Harry Potter Fic
Title: Mirror, Mirror
Characters: Ron Weasley
Pairing: None
Rating: T
Summary: What if Ron had been thinking about how much he wanted to be better than his brothers during the sorting ceremony?
Warnings: Angst, AU
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor am I profiting in any way by using them.
Ron Weasley sat frozen upon the stool, the hat still covering his eyes. He couldn’t move, refused to move - the hat must have been joking, or he’d misheard, or something, anything, but it couldn’t have possibly meant what he thought it had said.
Except he was being ushered from the stool, towards the table that was very much not where he, or anyone else judging by the silence, thought he’d be going. He sat away from the other first years - Draco Malfoy was giving him particularly poisonous looks, and the other Slytherins were nearly as hateful. The sorting continued, but Ron didn’t pay any attention to it. He looked towards his brothers, but they looked just as shocked, just as horrified.
Ron dropped his gaze to the table. He didn’t want to look up again. How could this have happened? What kind of Weasley was he, to end up in this house for dark wizards?
He paled. What was his mother going to think?
Dinner appeared, but even that couldn’t cheer Ron up. The Slytherins whispered to themselves, looking sidelong at their out of place new housemate. Ron didn’t know what to say to them, either, so he picked at his potatoes and chicken (he had to put something on his plate, after all, and he wasn’t stupid - he needed to eat something if he was going to have to stave off some sort of attack).
At some point, the Headmaster led them all in song. Ron roused himself enough to sort of mumble along, but with his eyes on the table, he couldn’t see the words. He glanced up, once, but when he saw his brothers and Harry Potter (And now how were they going to be friends? Oh, Harry must hate him now - stupid sorting hat. Stupid Slytherins.) looking at him, still horror struck, he quickly redirected his gaze to the empty table.
The Prefects led them into the dungeons soon after. Ron trailed along after the rest, careful not to get too close. All of them were throwing distrustful looks at him, and he guessed he could understand why, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Still, it wasn’t like he trusted them, so whatever.
Luckily, they were all sent to bed right after. Even better, the first years were in double rooms, unless there were an odd number, and with seven boys, Ron got his own room. No one wanted to share with him, and he was glad of that, at least. If nothing else, he wouldn’t have to worry about his roommates. After all, they were probably a dark wizard, a Death Eater-to-be, just like all Slyther- but no. That couldn’t be right. Ron was a Slytherin now, too. Unless… was he evil and he just didn’t know until now?
Is that what the hat had seen inside his head? He was evil, or he was going to be, or there was something wrong with him that no one had noticed before?
He got ready for bed, but he spent a long time staring at the ceiling.
Ron woke early. He quickly got ready for the day, and wandered out to the common room. He hoped that someone would be willing to tell him how to get to the Great Hall for breakfast. A few upper year students walked through, but when he moved to follow, or to ask for help, they just glared disdainfully at him until he sat back down.
Eventually, the other first years gathered, and a Prefect led them up the stairs.
The others had clearly decided to ignore his existence. None of his year mates would look at him, and though he asked one of the girls (Millicent? Mandy? M-something, anyway.) to pass the salt for his eggs, no one acknowledged him. Only the Prefect who handed him his scheduled bothered to say anything at all to him, and that was “Here.”
Quickly, he read over it. Ron closed his eyes in resignation. Most of his classes were with Gryffindor. Way to rub it in, he thought. It was like he wasn’t already aware that he was a failure.
Mail came. He froze in fear, hoping he wasn’t going to get a Howler. Luckily, or not, he received nothing. He hoped his parents weren’t too angry.
But who was he kidding? He was a Weasley. Weasleys had always been in Gryffindor. Always. Yes, there must be something wrong with him.
He looked at his schedule again. Potions first, with Gryffindors. Ron grimaced - his brothers had always told him that that teacher favored the Slytherins. Pausing, he reconsidered. It certainly couldn’t hurt him, now, if it were true.
He rose with the other students. It was time for class.