The great door swung open almost at once.
Standing in the entranceway was a woman, dressed in flowing green tartan robes, her hair hidden under a wide-brimmed black pointed hat, it's tip crooked. She eyed them all with a thinly arched brow, mouth set in a stern line. Now this was a witch.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid nodded.
Her gaze lingered on a few faces in the crowd, and then she turned back to him. "Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." There was a heavy clank from behind her and then the door opened wide. The group filed into the castle slowly.
The entrance hall was huge, it's ceiling too high to make out, the torches flickering at the walls and casting shifting shadows across the tan sandstone and the slate-grey floor. There were a few portraits on the wall by a dark marble staircase: a verdant landscape with little houses dotting a valley by a river, a dragon swooping dizzyingly against a midnight sky and a frame with an empty table and chair.
Professor McGonagall led them right past it all, only glancing back once or twice to check that everyone was still keeping up. The Great Hall must have been behind one of the doors, because as they crossed the entrance hall, a low buzz of voices filled the air, likely the rest of the school waiting impatiently for the feast to start from the room beyond.
But they didn't join the rest of the school just yet – the stern witch led them to an empty chamber, sparse but for a few wooden chairs and stools leant against the wall. Draco, Greg and Vince quickly wound their way back to them, all of them clustering together like penguins in a huddle.
"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're waiting." Professor McGonagall announced, eyes lingering on a few messy looking ties and crumb-defaced cloaks.
"Is my hair alright?" Daphne asked, turning her head to the left and right. It was perfectly curled, and despite its volume, there was not a strand that looked out of place.
Pansy nodded. "My collar?"
"Looks fine."
Draco was straightening Vince's tie behind them, hissing to Greg to "mind his sleeves." Blaise was fiddling with his cloak and Millie looked ready to vomit.
"I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly." The Professor said curtly and turned to leave the room.
It was now or never.
"Excuse me!" Pansy's voice seemed ridiculously loud, "Professor McGonagall!" She stuck her hand in the air. Abruptly, the room went silent.
"What are you doing?" Daphne hissed, "Put your hand down!"
The woman's eyes found them quickly, looking unimpressed at the interruption. "Is there something wrong? If not, your questions can wait until after the feast."
"Professor McGonagall," Pansy could feel herself beginning to redden at the attention – she could be wrong about this – it was a guess – but – "Ronald Weasley has a rat in his pocket! It's not on the list of approved animals to bring. And he doesn't have a cage for it - it – it's attacked one of the first years already." She blurted out in a rush, before she could regret it.
Someone spluttered behind her. The crowd parted quickly, revealing Ronald Weasley. He had a shock of red hair and freckles, and was rather tall for his age. If it really had come to blows, she wasn't at all sure Draco and the boys would have won. "Oi! Scabbers was defending me! If -"
She interrupted quickly, before Draco trying to throw a punch could be mentioned. "It could have rabies, or fleas – if your rat gives Heir Goyle an infection – he's left handed you know – how are you going to make it up to him?" She demanded, straightening her spine and channelling her best impression of Mother.
Ronald Weasley floundered for an answer, the skin beneath his freckles almost as red as his hair. At his side, there was shorter boy wearing glasses whose brow was furrowed deeply under a mop of messy dark curls.
Professor McGonagall was pinching her nose. "Mr Weasley, do you or do you not have a pet rat?"
Weasley glared daggers at Pansy, scowling.
"Mr Weasley."
He nodded slowly.
Professor McGonagall let out an explosive sigh. "The rat, please." She picked up a stool in the corner and set it upside down on the floor so that the legs were facing upwards.
Reluctantly, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a fat, brown-grey rat. Peter Pettigrew in Animagus form squeaked nervously as he obviously realised the attention on him. His ratty forearms scrabbled at Ron's fingers, drawing an 'ouch' from the boy.
"In the middle of the chair, Mr Weasley."
The rat was released in the centre of the upturned stool, and perhaps the sight of his former teacher was enough to frighten it, because it froze completely still.
"Incarcifors!" The witch intoned, and there was a gasp as the stool morphed and thinned and suddenly there was a wooden cage in its place, trapping the rat inside. The woman muttered something under her breath, and a House-Elf popped in, grabbed the cage and disappeared quickly.
Pansy breathed a sigh of relief, heart still hammering in her chest.
"Mr Weasley, I will discuss this infraction with your Head of House later." McGonagall ordered, and then turned to look down her nose at Pansy. "Will that be all, Miss -?"
"Pansy Parkinson, Professor." She offered, knowing there was no way to skirt about it. "Sorry, Professor."
"Any more questions, before I go?" The witch arched her eyebrow, eyes looking over them all. No one dared to move. "I trust you can all wait in silence until I return to collect you all." Pansy nodded her head quickly alongside everyone else, feeling faintly terrified.
McGonagall gave them one last piercing look, that seemed to encompass the group as a whole, and then swept out of the room.
As soon as the door closed, voices erupted.
"That was amazing – did you see when –"
" – she did it so fast, I think I blinked –"
Daphne, Millie, and the boys closed around her in a ring and before she could explain herself, Draco was marching right up to her.
"What in Merlin's name was that?!" He hissed.
"We're even now, for the train." Pansy said lightly, "Besides, I told you all I was going to tell a teacher."
"Not immediately!"
"That was amazing!" Millie grinned, "Did you see his face?" The girl crossed her eyes and made a spluttering sound, looking ridiculous.
"How did you even know it was on him?" Blaise asked.
"Draco said it was on his lap, no cage." Millie reminded, but looked impressed. "How did you know he hadn't shoved it in his bag or his trunk or left it on the train or something?"
Pansy smiled back weakly, "Lucky guess?"
"You are ridiculous." Daphne huffed, rolling her eyes.
All the previous commotion seemed to have captured the attention of the other first years, and it was only as McGonagall stepped back in, that Pansy abruptly remembered that there was still the Sorting Ceremony to go. The hum of too many voices and metal on metal and squawking laughter seeped into the chamber from beyond.
Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. "Now, form a line and follow me."
Pansy fell into line behind Millie and Daphne as the first years followed the Professor out of the room into the Great Hall of Hogwarts.
It was beautiful. Millions of candles floated above their heads, bobbing along in languid formations, making intricate shapes. Below that, four long tables stretched nearly the whole length of the hall, where hundreds of students seemed to be sitting, faces turning towards them curiously. Each of the tables were flooded with glittering gold goblets an empty plates, tureens and deep bowls. At the top of the room, was another long table, perpendicular to the students' tables, and filled with adults.
"Look!" Someone whispered.
Pansy's eyes flick upwards.
Where there perhaps should have been towering arches and beams spanning the ceiling, there was, instead, the sky. Almost like there was no ceiling. She knew about the enchantment of course, but it was one thing to remember flashes of it in memory and quite another to see it for herself. Above, the ceiling was flooded with swathes of orange, and pink, as the sunset on the horizon caught on wisps of cloud, the daylight sky blue bruising to a deeper twilight colour.
With each step forward, the noise in the hall dimmed, until they came to a stop in silence, like the whole hall was holding its breath. The line came to a halt in front of the teachers' table and Professor McGonagall gestured for them to turn around to face the rest of the school.
The professor placed a stool in the centre of the hall, and on top of it, the rattiest, most frayed looking hat she'd ever seen – The Sorting Hat. It had little patches in its rim and top, looking like it couldn't decide whether it should be brown, grey or black. A long time ago, it might have been made with felt, but now the material looked almost completely worn away, only the lumpy looking fabric left behind.
For a few moments, it was utterly quiet.
And then 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 at 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 of 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!"
There was a brief applause after the song and then Professor McGonagall stepped forward clutching a large scroll of parchment between her hands.
Pansy tried to relax, keeping her shoulders loose. She could probably make adjustments no matter what House she ended up in, so it would probably be fine regardless. As long as the Hat didn't go screaming about what was in her head.
"When I call your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be sorted – Abbot, Hannah!"
The Ceremony began. Pansy watched it closely, heart thundering whenever the Hat took too long, in case the Sorting was to change from what she knew. Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones were the first Hufflepuffs; Terry Boot – the first Ravenclaw; Lavender Brown – the first Gryffindor.
Millie was white when she walked up to the stool, lifting it from the chair and sitting down. The girl took a short breath and then stuck it on her head. Pansy watched her face, resisting the urge to bite her lip.
It was on her head for barely more than ten seconds, before –
"SLYTHERIN!"
Millie Bulstrode grinned, whipping the hat off her head and dropping it neatly to the stool, all but practically skipping as she sat down at the bottom end of the table under the green banner. The first Slytherin.
Sometimes the hat took very little time to decide, barely touching the top of Michael Corner's head before it yelled out RAVENCLAW; and at other times, the whole hall would wait for several minutes, staring at the unfortunate individual while the Hat decided.
Much to her relief there hadn't seemed to be any changes so far, although there were some names that she didn't recognise. She wasn't sure if that was because they weren't mentioned in the Story or if they were anomalies to watch for.
Pansy tried to keep a note of them in her head, to think about for later. There honestly seemed to be more unfamiliar names than familiar names, though most of them went into either Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw.
The unfamiliar Tracey Davis became the third Slytherin, joining Millie and Vince at the table.
Unsurprisingly, her little childhood circle were all gradually whisked from the line to the Slytherin table. Greg, Daphne and Draco. Pansy wondered if she would be completing the set.
"Nott, Theodore!" was a tall mousy-brown haired boy, whose name she recognised from Mother's lessons, though no one had ever met him. He was even more reclusive than she had been, though she hoped it was for different reasons. He walked briskly up to the stool and lowered the hat to his head. Pansy's stomach churned a little uncomfortably – N, then P.
The Hat took a little longer for this one, and then eventually declared "SLYTHERIN!"
Pansy straightened her spine, set her shoulders back and raised her chin. She let out a shaky breath. She could do this.
She could do this.
"Parkinson, Pansy!" McGonagall called out.
Pansy stepped carefully out of the line, walking down towards the stool. She lifted Hat by the brim and sat down, placing it over her head in one motion. The wide brim obscured her view of the room, only allowing her to see as far as her knees.
"Oh - hello?" A small voice said by her ear, "What's this?"
Please don't tell, Please don't tell, Pansy thought.
"Oh, I'm not sure I'd be believed even if I tried." It chuckled, "I'm only the Sorting Hat after all – hmm, changing the future? Taking down Voldemort? – A rather ambitious goal for a newly eleven-year-old – ah, yes – but you're hardly eleven, are you? Best stay with your friends, little SLYTHERIN!"
We're not -
The last word was shouted out into the hall, and Pansy took that as the signal to take the Hat off. Millie was clapping furiously as she went to sit down, the others less vocal but looking no less pleased by her addition.
She sat down in the space beside Daphne, across from Theodore Nott, feeling ridiculously relieved at being among them as her black tie bled green,. The Patil twins were called next; Padma first, who honestly took longer than she had expected, and sorted into Ravenclaw looking torn; then, Parvati, who took almost no time at all, before joining the Gryffindors as her twin had feared. Pansy tried to catch Padma's eye across the aisle, but she was staring at the table unhappily.
An unfamiliar girl joined Parvati at the Gryffindor table next.
And then "Potter, Harry!" was ringing out into the Great Hall. The tiniest of all the first years stepped forward, wide green eyes behind crooked glasses and a dark fringe. His face was stark white, but his fingers didn't tremble as he lifted the Hat onto his head.
"Potter, did she say?" Someone hissed. " The Harry Potter?"
Predictably, Draco rolled his eyes.
They waited as the Hat stayed silent and firmly still on the Boy-Who-Lived's head.
"Another Hat-stall," Someone on the Ravenclaw table groaned.
Finally, it pronounced him "GRYFFINDOR!" and then he was off to join the lions with a raucous cheer, the loudest yet, ignoring the disappointed sighs from the other Houses. A second year a few seats down, slid five sickles across the table to another, muttering curses under his breath.
By the time Blaise dropped onto the bench next to her, Pansy was well and truly starving. "You took your time," She grinned at his put-upon expression.
"Har-har," He said sarcastically, "I wish my surname was Abini."
With the Hat finally put away, Dumbledore stood on a raised dais in front of the professors' table. His robes were as horrendous as the rumours said and even half-hidden behind the podium, it didn't detract from their eye-watering quality. Like something out of a toddler's paint set - a mix of tangerine orange and aubergine purple, and not in neat blocks or tartan either, something closer to the worst tie-dye job she'd ever seen.
On either side of her, Daphne and Blaise made identical sounds of disgust.
"Welcome!" He beamed, "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!"
Pansy found herself exchanging an uncertain glance with Theodore Nott as the Great Hall broke into another round of applause.
"Father was right – he is mad." Draco declared.
Almost on cue, the golden plates on the table were suddenly filled with food. Great heapings of potatoes and glistening hams, chicken drumsticks and roast vegetables. Yorkshire puddings and chunky chips, sausages wrapped in lashings of bacon and steaming green peas. The Welcoming Feast was aptly named, and the table creaked dangerously under the weight of rich foods.
Gilli's earlier reminder about the sugar and salt content of Hogwarts House-Elf cooking had her loading up more heavily on roasted carrots and asparagus, and going a bit easier on the ham. It was all delicious though – not Gilli standard – but certainly on par with the food at the Ministry Yule Ball.
Pansy let Daphne and Draco guide the conversations, nodding appropriately every now and then. It wasn't that she was disinterested – Daphne was asking Tracey Davis about her origins, albeit subtly; Draco was outright asking Theodore Nott where he had been their entire lives – but she felt surprisingly exhausted by the day, and honestly wanted nothing more than to get to bed.
A ghost had joined the Slytherin table, about ten or so seats up, and only Blaise and herself had noticed it, judging by the way the boy went uncannily still. She'd never seen a ghost before, there were none haunting her parent's townhouse, surprisingly. It didn't seem to be speaking much, just staring blankly outwards. The students around it didn't seem to pay it much mind, beyond greeting it, and then went back to their conversations.
If she was sat next to the ghost, she wasn't sure she'd be able to eat.
Pansy swivelled round to check if the surrounding tables had noticed the apparition, only to gape when she realised there were ghostly visitors joining the other tables too. Ravenclaw's was a beautiful woman, her hair hanging loosely to her waist but dressed opulently. Hufflepuffs' was a jolly, rotund looking man, wearing monk's garbs. And furthest away, a pale white figure with a ridiculous ruff around his neck had joined the Gryffindors.
"Is that… blood?" Blaise said quietly next to her.
Pansy looked up the table and at the silvery stains that splattered the front of a broody looking, Slytherin ghost's shirt. "...do we really want to know?"
Trust Slytherin to get the bloody, non-PG one.
Thankfully, the ghost did not move much further down, electing to stay seated amongst the older years, his gaze distant as it looked over the whole hall.
Once dinner was finished, Dumbledore stood to give his closing speech. There was a bit about the Forbidden Forests, which honestly sounded pretty fascinating – how could you have 'forbidden' in its name and not expect curiosity; a notice about magic in the hallways; and Quidditch trials which Pansy already knew Draco and Millie would be buzzing about. Pansy booed alongside everyone else in Slytherin when the Headmaster announced that the new Head Girl was someone from Hufflepuff, and the new Headboy a Ravenclaw.
"And finally," He said, after it quieted once more, "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."
As one, the Slytherin table seemed to still. And though she'd known the announcement was coming, even Pansy couldn't help but blink at the sheer dissonance at hearing death as a threat, right alongside detentions.
"Merlin – he's being serious!" Daphne gaped.
The school launched into song, singing "Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts" in off-key pitches and to different melodies. Slytherin house as one seemed to have silently elected to stick to one melody, rather than pick one each and launch into the din.
They were dismissed with a cheerful "Off you trot!" from the Headmaster, and just like that the Welcoming Feast was over. Two older students, who introduced themselves as the Fifth Year Prefects, led them from the Great Hall back into the castle.
"You'll be able to identify us by our badges," Gemma Farley, the girl prefect said, her neat ponytail flicking out to the side as she pointed down at the green shield pinned to her robes. "If you've got any questions or issues throughout the year, you should grab me or Finn first, then we'll figure out if we need to get Professor Snape involved."
"The Fifth Year prefects look after the First Years and Second Years and Sixth Year's look after the Third and Fourth years." She explained as she led them down a narrow staircase. "Watch your step here, it trips you up sometimes."
"The Sixth Year prefects are Xavier and Ismelda, their badges are the same as ours but silver." The boy prefect, who'd earlier introduced himself as Finn Ruthven, added from the back of the group. "You'll recognise Phillipa and Atticus, the seventh year prefects later, - they'll probably have a wee speech prepared in the Common Room once we're all there."
The corridors below the ground floor were much more dimly lit and cooler than above. Light from the sconces flickered across dark flagstones and arched ceilings. It was narrower down here too, the corridor only fitting about three-people side-by-side compared to the open spaces upstairs.
Pansy tried to memorise the turns after the stairs – a left, then another left, then the second right, and then… a left? Or was it a right? – "Do you remember the way back?" She whispered to Blaise and Millie on either side.
"I think it was two lefts, then a right, then two more lefts."
"No – it was two lefts, two rights, then a left."
Pansy sighed, "We're going to be so lost tomorrow, aren't we?"
Finally, after a few more twists and turns and another staircase going up, Farley stopped in the middle of one of the corridors, facing the damp stone wall. "The entrance to the Common Room is pretty well hidden, we're not really a fan of letting other Houses find out where our Common Room is and they're not too keen on us knowing where theirs are either, though Gryffindor's is ridiculously obvious." She said the last bit with a roll of her eyes.
Ruthven moved up to the front of the group to stand by her side. "We take House rivalry pretty seriously at Hogwarts, you'll find. So don't be getting careless with the password or the location of the entrance." There was a mean sharpness to his grin.
Farley nodded and turned back to the wall. It didn't seem any different to any other stretch of stone, there was no subtle snake engraving or extra sconce to lever downwards. It looked perfectly ordinary.
"Intent." The prefect spoke.
For a moment, nothing seemed to happen – and then a thin gold line fizzed upwards from the seam of the wall, making several sharp turns, marking a clear six-foot tall rectangle into the stones.
And then with the heavy, grinding sound of stone-on-stone, it slid to the side – revealing a doorway.
Farley and Ruthven, the prefects, took the lead; stepping through with only a backward glance to check they were still following.
Draco was the first to follow, quick steps pushing past, with Greg and Vince on his tail, and the rest of them following after a moment. Pansy found herself between Millie and Blaise, with Daphne and Tracey Davis in front of them and Theodore Nott behind.
It was only dark for a moment, before the entranceway opened up into a long, underground room. Heavy, velvet drapes had been drawn over sections of the wall, hiding what must have been windows out into the Black Lake from view. From the low ceiling, round green lamps hung from heavy chains – casting a strange sort of viridescent glow across islands of armchairs and loveseats that clustered around several tables scattered throughout the room. Already, these seats were filled with students, conversation humming in the air. Some of them quietened a little when they noticed their little group in the entrance way, others paid them no mind.
The prefects led them through the room, to the very front and gestured for them to take one of the empty tables. The black tufted leather of the sofa Pansy found herself, Blaise and Millie sharing, was surprisingly comfortable, despite looking rather stiff and unyielding. Farley and Ruthven left them once they were seated and moved further up the room, towards an elaborately carved, dark mantlepiece right in the middle of the wall, where a fire crackled behind a heavy black grate. They turned to the left and then disappeared out of sight, likely finding their own seats. Above the fireplace, a large portrait of a swirling, deep green snake watched the proceedings with unblinking yellow eyes.
"Did you see my brother?" Millie was craning her neck in her seat, as she scanned the dungeon, head swivelling left and right. "I couldn't see him at the Feast and the Fourth Years left so quickly."
"No, I haven't seen him. I'm sure he'll come find you." Pansy tugged her to sit down properly on her seat, as the room began to quieten and conversations cut themselves off. "C'mon, I think it's starting."
It was rather lucky that there had been an empty table close enough to the front for the First Years. From her current vantage point, Pansy couldn't really see the left or the right sides of the front of the room – obscured by the backs of heads and chairs; but she did have direct view of the aisle down the centre and the ornate fireplace at the very front.
Two older students stepped forwards from the left side, and stood in front of the fireplace, silhouetted by the flames. The girl had rather pointed features, and light brown hair that she had braided down the back of her head. She was short too, but the way she strided forwards confidently more than made up for any lack of height. Next to her, the boy looked very tall in comparison; though judging by the height of the fireplace he was probably only slightly taller than average. He had sunny blonde hair and a charming sort of look about him as he surveyed the room, looking a bit more relaxed than his counterpart.
"Good Evening, everybody." The girl's voice was louder than Pansy had expected, likely through magical means. "Welcome back to the Dungeons, we're hoping to keep this rather short and to the point tonight, so please keep quiet until the end and direct any questions to the relevant prefects."
"For those that don't already know me, I'm Phillipa Farquhar, one of your Seventh Year prefects."
The boy next to her straightened, "I'm Atticus Sterling, your other Seventh Year prefect. Your other prefects are Xavier Yaxley and Ismelda Warren in Sixth; and Finnian Ruthven and Gemma Farley in Fifth."
Yaxley was Mother's maiden name - this Xavier Yaxley was either her uncle's son or a relative from her mother's side. Mother had never mentioned much actual detail about her side of the family, usually preferring to boast about their purebloodedness or accolades from several hundreds of years ago, but judging from the lack of living branches on the Yaxley tree, it was more likely he was her cousin.
Hopefully, he'd pay her as little attention as he had done for the past eleven years; she wasn't overly keen on the idea of more family, given how strangely her one conversation with Lord Yaxley at the Yule Ball had gone.
"As usual, the password changes on the first of each month so do check the noticeboard regularly -" Sterling said, mouth curling into a wry grin. "Quidditch Trials are next week during lunch breaks, Montague wants me to remind you all different positions have trials on different days and to use the sign up sheet BEFORE turning up blindly. Also, again only available to second years and up."
Draco and Millie let out identical groans of dismay.
"The deadline for permission slips for Hogsmeade Weekends is the seventeenth, so third years and above, please make sure to hand your slips to your Prefects." Farquhar added primly and then frowned, glancing at Sterling to her left. "Lastly… we weren't informed about the Third Floor until Dumbledore's speech during the Feast. As a preliminary caution, it would be wise to avoid it until we have more information. Once we do, we'll distribute this via the other prefects."
"Not sure what that old coot is doing," Sterling sneered, his bared teeth transforming his fair face into something meaner and disgusted. "But he sounded pretty certain about that threat of a 'painful death', so I'd watch your steps and make sure you don't wander too close."
With that last warning, the House meeting was over and groups of students began to disperse slowly from the rooms. Millie stood quickly, looking like she was ready to go running round in search of her brother but before she could, Farley and Ruthven found them again.
"Which one of you is Parkinson?" Farley asked, her ponytail swishing behind her with a sharp tilt of her head.
"That's me." Pansy said, resisting the urge to raise her hand.
"Right, Professor Snape wants to see you in McGonagall's office," The prefect eyed her with some amusement. "How on earth have you gotten into trouble before term's started?"
"She was defending Greg." Draco interjected, chin raised imperiously.
"She was getting Weasley into trouble." Millie corrected, "He's definitely a piece of work."
"Ah - Goyle, right?" Ruthven nodded, quickly finding Greg when Draco nudged him in the side. "We've got to get to the Hospital Wing too."
"The rest of you can head up to the dorms -" Farley gestured to two doors on either side of the entrance way that they must have missed when they came in earlier. "The girls' is the one on the left, the boys' is the right. Your dorm room will say 'first' on the door, and your trunks should already be by your beds. Finn and I will swing by later to check up on you all. Lights off at ten o' clock. We'll see you back here tomorrow morning at seven-thirty to take you back to the Great Hall for Breakfast."
And then, the prefect turned back towards her. "Come on, let's get going."
"Good luck!" Blaise whispered.
"I'll always remember you." Millie added.
Pansy ignored them both and hurried after Farley.