Redemption

Chapter Thirty-Six:

Thursday and Friday had to have been the most miserable days of the year. The rain was pouring constantly, and storms randomly crashed and banged. The magical ceiling of the Great Hall gave the effect that they were in the eye of a cyclone, the only place safe from the fierce winds and booming lightning.

At a compulsory dinner on Friday night, many of the first years were huddled together, jumping with every lightening strike. The noise was so loud that at first, Dumbledore's address went un-noticed. Until he cast a magnifying charm on his voice, that is.

"MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE?"

Almost instantly, the riotous chatter halted, all eyes turned towards the Headmaster. They'd all been called to a school dinner, but no one had known why.

"I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE! FOR THE FIRST TIME IN SEVERAL CENTURIES, HOGWARTS HAS ACCEPTED A LATE STUDENT! LET US GIVE A VERY WARM HOGWARTS WELCOME TO QUATRE RABERBA WINNER, WHO WILL ENTER IN THE SIXTH YEAR!"

He gestured towards Quatre, who had been sitting with Duo and Trowa at the staff table and was now standing.

Any applause was thoroughly drowned out by several loud crashes of thunder. A moment later, McGonagall arrived, carrying the small wooden stool that first years sat on to be sorted, and the infamous Sorting Hat.

She placed the stool at the head of the hall, where everyone had a clear view, and beckoned Quatre down, not even bothering to try calling him. He nodded and walked around the table, feeling terribly nervous for some reason, and a little uncomfortable, as he sank on to the small stool. In front of him, McGonagall smiled, though none of the students could have seen her.

As the Sorting Hat was placed on his head, Quatre took a deep breath. The crashing thunder and roaring winds were gone so abruptly that he almost jumped at their absence.

*No need to be nervous,* a voice chided him.

Belatedly, Quatre realized that it came from within his mind.

*I'll bet no matter how many times you say that, it never helps,* he answered, trying to 'think loudly'.

*You'd bet right. A quick mind you have there, but Ravenclaw is not the place for you... Nor Gryffindor, although you have a heart brave and true. No... Though you're kind by nature, and would probably be very loyal if you'd been given the chance, you aren't for Hufflepuff either. But I think you expected that. You're far too cunning for any other house, and your willingness to kill to protect your ideals is a very definitive trait. There's no doubt of where you must go, although I must admit it is a shame. You'd have made a wonderful Gryffindor...*

"SLYTHERIN!"

There was a long pause, because no one had heard the hat. So, it yelled louder.

"SLYYYYTHEEERIIIIN!" it roared.

After a few seconds of whispered confirmation, a smattering of applause came from the Slytherin table. Everyone else was still whispering - as best they could - amongst themselves.

Quatre cast a look over at Duo, who was beaming and clapping very loudly, and made his way over to the Slytherins. Draco Malfoy, who Quatre remembered from the other morning, made a space beside himself.

"FOR EVERY SORTING, WE MUST HAVE A FEAST!" Dumbledore announced, clapping his hands. "ENJOY!"

Now there was applause all over the hall.

Reluctantly, Quatre took the spot offered him and tried to smile.

"I thought you were a Muggle," Malfoy stated right away.

"So did I," Quatre answered, raising his eyebrows at the table of food that had appeared before them. "Apparently, we were both wrong."

"Who are you parents?" Malfoy asked a moment later.

"I don't see what business it is of yours. What does it matter?"

"In Slytherin, it matters a great deal."

"I suppose what you really want to know is 'are my parents magical'? My mother was a witch."

"Was?"

"What are you, the Spanish Inquisition?"

"The what?"

"Never mind."

"So, was?"

"She's dead."

"Oh, sorry."

"No, you're not."

"Are you saying I'm lying?"

"... Yes."

"What the hell was that stupid hat thinking? If you ask me, a know it all mudblood like yourself belongs in Gryffindor with Potter and his gang of goody two shoes."

"Well, no one asked you."

Scowling, Draco stabbed a portion of roasted fowl with his fork, dumping it on his plate. Noticing the odd silence around them, he looked up. "What are you all staring at?"

Pansy Parkinson giggled. "Its not often that someone gets the better of you, Draco."

"Yes, well, it isn't often that you shut your mouth, either."

"Well, I do wish you'd shut yours so the rest of us can enjoy this feast," Quatre shot at him, earning a grin from Pansy.

Draco huffed, glaring at Quatre with not a retort on his lips. Eventually, he mutilated his meat and began to eat.

"That's much better," Quatre said loudly, unable to help himself.

As the feast wore on, he traded several more barbs with Malfoy - even making Crabbe and Goyle laugh at one point, chatted with Pansy, who seemed to have decided him a worthy candidate to her father's money, and been thoroughly interrogated on: how rich he was, his mother's name, how he was to begin school in sixth year, whether he had a favorite Quidditch team, why he wasn't in all the regular classes, how he expected to learn magic when he was little more than a squib, and whether he had a girlfriend, bride or otherwise significant other waiting back home.

By the time people began to leave, he was starting to regret his decision after all. Those Slytherins sure were a damn nosy lot.

When Malfoy asked whether he was coming or not, Quatre was relieved to say that he wouldn't be joining them until Monday, and made his exit, joining Trowa and Duo on the way out. He could practically feel the glare boring into his back.

.................................................................................................................................

Draco did not know what to think. Quatre was a complete perplexity to him.

Though he had put up a solid front during the feast, Draco had listened carefully, trying to put the boy into a category or profile. So far, all he could manage was that surely Quatre belonged in Gryffindor, or even Ravenclaw. How the Muggle-born, magic-less git had ended up in Slytherin was a definite mystery.

Sure, the boy had money, lots of it, and his mother was from an old Arabian wizarding line, but there had to be more to him than galleons and old blood. He would certainly be one to watch out for.

Even so, Draco couldn't help admitting to himself that he was intrigued. He wanted to learn what it was about this boy that placed him in Slytherin, instead of other houses that he seemed more suited for. Not to mention, Quatre was quite attractive. What Draco needed was a distraction from the mundane cycle that was his life, and it seemed he'd finally found one. A good one.

Making his way back to the common room with Pansy, who was being quite cold to him, Draco cast a look at her sidelong. "What do you think of him?"

"I think he's not an ounce gay and all mine," Pansy told him haughtily.

"Oh, knock it off, Pan. I was grouchy, okay? I was only joking."

"Well, in that case, I think I don't have a chance in hell." She sniffed. "You didn't have to be so awful, you know."

"You know that isn't what I meant. I don't trust him," Draco retorted.

At this, the girl grinned at him. "Maybe not, but you like him..."

"I do not!"

"Oh yes you do."

"He's a mudblood."

"He's cute."

"He's so... happy."

"Makes a nice change."

"He - He's not a Slytherin. He can't be."

"The hat never lies, Draco, and you know it. Oh, but I do love a good secret," she whispered conspiratorially.

"Oh, stop it," Draco growled, growing frustrated once more.

"Poor Dragon is in a grumpy mood, huh? Did the sweet little blond boy offend him?"

"You sound like a fucking house elf," Draco snapped, glaring at her.

"I know you like him," Pansy whispered, before speaking the password and breezing into the common room to go chat with Millicent Bullstrode.

Thoroughly disgruntled, Draco headed straight for his dorm. He wasn't in the mood for falsities and games tonight. Thankfully, those idiots Crabbe and Goyle had stayed behind in the hall to continue stuffing their faces. The only other guy around was Theodore Nott.

"You've got an owl," Nott pointed out, gesturing to the windowsill.

That dragged Draco's mind from dinner almost instantly. He took the letter and tore it open eagerly, expecting that it was from his father.

It was.

'Will be in Hogsmeade,' the note read. 'Home for Christmas Eve. Miss you, Father.'

The note was short and vague, but it still made Draco's spirits leap. Lucius Malfoy was a) still alive, b) coming home for Christmas and, c) [Most importantly of all] he missed Draco, or at least bothered enough to say so.

"Anything interesting?" Nott asked nosily.

"Not for your ears." Draco set the parchment alight so that no one else could read it.

The owl, still waiting on the windowsill, hooted reproachfully.

"Get out of here." Draco tried to shoo it away. "I don't give tips, especially not to stupid creatures like you."

"And you wonder why your owl bites you constantly," Nott drawled, gazing at him unsettlingly.

"Oh, shut up." Draco was half grinning as he said this, trying to keep himself in his bad mood, but failing due to news of his father. Stripping off his robes and shirt before moving into the bathroom, he pulled the door closed behind him.

.................................................................................................................................

The moment they were out of earshot, Duo rounded on Quatre. "Cute, blond, slimy and nasty, but did I mention cute?"

Quatre rolled his eyes. He'd been waiting for something like that. "Oh, please. Draco is a snotty brat who depends on his family's money to survive. Throw him out into the real world, and he'd be lost."

"I think you're underestimating him," Trowa said with that annoying little smirk he employed on odd occasions. "I think he'd be sneaky enough to get by."

"Like that's a good thing."

"Hey, it works for me." Duo grinned.

"Whatever." Approaching the portrait in front of his room, Quatre spoke 'open sesame' and went inside.

Unfortunately, Duo and Trowa followed.

"Aww, come on, Q. There has to be something good about the kid," Duo pressed.

"Duo, for starters, 'the kid' is the same age as you. Apart from that, I'm not here to pick up. I have no interest in Draco. I don't intend to go looking for friends in that house. I can't afford to have people sticking their noses into my business, and with that lot, it'll be hard enough as it is." Quatre flopped onto his bed. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

Trowa sat on the end of the mattress, frowning down at him. "And maybe it's exactly what you need."

"Maybe exactly what I need is going to get me into a lot of trouble when it comes to doing my job."

"And maybe, exactly what you need is to lighten up and be the Quatre we all know and love, who is dying to learn magic, and is usually happy and fun," Duo rambled, 'oofing' as he landed on his stomach on the bed. "A couple of hours ago, you were excited about this."

"A couple of hours ago, I hadn't been interrogated to within an inch of my life and sussed out as a prospective husband," Quatre answered, staring up at the canopy. "A couple of hours ago, I wasn't being snubbed for having only a mother as a witch, or appraised because I have more money than anyone else in the house. A couple of hours ago, I was just Quatre Raberba Winner, teenager by day, G.U.N.D.A.M. operative by night. Now, I'm expected to be a full time Slytherin, and I can't. What if someone figures me out, what if-"

Abruptly, Quatre was cut off by the piece of parchment which had been shoved into his mouth. Pulling it out, he tried to rid the paper taste from his tongue. "What the hell?"

"Heero left it for you," Duo explained, shrugging innocently.

With a surreptitious glance at his friend, Quatre unrolled the small scroll.

'Stop worrying. You'll do fine. We all believe in you, so just relax, do your job, and enjoy yourself. It's a rare opportunity.'

Staring at the parchment for several seconds, Quatre's mood changed very quickly. The agitated energy he'd been harboring drained out of him. "Always knows the right thing to say, doesn't he?"

"When he says anything at all." Trowa smiled at him and clamped a hand on his shoulder. "Heero's right. You're stressing about if's and but's. Just relax."

Quatre nodded, placing the parchment on his beside table. "Well, if we're going to Diagon Alley tomorrow, I need to get some sleep."

As the other two agreed and said their goodnights, Quatre called after them. "Thanks guys."