Chapter Two

It was cool when Harry stepped off the train onto the Hogsmeade platform. It wasn't quite cold, but there was the definite chill of early autumn in the air and Harry shivered a little in the light breeze.

Hogsmeade station was quaintly pretty in the fading light of dusk, as all things in the Wizarding world seemed to be. Harry felt as though he'd stepped backwards in time, or perhaps into another world. There was no actual station, only an empty stretch of platform that curled away and out of sight at either end. On the right hand side, in the distance, Harry caught a glimpse of low, sloping roofs and old-fashioned cobblestone streets. The stone-paved platform was lined with lampposts that unfurled and twisted like small iron trees, bearing fat gas lamps like fruit.

He did not have long to admire it, though, for he was soon jostled aside by the flood of impatient students alighting to the platform. He saw Neville stumble slightly as he stepped across the gap between train and platform, though Hermione caught his elbow and prevented him from falling completely. She must have rebuked him, because Neville blushed and looked at his feet as the pair hurried over to join Harry.

"How do you suppose we'll get to the school?" Hermione asked in a breathless whisper, her eyes bright with excitement as she drank in their surroundings.

Harry shrugged, and a glance at Neville informed him that the other boy was just as clueless as he – though that could have been residual misery from their astounding lack of success in finding Trevor. Before Hermione could open her mouth and speculate, however, a loud, familiar voice boomed above the rowdy noise of the students.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over this way!"

Hagrid was alternately cupping his free hand to his mouth, though he hardly needed help projecting his booming voice, and using it to wave the gaggle of nervous first years towards him through the crush of students. In his other hand, he held an enormous lantern. It emitted a warm amber light with a flickering quality which made Harry think it might have been candlelight. Harry couldn't help but notice that the other first years were milling a wary distance from Hagrid, presumably intimidated by his size.

Harry had no such compunctions, and found himself – and Hermione and Neville, who were sticking close to him – at the front of the group, and soon on the receiving end of Hagrid's beaming smile. Neville was staring at Hagrid with wide, almost scared eyes, and Hermione with a kind of fascination. In fact, most of the first years seemed to be regarding him with one or the other (or a mixture of both, like Draco Malfoy). Harry merely grinned back, and was rewarded with a wink.

The number of students on the platform dwindled as the upper years dispersed, chattering, towards the far left of the platform. They disappeared around the bend, and their voices grew fainter and fainter until the first years were standing in relative silence.

"That all o' yeh, then?" Hagrid asked, surveying the forty or so first years huddling before him. "Righ' then, follow me!"

They set off into the encroaching dark, but not in the same direction as the other students – nor, as Harry had thought they might, did they continue on into the village he had glimpsed earlier. Instead, they turned onto a winding dirt path that cut through the thick trees, worn flat and smooth by the feet of generations of witches and wizards. The thought that his parents had walked this same path, that other ancestors had too, sent a shiver down his spine and he thought, for a moment, that he could close his eyes and see the ghosts of them walking with him. He could almost taste a magic in the journey – something old that spoke of tradition and brought a hush over them all.

"All right, Harry?" Hagrid asked in a low, rumbling voice once they had been walking a short while.

Harry nodded wordlessly, unable to speak, and Hagrid gave him another smile before turning back to face the path.

"You know him?" Hermione asked him quietly, the back of her hand brushing his with each step.

"Yeah, he delivered my letter, and took me to Diagon Alley," Harry replied at the same volume.

"Why did he deliver your letter? Mine arrived by owl…"

Harry chose not to answer and felt a brief pang of guilt at Hermione's affronted expression – but, he reminded himself firmly, it was really none of her business.

He stumbled, and turned his attention back to the path lest he trip over another protruding root. It wasn't yet dark, but the trees surrounded them and interlocked their branches overhead in a natural walkway, blocking out much of the fading light. It made walking treacherous and he felt profoundly grateful for Hagrid's lantern as he heard someone towards the rear of the group trip and swear loudly.

There was a difference in the way the students walked, he noticed. Some, like him, were taking extra care not to trip over their robes, and walked awkwardly for it (of this type, it seemed, there were fewer girls than boys). Others, like Malfoy and Ron Weasley – he was certain of the name now – walked without apparent thought for how to move in their robes. He supposed that these were the wizard-raised kids, but he noticed Hermione seemed rather at ease in her robes too. After a moment of thought, he decided that Hermione had probably practiced walking in them before coming to Hogwarts. It seemed the kind of thing she would do.

After a time, when everyone was starting to breathe more heavily, Harry felt the path begin to grow steeper and the trees began to thin until the path opened onto the shore of an enormous, dark lake. A few of the girls, including Hermione, gasped, and Harry himself was quite awed by the sight. The setting sun was only the smallest suggestion of light on the dark horizon now, but that sliver of light glinted and shimmered off the lake like someone had set stars into the water. In the distance, Harry could see a mountain range silhouetted against the sunset-pink of the sky, their peaks stretching towards the bloody underside of the clouds above.

It was not the lake, however, that drew a gasp from Harry. It was the castle: Hogwarts. Even without Hagrid's belated comment, Harry knew that this must be Hogwarts castle. It stood on the far side of the lake, nestled into the mountainside as though it had grown out of it (and perhaps it had, Harry thought). Turrets and towers pierced the sky, lit from within and dotted with windows through which the brilliant light winked like the warm smile of a Halloween pumpkin. It seemed like something out of a fairytale, so beautiful it made his heart ache. A smile bloomed on his face, and he felt a renewed hope that this time, it would be different. Surely in such a fairytale place, there were such things as fairytale endings.

"In with yeh, then," Hagrid called, interrupting the amazed silence.

For a moment, Harry was bewildered – into the lake? Were they expected to swim to the castle? – but then he saw what he had overlooked in the shock of seeing Hogwarts for the first time. Bobbing in a cluster near the shore, just a few metres away, was a fleet of wooden boats adorned with small, unlit lanterns. They seemed to be tethered invisibly, for they did not drift away but were not anchored. Slightly off to the side was a much larger boat that could only be meant for Hagrid.

When he was seated in it, however, it looked ludicrously small and Harry was faintly concerned that it would sink or tip over. It seemed to support the giant man's weight without any difficulty, though. Magic, he thought with relish, was an amazing thing.

"No more'n four to a boat," Hagrid added, as they scrambled into their own, smaller boats and nearly upended them with their clumsiness.

Harry gave Hermione a steady shoulder to lean on as she stepped warily into the boat, and then did the same for Neville, who nearly fell in anyway. It was a near thing, but Hermione grabbed the shoulders of his robes and pulled him into the boat, which rocked ominously and almost splashed water on Harry's shoes. Once righted, Neville shot Harry an apologetic look and helped him into the boat too. Looking around, Harry noticed Malfoy seated with Nott and a girl he identified, after a long moment of straining his eyes to see through the incipient darkness, as the sneering girl from the train.

"Everyone in?"

There was a general affirmative, and without any apparent instruction, the boats set off across the lake, eliciting surprised shrieks from a few of the girls and a huff from Hermione, who seemed annoyed by their behaviour. Harry smothered a smile.

The journey across the lake was oddly peaceful; darkness had truly descended by then, and the little lanterns on the prows of their boats had lit themselves. Nobody spoke as they glided nearer and nearer the castle, at least not loud enough for Harry to hear. This time, though, it was not awe or reverence that kept them quiet – it was mounting tension and worry. Hermione and Neville looked as pale as Harry felt, their eyes dark and shining in the limited light of their lantern. He could see his own questions reflected in their faces – how would they be sorted? Where would he end up? What if he messed up in front of everyone?

Once or twice, Harry thought he might have seen something moving in the depths of the lake, but tried not to dwell on it too much. The thought of being pulled into the water by some kind of monster made him feel twitchy and ill, for he could not swim. He comforted himself with the knowledge that all first years made this journey across the lake and had done for Hermione-surely-knew how many years – if it was dangerous they wouldn't be doing it, right?

As they got closer to the castle, Harry realised that it was perched on a cliff overlooking the lake, and briefly wondered how they would get inside from down below. His question was answered even as he thought it, for Hagrid cried, "Heads down!", from the front of the procession and they all ducked as the boats glided through a curtain of ivy and arrived in a tunnel. Inside, it was much colder and everything echoed eerily, even their breathing and the lap of water against the boats. When he cast a furtive look at the ceiling, he noticed it was quite low – or at least the protruding spears of rock (stalactites, he remembered from school) made it seem so. After that, he kept his head down as they travelled along the long, dark tunnel.

It widened, eventually, into a kind of circular cave and the water became increasingly shallow until the bottom of the boats struck the shore. Hagrid, who had already clambered from his boat, beckoned them to do the same. Harry, then Hermione, and finally Neville piled out of the boat and onto the shore, feeling a bit disoriented at being on solid ground once more. Pebbles and bits of rock crunched under Harry's shoes as he followed his year-mates away from the water.

Hagrid swept his lantern over the boats, peering into them to check that no-one had left anything behind or been left behind themselves, and stooped to pick something up from one of them.

"Oy, has one o' yeh lost a toad?"

"Trevor!" Neville cried, and took several stumbling steps towards Hagrid to receive the squirming amphibian.

With Trevor returned, Neville seemed almost blissfully happy as Hagrid led the flock of first years up along a stone staircase, although there was the pinch of anxiety about his round features and Harry knew that he had not forgotten what lay ahead. None of them had; Hermione was muttering to herself under her breath and he could see that Ron Weasley was chalk-white. Even Draco Malfoy seemed less than composed – Harry saw his hands trembling as he smoothed out his crumpled robes.

They emerged into the shadow of the castle, and Harry was again awed by the sheer size of the thing. Even Hagrid was dwarfed by it. It loomed into the sky, the top-most turrets invisible in the darkness, and sprawled out in every direction with a kind of majestic grace that took Harry's breath anew. As they scuttled across the grass, following the light of Hagrid's lantern, Harry was struck by the irrational fear that the castle would teeter and fall down on them, but he had little time to entertain the thought, for Hagrid had raised his free hand and given three booming knocks on the double front doors.


The stern looking witch who admitted them to the castle – Professor McGonagall, Hagrid had called her – led them through an entrance hall so vast that Harry thought it could have been used to play football or host a large party without wanting for room. It seemed even larger, he was sure, because the flaming torches which lined the stone walls did not shed enough light to illuminate the high ceiling, and gave the impression that the walls simply vanished upwards into inky blackness.

They did not linger in the entrance hall, though even the few minutes they spent crossing it were enough to make Harry's stomach do nervous summersaults. The impressively large double doors that stood opposite the equally impressive sweeping marble staircase did not cut out the noise of the upper-year students entirely. Instead, they turned the conversations into a confused jumble of sounds that echoed around the entrance hall.

For a horrified moment, Harry thought they would be sent through those doors, into the curious stares of the entire school – but to his relief, they were shepherded through a smaller door hidden off to the side, and into another chamber lit with torches. This room was much smaller, with a lower roof, and it cut off all sound from outside. The silence that fell was broken only by the shuffling and sniffling of the other first years, and it was almost as unnerving as the noise from before. Tension was thick in the air.

Were they going to be sorted here, then? Away from the other students? That would be much better, Harry thought, that way there were less people to laugh if he messed up, less people to embarrass himself in front of. He looked around the room for some hint as to how they might be sorted, and found the other students doing the same. There was nothing to be seen, only the torches and a kind of stone support for the ceiling.

Suddenly, Professor McGonagall began to speak.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she began in a brisk, no-nonsense tone that didn't make Harry feel very welcome at all. "As I'm sure you all know, you will soon be sorted into your houses. For anyone not aware, the four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each of these houses has its own merits and you would do well to remember that none of them is better than any other, whatever you may have heard before arriving.

"You will be sorted in front of the rest of the school –" At this, there was a rush of whispers and frightened squeaks, though they were soon quieted by a reproving look from McGonagall. " – and then take your place at whichever house table becomes yours. I am sure you will be able to tell which that is, by the enthusiastic greeting you will receive." This she said with a trace of wry amusement, and Harry was certain he saw the stern expression on her face soften for a moment. "I would hope that you do not make them regret extending such a warm welcome, for while you are here at Hogwarts your house will become your family and your actions, positive and negative, will reflect upon it. You will attend classes with those in your year and house, eat meals with them, sleep in your house dormitory, spend time in your house common room, and, one would hope, earn house points for your house.

"At Hogwarts, house points are awarded for dedication to your school work, and to acknowledge your successes in their various forms. However, if you are caught breaking the rules, points will be removed from your house. If this is not enough to dissuade you from doing so, I am certain your housemates' displeasure will be enough incentive.

"At the end of the year, the house with the most house points will be awarded the house cup – a great honour and a mark of achievement for your house. Whichever house becomes yours, you will endeavour to become an asset and a credit to it, not a burden."

Here, she paused a moment, casting a critical eye over them all. "I shall return when we are ready for you. In the meantime, I would suggest you smarten up a little."

With that, she left the way they had come, and left the increasingly anxious first years alone. Almost immediately, whispered conversations broke out.

"In front of the entire school –?"

"How do you suppose we'll be sorted?"

"Oh, what if I don't get into Ravenclaw? Mum will be heartbroken–"

"–brothers said it hurts a lot, but I think they were lying, because they said something about fighting a troll too–"

"Never mind not being a Ravenclaw, what if I wind up in Slytherin?"

"A troll? They wouldn't really make us fight a troll would they?"

Harry echoed this question to Hermione, noting that her hair seemed even bushier than before – as though she were a cat, puffed up with fear. The thought almost made him break into hysterical giggles, but he managed not to. Thinking about what he would be facing in a few minutes was very sobering.

"No, I expect it will be a test of some sort – ask us to perform some of the magic we know, or identify Goshawk's Theories of Fundamental Magic – yes, that seems the thing. Oh, I do hope I can remember everything…"

Harry, who had no idea who Goshawk was, or what his or her Theories might have been, left Hermione to her muttered recitation with a powerful sense of impending doom. He really ought to have studied more before arriving. If he made it through the sorting, he vowed, he would never put off studying again.

He spotted the sneering girl, whose expression was now more simpering, attempting to smooth Malfoy's hair into place – much to his annoyance, it seemed, for he immediately swatted her hands away and scowled. Half-heartedly, Harry attempted to flatten his own hair, but to no avail, and rearranged his robes where they had become crumpled by the long journey. Neville was doing the same, having straightened his wayward cloak, and looked as though he might be sick. When he saw Harry looking, he offered a weak smile that soon turned into a shocked gasp.

Harry couldn't blame him. He himself let out a strangled yell, and a handful of people – amusingly, not just girls – screamed loudly. Streaming through the wall behind them, the one bearing the door, were at least two dozen silvery ghosts. They had to be ghosts, though they looked nothing like the ghosts in Dudley's cartoons. Rather than featureless creatures that resembled bed-sheets, each ghost looked different from the next. One was a sniffy looking man dressed in a ruff and tights; another, a sorrowful woman whose pearly white face seemed tearstained, and yet another was a short, portly-looking man with a funny hat. They looked like glass models of people, only animated and talking rather loudly.

"Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him another chance –" The fat ghost was saying.

"Another chance? My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name, you know, and he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?"

Unable to speak, everyone stared mutely.

"They'll be the new first years, Nick," the Friar said, sounding delighted. "About to be Sorted, are you?"

Harry was not one of the few who managed to nod in answer to this. There was some small part of his brain that was shrieking in denial – magic was one thing, ghosts were entirely another. Real, live – well, not live – ghosts talking to them. It was surreal.

"Oh, oh, of course!"

"Yes, it is that time of year again, isn't it?"

"Welcome to Hogwarts!"

"More muggleborns again this year, looks like. Did you see their faces?"

"– looked ever so surprised! Makes me smile every time–"

"Well then, I hope to see you in Hufflepuff," the Friar said, smiling. "My old house, you know. Had a song in my day, we did: When you're dressed in yellow and black, someone's always got your back/For no finer friends you'll find, than those of the Hufflepuff kind!"

The Friar drifted off into thought, looking not a little wistful, and was only broken from his reverie by McGonagall's return.

"The Sorting is about to begin," she said, directing this at the ghosts. "House ghosts should already be in the hall."

"Oh, my apologies, Miss McGonagall," Nick said, looking sheepish, "Time does get away from us, sometimes. It's so easy to forget how time passes…"

Nick almost drifted into a thoughtful silence at that, but Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow in his direction, and the delegation of ghosts set off again, streaming out through the wall opposite the door. Harry shuddered as someone's foot floated through his shoulder, feeling sharp needles of cold stabbing into him at the point of contact.

"Come along, now, single-file. We're ready for you," Professor McGonagall said, now addressing the uncertain first years.

Obediently, they fell into line and trotted out of the room after her. Harry found himself ahead of Ron Weasley and behind Nott, with no idea where Hermione and Neville had ended up, but he had little time to wonder, for McGonagall threw the double doors wide and strode into the Great Hall.

Harry's first sight of the Great Hall momentarily drove all other concerns from his mind. For a dazed moment, he wondered what had happened to the roof, and why it had not been replaced – it appeared to have simply vanished, leaving the Hall open to the void of the sky. Stars glittered down at them from overhead, occasionally blocked out by the clouds which drifted sleepily in and out of sight.

The roof, or apparent lack thereof, was explained by Hermione's hissed whisper from somewhere in the line: "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History." He found, if he looked very closely, he could see the faintest suggestion of a roof beyond the illusion.

The room was lit mainly by the series of torches and roaring fireplaces which adorned all four walls. It was the hundreds upon hundreds of tiny candles that Harry found he liked best, though. They floated a few feet above the students' heads, forming little clots over the four dining tables that filled the hall, and cast a gentle light upon the diners – almost all of whom were staring curiously at the first years.

Harry felt his heart do a sick flop in his chest, and fixed his eyes ahead, thinking absurdly of the warning about heights – don't look down. Or in this case, don't look away from the staff table. The staff table was much like the other four tables in the hall, except that it was set on a raised dais and ran perpendicular to the rest. It was also much smaller and more elaborately furnished with candle holders, empty plates and goblets.

The teachers, too, were watching the first years, but there was something altogether less threatening about that – perhaps because they were far fewer than the students.

Harry only recognised two of the staff – Hagrid and Professor Quirrel, whom he had met in the Leaky Cauldron before visiting Diagon Alley – but he could guess at a third. The man who sat at the centre of the table, on a throne-like chair, could only be Professor Dumbledore. With his deeply lined face and snow-white hair and beard, he looked ancient, though his eyes – blue, Harry noted as he came nearer the table – were sharp and glittering with a quiet merriment that made Harry relax infinitesimally.

McGonagall had not taken her seat beside Dumbledore – the only empty one at the table – and was, instead, standing beside a three-legged stool with a scroll and an ancient looking hat that she handled as though it were a priceless jewel. She set it gently on the stool just as the last of the first years were filing onto the dais. They jostled each other, huddling rather closer than they needed to as if to protect themselves from the expectant stares by their number alone.

Except, Harry realised after a long moment of silence, the other students were not staring at the first years – they were staring at the hat. But why the hat? What was so important about–

Abruptly, the hat began to sing.


Hey guys! Welcome to the end of chapter two, which was originally the middle of chapter two, but when I hit 8k words I decided to break it into two shorter parts to keep the chapters about the same length. Hope you enjoyed! Any bets on Harry's Sorting? I've dropped plenty of hints in the last two chapters ;)

Also, I feel I should clarify re:Pairings: Sorry to anyone who was hoping for some major slash pairings! All pairings involving Harry and his friends will be het. This isn't because I dislike slash or femmeslash! There are going to be some minor slash/femmeslash pairings, or at least hints of them, later on in Quillverse, and I have other stories (unrelated to Quillverse, and some not Harry Potter at all) planned with major slash/femmeslash pairings. It's just that, in this case, the pairings will be het. Sorry for anyone disappointed! Try not to let it spoil the reading for you :) There should be enough great friendship moments between everyone to satisfy!

Thank you so, so much to everyone who favourited/alerted the story (or me!), and especially thank you to everyone who reviewed! A few of your reviewed anonymously, so I've had to put my replies here.


REVIEW REPLIES

Judas'Dahlia: I love AUs too, and I have the same problem with plausibility. I find it frustrating when authors make huge changes with no explanation, although in some cases I can deal with it because the story is just that much fun to read, haha! Also, thank you so much for the compliment on characterisation! I always worry about characterisation _

Angie: I... take it that's a compliment? I hope so, in any case!

Alien Invasion: Thank you :) Glad you enjoyed reading!

Mitarose: Haha, with regards to Sorting - you find out next chapter! Hope you don't mind where he ends up!