2: The Sorting Hat

Harry, of course, climbed into a boat with Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. Everyone was silent as the boats glided over the lake, staring up at the castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer the cliff on which it stood.

After they'd gone through a tunnel and reached an underground harbor, everyone clambered out.

"Oy, you there! Is this yer toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" Neville cried blissfully, holding out his hands. Harry glanced over and noticed that Ron Weasley had apparently shared a boat with him, along with a blond-haired boy and the frizzy-haired girl who had briefly stopped by their compartment, asked about Neville's toad, and then left. She didn't seem to care much that it had been found, considering she'd likely spent most of the train ride trying to track it down.

Goyle gave Harry a nudge, and he followed the rest of the first-years after Hagrid. They stopped in front of a huge, oak front door. Hagrid checked the crowd one last time, then raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door open and led them through an entrance hall bigger than the Dursley's house. There was a marble staircase facing them, and Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to his right.

Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously. There, Professor McGonagall launched into an explanation of the Houses, and the points system.

The professor finished with, "The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron Weasley's smudged nose. Harry heard Draco quietly suppress a snigger, but was too busy trying to flatten his hair to respond.

"I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly." Professor McGonagall left. Harry swallowed.

"How exactly do they sort us into Houses?" he asked Draco.

The pale boy shrugged. "My father says it's some sort of ridiculous ceremony. He also mentioned something about 'never wanting to touch that filthy thing again,' whatever that means."

"My brother Fred says you have to wrestle a troll," Ron Weasley's voice piped up. Harry looked, and saw that the red-head was glaring straight at the two of them. "Can you wrestle a troll, Malfoy?"

"Better than you can, Weasley," Draco drawled back, sounding unconcerned. However, Harry had been listening to Draco's voice for quite some time now, so he could identify a slight quaver of uncertainty in it.

Harry very nearly panicked. If Draco was worried, Harry should be out-right terrified. Draco at least knew a bit about what to expect from the magical world: Harry was still new at this. He didn't think they'd have to wrestle a troll… but what on earth would he have to do? He hadn't expected anything like this the moment they arrived.

He looked around anxiously, and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. Everyone had fallen silent, except for the frizzy-haired girl, who was whispering to herself very fast. He'd never been more nervous, never, not even when he'd had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he'd somehow turned his teacher's wig blue. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead him to his doom.

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air—several people behind him screamed.

He turned around and gasped with everyone else as about twenty ghosts streamed through the back wall. They argued about someone named Peeves, then paused to greet the first-years. The one who was addressed as the Friar had just started lauding Hufflepuff house when Professor McGonagall returned and shooed the ghosts away.

Then, she had the first-years form into a line and led them into the Great Hall.

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands of floating candles, above four long tables laid with golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up there, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. He could see why Draco's father hadn't wanted to touch it; it was the sort of thing that Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let in the house.

He wondered what they would have to do that would require touching it as he stared at it with the rest of the hall. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then, the hat twitched, and a rip near the brim opened and sang:

"Oh, you may not think I'm 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 the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can top 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

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

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 folk 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 whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and became quite still again.

"Weasley's such an idiot," Draco drawled in Harry's ear. "I knew we wouldn't have to wrestle a troll." Harry hid a smile, because he could hear the relief underneath his friend's harsh words. Then, the smile faltered, because he remembered that he would have to try the hat on with everyone watching.

The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot. Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a House for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward with a long roll of parchment and started calling out names. When the first Gryffindor was Sorted, Harry spotted the Weasley twins cat-calling the new girl. The queasy feeling increased. What if he ended up in that house? Seeing that the other Weasleys also sat at that table, Harry thought he might know where the youngest would go. He very much did not want to end up wherever Ron Weasley went.

Vincent Crabbe was sent to Slytherin quickly, followed a couple names later by Gregory Goyle. Harry felt Draco press closer to his side.

He watched with partial interest as the high-strung frizzy-haired girl (Hermoine Granger) was placed in Gryffindor. Even more surprising, Neville (Longbottom) also went to Gryffindor (and almost took the Sorting Hat with him). "Brave" and "daring" weren't exactly words Harry would have used on that boy, but then again, the hat had taken a long time with him. Maybe Neville didn't fit any of the Houses.

Draco stepped up when his name was called, lapping up the attention of several hundred people like a cat would milk. The hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Draco went to join Crabbe and Goyle, obviously pleased. Then, he turned to watch Harry expectantly.

Six more names were called. Then, at last…

"Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"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 thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… So where shall I put you?"

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor.

"Not Gryffindor, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be a hero, you know, it's all here in your head. Everyone will love you and cheer on your great heroic deeds – no? Well, if you're sure – better be SLYTHERIN!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Slytherin table, where Draco was making a spot for him. He was so relieved to have not been put in Gryffindor, he hardly noticed the odd collection of sounds spreading through the hall. The Slytherin table was cheering harder than they had for anyone else. However, among the cheers, a ripple of whispered conversation broke out over the other tables.

Draco gave him a cocky grin as Harry took a seat between him and Gregory Goyle. "I knew you were Slytherin material, Potter."

As soon as Professor McGonagall called the next name, the rest of Slytherin House began falling over one another to introduce themselves to Harry, some rattling off pedigrees while others listed subjects they were willing to tutor him in. Harry's head began to spin, and that queasy feeling in his stomach returned in force.

He was both surprised and grateful when Goyle moved in and began batting people away. The other students got the idea, and the tide of introductions ebbed.

Harry smiled gratefully at Goyle. "Thank you, Goyle. May I call you Gregory?"

"If you want." He didn't seem to care one way or another, but it was the first thing the large boy had said to him, so Harry counted it as progress.

Harry took his chance to take a look at the High Table. And the far end sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him a half-hearted wave. Something seemed to be bothering the large man. In the center of the High Table sat Albus Dumbledore, who Harry recognized from a Chocolate Frog card from the train ride. He also spotted Professor Quirrell, the nervous man from the Leaky Cauldron, who now wore a strange large purple turban.

Ron Weasley's name was called about then, and the boy strode to the hat, having turned slightly green. When the hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR," Harry was relieved to know that he had guessed right.

Slytherin table got the last cheer as "Zabini, Blaise" joined their ranks. Harry shivered briefly as a gaunt, liquid-coated ghost who had been hovering nearby swooped through him to join the new boy.

The table was just settling down again as Albus Dumbledore got to his feet.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody at the other tables (not Slytherin, though) clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is he… a bit mad?" he whispered uncertainly.

"Only completely," hissed a fifth-year girl sitting across from him. She had scraggly black hair and a hooked nose. "Don't underestimate him, though; he's wicked crafty."

Harry nodded a hesitant thanks then glanced at the table, only to feel his mouth fall open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. Unused to being able to eat anything he wanted, Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything and began to eat. It was all delicious.

"Careful there, Potter," a new voice said behind them. "Wouldn't want you to choke so soon into the year."

Harry turned, and saw a tall, athletic-looking boy standing behind him. He had short brown hair, a silver badge with the letter "P" on his breast, and a face that was eerily blank of all expression.

"Erm, okay."

The boy eyed Harry for a moment, then said coolly, "I am Terence Higgs, seventh year prefect. Therefore, I know what I'm talking about when I say that we don't need any heroes in our House."

"That's good, because I'm not a hero. I'm just Harry."

The corner of Higgs' mouth briefly quirked into something near a smile, but it was gone a moment later. "Good." With that curious remark, he walked off and resumed his place down the table.

Draco was giving him a funny look out of the corner of his eye. "You're not a hero? That's a bit like saying I'm not a blonde, Potter."

"I'm not a hero." Harry stabbed at his potatoes over a chorus of gasps and cries coming from the Gryffindor table. He thought he heard someone say that Neville Longbottom had fainted, but didn't really want to turn to look. "I'm famous because, in some sort of freak accident, I survived something I shouldn't have. I can't even remember it."

Draco looked doubtful, but didn't press it.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the plates were wiped clean and dessert appeared. As Harry helped himself to treacle tart, Draco dominated the conversation.

"My father works in the Ministry, of course. Anyone who's important does. He says there's lots of Muggle-lovers in the Ministry, so there are days he feels like the only sane one. I can't wait until they manage to get the Muggle-lovers out. Then the Ministry will actually be able to do important things without worrying about their stupid feelings all the time."

"Like what important things?" asked a pug-nosed girl sitting nearby.

Draco looked pleased at the question. "Like making Hogwarts allow first years on the Quidditch team. I've always said that I'd be the best player the team could have, if they'd let me on. Don't I say that, Potter?"

"All the time," Harry mumbled around his tart.

"It's because of the Mudbloods, you know, that the rule is there in the first place. They can't fly, so the rest of us have to wait while they figure it out. It's not fair at all. I know how to fly. I'm an excellent flyer. I used to fly over the grounds of the Manor every day, catching birds with my bare hands. Once, I was in a flock of them with a Beater's bat, practicing my aim, when they blocked me in from all sides and flew me right into a giant Muggle flying contraption. A lelochopper… ellotopper…"

"Helicopter?" Harry supplied.

"That's it. They flew me right into a hello-copter. It had these giant whirling blades trying to take my head off, but I was too fast and smart for it. I dodged under the blades and tipped my nose up to avoid spinning out of control. I narrowly escaped with my life, and the Muggles had to be Obliviated so they couldn't tell anyone about me, because I was amazing on my broom."

Several other first-years (and quite a few older ones) had gathered in close to listen to Draco's story. He was an excellent storyteller, gesturing broadly with his hands and speaking with the eloquence and ease of someone born with natural charisma. The other Slytherins responded well to it, to the point where the pug-nosed girl was getting a bit starry-eyed.

Harry, however, didn't believe the story one bit, and smiled into his dessert. He was beginning to catch on to Draco's way of doing things. The boy rambled when he was trying to make an impression—he'd done it in Madam Malkins', and he did it here. It didn't seem to matter what the topic was, as long as he made himself sound impressive and worth knowing. It was a rather aggressive way of making friends, but it was that nonetheless.

The other Slytherins started asking questions about Draco's near-death experience, which the pale boy answered with obvious pleasure, although he tried to look like he didn't care. He embellished shamelessly on the story.

Harry wasn't really listening. He was starting to feel warm and sleepy as he looked at the High Table. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. His eyes skimmed to the next, but he only caught a brief glimpse of purple and black before a sudden, sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

Draco broke off his narrative to ask, "You okay there, Potter?"

"Er.. yeah. Fine. Sorry." After looking at him with varying levels of concern (for his sanity, not his health), the rest of the table went back to listening to Draco.

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harry glanced around, but there was no way of knowing what had caused the pain in his scar. Everything appeared normal.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch."

Draco's voice hissed, "Anyone second year or above. It's discrimination, I say!" Harry sniggered with several other nearby Slytherins.

"…year, the third-floor corridor on the right side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry sniggered again, but he was one of the few who did.

"He not serious?" he asked in alarm.

In response, the scraggly-haired fifth year across the table just smirked. She pointed to Professor Dumbledore and mouthed the word "Mad."

Harry looked over at Dumbledore with increasing alarm, suddenly feeling just a little less safe.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

Harry noticed most of the older Slytherins covering their ears, and followed suit. A moment later, he was glad he had, as the hall was filled with a terrible racket. Everyone finished at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing in a very slow funeral march.

"By Salazar, could they just finish already?" Draco hissed in Harry's ear. "I think they're holding the rest of us up on purpose."

"Actually, I think they're just trying to be funny," Harry whispered back.

"They wouldn't know funny if it flew them into a deadly hello-copter."

Harry smiled. "Still on that, are you?"

"Shut up. It was the first thing that popped into my head." Harry sniggered.

Finally, a scattering of claps signaled that the twins had finished. "Ah, music," Dumbledore said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Slytherin first years followed a blank-faced Terence Higgs through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and down into the dungeons. Harry's legs were like lead, because he was tired and full of food. He was glad they seemed to be heading downwards instead of up, as he wasn't sure he could win a battle with gravity at the moment.

While they went, Higgs coolly listed off a series of rules that Harry suspected the Headmaster had nothing to do with: "Rule One is to always keep a unified front with regards to your House. Disputes belong inside the dormitories and common room, nowhere else. Rule Two is 'Don't get caught.' No one has the responsibility to stand up for you if you get yourself into something nasty. Rule Three is to never do something that jeopardizes House standing. That goes hand-in-hand with Rule Two…" and on it went. Harry tuned him out after a while.

After several minutes navigating a labyrinth of corridors, the prefect stopped them in front of a blank stone wall. "This is where our common room is hidden. Just speak the password to get in. 'Dignity'."

A hidden door in the stone wall slid open, and Higgs led them into a long, low underground chamber, decorated with high-backed chairs and an elaborate mantelpiece under hanging lamps on chains.

At the end of the long chamber were two corridors. Higgs directed the four girls down one corridor, then led the six boys down the other. He stopped at a door about half-way down, opening it to reveal a bedroom. Carpets covered the stone floor, and the walls were hung with tapestries, all green. The furniture itself was as elaborate as the mantelpiece in the common room, with each bed getting a heavy wardrobe, a matching nightstand, and a wooden chest. It was all very rich, but oddly impersonal.

Harry wandered in and found his trunk already hefted onto the bed to the right of the door. Draco's was the bed next to his, with Crabbe and Goyle's against the adjacent wall. The other two boys, Zabini and Nott, were on the wall opposite Harry's.

Higgs hovered in the doorway. "I don't want to hear about the cramped quarters causing any trouble, understand? If you have problems, settle it amongst yourselves."

"This is cramped?" Harry asked incredulously. It wasn't a large chamber, but Harry had spent ten years living in a closet. This was more than enough room for him.

"These rooms are sized for five, not six," Higgs explained coolly. "I don't think there's been a class, of any House, in all my years here, that wasn't divided evenly into five boys and five girls. This is something of an anomaly. It's almost as if there's someone here who shouldn't be." He gave Harry a lingering look, then turned and left.

Harry could see Zabini and Nott looking at him funny, but was too tired to think about it right then. Silently, all six boys pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed. Harry fell asleep almost at once.

Perhaps he had eaten a bit too much, because he had a very strange dream. He was wearing the Sorting Hat, its voice listing off the four Houses one after the other. He tried to take it off, only to find that it was actually Professor Quirrell's purple turban, and it would not come off. "You could have been a hero," said the Sorting Hat's voice, growing louder and louder. "Are you sure? Everyone would have loved you. Are you sure?" It shouted that last line, and suddenly the turban tightened around his head, and then Ron Weasley and—oddly enough—Neville Longbottom were standing in front of him, laughing as he struggled. It tightened painfully, and the laughter became high and cold. There was a burst of green light, and Harry woke, sweating and shaking.

He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke up the next day, he didn't remember the dream at all.