Chapter 45: 1st September 1991, Sunday: Part 8

The hat had taken roughly three whole minutes to make its decision, and the effect on the audience was clear to see. The Slytherin table barely clapped after hearing the hat's declaration, they all just looked really confused. McGonagall took the hat off George's head and suggestively looked at him. He wondered if she expected him to explain why that took so long, there was no way in hell was that going to happen. George felt his facade had already fallen apart, so he tried to come up with an excuse on the fly. Saying something was better than nothing, right?

He just shrugged his shoulders innocently and said, "maybe the hat was just tired. I'm the last one after all."

That didn't seem to be the answer McGonagall was looking for because her expression didn't change. Unable to take the stalemate any longer, George took the initiative to get up off the stool and run away to the Slytherin table. The reception from his housemates wasn't exactly welcoming, the Slytherin students were looking at him like he was some sort of alien. George wasn't happy to see them either, Slytherin would have been his last choice. There was no such thing as blending into the shadows when you're the only muggle-born in your racist house. He sat at the end of the table and decided to just stare at his mortified reflection on the metal plate.

George mistakenly decided to peek towards the teacher's table only to find everyone still looking at him in the same way McGonagall was, even Quirrell was looking at him with burning curiosity. George felt like slamming his head against a wall repeatedly. All he wanted was to be discreet, he wondered if he was asking for too much. He felt like the unluckiest person on the planet, he'd barely stepped through the front door, and he had successfully gotten everyone's attention. While George was wallowing in his self-pity, he felt someone poking his shoulder. He looked to his right and recognised Theodore. Oh, what a pleasant surprise.

Theodore lent over and asked, "why did the Sorting Hat take so long for you? It didn't take that long for anyone else."

"No way, really? I hadn't noticed", George wanted to retort.

Hearing Theodore remind George of the attention he had garnered only worsened his ability to mask his feelings. He could feel a vein bulging on his forehead, and judging by his reflection, his face was now bright red. With no way of controlling his expression, George slammed his head into the table causing the metal cutlery to bounce into the air. If George could not keep his face straight, then he would hide his face. It was a stupid idea, but he didn't have anything else to fall back on. With a bit of luck, Theodore would take the hint and leave him alone.

The awkward silence was ended by McGonagall, who had returned to the teacher's table.

She tapped her goblet with a spoon, "your attention please."

Dumbledore then stood up and raised his arms, "let the Feast begin."

Food then began to suddenly appear on the tables in vast quantities. Massive amounts of chicken legs, pies, bread rolls, potatoes and corn on the cobs appeared in large metal bowls for anyone to reach over and take. There was so much that the students could never possibly hope to finish it all. Even though the smell was divine, George was in such a foul mood that for once he didn't feel hungry. His infuriation at his incompetence had reached an unprecedented height. He had never had to deal with so much raw emotion in his life, George felt like he was on the verge of having a psychotic break.

The stress from the sorting hat was making him panic, which made him look suspicious, which in turn made him more stressed. The problem was snowballing at an alarming rate. George's mind was left to speculate what the teachers, especially Dumbledore, were thinking about him right now. He had an image of him being interrogated by Dumbledore and Snape with Veritaserum. The worst-case scenario kept playing like a video on a loop in his head. George chose, what he considered, his last option which was to remain hunched over the table with his head buried in his hands until the Feast ended. He was choosing the 'ignoring the problem and it will go away' strategy.

George was so occupied trying to work out what was wrong with him that he didn't even notice the ghosts enter the room. Theodore was incredibly irritating as he would keep poking and prodding George to get answers out of him throughout the feast. It got immeasurably harder for him to hold himself from lashing out. George's blood was starting to boil and his residual self-control began to wane. He was beginning to doubt if he could keep it together until the end of the feast. Towards the latter part of the meal, Theodore gave George a large push that sent him over the edge.

George's head suddenly lifted from the table and stared daggers at Theodore, "if you don't stop poking me right now, I'm going to break your..."

George stopped talking mid-threat because Theodore wasn't even looking at him. The feeble little boy was instead staring timidly at someone behind George.

He turned around to see who it was, and the words just slipped out of his mouth, "oh shit."

In all his judgmental glory, Snape was standing right over George and looking straight down at him. It was like having the grim reaper incarnate appearing out of thin air, how was George meant to react? Snape had the same miserable expression he always had plastered on his face, the swearing didn't even make the guy flinch.

Snape spoke slowly, "excuse me, Mr Linwood. Do you mind repeating what you just said to me?"

Snape poured a metaphorical bucket of ice water over George which snapped him out of his stupor. It was hard to even put a single coherent thought together at this point. If he didn't say something quickly, this really was going to be his end. Come on brain, work damn it, George cried internally. Today wasn't the day to have a meltdown.

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George responded like a gibbering mess, "oh Snape! That's what I said. Oh Professor Snape, I mean. It's an honour to have joined your House, I can not wait for your potions class. What can I help you with?"

Snape's expression remained as cold as ever, George didn't know if his half-baked back-peddling would save him this time.

Snape paused before saying, "the other staff have noticed that you're not eating, they have asked me to express their concern for your welfare.

The headmaster is worried that you may not be happy with the Sorting Hats decision. He is kindly offering you the option to change house if you so wish."

George leaned over and looked past Snape to see Dumbledore looking in his direction, the terrifying old man was currently holding the sorting hat whilst smiling ominously. George felt like a deer that had been dropped into the tiger's den. Now, how is he meant to convince the tigers not to eat him?

George gulped before looking back at Snape, "I am honoured to have the headmaster worry on my behalf but his concern is unwarranted. I am very happy in Slytherin and I am already making many friends.

As for the rest of the Hogwarts staff... I am just feeling a little sick. I ate too many sweets on the train journey and I'm paying for it."

George wrapped his arm around Theodore's skinny body and forcibly pulled him close, he then desperately tried to muster a genuine-looking smile. He knew he was giving Theodore mixed messages, but he could repair their relationship another day when his mind wasn't mentally collapsing in on itself.

Snape looked between George and Theodore before saying, "very well. I will relay your thoughts back to the headmaster. If you are still feeling sick later tonight then come to my office, I will provide a tonic to... help you sleep. Welcome to Slytherin, George Linwood."

Snape then turned around without waiting for a response, he left George to return to the teacher's table. George didn't like the way Snape said that last bit, he would rather down a pint of basilisk venom than drink Snape's 'sleeping' tonic. He kept his eyes locked on Snape whispering something to Dumbledore. Their conversation topic was unknown, but they repeatedly looked between the sorting hat and back to George. Alarm bells were sounding in George's head, the jig was up and they'd be coming for him any minute now. Thoughts of bailing on the mission and evacuating Hogwarts were starting to look like the safest option.

George's body had begun shaking, and his chest started to feel tingly. He must have been having a completely justified panic attack. He needed to know that everything was going to be alright and that this disaster was all in his head or he might legitimately blackout. He squinted his eyes and tried to put his lip-reading skills to good use. Although unlikely, there was a chance he could tell what they were saying about him. In the middle of George desperately trying to read Snape's lips, Theodore chose that time to poke him in the ribs with a chicken leg.

Theodore innocently asked, "what was all that about you leaving Slytherin?"

Happy friendly George left the table at that moment, and the real George took his place. His fracturing filters had now been completely shattered. Any remanence of rational thoughts was now putting their feet up and primal emotions were at the wheel. George whipped his head back around revealing his bloodshot eyes to Theodore, he abruptly picked up a knife and slammed it down. George embedded the knife three inches into the table right between two of Theodore's fingers, the bent blade narrowly missed the digits by a few millimetres. The surrounding Slytherin students and the Bloody Baron looked in their direction after hearing the loud bang.

George pointed at Theodore with a trembling hand as he shouted, "if you dare poke me one more GODDAMN TIME, I will shove that bloody chicken leg right up your arse."

A quarter of the Slytherin table went instantly silent, Theodore was in shock as he let go of the chicken leg. For a brief moment, Theodore saw George's eyes turn crimson red. That little bit of emotional release had returned a minuscule amount of clarity to George's perception. He could tell with the last dregs of his sanity that he had become compromised. He needed to find a way to vent his emotions before he did something really stupid. Breathing exercises and happy thoughts might summon a Patronus but it wouldn't put out this garbage fire of negative emotions, he needed something more instinctual.

There were two things George found physically pleasurable, it was eating and sleeping. The worst day of his life could be fixed with enough of either. George looked down at the table and proceeded to pick up Theodore's dropped chicken leg. He shoved the entire thing, bone and all, into his mouth and bit down hard. This solution would inevitably garner him more attention, but at least he wouldn't be expelled for attacking a student. It was the best a semi-lucid George could muster. He acted like a starved animal as he devoured the bowl of chicken legs in the centre of the table.

Theodore along with the rest of the Slytherin students watched on in horror as George devoured everything in sight. The children cowered away as they listened to the tearing of flesh and the crunching of bone. A shard of bone managed to pierce George's mouth as he chewed. This injury caused blood to pour out of the corner of his lips as he ate, but George's eating frenzy didn't slow down. If anything, he only sped up as his adrenalin rushed into his bloodstream. George continued until the bowl was empty, making it the only empty bowl in the entire Great Hall.

George wiped his blood-stained lips with the back of his hand and punched his chest to clear his throat. He consequently coughed up a chunk of chicken which he picked back up and swallowed again, nothing was going to waste. George's adrenaline rush ended the moment the last piece of meat was consumed. He felt his body lighten as he swayed left and right. The tingly sensations faded along with his ability to think, everything felt numb and fuzzy. George's vision narrowed until it became completely black. The last thing he remembered was his head hitting the table.

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