Beer and Skittles (liadlaith) wrote in illeatmyself,
Beer and Skittles
liadlaith
illeatmyself

Hello. I thought you might be interested in this fic, which is about the Marauders getting sorted. There's been a lot of contention about which Houses they were put in - especially about Peter - so I thought I'd argue why they all belonged in Gryffindor.

Any comments and criticism would be loved and adored.


“So, which House do you think you’ll end up in?”
    “Slytherin. I come from a long, very pure, line of Slytherins.” A touch of bitterness.
    “Ravenclaw. I like books.” A smile and a shrug.
    “Er, Hufflepuff, I think.” Surprised to have been asked.
    “Don’t know. Gryffindor, probably.” With easy confidence.

The hat goes down on your head, and all of a sudden you’re not in the Great Hall anymore, not with a thousand eyes on you, not waiting with bated breath to find out which House you’ll be sorted into; but are actually being Sorted. A small voice speaks in your ear.
     “A Black! Ah, I’ve put many of your kin in Slytherin. Are you cut from the same cloth? Let’s see – cunning, yes, you’ve cunning; talented and proud, I see. You’re going to make your mark, Black, but are you prepared to do it at any cost?”
    And you think about your family, and their ambition, and what they’re willing to sacrifice (never something of their own, but anything that belongs to someone else), and you know suddenly that you’re not. You can’t. There are some prices you won’t pay, some things (besides blood and money) worth fighting for. “No.”
    “Your family won’t be pleased.”
    You realise that this price you’re prepared to pay.
    “Brave. Stupid, but brave. What else could it be but – GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat goes down on your head, and all of a sudden you’re not in the Great Hall anymore, not with a thousand eyes on you, not waiting with bated breath to find out which House you’ll be sorted into; but are actually being Sorted. A small voice speaks in your ear.
    “Werewolf, eh? Never had one of you before. But I suppose the headmaster knows best. Well, you’ve certainly intelligence enough – sharp little mind, great love of learning. Dedicated and reserved. Will you spend all your time buried in the pages of your books?”
    And you imagine it: day upon day spent paying homage to knowledge, to the great gift you’ve been given, in being allowed to come here. Keeping yourself sequestered away so that no one will know your secret, and you won’t ever have this taken away from you. And you know you should be grateful to just be here, but suddenly you want more: you want friendship and love and hell, even a little bit of fun. “I want more.”
    “More, eh? You’ve some nerve to ask for that.”
    But you want it. And why should you be denied?
    “You’ll need friends of equal mettle, then – GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat goes down on your head, and all of a sudden you’re not in the Great Hall anymore, not with a thousand eyes on you, not waiting with bated breath to find out which House you’ll be sorted into; but are actually being Sorted. A small voice speaks in your ear.
    “Well then, aren’t you an interesting character? Quiet, aren’t you? Willing to follow, not exactly a leader. Sounds like Hufflepuff, to me. But what have we here? Oh you’re sly, aren’t you? And you don’t want obscurity – you want to be a right-hand man. There’s space for you in either Slytherin or Gryffindor – what do you choose?”
    And you picture the Slytherins – cold and haughty, obsessed with blood and prowess. Your blood’s as pure, but – the Gryffindors will have more fun. They’ve got Black, and probably Potter too. You know who the winners will be, you know where you want to be.
    “Gryffindor.”
    “Interesting. But will you always choose this, I wonder?”
    “Gryffindor.”
    “Alright, alright – GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat goes down on your head, and all of a sudden you’re not in the Great Hall anymore, not with a thousand eyes on you, not waiting with bated breath to find out which House you’ll be sorted into; but are actually being Sorted. A small voice speaks in your ear.
     “Another pureblood scion! My, this is a good year. And where shall we put you, eh? You’ve loyalty enough for Hufflepuff, ambition for Slytherin and wit for Ravenclaw. Your heart wouldn’t be out of place in Gryffindor. I suppose the question is – what will you do with all these talents?”
    And you picture yourself in each other these houses in succession: toiling quietly in Hufflpuff, taking joy in a job well done. Working hard in Slytherin, being proud of all your achievements. Dedicating yourself in Ravenclaw, growing smarter and more intelligent than you ever dreamed. And finally you see yourself in Gryffindor: living, with friends and family, working together, making the most of everything. And you know.
    “Gryffindor, please.”
    “Chivalry not quite dead in your heart, eh? GRYFFINDOR!”
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