The other day, I wondered how the world of Harry Potter would be different if all students were sorted every year, rather than only in their first. So I wrote this.
Little is changed
from Harry Potter’s first year at Hogwarts. Still he sits under that
hat, thinking, not Slytherin;
still the Hat considers his potential before sending him to
Gryffindor. Still he is joined in Gryffindor by Ron Weasley and
Hermione Granger, still the Slytherin he so feared to be in will hold
Draco Malfoy. Little is different about the placement of the older
students, for all the Sorting Ceremony is made longer, and the Hat’s
song a little changed, with their participation. Fred and George
Weasley, like their younger brother, are still in Gryffindor.
Ambitious Percy Weasley may be in Slytherin by now, maybe not yet,
but he is a Prefect regardless. Oliver Wood or someone like him will
still be Harry’s first Quidditch Captain.
Harry’s second year, he and Ron are in more trouble than ever for
missing the Sorting Ceremony. Now the Hat must be got out again to
Sort these two boys who have caused such a stir, to confirm what
surprises no one: both will remain in Gryffindor this year. (This
time, Harry is once again thinking his wishes to the Hat, but instead
of not Slytherin, he
is pleading, Gryffindor, Gryffindor
– picturing the warm Gryffindor common room that is the first home
he has ever known, the first place that has welcomed him rather than
shut him away. The hat, once again, obeys his wishes.) Both boys are
relieved to find their House much the same as they left it; Hermione
Granger is in their midst again, joined by Ron’s shy little sister
Longbottom, who had been plagued throughout his first year in
Gryffindor by doubt as to his right to be there, is with them again,
too. They missed his silent drama at the Ceremony, too, as the boy
sat under the Hat that could see into his mind and reflected on the
end of term. He had remembered standing up to the three classmates he
thought he could call his friends, only to be left behind – hexed,
as he so often was, ridiculed. More proof that he did not belong in
the brave House. But he remembered, too, Dumbledore’s voice at the
end-of-year feast – praising him for doing what was hard. He
remembered being awarded House points for this simple act, and with
the meagre sum, winning Gryffindor the House Cup. That heady feeling
of being, for just one moment, a celebrated hero – that was like
nothing else. That was worth a year and more of self-doubt. So
Neville now unpacked his bags in the Gryffindor dormitories again,
and, like Harry, he felt for the first time that he was home.
has grown complacent, all his friends staying with him from his first
year to his second. He hears the warnings of the older students on
his Quidditch team (some of whom go from one House’s team to the
next from year to year), the reminders that he will need to make new
friends soon, but he does not really believe them. He cannot imagine
his world changing even more than it has.
is why he feels as though his stomach has dropped out of his body, as
though he has fallen into some bottomless pit, when things change in
his third year. He is still in Gryffindor, yes, and still with Ron,
thank goodness for that, but Hermione Granger is no longer of their
House. Hermione, who spent the last term of her second year as a
statue, whose research was the only part of her that got to be a part
of the battle in the Chamber of Secrets, who scrambled and sweated
when she was unpetrified to pass all her courses in the remaining
days of term – despite the promises of the administration that
classes missed by the basilisk’s victims would not be held against
their grades. Hermione, who had been called an “insufferable
know-it-all” so many times that it had almost stopped hurting, who
had felt so frustrated with the cavalier attitude her fellow
Gryffindors took to classwork. She was now a Ravenclaw, the blue
insignia on her robes matching that of Ginny Weasley, who seemed to
have shrunk in on herself after the events of last term. (Ginny, like
Harry in his first year, sat under the Hat in her second year
thinking not Slytherin, not Slytherin,
but then she had paused, and thought, not Gryffindor,
too, because Riddle had possessed her despite her red-and-gold robes,
and because she did not feel brave.)
Hermione, and Luna Lovegood (here is one girl the Hat cannot imagine
placing anywhere but Ravenclaw, though it will surprise itself in
years to come) soon find each other in the Ravenclaw common room, and
form an odd, but tight, bond over the first few weeks of term.
Hermione finds that it is nice to have close friends who are girls;
she never had this in her two years in Gryffindor. She still finds
time to talk to Harry, to help him with an essay in the library or to
keep him company on restless Hogsmeade weekends or to walk with him
to Hagrid’s hut. They are still friends, and good ones; no
disparity of House can change the bond forged in fighting a mountain
troll together, and all they have been through together since.
explains this, at last, to Ron Weasley in the days before Christmas
vacation, when the dark looks he has been sending her all term
finally come to a head in a shouting match outside the Divination
tower. Ron, too quick to view matters in black and white, had seen
her Ravenclaw badge as a betrayal, a defection. Had imagined that
this was her choice, rather than the honest assessment of the Hat.
Had felt left behind, discarded, second-rate, dismissed like his
brothers’ hand-me-down robes that he wore. With Harry to remind him
not to be an ass, to remind Hermione that Ron was always like this,
they made up soon enough. Hermione laughed and called Ron an idiot,
but fondly; and he laughed back, and told her that the blue and
silver only made her look more the nerd. The trio were reunited, even
if they were in different houses.
after that fight at least, perhaps the difference of house was a
blessing in disguise. Crookshanks could not worry at Ron’s rat when
they lived in different common rooms. There was no fight between Ron
and Hermione about their pets; when Scabbers went missing, there was
no talk of foul play, only an agreement between the three friends
that they would try to find him. The
three were still present in the Shrieking Shack, two Gryffindor
children and one Ravenclaw, to bear witness to the true identity of
Scabbers, to bear witness to the reunion of the three living
Marauders. They still saved Buckbeak; they still lost Pettigrew.
aka I’m going on a much-needed vacation because I work like a crazy person and I need to get out of town for a break so I don’t completely lose my mind. :) I won’t be around much because lack of service and my sister’s insistence that I be “in the moment” and “not scrolling tumblr constantly”. Heh. Whatever.
Anyway, I have a queue set up for a few days so you probably won’t even miss me but I’ll miss you! I may not be able to answer messages or asks while I’m gone, though.
Hopefully I’ll be able to do some writing and use this as research for my Mechanic!Bucky fic which also involves a road trip that I’ve been working on! Win/win!!
I love you guys! I’ll be back in a week or so!! (Wednesday 5/3)
Summary: After receiving a very rude letter of your ex on the mail saying that he is going to get married. You see yourself not knowing what to do, you can just let it go or accept the help of your hot neighbor and pretend he is your boyfriend.
the war Bucky always liked kids and always imagined having a few of his own.
But now? Kids were usually afraid of him and the ones that weren’t afraid,
their parents wouldn’t let they get close. Bucky knew how much you liked kids
and seeing you with your nephew at dinner last night warmed his heart.
the dinner you kept doing silly faces to Julian and telling him little secrets.
This opened something in his mind that he never thought that he would have
again, the possibility of a family.
were so happy yesterday and he wanted to make you happy even that he was
terrified. After your mother left the room, you pull him into a tight hug “We
are gonna have so much fun.” You whisper in his ear, he can feel how excited
you are and somehow this makes his fears disappear.
If you're still taking prompts-- Fitzsimmons + 25) things you said in the back seat of a cab please! :-)
I’m always taking prompts, it just takes me a million years to get to them, apparently! Here you are, lovely! Set in the unspecified future when everyone’s free from these framework shenanigans.
He leans forward to give the driver their address and then collapses against the back seat. Jemma melts against him, soft and giggly in his arms. It’s not that he thinks he deserves to be rewarded for saving the world so often, but these occasions are rarer than they should be. And how can he regret anything about his life when it’s led him to this particularly perfect moment, but even still would it kill the universe to let evenings like this stretch past the hours allotted for their happiness?
He feels Jemma twisting to look up at him, a pretty frown darkening her features. “Fitzy,” she draws out in a whine that he absolutely shouldn’t find attractive, “why are you being serious now?”
“I’m not,” he tries, but the rest of his protests die on his tongue at her knowing eyeroll. It’s no use; there’s never been any use in hiding things from her, but the desire to protect her from everything bad extends to his own melancholy thoughts.
“Do you remember when I left to find Coulson with Fury’s toolbox, and you made me my favorite sandwich?” The cab driver, on the phone dealing with some minor family emergency, isn’t paying any attention to them, although Fitz is sure this conversation would make no sense to him anyway.
Jemma wrinkles her forehead in confusion. “Of course I remember. What brought that up?”
“That’s the last time I was in a cab.”
“Really?” she asks, eyes wide. “That can’t be right.”
“It is, though. Ever since then it’s been the Zephyr or some other high-tech SHIELD transport. And in…” he pauses, looking away from her briefly. “In, uh, Morocco I hired a car and driver.”
Jemma inhales sharply and her fingers grip his arm so tightly it stings. He’s desperate to draw the hurt from her before it spreads like a poison, so he places a kiss to her forehead and smiles bracingly. “That ended up being quite expensive. Had to buy the guy a new car. Left him a 5-star review on TripAdvisor, though, so maybe he’s forgiven me by now.”
His joke falls between them with a dull ache. “That’s not funny, Fitz,” she says, voice trembling.
“I know,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I just…that’s not the point.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to form coherent thoughts with alcohol muddling his system. “I was thinking about the last cab ride because…I was really scared. Not sure if I could find Coulson. I was scared of what they’d do to me if they found me, and I was so terrified to leave you behind. But when I saw you’d made me that sandwich I felt…genuinely happy. It was the first time I really believed you and I would be okay. You know, that we were friends again.”
Jemma blinks slowly up at him before grasping his hand between hers, drawing it up to rest against her heart. “We were always more than that,” she says quietly, her words weighted with a truth so long unspoken. Even now, when they’ve entwined their lives as deeply as possible, it feels like a secret too precious to share with the world.
He swallows thickly, suddenly overwhelmed with how much he loves her and how he’s still sometimes convinced it’s all a miraculous dream.
“The point is,” he says, clearing his throat and leaning his head back against the car door, “that cab rides are better with you.”
She laughs, and he does too, because he’s done a terrible job at expressing the feelings rending his heart. “Everything is better with you,” he clarifies.
Jemma slides her fingers across his brow, tracing his nose, the curve of his jaw, trailing along his lips like the softest kiss.
“We need a vacation,” she says suddenly and he stills, drawn to her honey-eyes and the tenderness she can’t contain. She nods decisively when he doesn’t reply. “That’s what this is about. We had a lovely evening off and now you’re moping because it’s about to end—”
“I’m not moping,” he grumbles, but she presses a quick kiss to his lips and effectively shuts him up.
“You’re moping because it’s about to end,” she repeats. “Come on, Fitz, we deserve this. And we never made it to the Seychelles.”
He can see them so clearly—lounging in bathing suits, drinking cocktails and getting sunburnt despite their best efforts and his lungs ache with the want of it.
“We’d never get the time off approved,” he says sadly, and Jemma smirks at him.
“Maybe you can’t get time off approved, but I’ve already got two weeks secured.”
“What?” he gasps, genuinely shocked. “Since when?”
She shrugs. “I talked it over with Coulson a few weeks ago. I was waiting for the right time to surprise you, which is apparently…now. In the back seat of this cab.”
They both look around at the decidedly unromantic interior of their cab and simultaneously fall into laughter.
“When should we go?” Jemma asks, when she’s gotten herself back under control.
“Now,” he replies, grinning at her eagerly, suddenly looking years younger. She raises an eyebrow and he knows it’s pointless; Jemma Simmons, who creates binders of research for any small decision, will not allow their first romantic getaway to happen with zero planning.
“Next week?” she offers as a compromise and he has to stare at her for a moment before he realizes she’s being completely sincere.
“Yeah,” he says, stunned and breathless. “Next week. Me and you. The Seychelles.”
She draws him towards her, smiling into a kiss. “I’m gonna do something with you on that island that will take your breath away,” she whispers, causing his entire body to go numb.
“Yeah, snorkeling, I know,” he says archly. “Someone told me there are over a thousand species of fish in the Seychelles.”
“I’m not talking about snorkeling,” she replies, voice lower and throatier than it has any right to be, and he audibly gulps.
“Can we perhaps finish this conversation at home?” he pleads, throwing a glance towards the front of the cab where the driver, thankfully, appears still engrossed in his own conversation.
Jemma giggles delightedly. “Whatever you want,” she says softly, like a promise. With her warm weight pressed against him, he can’t imagine any universe in which he might be happier. When he’s sure Jemma has half-dozed off, he sticks the hand not wrapped around her deep into his pocket, fingers grazing over the small black box. He grins to himself. He might need to create his own binder of Seychelles research after all.