Chapter Two

The gargantuan castle loomed before them, silhouetted against the inky black heavens. Albus gazed upwards, awestruck by its grandeur. "It's beautiful," whispered a delicate-looking girl with long blonde hair, and Albus couldn't help but agree.

"Firs' years, follow me," called a gruff, familiar voice.

"Hagrid!" Albus cried delightedly. The half-giant beamed down at him and his cousin. "Hello there, Albus, Rose," he said, clapping a hand on their shoulders, causing the pair to wince with the impact. "How was yer summer? Are you lot coming 'round for tea this Friday?"

"Yes, we are, and it was wonderful," said Rose primly, dusting off her robes. "Did you have a nice vacation, Hagrid?"

"Aye," said Hagrid, "Olympe and I spent the time on safari looking for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks with your Auntie Luna and her family."

"Not you, too," Rose said in dismay. But Hagrid didn't hear her; he had already lumbered off to herd the other first years into the boats that would take them to Hogwarts Castle, their sorting, and their fates.

"C'mon," said Albus, spotting an empty boat, "let's go in this one." He and Rose climbed in and were soon thereafter joined by a proud-looking girl with coffee-colored skin, and the pale girl whom Albus had spotted earlier. As their boat drifted toward the castle, they passed Fred Weasley in his, chatting eagerly with Lysander, Lorcan, and Alice Longbottom, Neville's daughter. Albus waved to the four of them, and turned in time to hear the dark girl introduce herself as Ariella Thomas. The smaller girl appeared too nervous to say much of anything.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Rose asked her kindly, anxiously running her fingers through her mass of red curls.

"Yes," squeaked the girl, "my sister, Anna, is a first year as well, and I have an older sister in Ravenclaw and an older brother in ... Slytherin," she said, turning pink.

"There's nothing wrong with being in Slytherin," Albus said loudly, for his own benefit as much as hers, and she smiled gratefully at him. "I'm Albus."

"I'm Beatrice," she replied. "Do you have any family members here, Rose?" She looked confused as Albus and Rose broke into peals of laughter. "I'm related to practically half the school," Rose explained, "so is Albus."

"What's your surname?" Ariella asked, a look of comprehension beginning to dawn on her face.

"Mine's Weasley," Rose responded, "and his is Potter."

"Not Harry Potter's son?" Beatrice asked. "My father talks about him all the time. I think our parents went to school together."

"My parents went to school with yours as well," said Ariella. "I think my dad and mum have been 'round to your place a few times."

"Oh," said Albus awkwardly, "all right." He was not quite sure what to make of this. He had always known that his dad was a very successful, very popular auror, but he had never quite understood what was so special about him, and why everyone seemed to know his name.

Minutes later, Albus felt their boat bump against the lake shore. This was it. This was Hogwarts. He followed the stream of other first years filing into the castle, too nervous to do anything but allow himself to be herded into the Great Hall.

His brother, his father, and his mother had all talked at length about the utter sense of awe that spread over them when they first glimpsed the Hall's vast ceiling, but none of them had managed to do justice to its true glory. Its splendor was enough to distract Albus from his nerves, and enough to silence even Rose.

A very old, very wrinkled wizard stood on a table before them, and cleared his throat for their attention. "Welcome to Hogwarts!" he squeaked. "My name is Professor Flitwick, and I am your Deputy Headmaster. In just a few moments, the Sorting ceremony will begin, and you will be placed into one of four houses. Your house is like your family; and at the end of each year the House Cup is awarded to the house with the most points. The four houses here at Hogwarts are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, and the Sorting Hat will determine which of those four is your best fit. Let the Sorting commence!"

"Accio stool! Accio hat!" he cried, and the first years gasped as a frayed black hat soared forth, coming to rest on a three-legged wooden stool. The chatter at the surrounding tables died down as everyone in the Hall gazed expectantly at the patched hat. Minutes later, nothing happened.

"That's strange," muttered Professor Flitwick, and the older students began to murmur amongst themselves. "Well, students," said Flitwick, wiping a drop of sweat from his brow. "It appears that the Hat doesn't have a song for us this year."

He hastily attempted to silence the outcry that was rapidly arising from around the Great Hall. "Now, now," he said, "this has happened once or twice before, and it's absolutely nothing to worry about. We will proceed with the ceremony as planned." He pulled a roll of parchment from the pocket of his robes and proclaimed, "Boot, Kirk".

A boy with dark blond hair and a prominent chin strode confidently to the stool and allowed Flitwick to drop the hat over his eyes. Just a minute later, the hat yelled, "Ravenclaw!" and the Ravenclaw table erupted into applause.

Albus turned his attention away from the sorting and gazed toward the staff table. Hagrid met his stare and winked, nudging Neville, who gave him a reassuring smile and whispered something in Hagrid's ear. A portly man in very fancy dress robes sat beside Hagrid, drinking from his goblet and watching the proceedings with blood-shot eyes. Next to Neville was a stocky man whom Albus recognized as Oliver Wood, the famous Puddlemere United keeperwho was apparently serving as Hogwarts' flying instructor.

Albus returned his attention to the Sorting and watched as Krum, Yordana became a Gryffindor and Alice Longbottom became a Hufflepuff. He clapped extra hard for Alice; he knew her well and thought she would do well in Hufflepuff

"MacMillan, Anna," Flitwick called. Beatrice's sister stepped forward, brushing her curly hair from her dark eyes. The hat had barely touched her head before it shouted that she belonged in, "Gryffindor!"

"MacMillan, Beatrice," said Flitwick. The girl stepped forward, trembling so badly that she had trouble making her way to the stool unassisted. Albus crossed his fingers for his new friend. The Sorting Hat sat on her head for thirty nerve-wracking seconds before announcing that her rightful house was "Ravenclaw!"

"Malfoy, Scorpius," Flitwick said calmly, but a flicker of resentment in his eyes betrayed his less-than neutral feelings for the boy. All around the hall, malicious whispers snaked their way around the house tables.

"Fat lot of nerve those Malfoys have, sending their son here," a tall Gryffindor girl whispered angrily, "why don't they just send him off to Durmstrang, where he belongs."

Albus watched Scorpius with interest; the young Malfoy was the first student thus far who hadn't shown a single sign of anxiousness. Indeed, it was with great calm that Scorpius Malfoy settled himself upon the stool, gazing at his fellow students' unfriendly faces with an air of confidence and superiority.

"Slytherin, no question," Rose muttered darkly. "Dad said the hat had barely touched Draco Malfoy's head before shouting that he belonged in Slytherin."

Flitwick roughly dropped the Sorting Hat on Scorpius' head, and Albus watched the boy curiously. A minute passed, and the hat still hadn't given any indication of reaching a decision. Scorpius' cavalier attitude was quickly deteriorating. His eyes were screwed up tightly, and he was fiercely whispering something Albus couldn't hear. After another minute and a half, the Hat finally said, "Slytherin." in a dull voice that Albus hadn't heard it use before. Hardly anyone clapped, and Scorpius made his lonely way toward the Slytherin table, where a large boy with stringy hair patted him roughly on the back.

"Perkins, Sylvia," Flitwick called. Albus' heart leaped into his throat. He was next. Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, NOT Slytherin, he thought to himself, biting his lip so roughly that it bled. The applause for Sylvia Perkins echoed in his ears, and at last, Flitwick called his name.

"Potter, Albus."

Dead silence washed over the hall. Every face was staring at him expectantly, watching as he slowly crossed to the stool and watched darkness descend upon him as Flitwick lowered the hat over his eyes.