLED MASS OF FIRST YEARS. He could feel the eyes of the older students trained on him and the others, and he allowed himself to survey the crowd for his brothers, finding them seated amongst their friends, the two on opposite sides of the table, both giving him bright smiles when he saw him looking.

    A woman with blonde hair and a thick Northern accent stepped forward to greet them, introducing herself as Professor Kisin but Anatole found that he couldn't focus on her as he followed her along, the blood roaring in his ears, but he was able to catch some words, understanding that, before anyone was allowed to eat, he and the others in his year would have to be sorted.

    "Your house will be something like your family here at Hogwarts," the woman explained, then going on to list the four houses and explain the concept of house points, something that Anatole was more than acquainted with, having heard all the stories from his father and brothers despite their attempts to keep it a secret.

    "I will let you in momentarily," she finished, before disappearing from the chambers, leaving the group to talk amongst themselves.

    "How do you suppose they sort us?" Eimi asked, and he opened his mouth to explain, only to find that she wasn't asking him, rather another boy who began to tell her about a test that was most certainly lot true and was clearly told to him as a joke by an older sibling.

    Anatole saw the look of fear that passed over Eimi's features, but before he could swoop in and tell her that she didn't need to slice open any part of her body to be sorted, Professor Kisin returned, telling them to form a line and follow.

    They did as they were told, Anatole finding himself at the very back of the line, fiddling with his robes as he tried to remind himself that there was nothing to worry about. Like Professor Kisin said, his house would be like his family, and he would be with his brothers, he would have people.

    Just because he was lacking didn't mean he couldn't make friends, right?

    He took a deep breath as he stepped through the large double doors, entering the Great Hall, filled with four long tables filled with students, one table facing Anatole head-on, taken up by professors of all ages who smiled at the sight of them. The room was lit by thousands of candles that floated over the tables, and he looked up towards the ceiling to find that it was the exact same dark that the sky had been, remembering that the ceiling had been bewitched to mimic that of the sky, as his father had told him before.

    He looked around, searching for his brothers, and gave them his usual smile when he caught sight of them, Jean giving him a bright smile while Francis merely waved with a slight raise of his lips.

    At Jean's motion, Anatole turned his attention back towards the front of the room, finding Professor Kinis placing a small four-legged stool in front of the entire room, then a hat right upon that. It was raggedy and old looking, and he found himself wrinkling his nose at it out of pure taught instinct.

    But then a rip near the bottom of the hat widened and, much to the bewilderment of Anatole and all the other first years, the hat began to sing.

While I might not seem that much to you
Fret not for do you see
I can see inside you true
In what house you shall so be

You might be in brave Gryffindor
Bold, brash, and daring
Or you might just be in Hufflepuff
Its founder ever caring

You might just be in Ravenclaw
Wise beyond their years
Or perhaps you're in with Slytherin
Placing ambition before their fears

You might believe that I know not
Of which house you do belong
But my dear friends if I do not
Why would I sing this song?

    The whole Hall burst into applause as the hat moved to bow to each of the four tables before growing still again, and Anatole found that he was clapping as well, if not feeling a strange sense of foreboding at the rather terse tone of the hat, declaring itself to be all-knowing and infallible.

    The others around him tittered amongst themselves, all relieved to find that they simply had to place a hat on their head to be sorted, which Anatole himself already knew; it was only the hat that took him off-guard and he said that much through a look shared with his brothers, both laughing at him before turning their attention to Professor Kisin who stepped up with a roll of parchment.

    "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she explained, taking a moment's pause before calling out the first name.

    "Able, Natasha."

    A small girl with dark hair and skin made her way up the stairs, looking positively terrified, taking a seat on the stool and placing the hat on her head. She sat there for barely a moment, just enough time for her to remember to breathe, before the hat's mouth opened again.

    "Ravenclaw!"

    The table second from the left erupted into cheers, most clapping while some whooped, others standing to shake her hand and moving to make room for her to sit, quieting down quickly to allow Professor Kisin to continue.

    "Bernard, David."

    A boy with dusty blond hair and too long robes made his way up the stairs, nearly tripping before catching himself, laughing sheepishly as he sat down, placing the hat on his head, making a sound when it fell over his eyes, though it hardly needn't touch him at all, the hat shouting near immediately.

    "Gryffindor!"

    The table on the far left erupted into cheers, some jumping onto their seats to clap, and David laughed as he handed the hat over to the next student, rushing over towards the table and falling into a seat, and it took a few moments before Professor Kisin's stern look quieted them down.

    Anatole felt his heart pound as the list began to dwindle, most being placed in Hufflepuff, a fair amount in Ravenclaw, and the rest going to either Slytherin or Gryffindor. His last name starting with M, he in the center of the students that were being sorted, which meant he was neither first nor last, though he was still last in line, and he tried not to show fear of what was about to happen.

    He had nothing to fear, yet he couldn't help but feel it.

    "Moncrieff, Anatole."

    Anatole heard his brothers cheer, as well as his cousins, and he realized with a start that not only did he have his brothers there with him, but he also had his cousins on his father's side, three girls and two boys that were equally as Gryffindor as the rest of them, and it should have brought him comfort, how much family he would have in his new family, but he only felt more pressure.

After all, if his wand believed there was something in him to be lacking, there wasn't much to say that it wasn't the character he needed to belong.

He took the hat from Professor Kisin and sat down, staring down at it for a moment before placing it on his head, trying to avoid having to look at anyone else in the room, opting to stare down at his hands, only allowing his gaze to dart up to his brothers when he heard a small void in his head.

"Hmm...another Moncrieff," the voice said, sounding amused, "Three guesses where you want to be placed."

"Please," he thought, feeling his heart begin to stutter, "I know I don't seem brave now, but I am."

"I have no doubt that you can be very brave, boy, but I have doubts that you belong where your brothers do," the hat replied, and Anatole was barely able to choke back a scream, his heart sinking, nearly bursting from his chest.

"Please," he thought, and he was sure he might have breathed it out when he remembered that he had to, "I need to be in Gryffindor."

"Need?" the hat parroted, nearly chuckling, and Anatole felt a spark of anger at the sound, at how the hat didn't seem to care about his plight, "My boy, why do you need to be in that house? If you know who you are, the house you sorted into doesn't change that."

"You don't understand, everyone in my family is sorted into Gryffindor, I need to be placed there," he pressed, and he could feel tears prick at his eyes, and he bowed his head more, the hat nearly falling off his head as he desperately tried to hide from eyes of everyone else at the school.

The hat hummed at that, and Anatole had a feeling he merely doing that to appease him, and that made him feel all the more sick. Worse than, he started to hear whispers flitting through the room, coming from all the tables and from his own year.

"Is everything alright?"

"Is he going to be sorted?"

"He's a Moncrieff, ain't he, his entire family's been in Gryffindor."

"Heard the first Moncrieff was a Muggle-born."

"Think this one's a Squib?"

"Shut up, that's my brother."

At the sound of Francis' voice, Anatole raised his head, finding his brother positively glaring at a student from another table, looking ready to brawl at any given moment, but one of his friends was holding him back, whispering softly, and Anatole lowered his eyes before his brother could see that he had been looking.

Finally, the hat spoke again. "You seem to care a good deal about loyalty and you work hard, perhaps Hufflepuff."

"Please, no!" he shrieked in his mind, "My father hardly believes Hufflepuff to be a worthy house, you can't, he would never look at me again!"

"Calm down, boy, no need to make a scene," the hat said, and it was only then that Anatole realized he had started to cry, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hide his sobs, and he saw Professor Kisin move towards him, only for a figure he couldn't see stopping her.

"I can't put you in Ravenclaw, unfortunately, but you're clever. Cunning. Sharp," the hat said, and Anatole felt himself grow sick and physically shook his head, hands coming to ball up into fists, then moving to grip at the edge of the stool.

"Don't you dare!" he cried in his mind, a sob falling past his lips as his tears began to flow freely, "Don't you dare! You can't, please, you don't understand!"

"I'm in your mind, boy, I understand very well," the hat said, and it seemed to have the decency to sound apologetic, "But I am not in the business for doing favors. You're sorted into the house where you belong, not where your blood family resides. Your house is your family, after all."

"Blood is thicker than water," Anatole spat in his mind, thinking back to the phrase his father used when Francis tried to ask to stay with his friends over Christmas rather than coming home.

"Blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb," the hat replied, almost mocking, "Funnily enough, that's exactly what I'm saying. I'm glad you understand."

"Please!" Anatole cried, and he realized too late that he hadn't shouted in his mind, but out loud, the sound reverberating through the now silent hall, just before the hat made its announcement.

"Slytherin!"

There was a resounding gasp from everyone in the room. Jean had jumped to his feet to clap, but was now staring, shocked, and Francis had dropped his goblet, and Anatole could hardly look over at his cousins who had begun to whisper, as did all those who knew of the Moncrieffs who were all sorted into Gryffindor.

Not all of them, it seemed.

"Mr. Moncrieff, please take your seat," Professor Kisin said, and it was only then that Anatole realized he had completely missed on his house cheering for him and clapping, and he turned to find them all looking at him.

Some looked hurt at his lack of enthusiasm, others cold, deciding that they didn't need him if he didn't believe they were worth his time. Others were looking on with understanding, giving him encouraging smiles. One of the older girls was holding out a hand, motioning for him to sit with her, and he carefully pried himself off the stool, rising on shaking feet.

He took off the hat and stared at it for a moment, pouring all of his anger, all of his hatred, every nasty feeling that he had into one death-inducing glare before handing it over towards the girl who was looking at him with fearful eyes. He didn't look at her, instead training his eyes to the ground as he shuffled towards the table on the far right, past the Hufflepuffs, some of whom congratulated him, and sat down with the girl who had beckoned him over.

    "It's alright," she whispered, squeezing his hand and giving him a comforting look, "I know what they say, but we're not all bad, promise. And you can still visit your brothers, no worries. But we're your family too, so you can have more friends."

    He didn't look at her, only nodding and lowering his head onto the table, and he could feel the eyes of the others sitting at the table, but they were all averted when he sorting continued as planned. The girl, whose name he had yet to learn, kept a hand on his back, and he felt a slight sense of comfort at that, but it didn't do much to combat the pure sadness in his heart.

    "Sakamoto, Eimi."

    He perked up at the name which cut through the white noise and he looked up from where he had his head hidden in his arms to see Eimi who was looking towards him, and he gave her a small smile, but she turned away after, looking towards another of the tables, and he realized she wasn't look at him when she did, but rather at the Houses that the hat was describing.

    Then, "Ravenclaw!"

    "Most Asians are in Ravenclaw and Slytherin, and I don't know what to think about that," the girl said, pulling her hand away from his back to clap, "But I could just be thinking too much."

    "You are," one of her friends said, and she laughed before moving to place her hand on Anatole's back again, though the boy chose to continue watching, as there were only a few more that needed to go up.

    "Scamander, Theseus."

    He watched as a boy with pale skin and a smattering of freckles made his way up the stairs, and he would realize years later that the reason he walked so strangely was because he was trying not to trip and embarrass himself in front of the entire school, taking a careful seat on the stool placing the hat on his head.

    The hat deliberated for some time—Anatole overheard that he and the hat had been arguing for seven minutes before his was finally announced—and he saw that the boy, Theseus, was looking between Gryffindor and Slytherin, which seemed to be the two options for him.

    Then finally, "Slytherin!"

    The boy seemed slightly surprised, but didn't mind too much, smiling as he handed the hat back to Professor Kisin with a quiet thank you, making his way down the stairs, only to forget himself and trip, caught by one of the older Hufflepuff boys who righted him, the two sharing a laugh before Theseus sheepishly slid into the seat across from Anatole, right at the edge.

    "Hi," Theseus whispered to the others who had all burst into cheers at the sound, though Anatole hadn't heard, everything seeming so far away.

    "Welcome," the girl from before said, giving him a bright smile, "Great to have you."

    "Thanks, it's great to be here," Theseus whispered back before turning to watch the rest of the Sorting.

    Anatole couldn't help but inwardly scoff at the boy's response. It might have been great for him to be there, but for Anatole, it couldn't have been any more terrible.

    When the sorting was complete and Headmaster Dippet finished greeting all the new students and welcoming the old ones back, everyone tucked into their food which seemed to appear right out of thin air, much to the surprise of many students, Anatole included, though he could only raise his eyebrows in interest, his lips never moving, save for when he chose to eat the small pieces that he broke for himself.

    "My name's Miranda Jones," the girl from before said, coming back from where she had introduced herself to the others who had been sorted, "I'm a seventh year. Prefect."

    "She wasn't sorted right either, Moncrieff, so you don't have to worry," one of the older boys teased, and she gave him a sharp look, her smile immediately turning into a scowl.

    "Just keep eating, why don't you, no one needs to hear you speak," she snapped, and he immediately withered, turning back to his friends and food, the former all laughing at him.

    Anatole sighed, staring down at his food, then over towards the Gryffindor table where he was desperately trying to catch sight of his brothers, but found that he couldn't. So, with a pit in his stomach and an ache in his heart, he just decided to eat.

    There was no changing the hat's mind, even if he was wrong. Or, perhaps, he wasn't wrong at all. And that was what scared Anatole the most.

º º º

    "Did dad write to you?"

    Anatole looked up from his breakfast, seated next to Miranda who had taken to making sure no one picked on him for his little scene at the start-of-term banquet, finding Jean looking down at him with the usual apologetic wary expression he always bore when talking to his younger brother.

    "Was he supposed to?" he asked, but his question was answered when the family owl swooped down unexpectedly and dropped a letter right into his porridge.

    Sighing to himself, Anatole pushed away his bowl, only to pause when Miranda handed him some biscuits and butter with a smile which he struggled to reciprocate, calling back to his usual one, opening his letter in front of his brother who was clearly waiting to hear what it had to say.

    Anatole sighed as he held the folded up paper in his hand, not wanting to read it just yet, but he held it out of Jean's reach when his older brother offered to read it for him. "I can read it myself."

    While his brother looked on at him curiously, with an expression that Anatole didn't want to read into, he opened the letter and scanned it, finding that he couldn't even feel hurt or disappointed or so much as surprised by what was there. Or, more accurately, all that wasn't there.

    Anatole,

    Stay out of trouble.

Father.

    Miranda, who had been reading over his shoulder, always so nosy, let out a scoff, taking it from him and folding it up. "Okay, well, you certainly don't need that kind of tone from your father, I'm going to just burn this for you, Anatole, you don't need this."

    "Well, actually, I think I do," he called after her, swiping the letter back, "Like my wand knows, I'm lacking in character that's why I didn't get into Gryffindor."

    "We have just as much character in our house, Anatole, and you know it," Miranda whispered, looking incredibly hurt, but if she looked hurt, it was nothing in comparison to how Anatole was feeling.

    "Just not the character I need," he sighed, turning back to stare at his letter, raising his head to look up at Jean. "What did yours say?"

    "Just the same," his brother lied, but it was clear he was lying, what with the way he was holding three sheets in his hand rather than the simple half sheet that Anatole had.

    This was the harsh truth of his life, it seemed. To think, he expected that he would be able to make his father proud of him. The one thing he was told to do while he was at school, and he didn't even make it past the first day.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

( 11. 24. 18 )

Don't hate me for that Sorting Hat song, I hate it too, but it's all I could come up with, I wanted it short and sweet and lowkey foreshadowing. I really wanted the scene to be longer too, but there just wasn't more stuff I could add, it all seemed to flow well together, I don't know, I'm sorry.

    Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!