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There Harry stood, on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, beside Professor Snape. The Professor had not wasted any time in bombarding Harry with a mixture of insults and threats as soon as Voldemort had left.

It had very nearly made him late for the train. But at least he was here now.

Harry had been confused about what Voldemort had meant when he said he would see Harry again at the Welcoming Feast. He also didn't know who Professors Carrow and Lestrange were, and why it had been a private joke between the Dark Lord and Bellatrix.

So Harry had tried asking Snape.
Predictably, Snape was no help, refusing point-blank to answer any of his 'irksome and irrelevant' questions.

Perhaps he'd find out when he got to Hogwarts.

In the distance, Harry saw the Hogwarts Express coming their way. "Bye, Professor. See you soon!" he said to Snape whose face tightened.

"I'm supposed to escort you onto the train, in case you loose your way," Snape informed him.

Just then, a girl with a headful of bushy brown hair and buck teeth came up to him with her trunk.

"First year?" she asked Harry, smiling warmly.

"Yes."

"Who were you escorted by? My escort was Professor McGonagall. She is the Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall is strict, but she's famous for her sense of fairness," the girl babbled.

Harry grinned, seeing Snape's grimace of distaste at the girl.

"You learnt all that about her only after staying a day with her?" he asked.

"Well, no…" the girl said. "Have I ever told you what good teachers books are?"

"Er…no…" Harry said. "My escort's Professor Snape. He teaches potions."

The girl whirled around to see Snape behind her. "I'm so sorry, sir! I didn't see you! Good morning, sir. I'm Hermione Granger. First-year student. Professor McGonagall is over there."

Hermione said all of this in the space of three seconds.

Snape hid a wince, Harry could tell.

The whistle of Hogwarts Express reminded Harry that the train was waiting.

"Miss Granger, Mr Potter, the train is here. If there's nothing else, I shall join Minerva," Snape said quickly.

Harry smiled at Hermione as he climbed up the stairs after her. Once on the train and securely in a compartment, Harry held out a hand for her to shake. "I'm Harry Potter. Glad to make your acquaintance."

"The food trolley doesn't come any more," said Hermione in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Food trolley?" asked Harry.

"There are all sorts of things on it. Chocolate frogs, Sugar Quills, Cockroach Clusters, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans... I read all about it in Hogwarts: A History."

"Why ever not?" Harry asked, dismayed. "It sounds absolutely smashing!"

"According to Hogwarts: A History, some of the rules were changed when Lord Voldemort won the war three years ago. This one of them."

"So Voldemort changed it," Harry said, half to himself.

"It's Lord Voldemort, Harry. You'll get yourself in trouble if you talk like that. If you're mistaken for one of those rebels, you'll be punished – it's not so severe for first-time offenders, but –"

"Not so severe?" Harry echoed in disbelief. "Is nearly half an hour of flat-out torture followed by death not severe?"

Hermione blanched. "What do you mean?"

"Mr Ollivander, you know, the wand-maker, he apparently was a key enforcer in one of those illegal organisations. Voldemort found out. He practically closed down the entire Diagon Alley, trying to get to the wand store."

Harry tried to downplay it, for Hermione's sake.

"Goodness…" Hermione breathed. "I mean, I've heard about the killings, the punishments, the prejudice towards Muggleborns, but I didn't know the rumours were true."

Harry shook his head.

"I mean, I didn't realise they let Lord Voldemort on such a free rein. He can't just go around killing people! I can't believe the Ministry of Magic isn't doing something about it," Hermione said.

"Voldemort has control over anywhere you go. He's the biggest fish in the ocean," Harry said bitterly, using the Dark Lord's own words of description.

Hermione leaned back into her seat with a deep sigh. "Are you Muggleborn?"

Harry stared at her blankly. "What's muggleborn?"

Hermione huffed in exasperation, "You know, a magical child born by non-magical parents."

"Then, yeah… I think so. My parents died in a car crash. They never would have died in such a way if they'd been magical, right? I lived with my Aunt and Uncle until Snape picked me up."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said. "And Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"It's Professor Snape."

"Whatever," Harry waved it aside with a good-natured chuckle, "are you Muggleborn?"

"Yes."

"It's just that you know so much about the wizarding world that I could've taken you for a… what do you call those that have magical parentage?"

"Thanks, Harry. They're half-bloods or purebloods."

"I could have taken you for a pureblood."

"Thanks."

"It just seems sort of strange, Hermione," Harry mused, "Why are people prejudiced towards Muggleborns?"

"They think we have dirty blood. The purebloods are meant to have the purest blood, and then it's the half-bloods."

"Has it always been like this?"

"I don't think so," Hermione hesitated. "It went steadily worse for the Muggleborns after Voldemort won the war."

"Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort…" Harry chanted. "I'm really starting to hate him."

"Shhh! Harry!" Hermione hissed. "What if somebody hears you?"

"Too late, Mudbloods. Somebody's already heard."

A voice came from outside their compartment as the compartment door slid open, pushed by a blonde boy with grey eyes.

"What's a Mudblood?" Harry asked the boy curiously while Hermione let out a gasp.

"Look what we have here," the blonde boy sneered, opening the door a little wider to show two solidly-built boys that gave Harry the impression of bodyguards. "A typical little Mudblood and a Mudblood with mud-coloured hair."

Harry had no idea what they called him, but he felt immensely enraged on Hermione's behalf. What was wrong with brown hair?

"Well," he spoke slowly, deliberately, "at least she is not an albino rat."

"Why you, insolent little monster!" the boy snarled ferociously, drawing out his wand.

Harry pulled his out too, and pointed it at the boy before realising he didn't know any spells.

"Crucio!" the boy shrieked.

Harry stumbled backwards, horrified, as a red light shot out from the tip of the blonde boy's wand towards him.

To his relief, nothing happened when it touched him.

"Didn't seem to have worked," Harry muttered, inspecting himself.

The blonde boy glowered.

"Give me a spell, Hermione," Harry urged.

"Pardon?"

"Any spell – an aggressive one. Any one. I don't know any," he said.

"Aguamenti."

"Okay. Auguamenti!"
Harry directed it at the blonde boy still standing in the doorway.

The boy was instantly showered. He splattered as he looked in disbelief down at his soaked attire. "How dare you?! I shall tell my father about this."

"I'll be waiting," said Harry smugly.

"Come on, Draco. Let's go," one of his 'bodyguards' said. "We'll ask Professor Lestrange to deal with this."

"I'll make them regret it!"

When the three had left them in peace, Harry turned to Hermione. "I think Draco has quite a flair for dramatics. Perhaps he should become an actor. Anyway, what's Mudblood?"

"An offensive term for a Muggleborn."

"Well, it's not that surprising that spewing out offensive words is his area of expertise," Harry scoffed.

"Hmm…" Hermione murmured anxiously, biting her lip. "Let's hope he's just another Daddy's boy."

"What do you mean?"

"If his father is some high-ranking general, you'd be in trouble."

"I don't care if he's the Minister for Magic or the Queen of England."

"Harry! Draco's father can't be a queen!"

"Harry! The train's stopped," Hermione said. "Ohmygoodness, I'm so excited. Did you know the ceiling of the Great Hall is supposed to imitate the night sky? It's in Hogwarts: A History."

"Hermione, we're really, actually here!"

They came out of their compartment, hurling trunks. The doors of the train were open, and some students were already outside.

"First years, over here!" a voice called.

A woman in fluid, dark green robes stood outside. She looked at them from above her spectacles which was perched firmly on her nose. Her brown hair was weaved tightly, neatly, into a severe-looking bun.

Harry knew immediately she was not someone to be crossed.

"See, she's over there!" Hermione waved wildly. "That's Professor McGonagall!"

"Get down here, Mr Potter, Miss Granger at once! The boats are ready to go," Professor McGonagall articulated.

"I see what you mean about strict," Harry muttered.

Moments later, they were all packed like sardines inside the small wooden boats.

McGonagall performed some sort of weird charm on the boats to make the oars move by themselves.

"Directly in front of us is Hogwarts castle, which you cannot see yet. Towards the left, the Forbidden Forest, which, if I may add, is forbidden from students. If I catch any of you down there I will personally hand you a month of detentions, and make you scrub cauldrons for Severus," McGonagall said.

"She's a very responsible teacher," Hermione whispered in Harry's ear.

"Bit over-responsible if you ask me," Harry murmured back.

"Well, good thing I'm not asking you then," she retorted quietly.

"Towards the right is the Quidditch Pitch. Don't let me catch you down there without a note signed by a teacher either."

I won't, Harry thought to himself.

"There in the moat lives the Giant Squid. It is rather friendly, though as a word of forewarning; it does not like children sharing its moat."

Suddenly, Harry had an idea. He shot his arm up. "Professor, who is the Headmistress of Hogwarts?"

There, if Snape wouldn't tell him, Harry would find out for himself.

But things were not as easy as that.

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips in a disapproving manner.

"No more talking for the rest of this boat trip," she said firmly.

Harry kept close to Hermione as they climbed up Hogwarts' front stairs.

The first sight they caught of Hogwarts was beautiful, beyond anything else Harry had ever seen before.

He knew spontaneously he would love the life at Hogwarts.

Those towers and those old bricks, along with the yellow lights and the small moat. It was truly a wonderful sight to behold.

McGonagall had informed them that they would be sorted into four different Houses.

The first was Gryffindor, a place where the brave dwelled.

The second was Ravenclaw, where the clever and creative students went.

The third was Hufflepuff, which held all the kind, caring, loyal and hardworking souls.

The final one was Slytherin, house of the ambitious and cunning snakes.

Harry didn't mind too much where he went as long as the people there were friendly, and as long as Hermione was in the same House as him.

Harry had a creeping suspicion that Hermione would be sorted into Ravenclaw. That girl was obsessed with books to an unhealthy extent.

As they went past the large metal doors, McGonagall led them past standing armours and portraits of people that smiled or winked at them as they walked by.

Harry saw one of them wink at him, so he winked back. He could hear the delighted laughter of that painting following him as he walked on, keeping pace with Hermione.

McGonagall came to a halt outside the doors to the Welcoming Feast.
"Wait here," she addressed them. "I will go up to the dormitories to get the other First Years. Don't you dare go anywhere. And don't even think about opening those doors before I come back."

She left.

The students started speaking to each other in hushed whispers.

"Harry, which House?" asked Hermione, looking white and clammy.

"Don't really mind that much. You?"

"I think Ravenclaw appeals to me the most," answered Hermione swiftly, without even needing to think.

"Typical," Harry muttered, grinning.

"I heard there's a sorting hat," Hermione whispered, changing the subject.

"A hat? You are joking, right? How can a hat tell your persona –?"

"It's in Hogwarts: A History," Hermione mumbled defensively.

A while later they were joined by the other First Years.

McGonagall looked at them sternly, and warned them to be quiet for what seemed to Harry had to be the seventh time before she allowed the doors to the Great Hall to finally open.

Harry stepped into the candlelight. He had never ever imagined such a strange and splendid place.

Thousands of lit candles were floating in mid-air over the four long wooden tables, where the rest of the students were sitting.

Harry looked at them. They all wore plain black school robes, although the symbolic shields on the robes were different.

At a closer glance, Harry realised they were of a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake. It didn't take a genius to figure out they were the House symbols.

The lion for Gryffindor, the eagle for Ravenclaw, the badger for Hufflepuff and the snake for Slytherin.
Although why Ravenclaw's patron was an eagle and not a raven, Harry didn't know.

These tables, each for one House, were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets that shone with an almost eye-hurting light.

At the every front of the Hall was the staff table, covered by a long white cloth.

Professor McGonagall led them up there so that they stood in a line in front of it.

Harry didn't even spare the staff table a second glance; he was too busy running his eyes over the other things.

Hermione had been right – the ceiling was the night sky, enchanted into a deep blue shade.

It was so amazing, so glamorous, that Harry could almost forget what he had witnessed earlier that day.
And to think! That from now and onwards, this place would be his home!

Harry was so distracted that it wasn't until Hermione nudged him sharply in the ribs that he actually looked back at Professor McGonagall.

And it wasn't until McGonagall opened her mouth that Harry realised exactly who the participants of the staff table were…

"My Lord," McGonagall greeted through gritted teeth, sounding as if she was bothered by an unbearably bitter taste. "Here are the students."

My Lord?
Harry was bewildered. That was how Snape had greeted the Dark Lord. Perhaps the wizarding world had a lot of lords.

But Voldemort had said he would see Harry at the Welcoming Feast…

With a bad sense of anticipation, Harry looked up slowly at the staff table to see Voldemort perched in the tallest seat at the table, in all his icy magnificence.

He quickly turned away, feeling sick.

The Dark Lord, a cold-blooded murderer, was here, sitting with ease in the main gathering room of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as if it belonged to him.

"Students," McGonagall said clearly, her voice stiff, "here are our staff members."

Harry forced himself to look at the staff table again, just not at the spot where he sat.

"To the very right is Professor Flitwick, our Charms Professor. Sitting beside him, Professor Lestrange."

Harry jolted. Professor Lestrange. He stared at her. Wasn't she the female deatheater he had seen at Diagon Alley? Bellatrix, Voldemort had called her.

Her full name apparently was Bellatrix Lestrange.

Great, Harry thought, just great. Hogwarts School was infested by crawling deatheaters.

Focusing on what McGonagall was saying again, Harry discovered she had got through with introducing most of the teachers.

"Sitting beside Professor Sprout is Professor Snape. And then, our beloved Headmistress… Headmistress Carrow."

Harry stared.

So this was the Headmistress. In all honesty, she wasn't all that much an impressive woman. Carrow was short – short and stubby, with hair tied into a thick ponytail that was almost as long as she was tall.
Her lips, Harry observed, were bright red, contrasting horribly with her naturally splotchy skin. She wore black robes, just like Professor Snape, Professor Lestrange and… the Dark Lord, but somehow, it looked so much less professional on her. As if she was wearing one of those tacky-looking children's costumes for Halloween.

Voldemort had mentioned her too, in Diagon Alley.

Harry wondered if she too, was a deatheater.

"Students!" Professor McGonagall caught his attention again. This time, she led them to a small stool, where she instructed the student at the front of the line to sit down. "This is the Sorting Ceremony, where all of you will be sorted into either Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor or Hufflepuff…"

She cleared her throat, and plucked an old looking hat out of thin air. "The hat will tell you where you belong…"

Harry felt the sharp, triumphant nudge of Hermione's elbow again.

"I won't say 'told you so'," Hermione whispered in a tone so low that only Harry heard.

He smirked at her.

"My Lord," McGonagall had turned back to the Dark Lord again. "I apologise for the inconvenience, but with nothing to do and a whole year's time to spend, our Sorting Hat has created a new song. I understand the rules clearly indicate the song is a waste of time…but the Hat insists. Will you make a little exception for this year, My Lord? This is an old tradition after all."

A mildly irritated look crossed Voldemort's face, but was gone just as quickly. "Of course, Professor McGonagall. As long as it is quick," he said charmingly.

As soon as the last word left the Dark Lord's mouth, the Sorting Hat in McGonagall's arms opened its brim wide and began to sing:

In times of old when I was new
And Hogwarts barely started
The Founders of our noble school
Thought never to be parted:
united by a common goal,
They had the same yearning
To make the world's best magic school
And pass along their learning.
"Together we will build and teach!"
The Four good friends decided
And never did they dream that they
Might someday be divided,
For were there such friends anywhere
As Slytherin and Gryffindor?
Unless it was the second pair
Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?
So how could it have gone so wrong?
How could such friendships fail?
Why, I was there and so can tell
The whole sad, sorry tale.
Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those
Whose ancestry is purest."
Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose
Intelligence is surest."
Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those
With brave deeds to their name,"
Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot,
And treat them just the same."
These differences caused little strife
When first they came to light,
For each of the four founders had
A House in which they might
Take only those they wanted, so,
For instance, Slytherin
Took only pure-blood wizards
Of great cunning, just like him,
And only those of sharpest mind
Were taught by Ravenclaw
While the bravest and the boldest
Went to daring Gryffindor,
Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest,
And taught them all she knew,
Thus the Houses and their founders
Retained friendships firm and true.
So Hogwarts worked in harmony
For several happy years,
But the discord crept among us
Feeding on our faults and fears.
The Houses that, like pillars four,
Had once held up our school,
Now turned upon each other and,
Divided, sought to rule.
And for a while it seemed the school
Must meet an early end,
What with duelling and with fighting
And the clash of friend on friend
And at last there came a morning
When old Slytherin departed
And though the fighting then died out
He left us quite downhearted.
And never since the founders four
Were whittled down to three
Have the Houses been united
And they once were meant to be.
And now the Sorting Hat is here
And you all know the score:
I sort you into Houses
Because that is what I'm for,
But this year I'll go further,
Listen closely to my song:
Though condemned I am to split you
Still I worry that it's wrong,
Though I must fulfil my duty
And must quarter every year
Still I wonder whether sorting
May not bring the end I fear.
Oh, know the perils, read the signs,
The warning history shows,
For our Hogwarts is in danger
From internal, deadly foes
And we must unite inside her
Or we'll crumble from within
I have told you, I have warned you…
Let the sorting now begin.

The whole entire Hall was dumbfounded and speechless when the Sorting Hat fell silent again. The gobsmacked silence seemed to ring on and on.

Even McGonagall looked a little staggered.
And so seemed Hermione.

Harry himself knew little of what was going on.

Seeing Harry's blank look, Hermione pressed her lips urgently to Harry's ear and whispered, "The song can be considered treacherous. It's openly against Lord Voldemort. It is dangerous for Professor McGonagall too, if she were to be assumed disloyal by Lord Voldemort – since she was the one who asked for the song."

Harry swallowed, his throat parched. What were the words the Hat had sung? 'For our Hogwarts is in danger, From internal, deadly foes And we must unite inside her. Or we'll crumble from within,' the Hat had said.

Hogwarts should have been a haven for the students, the children. But now, as the Sorting Hat had said, the school was in danger from internal foes… Lord Voldemort and his followers.

Right now was not the time to worry about what the Hat had said, however. Because Lord Voldemort had stood up from his seat elegantly, his eyes flashing red for a split second. "Minerva, what is the meaning of this?" he inquired softly.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.

If any of you search up the original Sorting Hat song for the Fifth Year, you'll find one word different from the song above: 'External.'
I changed the world to 'interior' meaning inside instead of outside because it fitted the story better. However, thanks to artsycherry who gave me a brilliant bit of advice, I have now changed 'interior' to 'internal'.

Thanks for reading. And as always, please review!