The train ride was long, (if it was magic, Oliver wondered, why was it so slow?) and very awkward, because the other red-headed first year who had never given Oliver his name had his nose buried in a book and a stack of neatly wrapped ham sandwiches on his lap, leaving Oliver to do nothing but tap a rhythm with his wand on his knee and stare at the scenery out the window. As beautiful as it was, it got highly boring and Oliver was chiding himself for not bringing one of his Quidditch magazines to entertain himself.

"You should get changed into your robes, you know," said the red-headed boy for the first time, without an inch of shyness in his voice.

He was right; the sun was setting, casting a glow over the horizon, and everybody who had passed their compartment was already dressed in their own black school robes.

"I suppose," agreed Oliver, and slid the compartment door open in search of his robes while still tapping his wand against his knee in a steady beat.

The train had pulled into the Hogsmeade station with a loud screech and a puff of smoke. In the darkness of the night, Oliver could just make out a figure in the distance on the platform, almost triple the size of himself and a beard that could fit several cats inside of it.

"Firs' years over here! Firs' years, c'mere!" Wincing as his arms gave out underneath the sheer weight of dragging his trunk (and dragging it back after a third year informed him that they weren't supposed to be bringing trunks with them), Oliver made his way over to the man, unnaturally quiet and rocking back and forth on his feels.

This was it.

He'd get sorted. In a mere few hours, he, Oliver Wood, would be up in his new dormitory in his new house with his new housemates and new yearmates… a fair few news. Was he ready for this? Probably not, and he knew that he was made for Gryffindor (at least, he'd like to think so) because he couldn't be a Ravenclaw, he certainly wasn't intelligent enough, and definitely did not possess the traits of a Slytherin (Merlin, he couldn't be stealthy if it depended on his life) and Hufflepuff… well, Oliver wasn`t mean, but he wasn't the nicest kid in the whole entire world. So that left… Gryffindor. Yes, Gryffindor.

The lionheart.

He, in sync with the other first-years, (or firsties, as he overheard a fifth year say on the train) gasped as he first caught sight of the castle, drifting along with that giant man in the boats. It was wonderful; marvelous, spectacular, amazing, indescribable. Sure, they could describe Hogwarts in books, but that was nothing compared to real life.

The boats rolled along slowly, leisurely, letting the night breeze nip his skin while that red-head he shared the boat with gawked at the castle, taking in every inch of the panoramic view. His eyes flitted to the Quidditch pitch – he'd never seen one in real life, Oliver had been dying to see one ever since his mother had introduced him to the concept of Quidditch.

It was just as amazing, if not more, as he expected it to be.

If Oliver thought the panoramic view of the castle was amazing, stepping into the Great Hall with a gaggle of other first years was tremendously wonderful; a tingly feeling had inhabited the ends of his fingers and toes, and he could feel the inquisitive gaze of the other students on him as they marched through the center of the Great Hall.

He looked up, and the breath got stuck in his throat as he shuffled along to the end of the hall.

There seemed to be archways at the top, but instead of a normal marble ceiling, it seemed to be the night sky, twinkling with stars and with candles floating high above their heads, illuminating the whole hall. This was magic. Oliver knew he hadn't even chipped the iceburg with his knowledge of magic, but this was just breathtaking. His thoughts did keep lingering towards the Quidditch pitch, though, and the thought of how spectacular it would be to actually fly there. Dreams would come true.

A loud, clear voice called for the attention of the whole room and Oliver listened raptly. He almost jumped when he noticed a dusty, black hat perched upon a stool, a fold in the middle of it talking like a mouth, singing an amusing song.

Once the hat – the Sorting Hat, it was called – had finished the song it sang and the clapping had subsided was when the panic emerged, tugging on his heart until it fell into the pit of his stomach. What if he wasn't in Gryffindor? Maybe everything was a mistake, and Hogwarts had made a mistake and he was actually a Squib and the Sorting Hat would tell him that he belong nowhere?

A shout of "Abbott, Elizabeth!" and a following cry of "Hufflepuff!" jerked him out of his nervous reverie. He had a tendency to let his thoughts get out of control during stressful situations. Just relax. He focused on his steady breathing, the cries of the hat and the cheers of the other students echoing in the back of his mind as Oliver forced himself to relax.

Suddenly, the hat was crying out, "Weasley, Percy!" and the tight-lipped Professor had lowered the hat down on the red-headed kid's head and it yelled out, "Gryffindor!" before the boy slipped off the stool, straightened his back, and marched over to the bench and sat stiffly next to two other boys with the same flaming red hair, who patted him on the back and gave him proud smiles.

When did it get to W? he had thought, before noticing he was the only one standing in the middle of the Great Hall, awaiting his turn with the Sorting Hat. Of course he had to be last, with the eyes of everyone on him.

"Wood, Oliver!" McGonagall called out, and steadying his legs so they wouldn't shake, he climbed up onto the stool and felt his own heart beating in his chest as the hat was lowered onto his head.

All he had felt for a few moments was the frayed fabric before it starting speaking into his mind.

Dead-set on what you want to be, I see, it mused thoughtfully into his head. Very stubborn and a work ethic, very nice, oh yes, but brave, surprisingly brave, too…

Oliver's heart seemed to stop right there.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

I updated quicker than usual... wow, it astonishes me how much I can type if I'm really into the fic. Take a few second to review and let me know how I'm doing! Emily x