 Mozart Knox Bronwyn ∞ 17 | RP entrepreneur | defies gravity | Miss George is flawless | blanket burrito lyfe
This was the most important day of Mozzie’s life. Okay, he had also said that about getting his wand but this was really really the absolute most important day. He had a wand, he had his textbooks and his school resources. He was in his basic school uniform with just a hope of the house he would be sorted into. He was certain that it wasn’t Ravenclaw like his father, his brain worked in very different ways to that of Rooney’s and it didn’t feel like he belonged to the house of blue and bronze. He did however, have his fathers old head boy badge pinned to the inside pocket of his cloak. He did the same with the prefect badge that his father had worn and his grandmothers own prefect badge.
Mozart was impatient by the time the first years were bustled into the Great Hall between the tables of already established students, dynamics and drama. It had been a long day, the train journey was a lot for an eleven year old and he didn’t know why no one thought about that when planning the whole day. BUT he had also eaten his entire month of pocket money in candy on the train for the first hour so he was absolutely on a sugar crash right now. Maybe. Probably. HE WAS FINE OKAY???!!! Stifling a yawn, Mozzie weaved himself through the other first years, under the legs of one who wouldn’t budge and found himself at the front of the gathered. He was already close to the front of the alphabet with his surname, so he would be called early… he just wanted to be here until then so he could see everything and also get up there quickly. It worked well, because soon after he settled in his new space and the nervous bouncing was screaming out of his pores, he was called up. Of course, his first reaction to ‘Bronwyn, Mozart’ was to look around for the person with his name but in OPPOSITE before it dawned on him. HIS TURN. HIS TIME. THE SPOTLIGHT WAS ON HIM.
Putting his bum on the stool and yanking the hat onto his head, Rooney sat wiggling with excitement and desperation for being sorted and then frustration that nothing was happening. ”Speak, please.” So he could go eat. Dad talked about the potatoes here all the time so Moz was pretty damn excited to turn into a mashed potato over the seven years here. But FIRRRRRRSTTTTTTT. MOZZIE GOTTA GET HIMSELF A HOUSE. A place to belong. People to call his own. A tower or a dungeon or a little warm place. Wherever it was, Mozart was excited to be there. He just wanted to KNOW!!
Nothing that made sense was said, so in true Moz fashion, he began to narrate over the old hat with an attitude problem. ”You’re so cool, Mozart Bronwyn. I’ve never sat on the head of anyone this cool before. You hair is nice and soft and I think your shampoo smells like oranges. I like oranges. Don’t tell anyone - the other old and stinky hats will judge me for liking oranges and not something more disgusting. Enough about me, let’s talk about you. You’re much better than your Dad. He wasn’t as much fun as you are. But you’re a good kid, you get that from your mum and your baby brother and your everything else. Not your boring dad. Let me think about this. Let me use my old cogs and find a home for youuuuuuu”
When he paused, it was almost like the hat took the only opportunity it was going to get for speaking and shouted over the next sentence that Moz was starting up. He wasn’t shocked with the shout of ”Gryffindor!” but it hadn’t been what he was expecting. Red WAS his colour though! With an excited squeal, and a round of applause for himself, Mozzie tossed the hat aside and leaped past the unsorted first years on his way to his new table. GRYFFINDOR. MOZZIE KNOX. A GRYFFINDOR. WHO WOULDA THUNK IT?!!!
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