Disclaimer: Septima Vector belongs to JK Rowling.

Chapter 7: Vector

The Sorting Hat

"Chapter Seven: The Sorting Hat."

Septima Vector hadn't thought much about today's reading. Certainly, yesterday had been a shock, but today's so far had been merely light entertainment. She knew enough about Potter's history with Hogwarts even without having him in class to know that it wouldn't stay that way, but for now, things in the book were relatively quiet.

And at least they'd finally got rid of Binns. That ghost had been bringing down the school's reputation for decades. As much she disliked Dolores, Septima really hoped that would stick after Dumbledore's return (if he had one). Binns himself had barely noticed. He was asleep in his chair again. She wondered if they'd just have to reassign the classroom and leave him to lecture to an empty room.

She smiled as she read about Minerva greeting the nervous first years and explaining about the Houses and the point system. As usual, no one would admit to knowing how the Sorting was done, and Hermione, predictably, was reciting the spells she thought she might need. The ghosts actually scared the kids, which surprised her a little. Any magical-raised child would know about ghosts. Still, she was pleased by the young Potter's awestruck reaction at seeing the castle and the Great Hall for the first time.

And then, came the Sorting Hat.

"Maybe they had to get a rabbit out of it, Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing—" Wait, what?" Septima said, nearly sure she'd misread. "Why would you want to pull a rabbit out of a hat?"

"Oh, it's a muggle parlour trick involving sleight of hand," Charity Burbage explained.

"Really? How odd," Septima said. Then she turned the page, and— "Oh, dear." The entire text of the Sorting Hat's song was written out for her. "Excuse me, but I am not going to attempt to repeat the Hat's singing." She was pretty sure she heard Filius mutter, "Spoilsport," but she ignored him. She recited the words like poetry instead. Even then, she still got a smattering of applause when she finished.

"'So we've just got to try on the hat!' Ron whispered to Harry. 'I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll.'"

At the Gryffindor Table, Fred sniggered conspicuously.

The book ran through many of the names of the new students as they were Sorted, sometimes commenting on what happened, sometimes not. Unlike Flitwick and Sprout, however, Vector didn't shout when the book told her to.

"'Granger, Hermione!'

"Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"'GRYFFINDOR!' shouted the hat. Ron groaned."

"It took longer than that," Hermione said. "It was considering Ravenclaw for quite a while."

"Well, I was kinda distracted," Harry said.

"A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train?"

"Nonsense!" McGonagall interrupted a little defensively. "That only happened once." When that got rather more laughter than she had intended, she spoke up louder and added, "Ahem, I meant that on one occasion, a squib managed to sneak into the Sorting Ceremony. However, the Sorting Hat identified him as such immediately."

Vector nodded and kept reading. Longbottom took a very long time to go to Gryffindor, the book noted, while Malfoy went to Slytherin instantly, surprising no one.

"There weren't many people left now.

"'Moon'…, 'Nott'…, 'Parkinson' …, then a pair of twin girls, 'Patil' and 'Patil'…, then 'Perks, Sally-Anne'…, and then, at last—

"'Potter, Harry!'"

"Who's Sally-Anne Perks?" Ron asked in confusion.

Hermione smacked him in the arm: "Don't you pay attention? She was my roommate!"

"She was?"

"Yes, muggle-born, too. She moved after second year."

It was then that Harry's friends noticed him staring up at the High Table looking very tense. He'd forgotten about this part. Unlike the rest of the students, the book recorded in detail what the Hat had said to him.

"Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, 'Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.'

"'Not Slytherin, eh?' said the small voice. 'Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that—no? Well, if you're sure—better be GRYFFINDOR!'"

There was no cheering this time as his Sorting was recounted—only a palpable silence. "Crap, they really are gonna think I'm evil now, aren't they?" he whispered.

"I don't think it's that bad, Harry," Hermione assured him.

"Oh yeah? Everyone knows I'm a Parselmouth, and now I could've been in Slytherin, too?" He looked across, and he could already see Malfoy staring at him unhappily, probably for disrespecting Slytherin House or something.

"But you chose Gryffindor," she insisted. "Or at least 'not Slytherin', and besides, Fudge and Umbridge can't use the Slytherin thing against you. They were both Slytherins themselves."

"They were?" Ron said in surprise.

"And this is why you need to read more," she told them in annoyance.

The Sorting finished, and the book went into some detail about the Welcome Feast and a rather unpleasant introduction to Nearly-Headless Nick, along with Neville describing his own harrowing experience of learning that he was a wizard.

"Great Uncle Algie came round for tea and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go—Merlin's beard! That's got to be illegal, hasn't it?" Septima said.

"He said it was an accident," Fudge said lazily.

"Holding him out a window by his ankles, Minister? Auror, you can do something about this, can't you? That man shouldn't get away with something like that just because he's Madam Longbottom's brother-in-law."

"I'll have to check the statute of limitations, Professor Vector, but I'll look into it," Kingsley said. "Honestly, some people—trying to force magic out of kids in this day and age…"

Neville had turned very red from all the stares on him, and then turned pale as he realised the implications: "You don't think they'll do it, do you? I don't want Uncle Algie to get arrested."

"I hate to say it, Neville," Hermione told him, "but he kind of deserves it for that."

"It was an accident, though," he shot back.

"That doesn't matter! They could have killed you trying to get you to do magic—probably would have if you really had been a squib, even if they weren't trying to. And your family's supposed to be one of the good ones."

"They are good!" Neville protested. "They're just…"

"Old-fashioned?" she asked.

"Yeah."

Hermione considered responding that Malfoy would probably say the same thing about his family if someone asked him, or at least, a lot of the less fanatical Death Eater sympathisers would, but she suspected that wouldn't go over very well. She saw that "old-fashioned" attitude from too many purebloods around here, but she didn't know what to do about it.

"Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose and sallow skin.

"It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes—and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

"'Ouch!' Harry clapped his hand to his head.

"'What is it?' asked Percy.

"'N-nothing.'"

"Sure it was, mate," Ron said knowingly.

"Yeah, that's what they call a bad sign in basically every story ever," Ginny agreed.

Harry glared at his friends as they had a laugh at his expense. It wasn't funny…even if he did have a habit of downplaying his problems like that. But he soon noticed that up at the High Table, McGonagall was glaring at Snape all of a sudden, although what for, he couldn't guess, as she didn't say anything out loud.

Regardless, the book didn't paint Snape in a very good light, though that wasn't hard, and more unfortunately, Dumbledore was faring little better with Umbridge pulling the strings.

"'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.'"

"Aha!" Umbridge said. "And just why was something so dangerous allowed in the school? And why such a cavalier warning? That was practically an invitation for students who are too nosey for their own good to go investigate."

"Excellent questions, Dolores," Fudge agreed. "Yet more evidence of Dumbledore's poor and dare I say negligent management of this school. Although I have to ask, what was in the third floor corridor?"

"Oh, you'll find that out soon enough, Cornelius," she said. "It's quite the entertaining story."

Septima frowned. She did know what was in the school that year, and she knew Dolores would be able to use it against Dumbledore very easily. It was bad enough that he was already on the run, but this would take them that much further from salvaging the situation. But she still had no idea what she could do. She was nearly done with her chapter, so she dealt with that first. She again refused to actually sing the school song, but this time, a few of the students took it up, causing quite the uproar from Umbridge.

"Be quiet!" she shouted. "That inane song makes a mockery of this school. I don't know why we can't just commission a melody, at the very least. And you, you, and you—" She pointed to a few students who had been singing the loudest. "Detention tonight!"

That shut up the students at once. Meanwhile, after an encounter with Peeves, the Harry in the book went to sleep, although Septima was surprised when the book recorded a very unusual dream.

"—then Malfoy turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, whose laugh became high and cold—there was a burst of green light—" Septima stopped and shuddered. That definitely wasn't Snape's laugh, and from the look on his face, he knew it, too. "—and Harry woke, sweating and shaking.

"He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke next day, he didn't remember the dream at all."

"Wait, what?" Minerva gasped. "Say that again, Septima."

"—when he woke next day, he didn't remember the dream at all," she repeated.

"But that's impossible! How could the book record something that Mr. Potter himself doesn't remember?"

Umbridge finally looked a bit nervous for the first time in this debacle. "Magic, I'm sure," she said.

"Magic my foot!" McGonagall snapped. "I think this calls the whole book into question if it goes on about nonsense like that."

"Nonsense?" Umbridge said, sounding offended. "After all the secrets it's recorded that have already proved true? I think not. It has so far been eminently reliable. But I'm sure we can put in some enquiries with the Unspeakables when we're not so busy if you're not convinced. I trust that will assuage your concerns, Professor McGonagall?" And then, not waiting for her to answer, she added, "But we need to continue. Professor Babbling, will you read the next chapter, please?"

"As if I have a choice," the Ancient Runes teacher muttered as she took the book.

"Harry, do you remember that dream?" Hermione asked down at the Gryffindor Table.

"No, nothing. I had no idea," he said. "I could believe it, but I don't know for sure."

"But if even you don't remember it, how could the author have recorded it, even in the future?"

"I dunno. Pensieve, maybe? Or Legilimency? I hate to say it, but Umbridge is right. It's been right about everything else. It's probably right about this, too."

"But then…if the book knows things that no one should be able to know…" What do we do about it? was the obvious question, but she knew it was one they had no answer to.