The Black Sheep

Silence.

And then two very different, very loud roars erupted in the Great Hall.

One came from the Slytherin table. The outrage poured from them in waves as they stood up and began screaming and shouting towards the teachers, and the Sorting Hat.

The other was from the Gryffindor table; the loudest of all. Draco? Draco Malfoy? In Gryffindor? It was an outrage! It was a scandal! Their screams of protest were louder than the Slytherin’s by far, as some even jumped onto the seats to shout.

And no-one noticed poor Draco Malfoy, who sat frozen on the seat, the Sorting Hat sitting on his head, silent.

He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t do anything. And so he just sat there, doing nothing, as the rage in the Great Hall built up to an unendurable level. Finally, Albus Dumbledore, the Head-Master of Hogwarts, stood up with his arms spread wide.

“Silence,” he said, and immediately the noise stopped. “Mr. Malfoy, you will kindly move to your new table.”

Everything was still…

And then Draco Malfoy, almost shaking, his face whiter than usual, stood up and walked slowly to his new house table, not daring to meet anyone’s eyes – particularly not the hundred Slytherin eyes he could feel burning his back.

The Gryffindors glared as one as Draco finally reached their table and sat down.

And once more, as if he had the plague and was extremely contagious, they shifted away from him, sliding along the table so he was alone in his own little bubble. Draco didn’t even notice, however, for his mind was elsewhere.

When he finally looked up, after the food came up through the tables and noise finally returned to the Great Hall (even though it was much quieter than usual), he caught the eye of Hermione Granger.

But she wasn’t glaring at Draco, like the other Gryffindor faces around him – the faces of his now fellow house members. She was simply looking, as if there was something oddly curious about Draco Malfoy.

And for once, he didn’t glare back. He looked at her for what seemed like a long moment, before he dropped his gaze and continued staring off into space like someone had slapped him.

Hermione turned back to Ron and Harry, both of whom were muttering furiously.

“He looks so sad,” she whispered.

“Who does?” they hissed in unison, and Hermione inclined her head towards Draco, who looked utterly crestfallen, sitting alone at the end of the Gryffindor table.

“Well, he deserves it, that spineless git.”

“What?” Hermione asked, alarmed at the murderous expression on Harry’s face.

“Malfoy. Thinking he can just join our house. Who does he think he is? He’s a Slytherin, Hermione. Look at him. Making our house table dirty just by sitting there. I wish he would just get the fu –”

But Harry didn’t have time to finish his sentence however, because Hermione had interrupted him. With her hand. On his face.

His cheek stung, and he looked up at her.

“Don’t you ever talk about him like that! He may be Draco Malfoy, but he’s a Gryffindor now. He’s part of our family. And honestly, all this Gryffindor Slytherin enmity has got to stop. The Sorting Hat splits us up over what our mind says we are, not who we are as people. Now give it a rest,” Hermione finished her sentence in a huff, glaring at her two best friends.

And they remained silent for the rest of that evening, glaring at Hermione, who glared back. They most certainly weren’t talking to her right now. As far as they were concerned, she was mental. Draco Malfoy? Part of their family? It was the most absurd thing Harry and Ron had ever heard.

They eat dessert in silence until Professor Dumbledore announced that dinner was over. Draco Malfoy, who hadn’t spoken a word since being sorted into Gryffindor, rose before anyone else and walked out of the hall, avoiding everyone he passed.

The once familiar halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry now seemed cold and frightening. It was then that Draco realised he had no idea where the Gryffindor common room was – his new common room. His stomach twisted with longing as he stared down the stairs that led to his old common room, where numerous Slytherins were now walking towards. They shot him looks he didn’t see as they walked down the cool highway.

Draco spun around and caught sight of a red and gold scarf, and decided to follow it up stairs and corridors he hadn’t ever needed to use before. Finally, after he was beginning to wonder when the stairs would end, the scarf stopped in front of a painting of an obese woman in a pink dress.

“Password?” she asked, staring down at the third year in the red and gold scarf, who had only just become aware of Draco Malfoy, standing silently behind him, waiting for the password.

The third year looked to Draco like he didn’t want Draco to over-hear him, and grant access to the common-room, and that was precisely correct, as the third year leaned forward and whispered to the Fat Lady. Draco only barely heard him.

“Comsmmlop,” the Gryffindor whispered – or at least, that’s what it sounded like to Draco. The portrait swung forward to reveal a hole in it, and the third year rushed through before Draco could follow.

“Password?” the portrait asked again.

“…Comslop?” Draco asked. She shook her head, amused. “Codswap?” Nothing. “Cods… codswolpe? Codswallop?”

And then the portrait swung forward, and for a moment Draco felt slightly accomplished. And then he remembered what he was about to walk into. Through the hole in the wall, he was greeted by a round chamber with squishy red arm chairs, and a fire on one side. A few students were already in there, and when they saw who entered, they glared. Draco slouched over to the fire, and sat in a particularly squishy arm chair.

And then it all washed over him.

He was a disgrace to the name of Malfoy! What would his father say? Oh god, his father. What would he do when he found out that his only son had disgraced the family name? He was a disappointment to pure-bloods everywhere. And – and this was possibly the worst of them all – he was now in Saint Potter’s house. His lip started to curl when –

“Malfoy, you’re in my seat,” said a voice from above him, and he looked up to see precious Potter himself standing over him.

Draco nodded, and, looking awfully pathetic, got up from famous Harry Potter’s chair. Harry watched him go, as he crossed the common room, being shoved by fellow Gryffindors, and up the stairs to the dormitory they would now be sharing.

“Don’t know what he’s playing at,” he mumbled furiously.

“I couldn’t agree more. Waltzing in here like he’s King of the World. Bloody Slytherin. He doesn’t belong here, I tell you,” Ron added.

Hermione, sick to death of the ‘we hate Draco’ talk, hoisted herself up from the chair she had only just settled in, and walked up the stairs to her dorm.

And in the quiet, black dormitory across the stairs, sitting alone, Draco Malfoy collapsed.