The Great Hall was huge, George thought, standing on one leg and rubbing his foot on the other. Even Charlie's tales hadn't prepared him for it. Carved wooden pillars throughout the Hall held up the sky. A few stars peeked out, but clouds had rolled in while they'd waited in the Entrance Hall. George gave a sudden violent shiver, and bounced a little on his toes, trying to get warmer. Hagrid had let the three of them share his huge coat for the rest of the boat trip, but he'd taken it back before they'd been allowed inside.

At the back of the Hall was a raised platform, where a long row of teachers were seated formally along a long table, most in traditional University robes. Beside him, Fred was methodically sizing them up, but George was busy being unexpectedly nervous. Of course they knew what the Sorting was – they'd got it out of Percy the first day he came home – but in front of everyone, as soon as they arrived? He hadn't thought of that. At least Fred would go first.

"Patsy, Norman!"

Oh, hell, they were nearly at Weasley. A wriggle in his pocket reminded George of what they'd taken from the pockets of Hagrid's coat. A wet nose twitched and nudged his palm.

"Stimpson, Patricia!"

Sharp teeth bit into a finger. George yelped, and pulled his hand from his pocket.

He felt little claws scrabble down his leg.

Oh, shit. They hadn't intended to let the mice loose during the Sorting.

The mouse landed on George's foot and froze. If it stayed there, then maybe he could get back. He bent down slowly, hand outstretched. The mouse took off.

Over George's foot – over Kenneth Towles' feet, who dropped the Sorting Hat – into the Hat – out and straight for the Slytherin table. The younger students shrieked and lifted their legs up. The older students laughed – until it climbed up a leg, onto the table, and began racing along the plates. Some fell onto the floor in an attempt to put some distance between themselves and the mouse.

People from other houses were laughting and hooting. Several had climbed onto the benches to get a better look.

SHWOOP! Suddenly, the mouse flew through the air, back along the table, past the remaining first-years, who ducked, and into Professor McGonagall's hand. She pointed her wand, turned it calmly into a blue teapot, and levitated it across to the staff table.

"Mister Towles, if we could possibly get on with the Sorting?" she said, frostily.

Kenneth Towles picked up the Hat and fumbled it awkwardly, prompting a snigger from Fred. George stood on his foot hurriedly, not wanting any more attention. He had a fair idea that McGonagall knew who had let that mouse loose.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Weasley, Fred!"

Fred affected a swagger as he walked to the Hat. He sat down, crossed his legs daintily, and placed the Hat firmly on his head.

A cold shiver ran through George. What if they ended up in different Houses? He and Fred were exactly the same, but – it could happen. What if it split them up? What if it was like Mum, who was always harping on about developing different personalities, or it thought they would be too much trouble together?

Well, they wouldn't stand for it. They'd petition Dumbledore. Or just leave. They'd waited for Hogwarts all their lives, but some things just weren't worth it.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

George clapped weakly.

"Weasley, George!"

Fred was balancing one goblet on top of another, barely glancing up, but George knew his twin was worried. He wasn't showing it. Well, neither would George. He strode confidently to the chair and the Hat, legs shaking too much to copy Fred's swagger.

"So," said the Hat. "Weasley twins. The last pair I sorted was a long time ago. Tony and Cybele Weasley. One for Gryffindor, one for Slytherin. And where would you prefer to be placed?"

"Gryffindor."

"Gryffindor, Gryffindor...Yes, you'd suit Gryffindor. But why do you really want to go there? Because you embody the traits of Godric Gryffindor? Or because that's where I placed your twin?"

"Gryffindor," George repeated. This Hat was sly. It had probably been made by a Slytherin. He wasn't going to let it weasel anything out of him.

"Cybele was furious, you know. Packed her bags and demanded to go home. But she would have been unhappy in Gryffindor."

Which was obviously not the case with him. The Hat had already said that he'd be happy in Gryffindor.

"Oh, you'd be perfectly happy in Gryffindor. Or Hufflepuff. Despite what you think, you are different from your brother. Twins are never exactly alike."

"Not by much! And how do you know what I think? I wasn't even thinking it."

The Hat didn't reply.

"Are you trying to change me? Into some weak-willed, do-gooded Hufflepuff? I think you've got head lice. They've addled whatever you've got for brains. If you think I'd be happy in Gryffindor, then put me there, you mouldy excuse for a Hat!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"