James ascended the broad marble steps up to the entrance hall with the rest of the first years. The rising chatter leaking out from the parted doors was matching his rising nerves. Cat was clutching to his arm by now as if he was her life support, and even Cassie had grabbed hold of James' sleeve, so as not to be swept up in the horde.
Clip and Freddy somehow strode ahead confidently, chatting away over who could pull off a better Wronski Feint, the seeker for the Montrose Magpies, or the new Pride of Portree sign-on, who was taking the league by storm. James knew the answer: his dad, but he was too nervous to do anything silly like open his mouth at this stage.
The students entered the relative warmth of the entrance hall, and while an elderly teacher who introduced herself as Professor Martin gave them a run-down of the sorting ceremony and a brief welcome, James' eyes wandered about the building.
This place was massive.
Suddenly, James was worried about getting lost. What if he spent his whole first day just walking around, trying to find out how to get to class, or even worse, if he didn't even make it down to breakfast in the morning. Uncle George had told him about a Vanishing cabinet, what if he opened one of them, and got Vanished? Where do Vanished people even go?
He knew his dad had had a map that would have helped; the Marauders Map it had been called. His dad kept it in a frame in the living room, just a mouldy old bit of parchment now, but once upon a time, his Uncle Ron had told him, that map showed you the entire castle and all the people in it. Now that would be a handy addition for any lost student.
Not to mention a mischievous one.
His dad always got a faraway look in his eyes whenever someone talked about that map though; he said it didn't work anymore. The four people who had created in (two of which James was named after, thank-you-very-much) had all since died, and with the last of them the magic of the map had ceased to be. Harry had offered it to Teddy once, as his dad was one of the map-makers, but Teddy refused; he knew how much it had meant to Harry.
James was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of the doors opening, and the full force of the noise generated by the Hogwarts student body crashed into the terrified first years. Professor Martin shooed them all into an orderly line, and they filed in between two of the house tables.
James couldn't help himself, he had to look up at the magical ceiling, and despite being totally ready for what it would look like, he still found his jaw dropping open at the sight. Slate-grey clouds roiling, shedding fat raindrops that looked so close he could reach up and touch them.
Eventually a raggedy line of dripping, fidgeting eleven-year-olds formed up along one wall of the Great Hall. James didn't like the way the older student were eyeing them up. He saw a few coins changing hands around the room and frowned, and wondered what those students were up to.
'Adams, Jonathon!' Professor Martin called with nary an introduction. James jumped. It was real now; the sorting, Hogwarts, the whole lot. It really was happening, why did he feel so detached all of a sudden, like he was walking through a dream. He thought he should be fretting, worrying at his buttons like Cat, or talking rapid-fire to himself like Cassie was, but here he was trying to work out why students were handing out money secretly under the tables, and trying to touch the magic rain falling from the ceiling. Was he ok?
Brooks, Holly, a slim girl with sparkling blue eyes and long, dark hair went to Slytherin.
James suddenly realised he hadn't asked any of his friends' last names. When were they going to be sorted? He hoped they were all in the same house. He hoped he was in Gryffindor. How had he not been worried about that until now?
His palms started sweating, and he was glad that Cat and Cassie had let go of them all of a sudden.
Christian, Dale, to Hufflepuff.
Still nobody that James knew had been sorted. The money was changing hands much more frequently around the tables, and he figured that they must have been betting on which house each student would end up in.
'Featherstone, Cassandra.' His Cassie? He felt her stiffen next to him. Definitely his Cassie. He put his hand on her back and gave her a gentle shove, which earned him glare number three, as he had named it, before she clambered up onto the stool to have out with the raggedy old Sorting Hat.
James' heart started beating faster as time stretched out. Had anyone else been up there this long? Why was Cassie looking so worried? He subconsciously grabbed hold of Cat's hand again. That's odd. He looked down and jumped back as if shocked, seeing that he had grabbed Clip's instead. Hands went firmly into pockets, nails digging into palms.
Finally, Cassie sighed, smiled, and the hat yelled.
'Ravenclaw!'
James couldn't hide his disappointment, but when she looked back his way he gave her a thumbs up and the best smile he could muster. She gave him the smallest of grins in return.
What if none of his friends ended up in his house. What if he was in Slytherin, he hadn't heard any names being called out that he knew for Slytherin. Holly Brooks was the only one that he could remember.
Anthony and Viola Greengrass both went to Slytherin. James was paying attention to all the names now; he might need to make new friends with these people when he was all alone in his new house.
'Lovegood, Kattala!' Huh. James supposed he wouldn't have like to have Arsehole as his last name either. Cat had been clever to get that changed.
She gave him a quick hug, and James whispered a hurried 'Good luck!' before she dashed up and popped down on the stool.
Fingers crossed in his pockets, James squinted at the hat, willing it to pick Gryffindor, or whichever house he was going to be in. Come on hat. Gryffindor. Gryyyyyyyyfindooooooor.
'Gryffindor!'
James pumped a fist and cheered briefly, before doing the math and realising that P wasn't that far along the alphabet from L. The nerves sidled back onto the scene again.
Fifteen more names were called, James frantically memorizing them all in case they were going to be his friend.
'Potter, James.'
Oh gulping gargoyles. That was him.
Eyes set firmly ahead, letting the brief susurrus of whispers wash over him, James strode up and took his place upon the Stool of Sorting (he had decided on that name just now).
Before he knew it there was a smelly old hat on his head, covering his eyes, and the noise of the students was blocked out.
'Smelly?' Said the hat in his ear. 'That's not very nice. I know you James Potter. The first of the Weasley-Potter clan. Wotters, hmm? Peaseleys? Potteys, that's it. The first Pottey.'
'Hey!' James exclaimed. Then clapped a hand to his mouth. He had said that out loud. Laughter filtered through the hat and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
'You make for interesting reading James Potter. You have all of the foundations of a great wizard. I sense a power in you, one that not many others may possess. And a thirst to prove yourself that outshines even that of your father. I feel that you will do great things my boy, and wonder if that may not be cause enough for us all to fear.
'The choice, in the end, was never in doubt young man. It may be the only choice capable of keeping you on the right path, now go join your young friends over in GRYFFINDOR!'
James whipped the hat off and applause crashed over him, he was sure that it seemed a lot louder than for anyone else. Before he realised what exactly he was doing he swept a graceful bow to the student body, which set them off all over again. Professor Martin gave him a very pointed Ahem and gestured sharply to his seat.
Cat slid over and James dropped in next to her, immediately inundated with well-wishers, principal among them was his cousin Victoire, the sixth-year prefect. Dominique, markedly less reserved than her older sister, planted a big wet kiss on his lips, which left him very red in the face, and left Cat in fits of laughter.
The things the sorting hat had said to James were circulating around in his head. What had it meant by keeping him on the right path? He knew Aunt Hermione told him he needed to pay attention in class, keep up with his homework, and not take the path of a prankster, like Uncle George. This seemed like something else though, something more sinister. Almost like the hat thought he was going to be some sort of dark lord or something. Not likely, with Harry Potter as his father.
Still troubled, James settled into watching the sorting from the other side of the fence, occasionally chatting to his new house-mates, and trying to work out who was winning all the gambling. Everyone seemed to want to know about his family, and some of the older girls seemed very interested in what his dad got up to every day. Strange.
James was chatting with a dark-skinned boy name Emry, when something Professor Martin said caught his attention.
'Erm… Rain?'
James looked up, as did most of the rest of his classmates. It certainly was raining, but no more than it had been before Professor Martin asked it to. Cat elbowed him in the ribs, and he looked over at a girl who was walking up to the sorting hat. Rain? That was somebodies name? There was a scattering of laughter around the hall when the students realised their mistakes, and James threw about a glare. It wasn't nice to pick on her just because she had a funny name.
James watched the girl as she strode up toward the Stool of Sorting. She walked straight-backed and confident, not with eyes downcast, fidgeting with buttons or hems of robes like so many others. James watched her cast her gaze over the staff table, before turning away, in what James could only describe as dismissal. She held out her hand to Professor Martin who looked a little taken aback, but handed over the hat. James watched her spin with a flourish and place the hat on her own head, perching gracefully on the edge of the Stool of Sorting, making it seem for all the world as if it were a throne.
No sooner had she sat down than an ear-splitting crack of thunder barrelled through the hall. Students screamed, and clapped hands to ears. Headmaster McGonagall stood up abruptly from her seat at the staff table and whipped out her wand, chanting spells inaudible to James from this distance.
The thunder and lightning raged on, students yelled, and ducked for cover under tables. Staff whipped out their wands and added their own strength to that of the Headmistress. Chaos reigned for a few minutes throughout the great hall, and at the eye of it all, calm and calculating, was a diminutive little girl called Rain.
After a good ten minutes of mayhem, the storm eventually subsided, and everyone realised that the hat had still not chosen a house for Rain. Professor Martin stepped towards the girl, but she shot her a glare that James thought would make Cassie jealous.
Minutes slunk by, all eyes in the hall were now on the figure perched graciously atop a three-legged stool underneath a tattered wizard's hat. Whispering began to reach a fever pitch, and coins were changing hands faster than James could keep track of.
Rain had a frown fixed on her face, which soon became a scowl. Smoke began to curl lazily out the top of the Sorting Hat and Professor Martin gasped, dashing forwards. Before she got there the hat cried out, more than a little desperately, James thought, 'Ravenclaw!'
And that was that.
Coins clinked, a single pair of footsteps echoed, but not a soul clapped, as a slim figure walked, with perfect poise, down from the staff table towards her fellow Ravenclaws. The majority of which didn't seem to know what to make of her.
James thought back to how he felt walking down that aisle, and how it must be terrible if no one was clapping, so he put his hands together, as loud as he could.
The girl, Rain, looked over at him sharply, a crack in her icy façade, and for a moment the two locked gazes. James gasped, he felt himself being sucked into that cool, icy gaze. The room spun, he felt like he was falling up towards the ceiling. He desperately grabbed onto the table to steady himself and before he could even tell if he was imagining it, whatever it was finished. Rain broke the gaze and sat down next to Cassie. James thought those two might get along just fine.
The rest of the sorting played out in the background as everyone immediately began formulating theories on who exactly this mysterious girl was. Was the lightning and thunder something she did? Was she a dark witch? The next female Voldemort? But why wasn't she in Slytherin if that was the case? Uh, you're so prejudiced (that from Victoire to a snooty-looking seventh-year).
James was beaming by the end of the ceremony as Freddy and Clip, whose last name turned out to be Wallace, were both sorted into Gryffindor too, and sat down opposite him on the table. By this stage everyone was hungry, as they had waited for over a hundred students to be sorted, but headmaster McGonagall stepped up to speak before the food would appear.
'Welcome, all of you, to a new year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.' James could see why she scared Uncle Ron a little bit. 'First-years, welcome in particular. You are reminded, along with some of our more adventurous older students that the Forbidden Forest is, with absolutely no exception, forbidden.'
Here she paused and gave a very pointed look towards Hagrid as well.
'Additionally, all floors from the eighth and above are out-of-bounds to all first year students. As for the rest of you, access is strictly with a faculty escort or express permission only. Additional notices will be displayed on the notice boards in your common rooms. For now, let the feast begin.'
James felt like he had eaten his own body weight in food by the time the last treacle tart was vanished from the tables. He was leaning back-to-back with Cat on the bench seats, both holding their stomachs in pain, when a spectral head popped up through the table, causing Cat to jump in fright, and consequently, James to tumble to the floor in a very indecorous manner.
'Good evening first-years,' the ghost of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington greeted them amicably. Clip, who James recalled was a muggleborn, seemed to be in danger of either his eyes popping out of his head, or inhaling some form of flying animal through his mouth. Maybe a hippogriff.
Cat had leaned in and graced Sir Nicholas with a sort of seated curtsey that James thought would be a lot harder than it looked.
'Oh it's so lovely to finally meet one of the original ghosts of Hogwarts,' she cheered.
James couldn't help himself.
'Original?' he asked.
Sir Nicholas seemed to become very uncomfortable at this point in time.
Cat, oblivious, ploughed onwards.
'Oh yes, after the war,' there it was again, that strange nauseous feeling James got whenever someone mentioned the war, 'there were children who had been killed, students of Hogwarts dead in her very halls. My Mum says that because they were so young and afraid, and their souls were not ready to die, that a lot of them left involuntary imprints of themselves behind when they passed. Mum said it was terrible; semi-ghosts of children stuck in a continuous loop of their final moments. They had to exorcise them all of course, she watched some of it happen. She says it was the saddest thing she ever had to do.'
Sir Nicholas had floated through James halfway through Cat's story, but the lasting chill that he felt had little to do with the passing of that particular spectre.
So it was that James found himself unusually quiet as cousin Victoire rounded them all up to lead them to their dormitories. It had even slipped his mind completely to ask about the eighth floor and above until Freddy, ever the eye for a potential chance to cause mischief, asked in his stead.
As the group waited for a staircase to shift back towards them Victoire, in what James knew was her best teacher voice, explained.
'So the story of the eighth floor begins with the attack on the school by Lord Voldemort, back when our parents were at school.' James snapped out of is reflective state to listen, even though it sounded like it was about the war. Why was everything still always about the war? 'Voldemort destroyed large section of the school buildings when he attacked, and the damage was such that the castle was unable to rebuild under its own magical power. Some say that he had damaged the very Heart of Hogwarts when he tore down the wards around the school, and that is an event that hasn't occurred since the Founding.
'Following the attack, the school was closed for six months, and over a hundred of the finest witches and wizards from around the globe were brought in to try and fix the damage. Think on that for a second; over a hundred to repair what four were able to build.
'Now the Heart of Hogwarts is a very complicated magical entity, its existence has never been publicised, and there was never a need before so many were brought in with the goal of repairing the damage. It seems that no one is really sure what went wrong with the rebuilding; walls were mended, ceilings patched and rubble was cleared, and it was thought to increase the size of the school, as many foresaw a rise in the number of magical youth now that we live in times of unchallenged peace. But when the dust settled, and Hogwarts opened its doors once again all was not well. All of their beautiful new additions to the Castle, the new floors, wings, classrooms and memorials, were all faulty.
'The accepted wisdom is that there was an error in the sequence of Runic Imprinting onto the Heart, perhaps as simple as a single Rune out of place. Whatever the issue, it was too dangerous, the Heart still too volatile, to attempt to remedy. As a result, the eighth floor to the thirteenth, all of the New Hogwarts, lovingly crafted in memorial of the fallen, does not obey the rules of the rest of the castle.
'One may climb staircases for half a day and open a door only to emerge in the lowest castle dungeon. A door that on Monday may lead to an empty classroom, will lead to a broom cupboard on Tuesday, or a lavatory on Wednesday, or it may deposit the unwitting adventurer in the Great Hall between the hours of eight and nine on every odd-numbered day of a month ending in 'Y'. The eighth floor and above is a mystery, worse still it is entirely unknowable, and many a student has spent whole days lost above the seventh floor. It is because of this that no one in their first year may enter the eighth floor corridors, for it is a dangerous place. Students lost in there for the longest periods of time tell of hearing voices, noises that are certainly not human, but of course nobody has been able to ever prove such accounts.'
They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, and James, along with the rest of the first year Gryffindors was standing stock still, frozen in place, a chill creeping up his spine in response to cousin Victoire's eerie tale.
Cat, who was showing off her ample height by leaning forwards and resting her elbows on Clip's head, was the only one who spoke.
'Well if you ask me, it seems like the perfect tribute to Dumbledore.'
She skipped ahead through the portrait hole, dragging James along by the hand. He didn't look up at Victoire as he passed, but if he had he would have seen her frozen, a look of shock written vividly across her face.
