The hat, grubby and ancient, sat on the stool, both repulsive and mesmerizing. Harry could feel the hat was magic deep within his bones, regardless of its underwhelming appearance. Ron Weasley stood unimpressed, and scrubbed intently at his nose (which, according to Mrs. Weasley and Hermione Granger, had a spot of dirt on it, but frankly, Harry couldn't see a thing past his numerous freckles). Harry's heart beat nervously, but before he could turn to Ron to ask him what, exactly, he had to do, the hat burst into song:
Oh you may not think me pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm theHogwartsSorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in
Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
SetGryffindors apart;
You might belong inHufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patientHufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise oldRavenclaw,
if you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!
The Great Hall burst into applause at the song's finish, and all the first years whispered to each other in relief. Ron mentioned something about wrestling a troll earlier, but Harry suspected that came from one of his brothers.
As student by student walked up, Harry felt increasingly nauseous. He didn't have much to go on with smarts, so Ravenclaw was out. He could barely hold his own against his pig cousin Dudley, so Gryffindor's "brave at heart" was tossed out the window. Cunning? Well, maybe, but after his encounters with Draco, Harry didn't feel the urge to be placed with that sort. Hufflepuff it was. Harry fit loosely into the category of "patience"; Dudley's insufferable tantrums affected him much less than they had at first.
Suddenly, Professor McGonagall's voice rang out like a bell: "Potter, Harry!" The whole hall, after a brief moment of silence, was filled with the gust of whispering Harry was still not used to hearing; the mere mention of his name was enough to set the wizarding world ablaze. His shaky steps up to the hat were tentative at first, but then he gritted his teeth and walked straight to the stool. He placed the hat on his head, and everything disappeared. His mind was tuned in to a shrewd little voice that seemed to know all about him.
"Hmm. 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?"
Heart pounding, Harry swallowed hard, and forced the idea of Slytherin away from him. With uncanny timing, the voice mumbled, "Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that - no? Well, if you're sure - better be GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry leapt off of the stool, ecstatic. McGonagall took the hat back, and he rushed to his new table, his new Housemates pounding him on the back happily. Thunderous applause resounded from the table, but little to nothing came from Slytherin. Harry braved a glance up at Malfoy across the Hall, and was happy to see a look of malice. His first enemy, and he was happy. Harry suspected it was due to a sudden abundance of new friends.
As the rest of the Sorting went on, Harry chatted with other first years. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were already shaping up to be best friends, and Harry nervously appraised Ron, checking to see if he already had a best mate. Thankfully, he did, and it was Harry. When the Sorting ended and the feast began, Harry's eyes bulged at the delicious food that had magically appeared on his plate. His hands shot towards everything in sight, and his belly was soon full with rich, savory food. The feast slowly evolved from concentrated eating to friendly chat over dinner.
"Oi, Potter!" Harry looked up from the fifth pork chop he was devouring. "I asked if you've done any magic already." Seamus grinned at him from a couple seats away.
"Well," Harry said uncomfortably. "I did make the glass at a zoo disappear recently, and my cousin Dudley fell into the snake habitat." Seamus, Dean, and Ron roared with laughter.
"Hilarious!" Dean chortled.
"What's a zoo?" Ron said quizzically, still grinning from his laughter. After trying to explain it for a while, with Dean helping, they finally gave up ("But how can you get a huge bear into a cage without magic?" Ron kept asking). Harry laughed some more at one of the Weasley twins' jokes (it involved a hag, a troll, and a warlock's left sock), then looked up at the head table. Conversing with the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrel, was a man with a hooked nose, and long black hair. His face never changed, remaining as if he had been forced to swallow a lemon whole.
"Professor Snape," Percy Weasley leaned over to answer his unspoken question. "He's the Potions teacher. Desperately wants to teach Defense, though." As Harry looked on, Snape glanced over at him. Harry's scar flashed in pain, and he clasped his hand to his forehead. Something seemed off about Professor Snape. Harry wasn't sure he wanted to find out exactly what it was.