"She's your sister?" asked Albus incredulously. "The Head Girl…that Slytherin…" he struggled for an appropriately rude, but not quite vulgar word, "…fiend is your sister?"
Rory nodded grimly, her rage seeming to turn itself into apoplexy. Even Sarah, as clearly as she could see that Rory would prefer to remain silent, was a little intrigued.
"Boy," marveled Albus. "I mean…I guess I can see the physical resemblance, but…you just struck me as half-decent is all," he laughed.
"I'm not like her," spat Rory venomously, as Hagrid waved his umbrella-wand in the air, sending a few dozen rowboats gliding onto the sheet of black that was the Hogwarts lake.
"I wasn't saying you were," explained Albus quickly, having been butted back onto the defensive. "I just said that; that you were…"
"I don't get along with her, or the rest of my family, and I don't ever plan on doing so. My parents, and Orianna, and…" She choked on her fury, and fell silent. Her brevity and assuredness were clear signals that the conversation was over.
Sarah could imagine why Rory had such a sour relationship with her sister. From the few hints at her life she had gleaned during the train ride, Rory's family sounded like old money, pureblooded supremacists, the kind of people who had suddenly been elevated to the highest of heights nineteen years ago, then thrust just as instantaneously into the deepest shame and reproach. And Rory did not identify with that rise, or that fall. She sat seemingly alone, despite their forced proximity, arms crossed, trying to slow the furious alacrity of her breathing, calm back down to a more tranquil state.
Albus opened his mouth again, but finally seemed to notice Rory's sudden misanthropy, and closed it, focusing again on the ride. "In a few minutes we'll be able to see Hogwarts," he pointed out excitedly. "My dad took me here once, and we went sailing on the lake. I remember that once you pass that little island it's just past the clump of trees." He gestured at a tiny islet, inhabited by a solitary, forlorn tree.
A shriek came from Sarah's right, but it was the superficial meaningless kind, not the one of true terror. One of the sillier girls in an already unnecessarily loud boat had mistaken a floating log for something more sinister, though Sarah couldn't imagine what. Even with magic, they weren't exactly in a dangerous part of the world with regards to wildlife, and the creatures of the lake were largely friendly. Hagrid peered over at the boat, a little flustered at the task of transporting such large numbers of juveniles over a lake at night. Sarah was certainly not jealous of the authority.
To her surprise and amusement, Sarah spotted the reddish-brown hair of Rose among the gaggle of distressed girls, all rapidly vomiting forth a stew of high-pitched incomprehensible sounds that passed as speech in their strange circle. She looked away, clearly not at all invested in the group dynamic, and caught Sarah's eye. At seeing the grin on Sarah's face, she tilted her head, stuck out her tongue, and yanked a fist away from her neck, the international sign for desiring to hang one's self. Sarah laughed out loud at this. Evidently Rose was going to have to try to find friends outside her family with a little bit more depth. Or at least a little bit less need to express their shallowness.
"Look!" exclaimed Albus suddenly, thrusting his hand forward. Sarah had to lean to see around Hagrid's gargantuan form to see what he was indicating, but when she did, the sight was breathtaking. Hogwarts Castle stood before them, majestically thrusting its turrets into the darkening sky, the glow of lanterns finally conquering the now nearly vanquished glow of the sun, radiating an almost ghostly glow into the atmosphere. Its indomitable stone bridges were already covered in a procession of dozens of horseless carriages, making the Sarah's inexplicable feeling of being irresistibly summoned to the castle itself, not for the sake of schooling, but for the sake of magic alone, a feeling that seemed to be universal. The school seemed to be pulling in all the majesty and magic from miles around into this great nexus of power and tradition. Sarah was transfixed.
She had thought to herself earlier, while on the train, that the boats would be a good time to study the castle, get to know its general layout from the outside before she inevitably got lost in the endless maze within. But now, that wish seemed trivial and frivolous, compared with the desire to simply bask in the glow of inexpressible magnetism.
"Ther' she is!" roared Hagrid to the stunned first-years. "Hogwarts, yer 'ome for the next seven years!" The other students, and Hagrid himself, seemed very impressed by the declaration.
Not another word was uttered for the rest of the trip. The boats skidded along the surface of the lake with less than a ripple, and Albus, Rory, and Sarah could say nothing, absorbed by the grandeur like mosquitoes entranced by the light of a torch. And as unexpectedly as a shark attack, the boats bumped against the shore, the ride finished.
"Oh!" yelped Rory, clutching her hand to her stomach. "I think my Cherry Bomb just burst!" She smacked her lips a few times. "Tasty," she laughed. Hagrid, at this proclamation, finally seemed to remember he was not alone in the boat, and held off for a minute in his belting instructions to the rouge boats still frolicking on the lake.
"Oh, Albus," he said, disappointed. "I never even got to talk to ye', I was so worried 'bout the other kids."
"No problem at all," assured Albus kindly. "We'll see each other plenty throughout the year." Hagrid's face brightened, reverting to its familiar Pickwickian joviality.
"Well, would ye' mind stoppin' by sometime? My cabin is just on the grounds, and they're plenty safe now."
"Yeah!" nodded Albus enthusiastically. "We can all go, right?" there was bit of a plea in his voice, and Sarah suspected that he wanted the company so as to have a little more support when denying Hagrid's cooking, or at least a distraction if the necessity of hiding it arose. But Hagrid was entertaining enough, and he did seem to have an untouchable loyalty to all of the Potters, making it quite a shame to disappoint him, so Sarah just smiled and nodded.
"Well," coughed Hagrid, stepping out the boat and stretching his massive arms above his head. "Shame te break you three up, but it's time fer everyone to get in alphabet order." Rory sighed, and immediately went to stand at the very furthest boat.
"Alrigh'" roared Hagrid commandingly, "Everyone in order, A's to the front, and back in…" he paused, searching for the word. "…in order!" he finished. The first years, terrified of the sheer decibel level of Hagrid's voice, and therefore ignoring the friendly, coaxing note, obeyed immediately, though with much more difficulty than it should have taken. It always surprised Sarah how quickly the intelligence of a group descended as you added people to it. But, that was what mob psychology was all about, after all. After much pushing and shoving, Sarah was sandwiched between Alicia Dunder and Samuel Dylan. Alicia seemed affronted that she should have to be separated from her friends for even the few minutes of sorting, and Samuel seemed outraged that he should be forced into such close proximity with other people. And Sarah was highly annoyed that she was positioned between the most annoying kind of extrovert and the most infuriating kind of introvert. But of course, she said nothing as the line began to progress, stumbling its way up towards the castle.
Sarah wanted to study the castle again from up close, be swept away by its magnificence, but Alicia had a habit of slowing down for no particular reason, making it vital for Sarah to focus on her own steps, and, before she knew it, they were at the massive doors.
Hagrid gave some kind of strange salute with his umbrella, but the doors remained impassive. He ran a hand through his beard, thinking. Unfortunately, it became stuck halfway in that bramble-patch of hair, and Hagrid had to do a skipping dance to free it. Fortunately, the doors seemed to have a sense of humor, because, his wild gesticulations with the umbrella accompanying his dance did what his salute had not, and with the dignity of Merlin himself, the doors slowly inched their way open, sliding soundlessly on magically preserved hinges.
"Well," said Hagrid. "'ere we are." And he led them in.
The entrance hall was exactly as Sarah had heard described, and had imagined. Beautiful, ancient, yellow-brown flagstones, grand staircases leading to the second floor, majestic arches soaring over adjoining hallways. The only difference was something that she had never even heard mentioned, but made clear sense now that she noticed it. It was a large, obsidian obelisk in the center of the room, jutting up towards the ceiling. At first, Sarah was confused, but as she passed, she realized it was covered in the inscriptions of dozens of names that she had heard, but never met the owners of. It was a war memorial, she realized. The large, smooth faces of the monument were dedicated to those who died at the Battle of Hogwarts, each carrying a small, but poignant message. The larger, square base was inscribed with the dozens, perhaps hundreds of names of others who had lost their lives during the reign of terror. By the number of names alone, Sarah realized that it must have included Muggle victims, and silently thanked whoever had the sagacity to realize that, even though they could never know the reasons for their tragedy, they could be eternally remembered for their loss. Even though she had not been personally affected by the war, it was touching to see.
As they progressed, she became aware of a distant, dull buzzing, ever growing louder, sometimes peaking or diminishing. It took her a minute to realize that it was the sound of hundreds of conversations, blended together into a paste-pudding set dynamic, with occasional shouts or obnoxiously loud voices standing out. It was too distant to be coming from the line itself, so Sarah concluded that they must be close to the Great Hall.
And indeed, they were closer than she thought. The line turned a corner, and suddenly the noise amplified dozens of times, like the Surprise Symphony. Sarah wondered if Hogwarts had enchantments to prevent the echoes or travel of too-loud noises. It would certainly help maintain the air of education and learning.
There was a smattering of applause and cheering as first-years entered the room. It was amusing, because even Sarah, who was no physiognomist, could easily discern which students were clapping for the new students out of politeness, and perhaps a genuine welcoming gesture, and which ones just knew that their arrival brought them all one step closer to the feast.
Sarah scanned the crowds eagerly, searching for familiar faces. She was astounded by the sheer number of people in the hall, both ones she knew and those unfamiliar to her. All of Harry's descriptions of the student body always made her assume it was no more than a few hundred, and there were certainly a decent amount more than one thousand here. Perhaps there had been some kind of population boom, or at least a wider spread of the wizarding gene.
Furthest to her left was the Gryffindor table, red banners, lots of red heads, and an abundance of familiar faces. She noticed James, but he was too busy joking with his seat mate to respond. Next was Hufflepuff, where there were the most genuine applauders. Kindness and loyalty were what Hufflepuffs were known for though, so it made sense. Dustin was leaning almost all the way off the bench, trying to catch Sarah's attention desperately. He had a huge smile on his face, and when he locked eyes with her, he gave her an excited little wave. Sarah laughed and returned the gesture. He was acting more like an eleven-year-old girl than she was, she thought, amused.
Ravenclaw was on her right, and there were indeed a few familiar faces, though the entire table seemed to be removed from the scene, a kind of academic, emotional distance, separating them from the rest of the hall. They were the intellectual observers of all that was going on around them, not to get drawn in by the silly displays of exhilaration. Still, they seemed welcoming enough. Certainly there was no ill aura exuding from the table. No, that was reserved for Slytherin.
The entire table seemed to have been painted by an artist with a propensity for sneering. The arrogance of the table was almost tangible, though there seemed also to be a contrasting perpetual pout. Since their near betrayal during Voldemort's return, the house had not enjoyed the same standings. They were treated just as any other house, Hogwarts was an unbiased environment, but their ideals had proven flawed.
"Students and Staff!" came a booming voice from the center of the teacher's table, raised above the level of the others. Sarah looked up excitedly. She was surprised that she had forgotten about this main attraction she had been waiting for. Headmaster Marcus Elihphile was standing above the other teachers, his tall, broad frame simply begging to be center of attention, even when he didn't demand it with his remarkable charisma, or his massive, shaggy, brown but graying muttonchops. Sarah laughed out loud at the ridiculous sight, as did a few other students. The headmaster seemed to notice, but just grinned knowingly. Dustin had once told her that Professor Elihphile never went more than a month without radically changing his facial hair, and that, as he was a busy man, and didn't come to every meal all the time, it could somewhat end up being somewhat of a surprise. He recalled with much hilarity the instance his third year when the Professor had shown up last day of school with a massive waxed mustache extending off his face at least a foot in either direction.
Sarah already liked this man. He did look oddly reminiscent of some kind of a Napoleonic War general, what with his unique hairstyle, and his easy, likeable, obvious leadership. She could understand why he qualified for the job. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts, sure to be even more marvelous than the last, but not of course, as marvelous as the next. Apologies, seventh years," he winked playfully.
"I have personally written," he continued, reaching into his oversize sleeve to withdraw a scroll about the dimensions of a rolling pin, "an epic, inspiring speech to deliver to you students today, sure to delight and fascinate you for the many hours it shall certainly take to deliver it." Some of the hungrier students looked around nervously.
"However," he stated, a bland amusement stealing over his feature. "After visiting the kitchens, I decided that even the most divine orator could not compete with the culinary creations about to be set before you, and will thusly abstain. It did seem a shame to write such a speech without any audience to hear it, so, for all of those interested, I plan on delivering the address at 3:00 A.M. tomorrow morning in my office, very loudly and enthusiastically. All are welcome."
There was a mixture of uncomfortable laughter and satisfied smirks in the audience, as those who knew Elihphile's sense of humor silently appreciated the joke to themselves. "But now, for the more important task, one I could never hope to complete by myself, The Sorting!"
With the dignity that rested in his post surrendering to the excitement of a small child, Professor Elihphile reached under the table, disappearing for a short moment, then returning, carrying an ordinary stool in one hand, and a charred, ripped, stained wizard's hat in the other, though it was now enclosed in a glass case. Evidently, additional protections had been added ever since Voldemort's fire had rendered the condition of the hat almost critical.
The Headmaster set the stool in front of his podium, placed the hat lovingly on top, and removed the case, at which point he returned to his seat, and shifted comfortably, evidently quite ready for the long ceremony he was about to witness.
A large rip near the bottom of the half, now partially stitched near the ends to keep the hat from collapsing entirely, began to open operatically. The was an intake of air, as the entire hat seemed to inflate, and a single, musical word.
"Should—"
The hat ceased, suddenly overcome with a fit of coughing. "Excuse me," it apologized, mortified. It hacked one or two more times, until Sarah thought she saw a tiny ball of string fly from the makeshift mouth. The hat cleared it's throat, or at least made the noise, considering it was throatless, and began once more.
"Should those of you who doubt the truth,
Our founder's well-thought goal,
A way to differentiate,
Wise, noble, kind and bold
Or ask why did they make a hat?
Do tests or bloodlines fail?
Then simply come and try me on,
You'll find those method's frail.
For I'm a Sorting Hat, of sorts
Though time and wear may show
These scars and burns are mere reports
How my decisions go.
One look inside and I can tell
Wherein you aught to be.
With my permission you may go,
To any house you see.
To Hufflepuff! The kind, the meek,
The winners in the end.
Just look inside the badger's den,
You're sure to find a friend.
Or Ravenclaw, those airy peaks
Of thought to which you'll soar.
You'll find their nest has more indeed,
Than you might think in store.
Or Gryffindor, the lion's heart,
And take the lion's share
Of pain in life, but be the Brave
Resist the evil snare.
And Slytherin, the first, the last,
No longer by tradition
But soothed by power's gentle might
To reach their heart's ambition
Be warned, my fellows, and avoid,
That last forbidden fruit.
It stays there for a reason,
No child's simple loot.
For evil goes, but pow'r stays
And pow'r's might's amibtion's blaze.
The hat closed its brim, what might be described as a smug smile wrinkling its whole body. Professor Elihphile began clapping furiously, mightily amused. The rest of the audience joined in, confused. Sarah saw a few ink quills appear out of bags, people trying to record by memory the last warning of the song. Generally, warnings from the Sorting Hat were rare, but extremely accurate. However, this frenzy was interrupted by the wheezing call of an ill and distraught looking professor on the right hand of Professor Elihphile.
"Aarons, Thomas!" The boy slunk up, glaring hostilely at anyone watching him, which was of course, everyone. He placed that hat on his head, and plopped down on the chair, looking very skeptical of the whole situation. The hat jiggled, seeming to do a little thinking dance.
"Slytherin!" it called. There was spattered applause from that table, but not terrible enthusiasm.
"Abbess, Katarina!" A pale girl with even paler hair drifted to the stool, fitting in more with the legion of ghosts watching from the ceiling than the living, breathing mass of students below.
"Ravenclaw!" called the hat, without more than a second's delay.
"Abel, Sean!"
"Hufflepuff!" At that pronouncement was the loudest cheering of the three. Sarah smiled. It was nice to know that she was going to such a welcoming house.
The "A" names were quickly gone, as were the "B"s. Hufflepuff seemed to be having an especially burgeoning class, it seemed every other person was going there. Ravenclaw and Slytherin seemed to pick up the rest. Not a single student had gone to Gryffindor until the "C"s when a handsome, slightly goofy boy with black hair that was already showing signs of going gray became the first Gryffindor. What had his name been? Carter Cornwall, Sarah remembered. She had been trying to memorize the names by repeating the order after each sorting, which was sometimes successful, save the problem that sorting time was variable. Sometimes she could just barely eke the final few names out of her memory before the hat made its pronouncement, other times, she could barely begin to recall names, or the faces associated with them, before the Sorting Hat bellowed a house. Such was the case with Aurelius Cato, who had been sent to Slytherin before the hat even touched his head. But, judging by the hygiene of his hair, the hat had probably had enough before even having to look inside his mind.
"Dunder, Alicia!" wheezed the pale man with the list. And, with some dismay, Sarah realized she was next. How had it snuck up on her like this? Had her heart been beating so fast, so heavily this whole night, or had some kind of rocket boost kicked it into its highest gear? Her palms were damp, she hoped the hat didn't mind, it would be embarrassing to offend him before they had even begun. Oh, she hoped Alicia was a hard one, so that she would have more time to compose herself and…
"Slytherin!" cried that hat, satisfied with his division.
"Dursley, Sarah!"
Hagrid, who had been dozing at the teacher's table, started awake at the name, familiar because of her father. That was another embarrassment, she thought, ascending the steps timidly. Not that she was ashamed of her father, but Hagrid had only seen the worst in him, and now she was going to have to have tea with him.
She picked up the hat gingerly, her clammy hands almost dripping with sweat, and sat down on the stool. Everyone seemed to be looking at her. Everyone was looking at her, she reminded herself, cursing her stupidity. She better get this whole ordeal over with, her brother was looking anxious, and the empty seat and obscurity she would certainly gain as she left the stool sounded like bliss to her. Wincing, she jammed the hat onto her head, half-expecting a feeling like a probe or a needle to shoot into her brain.
What she felt was almost the opposite sensation. It felt like a grandfather, resting his hands gently, lovingly on her head, imparting some kind of a blessing, warmth and relaxation spreading from her head down. The room seemed to fade away before her eyes.
"Grandfather, eh?" laughed the hat, his voice seeming to come from all around her, though his mouth was positioned directly above. "Am I that old?"
"No," replied Sarah, laughing. She was totally comfortable, it was impossible not to be at ease with the influence of the Sorting Hat above her. "Well…maybe, but only in the best possible way. I forgot that you could read my mind."
"Well, not so much read it as…" He paused. "It doesn't matter; we don't want to keep the people waiting, do we? I never seem to have time to chat with any of the students; it's such a shame…" The hat trailed off.
"Anyway, this case seems straightforward enough to me," the hat harrumphed. "Just to make sure I've got my facts and justifications right, a few questions first. You are comfortable in any house, correct?"
Sarah frowned. "I suppose so." She hadn't thought other options would even be considered.
"But you very much want to go to the house where you will make the most friends."
"Right." Now she was feeling a little better, the Hat himself had said that Hufflepuff was where you would find a friend.
"And you want the house where your own natural talents, abilities, and qualities will be most magnified and well-used?"
"That's right."
"In short, the house of the founder who would choose you?"
"Correct."
"Well then, should I send you to that house?"
"Yes," confirmed Sarah, a huge smile of contentment spreading across her face. How could she ever have worried, about not being accepted in a place where there were benevolent beings like the Sorting Hat?"
"Simple enough," laughed the hat, and in a voice no longer privy to Sarah alone, it roared,
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Sarah beamed, and thanking the hat, set him back on the stool and skipped off to join her wildly applauding brother, screaming his support and waving wildly. It was not until she was about halfway there that she realized his uncontrollable gesticulations were not summoning her to him, but waving her on to the neighboring table, jumping up and down with excitement. She stopped in confusion, her brain catching up to her body's predetermined actions, telling it to reconsider, that something had changed. She turned, perplexed, back to the Sorting Hat, who just winked, even as he was being lifted onto the choleric head of Samuel Dylan.
As if designed specifically to add to this Jambalaya of new and extremely confusing sensations, her Cherry Bomb finally exploded with a sensation like an unexpected punch to the gut, and an upwelling of cherry flavor through her mouth and nose. With all the confusion going on in her body, it was a small miracle that she finally managed to collapse at the Gryffindor table, flanked by James and Carter Cornwall.
"Well," said James, a mischievous smile painting his features, though with the tint of true happiness, "unexpected, certainly, but certainly not unpleasant. I guess the Sorting Hat just knew I needed someone to keep me humble." He laughed, and thrust out his hand. "Welcome to Gryffindor House!"
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