Hello and welcome to the tenth chapter of The Memento! We've finally made it to the sorting ceremony, which marks the proper start to the Hogwarts arc as well as the point after which things will start to go a bit downhill for poor Harry.
I want to, as always, say a huge thank you to everyone who favourited or followed this story, as well as to: Gime'SS, Cat Beats, lone ranger22, Soulinvoker, setokayba2n, gginsc, Valkyrie-Sythe, xXxblacklilyxXx, Fwe E, and Cered for your wonderful reviews! You're all awesome! :D
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or the Hogwarts school song...
~Chapter Ten: The Sorting~
Despite waiting until the bulk of the students had disembarked, upon opening the cabin door Harry was confronted with a mob of determined hangers-on who — much to his distress — clamoured for his pressed in close around the doorway, reaching for his hair and robes as if his fame would rub off on them if only they could touch him.
As he stumbled back from the grasping hands, a silent consensus was reached among the purebloods behind him. Crabbe and Goyle stepped in front of him, clearing a path through the mob like a pair of human bulldozers. Harry trailed in their wake, Draco and Neville flanking him like guards, though neither of them looked entirely comfortable with the role. Together they fought their way out of the train and onto the dim platform. Draco slammed the door shut behind him, giving them enough of a head start to slide around a group of milling seventh years and disappear into the crowd.
"Firs' years!" boomed a gruff voice. "Firs" years this way! Come on then, that's right."
Standing at the end of the platform was a giant. It was as though someone had taken a chunk of the surrounding mountainsides and carved it into the shape of a man. He was eight feet tall with shaggy hair and a wiry black beard that obscured all his features apart from a pair of beetle black eyes and a large round nose. He was wearing a moleskin overcoat made entirely of pockets, some of which were wiggling as though their contents were alive.
"Who's that?" Harry asked in an undertone as they joined a gaggle of other first years in front of the giant.
"The groundskeeper, I think," Draco replied. "Father says he's some kind of savage living in a hut on the edge of the grounds, and that every once in awhile he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and sets his bed on fire."
It wasn't a very kind description, even if it was true. While the giant man did look rather wild, Harry also had the impression he was smiling under his thick beard as he waved hello to some of the older students.
"Do you know anything about him?" he asked Neville, who shrugged.
"Gran doesn't talk much about her time in school. Not sure he would have been there anyway."
When the last of the first years had assembled the giant led them out of the station and down a long cobbled road. The night air was refreshing after having spent so long cooped up in the train. A light breeze ruffled their hair, carrying laughter and the scent of savoury pies from a tall building with a sign in the shape of three broomsticks swinging over its open door.
A handful of adult wizards in jewel-bright robes stood on the side of the road watching the student procession and speaking in low murmurs. Further on, a witch was leaning from an upper floor window and puffing lazily on a long-handled pipe. The smoke billowing from her lips was thick and white, and Harry thought he could see lithe winged shapes in it before the breeze carried it away.
The road led them from the town, its cobbles dissolving into packed dirt as land around it transformed from tidy gardens to highland wilds. Wildflowers gave way to shrubs, then to a dense forest of alder, birch, and drooping willow cut through by the silhouette of a wall looming against the darkening sky. A gate was set into the stone bulwark, a hulking mass of wrought iron flanked by winged stone boars. It was swung wide open, beckoning them into the Hogwarts grounds where a caravan of carriages awaited.
As they approached the gate Basil let out a long, low hiss that vibrated across Harry's skin. There was no chance to ask what had disturbed her before he stepped between the stone boars and pain lanced through his head alongside a blinding flash of green light and a high sound that rang in his ears like laughter.
His legs forgot how to walk and he fell headlong into Crabbe's back. He bounced off as though he'd hit a tree, earning a startled grunt from the boy and concerned looks from the others.
"Are you okay?" Neville asked as Harry struggled to get his feet back under control.
Harry grit his teeth and pressed a hand to his brow. His head was throbbing with an insistent, dull pain centred along his curse scar. "Did you feel that?" he asked.
The others looked at him, puzzled. "Feel what?" Neville asked.
"Passing through the gate. There was something strange about it."
Draco looked over his shoulder, then shrugged. "There are wards around the school grounds," he offered, as though this were common knowledge. "But they shouldn't react to any of us."
"Why not?"
He rolled his eyes. "Because they can't run a school if they don't have any students."
"Are you sure you're alright?" Neville asked him again, eyeing the hand pressed to his head with a frown.
Harry forced it back to his side. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, it's nothing."
Rather than boarding the carriages with the rest of the student body, they turned off the road and scrambled down a rickety wooden staircase that groaned ominously with each of the gamekeeper's heavy steps. As the last rays of sun vanished behind the horizon, globes of fairy fire set into the underside of the handrails sprang to life, casting everything in a soft blue light. The air grew damp, and they could hear water lapping gently against stone on the far side of a copse of birch trees.
The stairway ended on the shore of a great black loch. Their feet crunched down a pebble beach as the gamekeeper lead them towards a broad wooden pier jutting out into the water. A single lantern swayed gently on a post at its end, illuminating a fleet of boats crowded against its sides.
"Four to a boat," the gamekeeper called. "And no shovin'! I don't want ter have to fish any of you lot out of the lake, hear?"
Harry also hoped it wouldn't come to that. He couldn't swim, his aunt had never bothered putting him in lessons.
"Come on," said Draco as Crabbe and Goyle ignored the giant's instructions and began pushing their way towards the front of the line. "We'll want to be first!"
Harry had no idea what the rush was, but Draco had already proven to have an insider's knowledge thanks to his father, so he trusted that he'd soon find out.
They piled into one of the boats tethered next to the lantern's post; Draco and Harry in front, with Neville and Crabbe behind them. Goyle went off to a different boat with a dark-skinned boy, which was probably for the best because a boat with both Crabbe and Goyle in it would have sunk.
"Everyone in?" the giant asked. His own large boat was riding low enough in the water that even a small wave would swamp him.
"Right then, forward!" He pulled a large, pink umbrella from inside his coat and tapped it sharply against the bow of his boat. As one, the little fleet slid from their moorings and began to glide whisper soft across the water.
It was cold on the lake, and Harry was soon shivering. He hadn't thought to bring his winter cloak, it was only the beginning of September after all, but he found himself thinking of it longingly as five minutes turned into ten with still nothing in sight.
"Should be coming into view soon," said the giant, his voice shattering the quiet and echoing across the water.
The boats came around the side of a small cliff and Harry got his first look at Hogwarts.
Perched on a rise where a mountain's arm met the black loch was a castle with many towers and turrets. Pennants drifted against its walls and it's windows were ablaze with light — shining to rival the starts.
"Wow!" Harry said breathlessly, unable to tear his eyes from the castle as they sailed into the shadow of its walls. Passing through a curtain of ivy, they sailed into an underground harbour where the boats pulled up against a handful of short wooden jetties. Disembarking at last, they came to the base of a wide staircase cut directly into the stone of the cliff.
Up and up they climbed, until Harry's legs were burning and his breath came in short gasps. He reached the top just behind the groundskeeper, and when he looked back he saw the others had flagged behind and were taking a breather on a landing below.
They had come to a pair of large stone doors decorated with carvings of magical creatures. There were mermaids and horses with fish tails, centaurs and wild eyed wolves, and above them all the serpentine body of a dragon in flight. The doors were closed, and Harry could see no handle.
"Alrigh' there Harry?" The giant asked. He didn't seem at all winded from the climb.
Harry had to lean back to see the man's face. "How do you know my name?"
"Well, I recognized you, o'course. Though las' time I saw you, you was only a baby."
Harry couldn't imagine his aunt and uncle allowing this wild man to squeeze into the house at Privet Drive — he doubted they'd even allow him on the lawn. If they'd met, it must have been in the brief period before his parents' deaths.
"Who are you, exactly?" he asked.
"Crikey, I haven't introduced meself! Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts." He held out a hand the size of a dinner platter and shook Harry's whole arm with a vigorous enthusiasm that nearly caused Harry's humerus to part company with his shoulder.
"I was hopin' I'd get to help you with yer school shopping," Hagrid said. "Dumbledore thought we might have some trouble gettin' to you, but I guess it all turned out in the end, eh?
"Still, he's looking forward to you startin' me thinks. Seems to expect great things from you, Dumbledore does."
Harry recovered his arm and pressed down on the joint, making sure it was still in place. "Because I killed Voldemort?"
Hagrid shuddered and his eyes darted to the shadows pockmarking the rough stone ceiling as if expecting the man's ghost to swoop down shrieking bloody murder. "Don' say that name!" he growled. "Gives me the willies, it does."
"Is this oaf bothering you, Harry?" Draco asked as he stepped onto the landing. He'd finally regained enough stamina to finish the climb, though his cheeks were flushed pink and he was breathing as though he'd run a marathon. The other first year students were catching up as well, their upturned faces watching the trio on the landing with unbridled curiosity.
Harry had no idea what sort of expression was plastered across his face, but he smothered it fast. "No," he said.
"Yer a Malfoy," Hagrid said, eyeing Draco with obvious mistrust.
"So good of you to notice," Draco drawled, stepping up to Harry so they stood shoulder to shoulder. A united front against the groundkeeper's darkening expression. "If you're quite finished butchering our noble mother tongue, I believe we have somewhere to be."
"Hey now!" Hagrid bellowed, swatting at Draco as though the boy were a fly he could crush beneath his palm. Draco was forced a step back, and then another as the groundkeeper pulled Harry against his writhing coat. "You keep away from him, hear? Harry don't need any of yer type skulkin' about, fillin' his head with nonsense!"
Draco went rigid, and he wasn't the only one. Crabbe and Goyle looked ready to throw themselves on the groundskeeper, fists leading. Among the other first years, cold fury radiated from every fourth face and wands were drawn surreptitiously from pockets or concealed arm holsters. Harry found he was angry as well. Who did this groundskeeper think he was, sticking his bulbous nose in friendships that didn't concern him?
"My type?" Draco said, eyes tight and a slight waver in his lower lip.
"Y'eh can't trust him, Harry," Hagrid said, leaning down as though confiding a great and terrible secret. "Them Malfoys are a slippery bunch — rotten to the core, the lot of them."
Harry shrugged out of the man's grip and marched over to Draco, whirling around so they were once again side by side. "Draco's my friend!"
Hagrid reeled back. "But yeh can't be— He's a Malfoy— They're as dark a family as dark can be!"
"I don't believe you! And even if I did, I wouldn't care!" Harry squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, trying to keep the emotions burning inside him from spilling over into a burst of magic he wasn't sure he'd be able to control. "He's my friend, and I won't let you tell me otherwise!"
He missed the astonishment that flashed across Draco's face.
"But—" Hagrid tried one last time to dissuade him, but Harry cut him off before another hurtful word could spring from his mouth.
"No!" His denial echoed down the stone steps, reverberating and doubling until it was lost under the distant lapping of water against the harbour's shore. The tall dark skinned boy who'd shared a boat with Goyle let out a low whistle.
Behind Hagrid, the door creaked open, revealing a tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes. A pocket watch rested open in the palm of her hand and her stern face was twisted in displeasure.
"You're late, Hagrid," she said sharply.
Hagrid ducked his head. "Ah, sorry Professor McGonagall. Was just…" There was an awkward pause, and then he finished lamely, "waitin' on the stragglers,"
Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "No matter. Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."
Harry stuck close to Draco's side as they followed the imposing witch into a cavernous entry-hall. The other boy had regained his composure, though there was still a tremble in his voice as he said, "Wait until I tell my father about what that oaf said — in front of everyone else, no less. It was slanderous! We can take him to court for that!"
"I'll be your witness," said a dark haired girl standing behind them in the line.
"Me too," Harry said quickly, his chest humming with happiness when a smile returned to Draco's face.
"I'll hold you to that," he said.
Even though Draco had told him stories about Hogwart's Great Hall on the train, the real thing was still enough to take his breath away. It was lit by hundreds of white candles, which floated in midair above the four long house tables.
The teacher's table sat on a low dais at the end of the hall, and it was to here that Professor McGonagall led them. She lined them up facing the rest of the student body and then disappeared off to one side.
The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight, and Harry raised his eyes to the enchanted ceiling in an attempt to avoid their gazes, which felt as though they were all focused directly on him.
Professor McGonagall reappeared and silently set a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a ragged wizard's hat.
Harry caught Draco's eye, and the other boy inclined his head almost imperceptibly. He turned back to the hat with new interest as it twitched. Several of the other first years jumped in surprise, and Harry was pleased that he wasn't one of them. Then a rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth and the hat began to sing.
He knew the hat would judge them, but when it claimed to be able to see everything inside their heads he started to feel a little queasy. There were a lot of things in his head he didn't want anyone to see, least of all a talking hat. What if it told the teachers about Basil? Or about how he could speak to snakes? His mouth went dry and a tremor stole over his shoulders as he imagined them marching him out of the Great Hall at wand-point, faces hard and eyes cold with distrust.
Maybe it won't come to that. Maybe they'd just… watch me, or something. The prospect of extra surveillance didn't sit well with him, but it was better than being rejected outright.
A round of applause startled him out of his thoughts and he realized the Hat had finished its song and was now bowing to the four house tables. Harry clapped his hands twice and then let them fall back to his sides. Beneath his robes, Basil flexed her coils, edging her head up his stomach until it was nestled in the dip between his ribs.
"Do not fear," she whispered. "You are my Speaker, and I will not allow them to harm you."
He wasn't sure a three foot snake would be able to do much against three hundred witches and wizards, but the assurance that he'd have someone on his side helped ease his mind.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a long roll of parchment in her hands. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said, and then without further ado: "Abbott, Hannah."
A pink-faced girl with blond pigtails stumbled out of line. She perched on the stool and Professor McGonagall set the hat on her head. There was a moment's pause and then the hat shouted, for all the hall to hear, "Hufflepuff!"
A table on the left cheered and clapped as Hannah went to join them.
Professor McGonagall continued on through the roll. Sometimes the hat shouted out the house immediately, but for others it took a little while to decide. When Neville was called forward he sat on the stool for over four minutes, his shoulders rigid and back hunched. He shook his head several times, as though taking part in a silent argument, and Harry discovered he was holding his breath. He let it out in a rush just as the hat shouted, "Gryffindor!"
Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to 'MacDougal, Morag'. He caught Harry's eye, and Harry clapped for him.
After Morag came Draco, who bumped Harry's shoulder and smirked before swaggering forward. The hat had barely touched his head when it screamed "Slytherin!"
Draco looked pleased, and Harry clapped for him as well as he went to join Crabbe and Goyle at the Slytherin table.
His name would be called soon, and he was faced with a conundrum. His friends had been sorted into different houses and as the last one up to the stool it rested on him to pick favourites… or maybe it didn't. Draco had said it was possible to influence the sorting, not that it was required. So long as he ended up with one of them he could leave the Hat to its deliberations.
"Potter, Harry!"
He nearly tripped on the hem of his robes as he made his way forward and sank onto the stool. Professor McGonagall held out the Hat, which he accepted with trembling hands. The fabric was rough under his palms, and the familiar taste of dust and mildew tickled the back of his throat as he breathed in. It brought memories of his cupboard surging to the forefront of his mind, and he hesitated. He didn't want the Hat to look inside his head, but he wanted to stay with his new friends and that meant being sorted.
He was still shaking as he raised the hat and lowered it slowly onto his head.
It swallowed him easily, falling over his eyes and blocking out the sea of curious faces. Even the light of the candles faded to a muted glow and Harry took comfort in the pressing semi-darkness.
"I've been waiting for you, Harry Potter," said a small voice in his ear. He jumped, nearly toppling off the stool, and his nerves were met with tinkling laughter from beyond the confines of the Hat.
"You too?" he whispered, heart wavering between pleasure at all the attention and exasperation.
The Hat chuckled. "Indeed. Your name has passed my peak several times of late attached to some rather peculiar stories, and I find myself intrigued as to their veracity."
Harry tensed. "You're going to look at my memories, aren't you?"
"Alas, Mr Potter, my creators bestowed me with a mere shadow of the art of legilimency. All I can see of your mind are impressions of your qualities and character."
"So you lied in your song?"
The Hat shifted slightly on his head of its own accord, and its voice sounded embarrassed as it said, "Yes, well, these things are constrained by metre and rhyme, you know. Besides, I like to imagine it gives the troublemakers a moment of pause when they think I've seen all their plans and darkest desires right off the train...
"But enough about that!" it exclaimed, eager to change the subject. "At the end of July, I witnessed a series of events that implied you traveled from Surrey to Diagon Alley and back entirely unescorted. It caused something of a commotion here, and I've been dying to ask: why did you do it?"
Now it was Harry's turn to shift uneasily. The hat made it sound like the school was watching him, but surely that couldn't be the case. If they knew that Harry had left his relatives' house, shouldn't they also know how he was treated within its walls? "Does this have anything to do with my sorting?"
"Am I not the Sorting Hat, and this not your sorting?"
"Couldn't you just look at the impressions, or whatever?"
"Why so evasive, Mr Potter? One might almost suspect you of wrongdoing."
Harry bit his lip. He had stolen money from Dudley to get to London, but there had been no other way. The Hat hadn't asked him how though, it had asked him why, which allowed for a much safer answer. "Well, I couldn't just wait around until the start of term and hope someone would come get me," he whispered.
"So you took the initiative?"
"Er, yes, I suppose."
The hat chuckled again. "I can already tell you will be a great foiler of plans, Mr Potter. I believe the Headmaster intended for you to be escorted to the Alley on your birthday by Rubeus Hagrid. The look of shock on his face when he realized you'd already accessed your trust vault… well, after a thousand years of the same four walls you can imagine how nice it is to have some excitement now and then."
Harry supposed he was lucky he'd taken the initiative to go to Diagon Alley on his own. If he'd waited another day Hagrid would have come to Privet Drive and there'd have been no way to keep his intention to attend Hogwarts a secret from his aunt and uncle.
"I suppose that would get a little boring," he agreed, but something the Hat had said was bothering him. "Um, Sir, you said I'd be a foiler of plans… does that mean there are plans for me already in place?"
"Aha!" said the hat. "Now there is the million galleon question! Unfortunately, I'm bound by old magics from relaying any plans or information I may have overheard in my place of repose."
"And where is it you… repose during the year? You know, in case I wanted to visit?"
The hat broke into laughter. "I thought I saw a measure of cunning in you, Mr Potter. I'm glad to see I was proven correct. You may, if you wish, find me in the headmaster's office during the year anytime you wish for a chat with this old moth-eaten hat."
An uneasy feeling rose in the pit of Harry's stomach, even though he knew he had no real reason to distrust the Headmaster other than for his terrible information distribution practices and the less-than sympathetic remarks Draco's father had made on the platform. Dumbledore had a reason to be looking into him — he was the executor of his trust after all — but the Hat almost made it sound as though there was more to the plans than that. Speculation would get him no where right now however, literally. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting on the stool, but he guessed several minutes had gone by since his sorting began and he still felt as if they hadn't even begun.
"Will you look at the impressions now?" he asked.
"I suppose. No matter how much I may crave idle conversation, we do have a job to do here," the Hat said with a sigh. "And I see your classmates and teachers are growing impatient."
The Hat made a sound as though it were clearing a non-existent throat. "Ahem, yes. Hmm, difficult. Very difficult," it said in a stilted voice. "There's resourcefulness here, and great determination. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes — and an unbreakable spirit, now that is interesting… so, where shall I put you?"
"Are you making fun of me?" Harry asked, thrown by the sudden change in tone.
"Not at all," the hat replied, and Harry had the impression it was smirking. "Just making sure you get a taste of an authentic sorting experience. But all fun aside, do you have a preference?"
"I'd be fine with either Gryffindor or Slytherin."
"Gryffindor or Slytherin, eh? It's an unusual combination, not one I come across every year. And it's true that you're well suited for either house, but you really have no preference?" Harry shook his head. "Curious. Most see those houses as diametrically opposed, and will always argue for one over the other."
"I'm sorry," said Harry as he tried to puzzle out what 'diametrically' meant.
"Oh, I'm not angry, quite the opposite, actually. I always love a good challenge." The Hat was quiet for a long moment and there was a faint tickling in Harry's head before it spoke again.
"What a puzzle you are, Harry Potter. My first impulse is to put you in Slytherin. Necessity has made you resourceful far beyond your years, and such determination! Indeed, you have many of the qualities Salazar Slytherin sought in his students.
"And yet, your initiative, bravery, and reckless pursuit of your goals would seem to put you firmly in Gryffindor."
The Hat hummed thoughtfully. "You could be great, you know. Regardless of your placement. It's all here in your head. All you need to do is tap into it."
Tap into it. As though he had a secret trove of knowledge buried deep in his mind. That's silly, Harry thought. I'm pretty sure I'd know about knowing stuff if that was the case.
"Have you made a decision?" he asked.
The Hat stalled, humming and hawing. "Let me ask you a question," it eventually said. "If you had to choose between hiding who you are to find acceptance from others, or remaining true to yourself even if it means standing alone, which would you choose?"
Harry frowned. What kind of question was that? Neither of the options seemed very good in his opinion, but if he had to choose…
"I would remain true to myself," he said.
For years the Dursleys had tried to beat out his sense of wonder — to make him believe he was the freak they claimed he was. That there was something wrong with him. He could have agreed with them, maybe they wouldn't have hated him so much if he had, but it had always felt viscerally wrong. He knew he wasn't a freak, even if he'd never connected the strange occurrences around him to magic until after he met Basil. Harry was Harry, and he'd never let anyone tell him otherwise.
"Very well," said the Hat. "Many see Gryffindor as the house of bold deeds and actions, but there are many other kinds of courage. The courage to remain true to yourself, despite pressure from all sides. An unbreakable spirit, which will not bow to expectations or manipulation. Above all your other qualities, this is your greatest strength. Use it well, young Gryffindor!"
The hat yelled the last word out for the rest of the hall to hear, and there was an explosion of cheers from the House of the Lion.
Harry pulled the Hat off his head. Even the teachers were clapping he noticed as he looked back over his shoulder. His eyes slid along the long table and came to rest on the silver haired headmaster in his high chair. Dumbledore inclined his head Harry's way, and raised his goblet in a silent toast.
Draco was scowling when Harry caught sight of him at the Slytherin table, and Harry offered him an apologetic shrug before starting towards his new house. Two steps later he froze. The Gryffindors had jumped to their feet and were surging over the benches — a tidal wave of enthusiasm led by the Weasley twins who were waving their napkins in the air like flags and yelling, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" and, "Hatsall!"
Harry's eyes went wide and he back-pedalled away. Professor McGonagall shouted a protest at the interruption, but she was ignored as the excited Lions chased Harry around the end of the Hufflepuffs' table.
A bench slammed into the back of Harry's knees and he fell onto the seat with a painful thump that rattled his spine. Dazed, he looked around and found himself surrounded by Slytherins. Goyle was on his right, and beyond him Draco. Their faces were tense, wary — but they weren't trying to pounce on him, which made all the difference to Harry's mind.
"Can I sit here instead?" he asked weakly.
Draco's face went slack. "You don't know…"
"Huh?"
Before Draco could elaborate hands latched onto Harry's arms and shoulders. The Gryffindors hauled him off the bench and back across the room. They patted his back and shoulders mercilessly, faces jubilant as his hand was seized and shaken. He struggled in their grip, panic simmering in his chest as his nails clawed at wrists and fingers until the last of them peeled away and he was free once more.
"Let me bite them!" Basil hissed, writhing as she tried to free herself. Harry pressed a hand over her head, pinning her in place and hoping that no one had noticed the suspicious rippling of his robes.
"Enough!" Professor McGonagall bellowed over the roar of her students. She was waving her list, the parchment flapping and creasing, small tears developing along its sides from the rough treatment. "Back to your seats this instant! I understand your excitement but there are students still waiting to be sorted!"
This was enough to send the younger students scurrying back to their seats, but the Weasley twins continued to egg the others on with a rowdy victory song they made up as they went. It was overwhelming, and Harry felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. All he wanted was for them to leave him alone!
"Harry!" Neville called, beckoning him over to the table where he'd claimed a seat one in from the end. He pointed to the empty plate on his left and Harry hurried over, sliding himself onto the end of the bench. It looked like he'd be swarmed again, but then Professor McGonagall took a menacing step towards them and the older students scattered, boldness no match for the irritation furrowing her brow.
As Harry panted, trying to calm his racing heart, the sorting started up again.
'Weasley, Ronald," the fourth and youngest red-head was the last of the new Gryffindor students, and he hurried over and slid into a seat across from Harry.
"Well done, Ron, excellent," said the eldest of his brothers as 'Zabini, Blaise' was sorted into Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.
At the high table, Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet and beamed down at them, his arms open wide, as if nothing pleased him more than seeing them all together.
"Welcome," he said. "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!"
He sat back down to roaring applause, but Harry was all clapped out. Neville giggled, looking more at ease now that he wasn't standing up in front of the entire school. "You were up there for a long time," Harry said to him.
"Not as long as you," Neville replied and then held a basket of rolls out to Harry which had certainly not been on the table just a few seconds before. "Bread?"
Harry's mouth fell open, overenthusiastic housemates driven from his mind by the sudden arrival of their dinner. The golden plates on the tables were heaped with more food than he'd ever seen in one place before. There were whole roast chickens, pots of roasted potatoes, great tureens of gravy, and so many other things that Harry had no idea where to start. Was all this food really for them? He looked up and down the table where the other Gryffindors were piling their plates full of slices of roast beef, candied carrots, and yams. It all smelt delicious, and Harry's mouth began to water. Dudley would be in heaven if he were here, he thought. No doubt Crabbe and Goyle were as well. A quick look over his shoulder at the Slytherin table confirmed this. Even after eating that mountain of sweets on the train they had put so much food on their plates that the piles were visible even from across the room.
Harry took a little chicken and some green beans and ate slowly, savouring each bite. A basket full of Yorkshire puddings made its way along the table and he snagged one of those too. His aunt always forced him to cook them around Christmastime and he'd been desperate to try one since the age of seven. He put a dollop of gravy over it, and then half cut half squashed it until he got a piece lodged on his fork. It was just as good as he'd imagined, and he skewered another piece.
"Is that all you're eating?" asked Ron Weasley from across the table when Harry set his knife and fork aside after ten minutes. His own plate was still piled high with meat and potatoes.
"I'm full," Harry replied.
"But you hardly ate anything at all!"
Harry didn't want to explain that if he ate any more he'd just end up feeling bloated and sick, so he shrugged and reached for a pitcher of pumpkin juice.
As dinner changed to dessert, talk at the table turned to the families of the first years. Harry learned that Dean Thomas, a tall black boy, was muggleborn; and that Seamus Finnigan had a muggle father and witch mother. No one asked Harry about his family, even Dean seemed to know Harry was an orphan. As the boys discussed their parent's views on magic and the school, Harry let his eyes wander back up to the teachers' table. There was Hagrid on the far end, overshadowing a tiny wizard next to him whose head barely cleared the table. Professor McGonagall was having a lively debate with the Headmaster, gesticulating so hard with her hand that she nearly overturned her goblet. On her other side was a reedy man with a large purple turban speaking to a teacher with greasy black hair and a hooked nose.
It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past the purple turban and straight into Harry's eyes — and a sharp, hot pain lanced along his scar.
"Ow!" Harry clapped a hand to his head. What's wrong with it today? It's never hurt like this before.
"What is it?" asked Neville.
"Nothing." Harry kept his eyes on the hook-nosed teacher, whose pale lips had curled up in a sneer. "Who's the teacher with the black hair? The one next to the man in the turban."
Neville peered towards the staff table. "I don't know. Though… he doesn't look very happy, does he?"
That he didn't. In fact, Harry swore the man's black eyes were radiating pure hatred, all of it directed straight at him. It was unnerving, and Harry turned his eyes back to the half-eaten cream puff on his plate.
At last, the remaining puddings and tarts vanished from the golden platters and Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet again.
"Ahem — just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start of term notices to give you."
Harry was starting to droop, but he did his best to pay attention as the Headmaster went over a short list of rules and announced the date for Quidditch tryouts.
"And finally," Dumbledore said, his face very grim. "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 most painful death."
His pronouncement was met with ringing silence, broken only by a faint murmur as the Weasley twins put their heads together.
"You will not!" exclaimed the eldest Weasley, his thin face pinched with anger at whatever plot he'd overheard.
"Oh, shove off Percy—" said the closest twin.
"Yeah," said the other. "It was clearly a challenge."
"Alas, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore said, his voice echoing through the hall. "I'm afraid it is not a challenge, but a most dire warning. This castle holds many secrets, some more dangerous than others. It is my duty as Headmaster to see you all safely through the year, and part of that duty entails ensuring you're warned when a warning is necessary." The twins' grins faded, no match for the Headmaster's grave expression. The man regarded them all for another long, heavy moment before a smile tugged at his lips. The students let out a breath of relief as the tension faded.
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. He gave his wand a little flick and a long golden ribbon flew out, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself snake-like into words.
"Everyone pick their favourite tune, and off we go!"
A cacophony of voices bellowed all at once, following along with the golden ribbon. Harry didn't shout, but he did murmur along obediently:
"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."
"That's a funny song," said Basil, her head having slithered up beneath his cowl. "Do they really think your head is full of flies?"
"What?" said Harry, but then they were being dismissed and Percy was shouting for the first years to follow him up to the Gryffindor common room over the scrape of bench legs on the floor.
Harry was just leaving the Great Hall when a hand snagged his elbow and he was tugged off to the side. It was Draco.
"So, you're a Gryffindor after all," he said, then sighed. "It will make things difficult."
"Why?"
Draco's eyes darted towards the stream of students filing from the Hall and he pulled Harry farther away, into a shadowed alcove. "Listen. Gryffindor and Slytherin are rival houses, we're supposed to hate each other!"
Harry's chest clenched painfully. "I don't hate you. Do you…"
"Of course not! But it's traditional for us to be at each other's throats."
"The Hat was considering me for Slytherin — really considering! Does that help?"
Draco sighed again and rubbed his brow. "Maybe? A little? I don't know, I'm too tired to think about this right now." Right on cue he yawned broadly and Harry followed suit a moment later
"See you tomorrow?" Harry asked hopefully.
"Of course," Draco replied. "We'll probably have classes together. Just be careful, your housemates might not like that we're… friends."
"They already know that," Harry pointed out. Their year mates had all been there to see the confrontation with Hagrid. Between that and the procession outside their compartment on the train it shouldn't come as a surprise to any of them.
Draco shook his head. "That was before the sorting. Just… be careful."
"You too," Harry said quietly, touched that the other boy was concerned about him. He yawned again. "Goodnight Draco."
"Goodnight Harry."
With that they split up, Draco heading down a stairwell to the dungeons while Harry found a group of Gryffindors to follow. Basil was singing the Hogwarts school song softly from beneath Harry's cowl, and the sound followed him all the way up into his tower dorm room and ushered him off to sleep.
~End Chapter Ten~
Oho, so Harry ended up in Gryffindor after all! I know that most of my reviewers guessed Slytherin or Ravenclaw and I hope you aren't disappointed! I tried to give a good rational for why Harry ended up where he did, and... well, putting him in Slytherin would have made everything a little too easy for our poor little protagonist. :)
I've always wanted to see a story where Harry's sorted into one house, but goes to sit with another - not to make some sort of political statement - but just because he's friends with someone in the other house. It wouldn't have really worked in this story, but I wanted to include a sort of nod to the idea, hence Harry's short-lived visit to the Slytherin table.
Thanks again for sticking with this story! I've come to the point where I need to make major alterations to my original drafts of the story (or write entirely new scenes and chapters), so I might not be able to keep up weekly postings. However, fear not - I have no intention of abandoning this story because I'm having way too much fun writing it.
Until next time!
~Theine