Folie à Deux

Chapter 18: I Found A Martyr In My Bed Tonight

Chapter 18: I Found A Martyr In My Bed Tonight or, Being Miserable Is Gonna Be Fun

Rating: M mainly for language, and I can't discount any funny business later on

Disclaimer: I work with only what J.K. Rowling has given me.

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Silver.

That was the first thing Rose noticed. They weren't grey; they were far too bright to be grey.

His silver eyes stared straight ahead — not at anything or anyone, not even at the Hall, which was easily the most wonderful thing Rose had ever seen — and were completely unflinching, just as he had been as he'd resolutely walked forward in the sudden silence, as if he was unaware of every eye on the back of his pale blonde head as he took his place on the stool.

Then, as Rose continued to watch, something in his eyes seemed to flicker, as if nothing had become some kind of something, and the hat opened its brim.

"SLYTHERIN!"

It echoed in the silence, in the excruciating stillness, before slowly, finally, soft, scattered claps began to emerge from the right-most table in the hall, trickling through the lines until polite, restrained applause filled the room. Scorpius Malfoy looked at Professor McGonagall and nodded courteously at her before he turned to face the rest of the Hall, where everyone could see that the corners of his lips had turned up, and then he stepped gracefully from the stool and made his way towards the Slytherin table.

"There's a surprise," Al muttered in a low undertone from beside her.

Rose's eyes still followed him as he sat down. "At least he's brave."

The girls around her seemed to agree; they had dissolved into hushed, excited whispers, the kind of whispers girls reserved for when they had found a boy who interested them.

McGonagall called the next name and a boy with dishwasher blonde hair and delicate features made his way up to the platform, and Al inclined his head towards Rose's and whispered, "N."

"Usually no O's," she whispered back.

Something rustled against her sleeve, and she cast her eyes down to see Al's fingers bunched in his robes, the whites of his knuckles standing out against the dark fabric. His gaze was fixed on the boy being Sorted, frowning as he tried to gauge how quickly it would be done, but this boy was taking a while — a longer time than anyone else had so far — and when two full minutes had passed, the Hall began to hum with curiosity.

"C'mon," Al said under his breath, his gaze now drilling into the Hat so hard it was as if he was trying — through sheer willpower — to force its decision himself. "Choose."

And suddenly, as if the old Hat had heard his wishes, the tear along its patched brim opened, and—

"SLYTHERIN!"

The boy's face stretched into a grin as the room came to life again, and he hopped off the stool and headed for the right-most table, seating himself down next to Scorpius Malfoy and immediately extending his hand in greeting. Rose had just shifted her gaze back to the front when Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.

"Potter, Albus!"

Any noise that had been generated by the previous boy's Sorting vanished into awed, reverential silence, and then whispers began to ripple through the Hall as the crowd waited for him to surface. Al had become a statue next to her, and she squeezed his hand in reassurance, clammy as it was, and the pressure seemed to jolt some movement into him. He swallowed, and moved through the space that had opened for him, his hands stuck in his trouser pockets to hide his trembling fingers.