La Blue Wizarda HP fanfic by canoncansodoff

A/N: A pervy Sorting Hat has already been done by jbern in”The Lie I’ve Lived,” but it’s just too perfect not to use here. 

Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

oo00OO00oo 

Chapter 8 – An Incendiary Sorting 

The cry of, “Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!” brought a smile to Harry Potter’s lips. 

“C’mon, Bra,” he said, grabbing Hermione’s hand. “Got another friend to introduce you to.” 

The bushy-haired witch didn’t know what to focus more of her thoughts on…the fact that Harry had taken her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, or the wild-haired behemoth that was calling for the firsties to gather around. 

“Hey, Harry!” the giant bellowed from a fair distance. “How’s your mum’s knockers?” 

“I should think you’d know better than I would, Hagrid,” the young wizard called back with a smile. “Still sharing a bed with Fang?” 

“Nah, e’s got to slobberin’ too much on me pillow,” Hagrid replied with a laugh.

Harry introduced Hermione to the Hogwarts groundskeeper once they made their way towards him, and tried to ignore just how much orgasmic energy the half-giant was radiating off of his body. In lieu of an energy-transferring handshake, the young wizard gave Hagrid a carefully-placed one-armed hug around his coat-covered torso, and guided the Gameskeeper’s handshake towards Hermione’s.

After promising to swing by Hagrid’s hut for some tea within the next few days, the quartet boarded one of the small boats that was primed to traverse the lake. Given Harry’s size the bench he shared with Hermione was very cramped, and forced them to sit hip-to-hip. Not that she objected, mind you…especially when Harry declared he needed some “elbow room,” and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. The physical contact was completely innocent, so far as she (and anyone else who saw it) could tell…but that didn’t mean that she didn’t appreciate it (especially when the flotilla pushed off and a cool breeze crossed the lake). 

Hermione gasped with awe when they cleared a small point and got their first view of the brightly-lit castle. But she still had a few questions, so she ignored the castle and inquired about Mrs. Potter’s mine-dwelling faeries and Hagrid’s pony-sized pet. Once she got these answers she sat quietly, and reflected on what she had learned over the past several hours. 

Hermione Granger was a very bright girl, and had, in the short time she become aware of the wizarding world, read all of her school books from cover-to-cover (and given the thickness of Hogwarts, A History, that was saying something). But her three companions had all grown up within wizarding households…households that had bookshelves filled with those very same books. So not only had they read histories of the wizarding world…they had also lived within it long enough to put those written words into a perspective that was often more adult than adolescent. They even knew things about Hogwarts that were written down! (Although, to be honest, Hermione was a bit slow to recognize the benefits of knowing that there were more than a hundred different broom closets within the castle.)

The Muggleborn was initially put-off by the fact that she wasn’t the expert on everything that mattered…during her somewhat lonely primary school career, being the teacher’s favorite student and the brightest in her class had served as the foundation for her self-esteem. Now, she was clearly behind the curve, and couldn’t even hold court as the “Tree of Muggle Knowledge”…Harry had been raised with one foot planted in each world, and Neville and Susan had visited Aber enough times to know how to spell “electricity” without a “k”, or how to work a microwave (which they all charmingly called a “poppity-ping”). 

And then there were the other paradigm-supporting pillars that had crumbled around her that day…Hermione’s firm convictions that: a) authority figures always ruled in the public’s interest; b) if it was written in a book, then it had to be true; c) if it wasn’t written in a book, then it must not be important; and, d) her place was obviously within the wizarding world.

The Ministry’s discriminatory laws against lycanthropes and a retelling of parental opinions about the disposition of The-Girl-Who-Lived’s estate hit the first. A brief discussion about The-Girl-Who-Lived and some of the glaring inconsistencies in the differing accounts of what happened that night struck the second, while Neville and Susan’s betrothal and the system of arranged marriages further undermined the third. And finally, Harry’s off-handed comment that his grandparents (had they been alive) would have probably forbid his parents’ marriage because his mother was a Muggleborn killed off the fourth. 

The impact of this paradigm-shifting data dump was profound. Things might have been different an alternative universe…a world in which (just as an example) Harry had been muggle-raised, and they were friends with an incurious pureblood. In that world, she really really might have known more than her friends about the wizarding world, despite how little she truly understood. She might have pushed on as she had in Primary School, convinced that her success in the wizarding world was self-determinative, or that her self-worth was dependent on her recognition as the “brightest witch in her generation.” 

But in this world…with knowledge of the prejudice that she would face, and these new-found friends…a far different path was embarked upon. This Hermione Granger would listen more than talk, and be seen a bit more than she was heard (at least while she was within the wizarding world). This Muggleborn witch would question authority, and question the motivations of others. Trust would become a far more important commodity than knowledge…at least until she was convinced she knew how the game was played. And for now, that trust was to be placed with the three who were within her boat. 

When Hermione leaned against Harry’s side, and rested her head lightly against his shoulder, he thought it was because she was a bit cold. But in truth she wanted that contact…she needed that contact…it was calming…and an anchor. And if she were to make a go of it in this world, then she would do whatever was necessary to stay close to the handsome young man who had for some reason befriended her, and already defended her honor.

oo00OO00oo 

When Hagrid’s giant-sized fist knocked three times against a heavy oak door, it was opened immediately by a tall black-haired witch wearing emerald robes. She introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, and led the group into a small room that was adjacent to the Great Hall. As Harry followed along he couldn’t help but notice what his father had accurately predicted that he’d encounter…a good deal of energy trailing behind the old witch. Except that this energy seemed a little off…wilder, and more feral than “normal” orgasmic energy.

Harry’s assessment was cut short when McGonagall officially welcomed the new students. She talked briefly about the school’s House System, and informed the group of that evening’s sequence of events.

Draco Malfoy pushed forward and interrupted the Transfiguration Professor with complaints about Harry Potter’s “barbarously uncivil attack” aboard the train. Minerva pursed her lips, and primly replied that she had been made aware of the incident, and that the matter would be taken up by the Heads of whatever houses the two of them were sorted into. This pleased the blonde-haired ponce to no end, as he was quite certain that he’d end up under the purview of his godfather. Professor McGonagall caught Harry Potter’s eye during the balance of her presentation, and before leaving the room gave him a slight frown that impossible to decipher.

As soon as she exited, the Hogwarts ghosts showed up to offer their own kind of welcome. They were mostly ignored, however, as the majority of young wizards and witches broke into small groups to discuss the sorting process. Hogwarts’s sorting process was supposed to kept secret for its new students. This, of course, meant that every new student already knew about the hat, save a few Muggleborns, and those gullible enough to believe their older siblings regarding the necessity of wrestling trolls.

The group that huddled around Harry had grown, and now included Susan’s friend Hannah Abbott, as well as the other two First Years students from Wales (Megan Jones and Wayne Hopkins). The pooled information that they shared was particularly accurate and relevant. The sorting was done by a sentient Hat that used to sit on Godric Gryffindor’s head. This hat was charged with the duty of distributing each class into sub-equal house sizes, each with subequal numbers of wizards and witches. While the hat was supposed to base its decisions on the characteristics of each student, it was open to suggestions if a person had a preference. That said, the hat didn’t like to be bullied into its decisions, and wasn’t averse to shaking things up with a counter intuitive choice. 

But the most vital bit of trivia discussed was the fact that the sorting was done in alphabetical order, and that Hannah’s sorting would set the stage, as she would be first under the felt. She wanted to be in the same house as Susan, but it would be Susan who’d have to make that request after her friend’s sorting, and she’d have to consider what house her betrothed would go to. Neville, in turn, had to balance a similar desire against his grandmother’s expectations that he’d be a Gryffindor (if there was a conflict), or that Harry would most likely go to that house…and he thought it more important that Sue have a female friend in her dorm than him in the same house if she couldn’t have both, and… 

Needless to say, the scheming wasn’t anywhere close to being resolved when McGonagall returned and ordered the First Years into lines that walked silently into the great hall.

While most of the new students cast their eyes up to the enchanted ceiling, Harry’s were busy scanning the tables of already sorted students. It was difficult for him to get a sense of just how much orgasmic energy was available within each house…there was a fair bit of distance between the four tables, and any of the “signals” that he might have been able to pick up were swamped by the interference that was coming from the much closer Head Table. 

“So Sirius was right,” Harry thought to himself. “The Professors really are a bunch of wankers!” 

The black-haired wizard’s attention turned to the Sorting Hat and its song…his mum had cautioned that the lyrics were never the same, and that specific verses might hold clues to that year’s sorting criteria. But there wasn’t anything particularly striking within the stanzas…it was the “standard” set of qualities described for each house. Harry still thought that a case could be made for his placement within any of the four…it would all be a matter of who went where before it was his turn to sit on the three-legged stool. 

Hannah Abbott was indeed called first, and after a few moments of silence the hat (which was wide enough to completely envelop her head) placed her in Hufflepuff House. The blonde-haired witch gave Susan a pleading look before walking out to join her fellow badgers. 

“Bones, Susan,” was next. When she placed the hat on her head, it opened its mouth and asked, “More pig-tails? Is this the new style, then?” There was some laughter that the hat relished before it got down to work. Fifteen seconds later, it spoke out. 

“Have faith in your betrothed, and have fun in HUFFLEPUFF!” 

Susan gave Neville one of “those” looks (that was frankly far too mature on an adolescent’s face) before taking a seat next to her deliriously happy friend. 

A boy named Terry Boot was sorted into Ravenclaw, and he was followed by a blonde-haired witch named “Brown, Lavender.” There was a jolt of something that hit Harry when she pushed through from the back of the lines. It wasn’t food-grade energy…more like a small snack. The demi-demon snorted in recognition…while Miss Brown hadn’t experienced a recent orgasm, it wasn’t for lack of effort.

This observation led Harry to add a mental tally mark into the Gryffindor column when Lavender was sorted into that house. 

Harry watched Hermione cautiously walk up to the stool when her name was announced. The sense of excitement and eagerness that he’d seen within her eyes earlier that day was gone, and he felt a little guilty for being the one to have burst her bubble. She did ask an awful lot of questions… but there was something about the Muggleborn girl…something that made him want to get to know her as a friend. And to be a friend…to the point where her sorting had become just as important to his set of calculations as Susan’s or Neville’s. 

The Hat sat quietly on Hermione’s head for twenty seconds before pronouncing judgment. 

“GRYFFINDOR!” 

The bushy-haired witch wore an unreadable expression as she slipped the hat back onto the stool. She glanced out at Susan and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table, then back towards Harry. He tried to make her feel better with a smile, a nod of the head, and the mouthed assurances that, “It’ll be fine.” 

There was a buzz of excitement within the Hall when the name of The-Girl-Who-Lived was called right after Hermione’s. Some had wondered whether she would have taken the name of her adoptive family, but it was ‘Greengrass, Daphne’ who stepped forward.

The lanky black-haired girl slowly pulled the hat from the stool’s seat. She sat down, and before she was even able to drop the hat onto her head it bellowed out “GRYFFINDOR!”

Daphne frowned, and her eyes darted first towards the Hufflepuff table, then towards the Head Table. The Head Master gave her a grandfatherly smile, and nodded his head. When the young witch didn’t immediately move from the stool, Dumbledore gestured with his hand, as if giving her a slight push. She finally nodded, and made her way towards a table that was filled with beaming faces, and two red-haired twins who were dancing a jig and singing, “We got Greengrass! We got Greengrass!” 

Harry’s countrymen were sorted in the following few minutes, with both Wayne and Megan going into Hufflepuff. He had mixed feelings about this result…while it’d be nice to have someone in his house year that spoke Welsh, the two treated him more like Owain Glyndwr than “Just Harry”. 

Neville Longbottom flinched a bit when his name was called. Harry, who had been standing by his side, placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and whispered into his ear. 

“Just remember this boyo…my dad loves Sirius and Remus like brothers, but it’s my mum that shares his bed.” 

Neville snorted, smiled, and nodded his head slightly as he made his way towards the stool. Harry wasn’t at all surprised when his mate was quickly sorted into Hufflepuff House. 

When McGonagall called out “Malfoy, Draco,” the blonde-haired wizard grinned and strode confidently up to the three-legged stool. He snatched the hat from its perch, and held it well above his head as he sat down. Draco stole a glace towards his godfather, who was sitting at the Head Table, then set his eyes firmly towards the Slytherin table and slowly lowered the hat towards his head. He stopped when the hat was still six inches above his brow, and waited. 

For ten full seconds Draco held the Sorting Hat just above his head…ten seconds of uncomfortable silence, during which time the boy’s confident smile turned upside-down. Then, the Sorting Hat’s “mouth” opened, and it called out, “Get on with it little boy…it’s not like I’m not going to mess up your fancy coiffure…too much.” 

The young Malfoy scowled as laughter erupted throughout the Hall, and he slammed the hat down onto his head. The intense “discussion” that then took place kept the blonde-haired wizard from hearing Ted Nott cry out with delight, and brag to Blaise Zabini that he’d just won a ten galleon bet that he’d made with Draco. But the laughter and cries quickly died down once the Sorting hat began to verbalize its side of a very plain-spoken conversation. 

“It matters not who your father or godfather is…no, it’s your qualities that matter, not his…do you really think…did you even listen to my song?....no of course not, you hardly think at all, which makes Ravenclaw right out…I care little that you care so little about the Claws…well you are right there, you’d be a disaster in Hufflepuff…just?… loyal?…patient?…hard-working?…hah!...What?...why you little prick!...Just proves my point, doesn’t it? You are about as cunning as an oversized bludger, and just as dense…arrogant….act before thinking…daring, you got that in spades, not to mention nerves…what about chivalry, you ask? Hmm…guess you were listening after all…yes, yes…I agree completely, there isn’t a chivalrous bone in your body, but you’ve got to go somewhere, and two out of three ain’t bad, so better be….Oh! Why you little shite!….That does it…you’re just lucky I don’t have arms…put me down on the floor and I’ll bite your kneecaps off!” 

“Erm…Mr. Hat…a decision?” asked a surprisingly nervous Headmaster. 

The Sorting Hat’s mouth folded into an evil grin. It held that grin for a moment, then bellowed out, “GRYFFINDOR!” 

And the crowd went wild. 

Amidst all of the uproar and chatter, Malfoy threw the Sorting Hat down onto the floor with disgust and pulled his wand. It was only the quick thinking of the Hogwarts headmaster that allowed the rest of the First Years (and all future First Years) to be sorted, as he quickly cast a strong flame freezing charm that protected the Hat from Draco’s incendiary hex. This protective spell was immediately followed by two strong stunners cast by Professor’s Flitwick and McGonagall which struck the young wizard square in the chest.

The Headmaster’s firm hand placed on Snape’s shoulder kept the Potions Professor from either retaliating against his colleagues, or from finishing the job that his godson had started. There was a quick huddle at the head table, after which two prefects were called forward to drag the petrified body of Draco Malfoy back into the room that he’d came from with the First Years. 

One of these prefects was the Seventh-Year Slytherin whom Harry had met on the train. As this older Welsh student helped drag the petrified body past Harry, he winked and whispered, “Twll din pob Sais!” (literally, “Every arsehole, an Englishman!). The black-haired wizard snorted, and smiled as Draco Malfoy made his last appearance within the Great Hall for a good long time (three years, to be precise, but that’s getting ahead of ourselves).

oo00OO00oo 

Once the Girl-Who-Lived had been sorted and the smoke cleared from Draco’s attack, the remainder of the sorting process was anticlimactic. Owen…Moon…a pair of cute twins that got split between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor…and then a girl named Parkinson who definitely had cooked up some pudding …quite unusual for an eleven-year-old. But she got sorted Slytherin, where none of his friends had gone…and then it was his turn. 

“Potter, Harry.” 

The black-haired wizard sat strong and tall on the stool, as he looked out towards the Hall. There was a low murmuring of questions about his size and age…questions mostly asked with breathless feminine voices. He smiled and nodded towards the friends that had gone before him…Susan was sandwiched in between Hannah and Neville at the Hufflepuff table, while Hermione turning a bit blue in the face as she held her breath over at Gryffindor.

Harry pressed his fingers into the top of the hat, giving it more of a fedora's crease than a pointy tip. He then set the Sorting Hat on his head at a rakish angle, and pinched the front of the brim between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Here’s looking at you, kid,” he drawled, as he winked at Hermione. 

This Bogart imitation (and that’s with one “g”, not two, thank you very much) was good enough to make Hermione laugh. This, in turn, made her take in a fresh supply of oxygen, which was, as Martha Stewart might say, “A good thing.” The stunt also proved an effective way of sifting out laughing Muggleborns within the crowd (as well as at the Head Table…a female professor that Harry later learned taught Arithmancy almost fell off her chair, she was laughing so hard). 

“Are you quite done?” the Sorting Hat asked out loud. 

“Erm…sorry,” apologized Harry. 

“Then drop your shields, boyo, and let me have a bloody look inside your head!”

Harry was rather worried that his Occlumency training had just been revealed, before he realized that this request had been made mentally, rather than verbally.

And more importantly, it had been made in Welsh, rather than English. 

The balance of Harry’s chat with the Hat continued in his native tongue. 

“You speak Cymraeg?” 

“Of course I do, Bach…do you think Godric would wear a hat fashioned by some scruty poofter from London?” 

“Scruty poofter?” Harry asked. “And I suppose that Godric used the same slang that I do?” 

“No, you idiot, you’re to believe that by looking into new minds each year that I can keep up with changes in languages and dialects…if I couldn’t then I’d be singing and sorting in Old Welsh, rather than the Queen’s English!” 

“Oh, well, that makes sense, I guess.” 

“Glad you approve, you cheeky whelp.” 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you…” 

“Oh stop right there with the arse kissing…it won’t help you any.” 

“Not like you have an arse in the first place.” 

“Which is too bad, because if I did I’d be pinching off logs on top of your noggin’ right about now.” 

“Heh, heh…very funny.” 

“Thank you very much, enjoy the rest of the show, and don’t forget to tip your waitress.” 

Harry couldn’t help but vocalize his chuckling, which raised a few eyebrows within the room. 

“Shall we push on then?” Harry asked. “I’d wager that Draco’s performance already has them behind schedule.” 

“That’s too damn bad, then,” the Hat replied. “Right…what have you got to show…oh, my now that’s not something you see every year.” 

“What?” 

“What do you think?” the Hat snapped back. “Merlin you’ve seen a lot and know a lot about sex at your young age, don’t you?” 

Harry gave a mental shrug. “You are better positioned to make that comparison than I am, I guess.” 

“True enough, although why I didn’t see the demon within your father…oh, so it was blocked, eh?” 

“So he says.” 

“Merlin…might have to try and convince the Old Man to let me sit on your head again in a few years…you’ve got a shagadelic future.” 

“That you want to perv on?” 

“What else do I have to look forward to?” the Hat demanded sarcastically. “Oh, yes, I can hardy wait to start collecting dust again while I compose the new Song for next year…I’m so lucky.” 

“Well, if there’s any hope for that, then you’ll need to sort me in the right house, eh?” 

“Meh…wouldn’t matter…this castle is full of wankers.” 

“So would you rather rifle through future memories of circle jerks in the boys dorms, or hot sex with a half-dozen witches?” 

“Good point,” the Hat tersely replied. “You do know that Godric issued standard orders to put all of his future heirs into his house, right?” 

“Yes, which is fine by me, because that’s where I want to go.” 

“Really?” the Hat asked. “But the way you carry your secret…the cunning involved…you could do great things in Slytherin!” 

“It’s more like who I’d do there,” Harry quipped. “That Parkinson girl would work, and the Davis girl has lots of potential, but…Bulstrode?” 

“Eh, I worked with what I was given…what about Hufflepuff, then…I gave them some good breeding stock this year?” 

“Hey, that’s my friend you’re talking about,” Harry whined. 

“Which one? I could see the Longbottom boy bending over and grabbing ankles for you.” 

“Oh, stop,” Harry protested. “Just put me in Gryffindor please. It’ll make Godric happy, and dad happy, and…” 

“And make you happy once you start shagging?” the Hat asked. “Don’t really see it…unless you just want to boff The-Girl-Who-Lived. Although…that Brown girl…do you know that after meeting you on the train she rushed to the loo and tried to rub one off?” 

“Erm, no, actually,” Harry replied. “Thought you were supposed to keep what you see in a student’s head secret?” 

“I didn’t have to read her mind to figure that out, Potter…I could smell her lust for you on her!” 

“So you’ve got a nose, but not an arse?” 

“Never you mind, boyo,” said the Hat. “So, if I put you in Gryffindor, will you promise to give me a look every now and then?” 

Harry shook his head and sighed. “Yeah, I promise, you pervy bit of felt.” 

The hat smiled, and said out loud (and in English), “Then I better see some truly magnificent things from you in the future, Mr. Potter….in GRYFFINDOR!” 

There was a round of applause in response to this decision, although it was probably due to the fact that everyone was tired of waiting for the meal to begin. Harry slipped the hat off of his head, set it down upon the stool, and walked towards the Gryffindor table with a wide smile on his face.

The square footage of pearly whites exposed by this smile was exceeded only by what Hermione Granger put on display as he sat down next to her. 

“Oh, Harry, thank you!” she gushed. “I was so afraid that after Neville…and Sue…almost wet myself I was so nervous…” 

“Hey, no worries, Miss Granger,” Harry replied brightly, as he reached down and steadied her knee (which was bouncing up and down underneath the table). “We’ll see those two around the castle, and there will be lots of chances to make good friends in this house.” 

“You think so?” Hermione whispered. 

“Of course,” Harry replied, as he looked down the length of the table and grinned. Hermione would be sharing a room with one of the cute South Asian twins, as well as The-Girl-Who-Lived…and The-Girl-Who-Rubbed…and further down the table there were some fine looking older witches… 

But then the red-haired boy who had been convinced about wrestling trolls got sorted Gryffindor, and sat roughly on Harry’s other side. And when Harry turned to offer feint congratulations, he looked past Ron Weasley towards the Head Table and caught sight of a black-haired, hooked-nose bastard who was dressed in obscenely expensive robes. 

Snape. Severus Bloody Snivellous Snape. 

And in the center of that table, “The Old Man” with his too long white beard, and too long fingers reaching into everybody else’s cauldrons. 

So Harry’s spirits dipped a bit, and he began to worry about what was in store for him at Hogwarts.

But then he thought about Draco Malfoy’s departure…and food arrived on his plate…and Hermione gave his thigh an innocent touch when she asked to have the butter passed…. 

And the memory of his father’s cheeky reminder...that his heritage would allow Harry to “literally deal with more than one arsehole at a time”...allowed him to enjoy the rest of the evening.