The door swung open and Dean found himself holding his breath, his mind racing with images of what could possibly be past the great wooden doors.
A few first years gasped as the doors revealed a black-haired woman in deep green robes. She wore a pointed hat that emphasized her already impressive stature and, despite knowing he was the tallest kid of the lot, Dean suddenly felt very small.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," the giant ushered a few lagging kids forward.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."
Professor McGonagall led them through the entrance hall. The flagstones clicked under her heels, the sharp sound echoing up to the ceiling, which was too tall to be seen with just the light of the torches which lined the walls. The past another large wooden door with bright, warm light spilling out from underneath. The voices of what sounded like a million kids could be heard through the door. A few of the first years seemed crestfallen when the witch steered them away from the doors and into a small room to the left. They stood shoulder to shoulder so that everyone could fit in the chamber. Dean peered around at the other faces and was glad to see everyone else looked just as nervous as he felt. Professor McGonagall straightened up even more, if that was possible, and addressed the cramped room full of wide-eyed kids.
"Welcome to Hogwarts." Dean felt a nervous shiver go up his spine. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.
"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.
"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." She gave a few students an examining look and the crowd of first years shuffled to straighten their cloaks and comb fingers through their hair.
"I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly."
As soon as her emerald green cloak disappeared out the chamber door, the huddled mass of kids broke into nervous whispers. Dean, finding himself in the middle of an excited gaggle of girls, kept his mouth shut, instead reflecting on the professor's speech. They were about to walk out in front of the whole school. He wondered if they were sorted the way kids picked people at school for football games, with the houses picking their favorite first years in turn until nobody was left. Or maybe they would send home the remaining few once they had all been divided up.
Dean's train of thought came to a sudden halt as the wall he had been staring absentmindedly at suddenly erupted with silvery figures that floated above the students.
The crowd gasped as the ghosts bobbed across the room, deep in conversation. A man wearing tights and a ruff came to a stop directly above Dean's head.
"My dear Friar," he began, addressing a rather fat ghost dressed as a monk. "Haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost - I say, what are all you doing here?"
He peered down between his feet directly at Dean. The room was silent.
"New students!" The monk smiled around at the terrified faces. About to be Sorted, I suppose? I hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know."
"Move along now," Professor McGonagall interrupted sharply from where she had reappeared in the doorway. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start."
The ghosts drifted past the students and through the opposite wall.
"Now, form a line," the professor instructed, "and follow me."
Professor McGonagall led them out of the chamber, across the hall, and through the double doors that could only slightly muffle the noise of the other students. There were quiet gasps from many students, Dean included, as the doors to the Great Hall swung open.
It was like stepping into something from a fairy tale. The light from the Great Hall came not from torches like the other rooms they'd seen, but from thousands of flickering candles floating around the ceiling, and the ceiling. The tall arched supports faded away towards the top of the ceiling, giving way to an inky blackness speckled with stars.
All the other students sat at four enormous tables that stretched the length of the room, glittering plates and goblets spread before them like they were waiting for a medieval feast. Dean felt his face go red as he realized every student had their eyes on the small parade of first years trailing after Professor McGonagall.
They reached the front of the hall and the professor placed a small stool in plain view of all four tables. She then procured an extremely dirty and worn looking wizards hat, putting it on top of the stool. Compared to the dazzling sights of the Great Hall, the hat looked rather underwhelming. Dean glanced around the hall and, seeing that all the older students had their eyes fixed on the hat, turned to watch it as well. A heavy silence fell over the hall for a few moments, and then the hat moved.
A rip near the brim spread open like a mouth, and the hat began to sing:
"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave of heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid to toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"
Dean jumped as the hall burst into applause. The hat made a sort of bow to each of the tables, and then crumpled back down again and remained quite still.
Professor McGonagall stepped in front of the stool, now holding a long roll of parchment.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Abbott, Hannah!"
Dean groaned as he realised this was going to be done alphabetically. He hoped there were plenty of people whose names started with Ws and Xs so that he wouldn't have to be one of the last few.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat shouted, and Hannah, looking pink-faced and pleased, went to sit at the table on the right.
Bones, Susan became a Hufflepuff next, and then Boot, Terry was sorted into Ravenclaw with Brocklehurst, Mandy. The first Gryffindor was Brown, Lavender, and the table on the far left erupted with cheers.
The hat decided rather quickly that Bulstrode, Millicent belonged in Slytherin, but seemed to take his time with Finch-Fletchley, Justin before placing him in Hufflepuff. When the professor called up Finnigan, Seamus, the boy sat there for nearly a minute, the bit of his face that was visible from beneath the hat turning steadily redder as the seconds ticked by. Finally, the hat declared him a Gryffindor. Dean clapped eagerly for that, glad he continued his family's tradition.
Granger, Hermione took even longer to become a Gryffindor and a terrified-looking boy who tripped on the way to the hat sat there for at least three minutes before the hat placed him in Gryffindor. The boy was so eager to sit down he ran off with the hat still on.
They were in the Ps by the time the next interesting sorting happened. Dean didn't find it very interesting himself, but the rest of the hall was filled with whispers as the boy with glasses and messy black hair, Potter, Harry, took his seat on the stool. When the hat announced its choice of Gryffindor, the table cheered louder than anyone had so far. A couple of boys led the table in a cheer of "We got Potter! We got Potter!"
Dean became increasingly anxious as the remaining students dwindled down to four. As he was beginning to think he might be the last name called, Thomas, Dean was announced from the parchment.
His legs felt like jelly as he crossed to the stool, lifting the hat a bit cautiously before he let it slip down over his eyes.
"Let's see," a small, rather gravely voice spoke in Dean's ear. "Loyal, kind, the makings of a good Hufflepuff. Perhaps… ah! But nothing to beat the courage in your heart. There's only one place for you: GRYFFINDOR!"
The last word echoed through the hall and Dean stood shakily, placing the hat back on the stool before walking to the table on the far left. He spotted Seamus, cheering enthusiastically and motioning for him to take the empty space beside him.
They watched as Turpin, Lisa became a Ravenclaw. Weasley, Ronald became the last to join the Gryffindor table, nearly being mobbed by a few redhead boys, and then Zabini, Blaise took his place at Slytherin.
"Think we'll eat now? I'm starving," Seamus asked. Dean shrugged. He was about to answer when the hall fell silent once more. He looked up to see a man at the center of the staff table had stood, stretching his arms open in welcome. "That's Dumbledore, innit?" Seamus whispered. Dean gave him a curious look. "The headmaster," he explained.
"Welcome!" Dumbledore's voice was hardly above speaking volume, but the hall was silent enough for it to reach everyone. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
The students clapped and cheered. Dean was relieved to see some Gryffindors laughing like they had no more of a clue what it meant than he did.
He turned back to Seamus who was gaping at the table, now piled high with food. The older students began filling their plates without hesitation. Dean scooped potatoes onto his plate as Seamus took an impressive bite out of a pork chop. As he picked up his fork, Dean became aware of a ghost, the one with a ruff from earlier, floating by his shoulder and watching them a bit sadly.
"That does look good," he said as he watched the boy with glasses, Potter, dig into his steak.
"Can't you -?"
"I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," he replied. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."
"I know you you are!" cried a redheaded boy next to Potter. "My brothers told me about you - you're Nearly Headless Nick!"
The ghost raised his nose haughtily.
"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-"
Seamus interrupted in before the ghost could finish.
"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"
The ghost looked rather indignant and slightly disappointed.
"Like this," he said, pulling on his left ear. His whole head swung onto his shoulder, only attached to his neck by a small bit of sinew. Seamus made a gagging noise and the redheaded boy pulled a face. The ghost seemed rather pleased with their response as he repositioned his head. "So - new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable - he's the Slytherin ghost."
Seamus, who had recovered from the shock of Nick's headlessness followed his eyes to the Slytherin table, where a gaunt, rather formidable looking ghost was floating, his robes covered in silver blood.
"How did he get covered in blood?" he asked, a little too enthusiastically. Nearly Headless Nick put on an air of delicacy.
"I've never asked."
When everyone had thoroughly stuffed themselves, the food vanished from the plates. It was soon replaced with all kinds of desserts, from frozen blocks of ice cream to pies still hot from the oven. Seamus grabbed a jam doughnut from a pile as he joined the conversation about family that had come up. Dean focused on his apple pie, feeling as though he had little to contribute. He stayed rather quiet for the remainder of the feast, preferring to listen to the others talk. A fellow first year, a girl named Hermione, was rambling on about the classes she most looked forward to, and the boy with glasses, Harry, was questioning an older student about the teachers. At last, the pie crusts and candy wrappers disappeared and Professor Dumbledore stood once more.
"Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.
"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.
"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
A few students laughed nervously, but most of the hall remained in somber silence.
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!"
Dumbledore raised his wand into the air with a flick, sending golden ribbon spiralling out of it and into the air, where it twisted itself into words.
"Everyone pick their favorite tune," he said, "and off we go!"
Seamus bellowed enthusiastically, seemingly with no tune in mind. Dean opted for something more cheery. Nearly every student was singing their own tune:
"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald,
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling
With some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot."
Seamus finished rather quickly and spent the rest of the song thumping his hands on the table to rhythm that somehow didn't match a single tune that was being sung. Dean laughed as two redheaded twins at the Gryffindor table were the last to finish, having opted for a slow funeral march. When they finally finished, Dumbledore clapped the loudest.
"Ah, music," he said as he wiped away imaginary tears. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
The Gryffindors followed yet another redhead, who introduced himself as Percy, through the castle to their dormitories. Dean nearly fell behind as he stopped to gape at a moving painting and the staircase he was on began to move. They traveled through hidden passageways and up too many staircases to count. Finally, they rounded a corner to a corridor and stopped.
Percy eyes a floating pile of walking sticks. As he took a cautious step forward, a few walking sticks launched themselves at him.
"Peeves," he whispered, as though that cleared everything up. "A poltergeist." He straightened, puffed out his chest, and raised his voice. "Peeves - show yourself."
There was a rather loud sound like a balloon being deflated.
"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"
They heard a small pop and suddenly a little man appeared, floating in midair. He was clutching the walking sticks, his rather wide mouth twisted into a wicked grin.
"Oooooooh!" He cackled. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!" He made a sudden dive at their heads, and everyone ducked.
"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!"
Peeves stuck out his tongue and disappeared, his pile of walking sticks tumbling down onto a boy's head.
"You want to watch out for Peeves," Percy told them as they continued down the corridor. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."
Dean accidentally stumbled into Seamus as they stopped suddenly in front of a large portrait of a fat woman in a pink dress.
"Password?" she asked.
"Caput Draconis," Percy replied. The portrait swung open, revealing a hole in the wall. Percy stepped aside, ushering them through it. Dean helped Seamus up behind him and they entered the common room.
It was wonderfully cozy, full of squashy armchairs and with a fire blazing away in the hearth. Percy sent the boys and girls off in separate directions. Dean followed the other four boys up a spiraling staircase and into a room with five four-poster beds, draped with velvet curtains. Their trunks were already at the foot of their beds. They were too full and tired to stay up chatting. Dean was asleep almost before his head hit his pillow.
