For all of Hagrid's enthusiasm towards Hogwarts and Dumbledore, nothing could compare to the charm and awe that filled Harry as he and the rest of the first-years entered the Great Hall.
Somewhere behind him, Harry heard a girl pointedly whisper that the ceiling was "bewitched to look like the sky outside – I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty /
But don't judge me on what you see /
I'll eat myself if you can –"
Shock, awe and amusement filled the faces around him as Harry moved his gaze to the front of the hall, where an old, frayed and dirty hat sat upon a rickety-looking wooden stool. Singing… the hat was singing. Glancing quickly around the vast room, Harry noted that none of the seated students seemed at all alarmed as he was – so it was a normal occurrence out here then. A flash of a vision of the look on Uncle Vernon's face if he were here watching this old, dirty hat sing had Harry smothering down laughter. All too soon however, the stern lady from outside the hall began calling names in alphabetical order. Observing the commotion of the sorting around him, he almost missed the call of his name. Of course with luck of his side, the entire hall went silent, and as Harry made his way up to the dais the stool stood on, hushed whispers swam through the room.
Harry sat down on the stool as Professor McGonagall moved to place the hat on his head.
"Hmm,' said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very Difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting … So where shall I put you?"
Harry tensed and, in a panic, his mind was instantly flooded with various experiences of his past, bits and pieces of memories from his earliest to the most recent shock of discovering his identity and heritage. Harry flashed through memories of the Dursley's, that one teacher he'd never forgive for getting him in trouble with Uncle Vernon, Mrs. Figg and her army of felines, Hagrid and his startling revelations, and quiet, reedy Theodore being dragged through the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley by a determined house-elf. He'd be lying if he said his parents didn't zip through, but to be honest, it didn't really count as he could never remember what they looked like.
The sorting hat hmm-ed and hah-ed for another minute or so and Harry began to hear the initial whispers get louder the longer he sat up there. His nerves were slowly getting the better of him and Harry tried to hide his now-shaking hands in the sleeves of his robes.
"Interesting, hmm, ah … Well, I can't say I won't regret this but you better be GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry barely breathed a sigh of relief before shakily hopping down off the stool towards the Gryffindor table. Keeping his eyes to his shuffling feet, he took a seat next to the other first years before slowly peering up at the chaos around him. Glancing up at the High Table, Harry skipped past Hagrid, who gave him a beaming smile, and recognized the bearded, spectacle-wearing old man in the center as Headmaster Dumbledore from the Chocolate Frog card he'd got on the train. Moving down the table he recognized Professor Quirrell, but was then drawn to the sallow, greasy-haired man sitting next to him. As their eyes met, Harry let out a pained hiss and slapped him palm to his forehead. Both actions garnered him the attention of many heads around him and Harry quickly shot them a sheepish smile.
"Just remembered I forgot my favorite pair of socks."
The dark-skinned boy sitting across from him broke the tension with his laughter, bringing a round of giggles from the rest.
"Harry, right? I'm Dean. Dean Thomas." The boy tossed his hand out and Harry shook it shyly.
"Yeah, Harry. Nice to meet you."
The boy sitting next to Dean threw out a "Seamus Finnigan" in between craning his head this way and that around the room.
It was then that the Headmaster stood up and addressed the hall before him.
"Welcome!' he said. "Welcome all to a new year at…" Harry tuned him out and took this opportunity to glance across the hall at the Slytherin table. His gaze moved up and down the table before settling on a small, dark-haired head that he'd become acquainted with on the train near the front.
Theodore Nott, as if sensing Harry's gaze, looked up hesitantly until he spotted the source. Eyes widening, he looked sensibly startled by Harry's focus on him and more so when Harry directed a small smile in his direction.
Harry, on the other hand, worried slightly at the lack of positive response to his smile but resolutely held his ground. Eventually, he spotted a rather small quirk of Theodore's lips and contently pulled his gaze away from the boy. He realized, rather bashfully, that he'd missed the Headmaster's speech as said man was now seating himself back down in his throne-like chair.
"…Potatoes, Harry?" came at the other side of him, and Harry jerked his head back to his table as he noticed the feast that lay before him. Whilst Harry had never been outright starved to the point of desperate hunger (for fear of death) at the Dursley's, he didn't think he could even imagine the amount of food he was now staring at in shock. Harry nodded an affirmation at the offer and settled in, marveling at the bountiful opportunity for food the next 7 years at Hogwarts offered. Yes, Harry was quite glad to be at Hogwarts.
Harry changed his mind. He wasn't quite sure if he was glad to be here anymore. He definitely should have given his hesitations a little more thought than he had. This school was no school for him. It was a fairy tale alright, filled with monsters and even more monsters.
Trolls, specifically!
OK… One troll. But a troll nonetheless.
In the school!
A troll in the school.
A troll in the school where Harry lived and breathed and ate.
Harry wondered if the Hogwarts Express ran daily or maybe even weekly. He could maybe handle bi-monthly if tomorrow was one of the two days it ran. Harry wasn't sure if he could wait until the winter holidays – mostly because there was a chance he'd be dead then.
"First Years! Keep up please! No need to be alarmed, just please, keep up!"
Harry picked up his pace, his keen ear noting the just-so-slightly-alarming edge of panic in the prefect's voice. A hand suddenly clutched at his robes and Harry slowed down to whip his head around. It was the girl with dark, thick plaits who'd been separated from her sister in the sorting. Pavi, Pansy – no different girl, Patty…
"Have you seen Hermione?" Harry paused mid-step and shook his head in response.
"I don't know who that is, sor-"
"Harry! Parvati! Come on! Forget about the troll romping around the castle or what?"
Parvati! That's what her name was…
"Right, coming! Hey Dean, you seen a girl named Hem– Hermee– sorry what was it?"
Parvati gave him a look, "It's Hermione. And I'm asking because she wasn't at dinner and I haven't seen her with us… She might not know about the troll!"
Dean's face contorted slightly in concern, but shrugged and said, "Well, hopefully a teacher finds her first then."
Harry nodded his agreement and turned back around feeling slightly alarmed at the lack of bodies ahead of him in the hallway.
Parvati made a noise of protest as the two boys continued down the hall.
"But what about Hermione? We have to find her!"
Harry sighed and turned himself back towards the girl. "Look, we're in a school. The teachers are obviously well equipped to deal with a troll, if not they would have evacuated the school, not sent us to our dormitories. Besides, what could a couple of 11-year-old's do against a troll anyway?" And with that Harry snapped back around and hurriedly made his way down the corridor.
Harry wanted to put as much distance between him and that damned monster. He seriously hoped he hadn't mystically defeated a dark magical lord just to have his life ended by a great ugly troll.
I've edited the chapter again & will be reworking the story. It'll shorter and funnier (I hope). x
Also please bear in mind that I own nothing from the Harry Potter world and that I have directly quoted from the book and in no way claim them to be my own words.
