Chapter Five: sorting
Hermione had been to plenty of old buildings in her nearly-twelve years. Mum and Dad made good money and could as such afford vacations to all manner of getaway destinations. Intellectuals that they were (Hermione had gotten it honestly), they picked trips with learning opportunities as often as recreational ones. In addition to waterparks and shopping adventures, Hermione had been treated to many an educational journey as well.
Most children her ages tended to balk at such things, but she had eaten up every iota of knowledge she'd been able.
Still, her favorite part of the latter sort of excursion wasn't always the guided tours full of facts and anecdotes. Sometimes, the simple stroll through such a very old and storied place was its own wonder. To walk halls that had been traversed by so many—cobblestones and dirt paths that had seen knights and kings, lords and courtesans—often gave her a strange sort of feeling she was never able to find words to describe.
That feeling was multiplied tenfold while navigating the corridors and hallways of Hogwarts.
The history here was simply unfathomable, one of magic and wonder. Actual wizards (Merlin himself, if her books were to be believed!) had walked these halls, beings of power and prestige. Hogwarts had been founded when the years were still only measured with three numbers, and it had been the epicenter of the magical community since then. Every room, every hall, every inch of the castle was steeped in lore, and Hermione yearned to learn it all.
But first, she needed to be sorted.
Two floors up from where the first-years had been collected, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat to get their attention just outside a set of massive double doors.
"Through these doors is the Great Hall," she said. "In a moment, I will escort you in, and you will join the other students, but not before we get you sorted into your houses. The four Hogwarts houses are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Each values a unique set of traits, and each brings something different to Hogwarts. During your stay at Hogwarts, your house will be like your family. Exemplary behavior will earn your house points, and any flouting of the rules will lose them."
She paused there to regard the students severely, wordlessly promising the retribution that would await anyone that lost her house points.
Moments later, after some wordless cue that only Professor McGonagall seemed aware of, they were led into the Great Hall.
According to Hogwarts: A History, the Great Hall in Hogwarts had been one of the first areas constructed during the school's inception, and had historically gone so long without a roof that when one had finally been installed, the Four Founders had determined that they had grown far too used to taking their meals under the open sky. Rowena Ravenclaw, ever the practical one, had taken out her wand and whipped it at the ceiling between bites of her morning hash.
And ever since then, the ceiling had reflected the sky outside with absolute fidelity.
Tonight, the ceiling was an inky blue, dotted with stars that occasionally disappeared behind swirling clouds. Aside from the pale light of the moon, the only other sources of light in the Great Hall were thousands of candles that hovered over the four long tables dominating most of the floor space. Professor McGonagall led the first years up the aisle between the two tables in the middle and toward a smaller fifth one set along the farthest wall from the door. In front of a row of high windows, the various Hogwarts teachers were assembled, and at the very center sat the headmaster of the school, Albus Dumbledore himself.
With his long silvery hair and a beard that he could tuck into his belt if he felt like it, Albus Dumbledore looked like Gandalf, only with some fashion input from Liberace. He wore an ostentatious robe of deep crimson with a matching hat, both with gold threading stylishly sewn in. Still, as he stood and called for silence with a simple gesture of his hands, he smiled down at the arriving students with a grandfatherly air, and Hermione half-expected him to offer a piece of candy from his pocket.
"Let the Sorting Ceremony begin!" he announced. "First years, come forward when your name is called, and the Sorting Hat will find where you belong."
As the new students clustered near the teachers' table, Hermione watched Professor McGonagall stride up to the spot directly in front of Dumbledore. The Deputy Headmistress clutched an old wooden stool in one hand and a positively ancient-looking hat in the other. Tatty, patched and frayed, it looked like a classic wizard's hat, the sort that a magic-user would have worn thousands of years ago.
In fact, it was the hat a magic-user had worn over a thousand years ago.
Professor McGonagall set the stool down, placing the hat on it before reaching into a pocket of her robes to pull out a scroll of paper, which she unfurled until it nearly touched the floor. Peering down through her bifocals, the professor read out from the paper in a clear and imperious voice.
"Hannah Abbot!"
There was a shuffle within the crowd before a girl with dark blonde hair pulled into twin braids made her way hesitantly toward the professor, who lifted the hat and gestured at the stool. Hannah sat, and Professor McGonagall placed the hat on her head. The hat shifted atop her head seemingly of its own accord, a motion Hermione thought might have been a trick of the flickering candlelight for a moment before the folds and creases in its form took the shape of a rudimentary face, which shouted in a deep, masculine voice.
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
The table immediately to Hermione's left erupted in cheers as Professor McGonagall removed the hat from Hannah's head and sent her to her new house. Allowing Hannah time to sit, the Deputy Headmistress turned back to her list.
"Lavender Brown!"
Another girl made her way forward, and things proceeded in much the same way. The hat was placed on her head, and she was sent to a house, though this time Gryffindor, much to the delight of the table on the far left. According to a few of the books Hermione had read, the Sorting Hat had once belonged to Godric Gryffindor himself, and he'd placed numerous enchantments and such upon it, enabling it to determine the best fit for any aspiring Hogwarts student. It was one of the most guarded magical artifacts of all time, a living relic of an age long past.
She wondered if anyone was allowed to simply wear the hat for a bit, to converse with it without any notions of sorting or placement of students. It must have had so much insight to offer, a perspective borne from thousands of years of students passing through, of meetings observed in the headmaster's office, all filtered through the lens of Godric Gryffindor himself and tempered with a bit of the knowledge from each of the other three Founders.
To even spend a half hour wearing the thing had to be a fascinating experience.
"Hermione Granger!"
And just like that, it was Hermione's turn to make her way toward the stool. It took a moment to find her legs underneath her before she meandered her way up toward the stool, and she couldn't stop them giving a bit of a wobble while climbing onto the raised platform that held the staff table. Looking up to see Professor McGonagall giving her an encouraging smile, she felt emboldened, closing the remaining distance to the stool with confidence. Fixing her skirt under her, she settled onto the stool, and the last thing she saw before the hat's sheer size obscured her vision was a sea of curious faces staring up at her.
And then a voice was in her head with her.
"Ooh, what a lively mind I've been dropped on," it said after a moment. "I see you've quite the appetite for knowledge, dear. A desire to understand the world around you. But what drives that desire?"
How fascinating! She'd never interacted with a magical object before. Was it reading her thoughts? Some sort of legilimency spell? How long had Godric Gryffindor spent enchanting this object, weaving it with every spell it would need to function?
"Actually, Rowena did most of the enchanting work. Godric was more of a consultant, and she pulled a few of his personality points to use as a basis for mine. I suppose he was the most amiable and wouldn't frighten the little blighters on their first day."
Amazing!
"Well, I'm glad someone can actually appreciate all the work that went into me. Now, as to you. Driven, ambitious, dogged enough to come to this place even in the face of such a strange and unknowable new world…"
Oh, she absolutely had to arrange some sort of future meeting with the hat! The insight and understanding of the inner workings of her mind in a few short seconds was absolutely mindboggling, especially from an only vaguely-sentient piece of headwear!
"What do you mean, 'vaguely'? I'm quite sentient, thank you. But a muggle-born…? And already so knowledgeable of our world. But beneath it all, a bit of a subversive streak. Oooh, minds like yours are so full of such wonderful potential. You'd be suited for Gryffindor based on raw fearlessness alone, but that's borne from a desire to learn all that you can, to truly know it all and not just be called one."
Ouch. That one hit a bit close to home.
"Never be ashamed to be smartest one in the room, my dear. But this drive, this ambition. You don't simply wish to collect and categorize all that you can learn, you would use it to drive yourself forward and drag the world with you if you could. You would do well, I think, in Slytherin as well."
Slytherin? The snake house? That was where Fred and George were, and they had at least promised to act as a pair of guides, to keep her safe and help her find her way among the adders. Wasn't that the whole point of the house? To make connections and form a loyal circle that would support you along your path to greatness?
"Precisely. I can see it all here, even if you haven't yet. As to the matter of your blood status, it's certainly not a rule, or not one that I'm opposed to breaking once in a while. Goodness, I rarely meet a student so suited to three different houses. Slytherin is where I believe you'd have the most potential, but it would be a hard road. If you don't think you're up to the challenge…"
Oh, she knew he was playing her, but she also couldn't stop the burning desire to take the challenging road. After all, the more trying the path, the sweeter the reward at the end, right?
"That's the spirit. Oh, Salazar will be rolling in his crypt. I send him a muggle-born every couple years just to spite him. Welcome to…"
"SLYTHERIN!"
The last word was yelled out, and the hat was whisked away by Professor McGonagall, who Hermione noticed now looked the slightest bit… concerned? In any case, she gestured toward the table along the wall opposite the Gryffindors, where the students had begun to cheer their new house member, completely unaware that she was a muggle-born and thus likely considered detestable by a large number of them. Hermione climbed from the stool and made her way over.
As she walked, Hermione watched for the change in her robes, which had been enchanted to reflect the wearer's house affiliation once they'd been assigned one. Sure enough, her tie changed from a uniform black to green with silver stripes, and the inner lining of her outer robe faded to a deep emerald that was actually quite pleasing to look at. There were apparently smaller details that shifted as well, but she didn't have the time to look for them before she reached her new house's table.
Fred and George waved at her from the side closest to the wall, which had a few vacant spots along the long bench running the length of the table. Hermione made her way over, carefully climbing over to sit next to the twins. Fred leaned over to bump her shoulder with his, while George waved from beyond him.
"Welcome to the snake pit," Fred told her.
"Daphne Greengrass!" Professor McGonagall called out, and Hermione watched the blonde girl that she had shared a boat with make her way primly up to the front of the room. She sat on the stool in a dainty, princess-like manner, her perfect poise even managing to make the act of the massive hat swallowing the top part of her head look dignified.
"Greengrass," Fred echoed.
"Five galleons for Slytherin," George offered.
"You don't have one galleon, much less five," Fred shot back with a smirk. "Besides, it's hardly a gamble to think one of the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight' won't be in – "
"SLYTHERIN!"
"See?" Fred went on.
"You keep mentioning a Sacred Twenty-Eight," Hermione said. "I haven't read about that."
"You likely wouldn't have," George said while more names were shouted up front. Idly, Hermione wondered why the Sorting Ceremony had to be conducted while the rest of the student body was made to watch and wait nearly an hour before eating. Surely they could direct the new students into a separate room and send them into the Great Hall as they were sorted?
Oh well. It wasn't her place to tell the school how to handle its affairs.
"The Sacred Twenty-Eight are supposedly the last remaining pureblood families without an ounce of muggle blood in them," George said. "According to The Pure-Blood Directory."
"Is that a book?" Hermione asked.
"It passes as one, at least," Fred said. "It's nothing but pureblood propaganda."
"Bill, our oldest brother, he says it's what purebloods go to when they want to find the relative farthest from them on the family tree – "
"In order to marry them," Fred finished for George.
"Ew," Hermione grumbled. The fact that anyone could twist their mind around the concept of inbreeding as not only a reasonable practice but also something to be proud of was…well, sickening. That they were so desperate not to consort with muggles and muggle-borns (and even seemed to hold them in a high amount of contempt) that marrying their fourth and fifth cousins was the chosen alternative left her to wonder what sort of society she was really joining up with. Especially if these same twenty-eight families were apparently quite influential and able throw their gold around to steer the political climate.
"Yeah, ew," a voice on Hermione's other side said, and she jumped before turning to see the blonde girl, Daphne Greengrass, staring at her with a matter-of-fact expression, like she'd been part of this conversation the whole time. "Hiya. Daphne."
"Hermione," Hermione responded automatically.
"Fred."
"George."
"Charmed," Daphne said.
"Neville Longbottom!" Professor McGonagall called.
"You must be muggle-born," Daphne said to Hermione, who had to wonder if it was so obvious. Did she just give off this air of muggle…ness?
"Why would you think so?" she asked.
"Your perfectly reasonable disgust at purebloods deciding that shagging their own cousins isn't utterly foul," Daphne said baldly, and Hermione heard Fred chuckle behind her.
"I like her already."
"You seem to agree?" Hermione asked.
"Well, I'm a victim to that particular mentality," Daphne said. "Dad's apparently had me set up since I was born to marry – "
"Theodore Nott!" Professor McGonagall shouted.
"Him," Daphne finished distastefully. "When our families only branch apart about…five generations up? Says it's good for the bloodline."
"It's the opposite of that," Hermione insisted, and Daphne giggled with a wry smile.
"Oh, I know that," she said. "Trust me, soon as I'm old enough, I'm off to Australia. Or America. One of those floating-city places."
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Floating city?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah, never heard of the Miyazaki Project?" Daphne asked before waving a flippant hand. "Stupid question, actually. Most wizards don't know about it, much less a muggle-born."
"Is it like Hayao Miyazaki?" Hermione asked.
"Exactly," Daphne said. "Castle in the Sky, except it's a whole flying city. There's over a hundred and forty of them, floating around America. Australia has a lot as well, and they have the biggest one. Oz, the Emerald City."
"You've really done your research," Hermione said admiringly.
"I'm looking for options to get out of this hole," Daphne said. "I give it another fifteen years before the whole society collapses in on itself."
"I really like her," Fred said. Or was it George? Hermione had a hard time telling when she wasn't looking.
"Harry Potter!" Professor McGonagall called out, and the hall went silent as everyone's focus shifted to the Boy-Who-Lived. At least, that was what most of the books Hermione had read referred to him as. She thought it was a little too on-the-nose, but wizards, it seemed, were fans of hyphens. Even Lord Voldemort (a name they were literally too afraid to speak out loud) was simply referred to as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It reminded Hermione of the fact that people in early medieval times had been afraid to say the proper name for the creature they had simply referred to as a bear, to the point that the original word was nearly lost to time. They were terrified that speaking the beast's actual name out loud would somehow summon the bear.
She tried to imagine being afraid of a name. Were wizards so superstitious?
Well…the more she learned about them, the less she was surprised about their various and inane quirks.
The hat spent quite a bit of time on Harry Potter's head, and though the folds that constituted its face weren't very expressive, Hermione could have sworn it looked…frustrated. The entire time, Harry's lips could be seen moving in a series of mutters, though like Hermione, his eyes had been obscured by the large piece of headwear. After a full two minutes of deliberation, it finally shouted:
"RAVENCLAW!"
The table next to theirs went absolutely mental at the pronouncement, though Hermione could scarcely blame them. Even with theirs being the least-populated in the hall by a wide margin, Harry was the actual savior of the wizarding world, even if he had been a toddler at the time. Having him as a member of their house would be quite a status boost.
It took some time for this round of celebration to die down, and even then, it was only after a rather stern look from Professor McGonagall. Hermione wondered if she wasn't a bit miffed at not getting Harry Potter in her own house.
"And as usual," Fred said once McGonagall had reached the end of her list.
"They save the best for last," George finished.
"Ronald Weasley!"
"Ronald," George said mockingly.
"Is that your brother?" Daphne asked the pair, who shared a smirk.
"If it goes to Hogwarts and has red hair – "
" – it's a Weasley."
"That girl has red hair," Hermione said, pointing to a girl at the neighboring Ravenclaw table. "Is she a Weasley?"
"Also, there's another boy and a girl waiting to be sorted," Daphne pointed out. "So he's not last."
"Oi, you're spoiling our moment of twin synergy," George quietly huffed while Ron Weasley took a seat. "You reckon we'll get another Slytherin Weasley, Frederick?"
"Mum would be so scandalized," Fred said. "She's already wondering where she went wrong with over half her sons as snakes."
"Really, they got a two-for-one deal on us," George said.
"Everyone gets a two-for-one deal on us," Fred added.
"And I bet they all wish they could take fifty percent off," Hermione said.
"…Alright, that was downright clever," Fred said.
"It hurts because it's so true," George said.
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Oh, that's a shocker," Fred said, clapping along with the rest as his youngest brother made his way over to the crowded Hufflepuff table, squeezing himself in next to Neville Longbottom.
"I had him in Gryffindor or Slytherin," George agreed.
"I wonder if he asked for Hufflepuff, just to shake everyone's expectations of his Weasley destiny," Fred said the last two words in grandiose tones.
"That'd be the smartest thing he's ever done," George nodded.
"Bella Zabini!" Professor McGonagall called out.
"Hope these last two go quick," Fred said. "I'm starving."
"I could definitely eat," George agreed. "Think they've got spotted dick this year?"
"They'd better," Fred grinned.
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Slytherin's really snatching them up this year," Daphne observed.
"Supposedly, the hat's been looking to turn around the house's reputation," George said. "Been giving more good eggs to the snakes hoping to reform them into solid citizens."
"Like us," Fred said with a long-suffering look. "Ours is a noble endeavor, hard work, but someone's got to do it."
"Your sacrifice will be long-remembered," Daphne said with a quirked eyebrow before leaning in to whisper in Hermione's ear. "Friends of yours?"
"Blaise Zabini!"
"We met on the train," Hermione said. "I guess we've bonded."
"Is there room for a female friend in your growing social circle?" Daphne asked. "Only you could probably use someone looking out for you, especially being a muggle-born Slytherin."
"Well, I think I could find the time for such an association," Hermione said loftily. "After all, being a Slytherin is all about connections, right?"
"You learn fast," Daphne grinned.
"SLYTHERIN!"
As the last boy made his way over to the Slytherin table, Professor McGonagall tucked the scroll back into her pocket before sweeping up the hat and stool to cart them offstage. She was nothing if not efficient, it seemed.
"Wonderful, wonderful!" Albus Dumbledore said, standing again and spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture. "Now that everyone is sorted, I expect our older students to extend a welcoming hand and make your new housemates feel at home. Having said that, I shall keep you from your dinner no longer. Eat up!"
Hermione had read about the way meals were handled at Hogwarts—Hogwarts, A History had been the first magical victim of her bibliophilic tendencies—but she was still amazed when the pristine golden plates and platters before them were suddenly piled with food that had not been there seconds before.
And what a spread it was. Every meat imaginable was present, prepared in the most delectable way possible. Roast beef, broasted chicken, lamb chops, fat sausages that Hermione knew Dad could polish off a whole plate of. Potatoes prepared every way one could imagine, Yorkshire pudding (yum!), and of course, vegetables by the platter and no-doubt perfectly spiced.
Hermione didn't even know where to begin!
Well, first up was one of those sausages. And perhaps a few potatoes and some peas. Down at this end of the table, there weren't too many of housemates to contend with in regards to serving herself some food, but she was still pleased when Fred stuck a bulky arm into the scrum and covered her while she went for her first plate.
"What you after?" he asked.
"Potatoes," Hermione said, and Fred batted away another student's hand as he went for the spoon stuck into the bowl of potatoes, allowing Hermione to scoop some out and dole it onto her plate. George and Daphne similarly teamed up to make sure everyone in the foursome got one of the sausages, nearly taking Blaise Zabini's hand off as he went for the banger that George had his eyes on. Only the peas seemed to be a risk-free option, as Hermione managed to scoop some onto her plate without issue.
It was the most chaotically fun meal she had ever been a part of.
Once her plate was finished (and she made sure to try the Yorkshire pudding with a bit of roast beef), Hermione didn't have to wait long until the food was magicked away before being replaced with an absolutely mouthwatering dessert assortment. Hogwarts did not mess around with its meals, and that included the desserts portion, it seemed. Entire blocks of ice cream that steamed in the warm air of the Great Hall, puddings and pastries of every flavor imaginable, the sort of perfectly-made cakes that would have made Julia Child proud.
Hermione felt a bit guilty as she gathered an assortment of the sugary sweets, but it was much too fun to join the battle once more (despite the Self-Replenishing Platters rendering the whole spectacle moot), and she found herself shrieking in a giggle as George held their greedy housemates at bay while she snatched up a few hunks of the richest and most delectable cakes she'd ever had in her life. Mum's sugar-free recipes had nothing on this butter-rich, sugar-laden chocolate slice of heaven.
"Oh, it's so good, I could cry," she said as she chewed her first bite.
"That's pretty normal for your first Welcoming Feast," George told her. "Wait 'til Christmas, though. Your first Christmas Feast is life-changing."
"I prefer Halloween's," Fred said. "Piles of candy. Literal piles."
"Hogwarts sure goes all out with the food," Daphne said.
"I hear that's Helga Hufflepuff," George said. "She said a good school should keep its students well-fed and happy. The Hufflepuff common room is even near the kitchens."
"Where's ours?" Hermione asked.
"In the dungeons, of course," Fred said with a smirk. "Gotta keep the snakes locked away or we'll sneak out and eat everyone else."
"Our dear older brother will show the firsties," George said. "Percy the Prefect."
"As he's seen fit to remind us a few times – "
" – a minute – "
" – all summer long."
"I dunno about you, but that's gonna drive me mad," Daphne said in Hermione's ear, and Hermione snickered.
"I think they're alright," she said. "You're just mad because Fred stole that last bit of steak and kidney pie."
"I may starve to death because of him," Daphne said in scandalized tones, and Hermione giggled at her.
Was this what it was like to have friends?
This wasn't so bad.
When the desserts too disappeared, Hermione was left feeling full and sleepy, and she mused that if whatever bed that awaited her was as comfy as the food here had been delicious, she might never get back out. Dumbledore stood once more and this time made his way around the staff table to the podium in front of it, smiling that same warm smile as before, like he was looking upon his favorite grandchildren.
All five hundred or so of them.
"Now, I can see from the sleepy looks I'm getting that you're likely thinking of your beds at the moment," he said, and a small chuckle ran through the room, "but I must beg of you your attention for only a moment longer while I make a few start-of-term announcements. Please be reminded that the Forbidden Forest on the edge of the grounds is called such for good reason. It is strictly prohibited to any and all students."
"Unless you're serving detention," George muttered. "Then they send you in looking for wartcaps."
"Our new caretaker, Stanley Kowalski, has rescinded another seventeen entries from the list of items which are forbidden in the corridors, bringing the number down to two hundred and fifty-six. The newly-edited list can be viewed in his office, if you wish to consult it."
"Oh, right, Filch got the sack, didn't' he?" Fred grinned at his twin.
"The old caretaker got sacked?" Daphne asked.
"He was scaring off muggle-borns left and right, talking about chaining them up by their ankles in his office," George said.
"He was personally responsible for sixty-six withdrawals in the last twenty years," Fred said.
"Also, I must inform all of 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."
"Oh?" Fred asked quietly next to George. "Georgie?"
"Yeah, we're checking it out," George said.
"Now, off to bed with you all," Dumbledore said into the still silence that had followed his last proclamation. "Pip-pip!"
"What a charming note to end things on," Hermione said as they climbed to their feet. "Do you think he was serious about that?"
"Knowing Dumbledore, yeah," Daphne said. "He's in a lot of hot water with the Hogwarts Board of Governors over the idiotic decisions he's been making."
"Boy, this one's ahead of the curve," George said from behind Hermione. "There are a lot of people saying this might even be Dumbledore's last year as headmaster."
"The Board of Governors is supposedly building this great big case file against him to slam him with in one big go," Fred added. "That's what Dad says."
"He works for the Ministry," George said. "Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."
"More like the Non-Use of Muggle Artifacts," Fred muttered. "Some of that stuff is dead useful."
"Slytherin first-years, this way!" a crisp and businesslike voice called out as the quartet reached the end of the table closest to the door. "All Slytherin first years, gather 'round!"
"Oh, look at that," George said with a roll of his eyes.
"Our dear brother the Prefect is waiting to escort you to the common room," Fred said.
Percy Weasley was fire-haired and freckly much like his brothers, though he swam in the "tall and lanky" end of the Weasley gene pool. He kept his hair short and neatly-combed, which only brought more attention to his prominent ears.
He looked a bit like dad's accountant, whom Hermione had met once when he had brought her to an office Christmas Party.
Next to him, the female Prefect Gemma Farley looked positively gorgeous. With long, straight brown hair and pale skin that made her dark eyes pop, she was everything Hermione envied, with her bushy mane and dull brown eyes. Still, she had a kindly smile as she looked down at all the new arrivals.
"Alright, are well here?" she asked as the twins bade the girls farewell, hurrying on ahead. "Alright, Slytherins, follow Percy and me, and no wandering off. You'll have plenty of time to see the sights later."
"Come along!" Percy said, and together, the two Prefects led the way out of the Great Hall.
…
The Slytherin common room was located down a long stone staircase off the Entrance Hall. As the first-years descended, the air grew cold and damp around them, and Hermione clutched her robe jacket around herself against the chill before finally taking her wand out.
"Calor siccus," she whispered, tapping the piece of outwear and sighing in delight as it was immediately as fresh and warm as though it had come out of the dryer at home.
"How'd you say that one?" Daphne asked next to her.
"Calor siccus," Hermione repeated slowly. "Warming Charm. It keeps your clothes toasty warm for about a half hour."
"Calor siccus," Daphne said, tapping her coat and letting a positively ecstatic sound. "Oh, Merlin, that's better. I hate being cold."
"Well, you won't like the trip to the common room in the winter, then," Gemma Farley said ahead of them. "We're about three floors underground. That's a clever bit of magic, though. What's your name?"
Hermione realized she was being addressed and perked up a bit.
"Hermione Granger," she said.
"Not bad, Hermione," Gemma said with admiring smile. "I've got my eye on you."
Hermione absolutely preened as they emerged into a long stone corridor. A few old wooden doors could be seen at odd intervals as they traipsed along, but Hermione doubted that the rooms they contained saw much use. Still, she yearned to at least take a look. A castle as old and storied as this one had to have some goodies stashed in an old cupboard somewhere, a book long forgotten and containing some bit of primal magical knowledge.
She would definitely have to take a weekend and go exploring.
After she'd thoroughly checked out the library.
"Alright, everyone, we're here," Percy Weasley said when the group had finally trudged to a stop, and the first-years all clustered around the two prefects, who had paused next to a seemingly random stretch of wall. "There are no portraits or statues to show you where the common room is. It's just the wall. Memorize the spot, and soon enough you won't have a problem finding it. The password will change every two weeks, so mind you don't forget to check the notice board inside when the time comes."
Once Percy had finished his miniature speech, Gemma turned to the particular spot on the wall that apparently concealed the common room, speaking clearly so the others could hear.
"Abscondita domus."
As soon as she had finished speaking, the wall shifted and began to sink in on itself, folding away and forming an arch not unlike the one that led into Diagon Alley. Hermione wondered if the entrances had been designed by the same person.
"Are the passwords always going to be in Latin?" Daphne asked, and Gemma giggled before fixing the rest of them with a little smile.
"No, we just like to start things off fancy," she said.
…
Inside, the common room was dimly lit but surprisingly warm and cozy. Everything was, of course, decorated in shades of black and green (with a gothic aesthetic right out of an episode of The Addams Family), and the antique leather furniture and dark wood cabinets reminded Hermione of her grandfather's study. She half-expected to find him sitting in one of the high-backed chairs near the fireplace, puffing away at a cigar while reading the evening paper.
And then she simply missed Grandfather. Were he alive today, what would he think of his daughter being a magic-user? Would he even be allowed to know? No matter the case, she liked to think that Grandad Henry would have been proud of his granddaughter, perhaps even dubiously supportive of her odd academic endeavors.
"First year boys, with me," Percy Weasley said as they filed through the common room. His tone and commanding inflection reminded Hermione of a drill instructor, or perhaps a military school teacher who wished he had become one. As she watched, he directed the boys to the right, toward what were presumably the boys' dormitories.
"Firsty girls, follow me," Gemma said, conversely sounding like a young preschool teacher's assistant as she ushered the girls toward a door on the left. As they walked, they passed by what Hermione finally realized was a set of three tall windows, though whatever lay beyond was completely black, leaving her staring at her own reflection. Plain and mousy, as always, though perhaps that would change in time…
"Keep up please," Gemma said as they passed through a larch stone archway and into an octagonal room nearly the size of Hermione's living room at home. Hermione saw three wooden doors, one each to the left, right, and directly ahead. The farthest walls—on either side of the door straight ahead—bore more dark windows that Hermione realized must look out right into the lake itself, given how far down they were.
"To the right are the dormitories for first through third years," Gemma said. "The doors are labeled, so I'll leave you to find yours. To the left are the fourth through sixth years, which you may visit but don't be surprised if you get shooed right back out. The seventh-year dorms are straight ahead, and those are strictly off-limits. Seventh-year is an important one, that's when you take your N.E.W.T. exams. So we leave them have a place to get away and study when they have to."
The soft sound of a yawn fluttered at Hermione's ear, and she looked over to see Daphne covering her mouth and scooting over to lean slightly into Hermione. Gemma noticed this and rolled her eyes with a fond smile at the pair.
"Alright, well, I've kept you lot long enough," she said. "You girls sleep well, and welcome to Slytherin."
"Goodnight!" the girls all chorused as Gemma left them, and once she was through the door the led to her dormitories, a brunette girl with her hair cut into a bob that did no favors to her pug-like face turned to regard the rest of them with a sneer.
"I'm going to change into my pajamas alone," she said in a tone that brooked no denial. "You lot wait outside."
"Oi, it's a girls' dormitory, last I checked," another girl spoke. She was a petite thing, and if she wasn't a first-year, Hermione would have assumed she was only about eight or nine. Despite her size, she stared down the girl with the bob without a trace of hesitation. "Not just yours."
"I don't want any of you peeking at my bits while I'm getting changed, so I'm going alone," pug-face told them.
"You don't really get to decide that, now do you?" the smaller girl said, stepping quite close to the one with the bob.
"Hey," Daphne's quiet voice spoke in Hermione's ear, and Hermione felt a hand on her wrist gently pulling her to the dorms while the other Slytherin girls circled around the row happening. "Let's go."
They slipped through the doors leading to the first-through-third-year dorms, emerging into a dark wood-paneled hallway with a plush green carpet underfoot. It was a refreshing change from all of the stone and granite Hermione had been walking the whole day. Daphne's cool grip slid from Hermione's wrist to take her hand and lead her down the hallway toward a room with a plaque above it:
First-Year Girls' Dormitories
"Let's just get ready for bed before pug-face comes storming through," Daphne said, and Hermione snorted.
"She does have a rather unpleasant face, doesn't she?"
"It's such a squashed thing," Daphne giggled. "I'd feel bad for her if she weren't an absolute bread handle."
"…Bread handle?" Hermione asked, and Daphne shrugged with a hand on the doorknob.
"My little sister came up with it," she said. "I guess it's supposed to mean something's useless, like a handle on a loaf of bread."
"That's adorable," Hermione said.
"Oh, Astoria's precious, you'll love her," Daphne said. "She starts Hogwarts in a couple years."
"Enough time for us to get the lay of the land and eventually corrupt her?" Hermione asked, and Daphne gave her a wide-eyed smile of surprise.
"Now you're getting it," she said, pulling open the dormitory door and ushering her through. "C'mon, let's see our new digs."
Inside, the dormitory was more of the same plush green carpeting and dark wood-paneled walls. Another window set in the center of the opposite wall showed the mirror-black water of the lake, though when the sun came up, Hermione supposed it would allow some light to filter in. Six four-poster beds sat against the walls, each hung with green curtains and made up with green comforters and black sheets that were probably silk. Her things had already been brought in, and her trunk sat at the foot a bed, the rest of her personal effects stacked neatly atop the covers.
By a stroke of luck, Daphne's bed was right next to Hermione's, and she climbed up onto the springy mattress as the pair surveyed the rest of the room. Save for their beds and a flanking pair of ornate bedside tables for each one, the room didn't sport much else in the way of furniture. Hermione supposed the bulk of their time was intended to be spent in the common room.
"Not bad at all," Daphne said, just as the door opened once more. A girl with skin the color of chocolate made her way into the dormitory, her curly hair pulled up in a ponytail.
"Oh," she said when she spotted the pair, raising her hand in a singular wave. "Hey. Glad I'm not the only one who thought to duck out before things got out of hand."
"Did you see what happened?" Daphne asked, and the girl shook her head.
"I just managed to close the door when I heard Gemma shrieking like 'What is going on out here!?'," she said. "I think those two had their wands out. I scampered off to take a shower."
"Smart call," Daphne said. "I'm Daphne. This is Hermione."
"Bella Zabini," she said. "Isabella, but everyone calls me Bella."
"Zabini…" Daphne trailed off. "Wasn't there a – "
"Two of us?" Bella asked. "My twin brother and I. Blaise. Trust me when I say that he's the worst sort of person you could ever meet."
"There seem to be a few of those in this house," Hermione observed, and Daphne winked at her.
"But there are also plenty of the best," she said.
…
"Completely blocked?" Albus asked.
"I've rarely sat upon a head that wasn't at least mostly open to me," the Sorting Hat said from its perch, its folds and creases cast in stark shadow from the light of the moon through Albus's office window. "Some minds are more…snarled than others, sure, but I've some of the most powerful legillimency magic known to wizard-kind cast upon me by Salazar Slytherin himself. There's no way some boy should have been able to keep me at bay."
"And yet…" Albus prompted the hat.
"And yet, I might as well have been put on a statue," it went on. "Not a whisper, a fleeting flash of emotion, or even a flutter of errant thought. The boy's mind is a fortress."
"That is indeed troubling," Albus said. "Do you have any idea – "
"Mental scarring," the hat said before Albus could even finish. "Deep and lasting. Harry Potter wasn't simply witness to a traumatic event, his whole life was an exercise in suppression. Of events, of emotions, of…everything about himself. He packed it all down, refused to let it even see a glimmer of daylight. He was constantly broken down, but he refused to break, rebuilding stronger every time. And that mental scar tissue is the impenetrable barrier I saw today."
"And you could see nothing through it?" Albus asked. "How did you know where to sort him?"
"He asked for Ravenclaw," the hat said, its brim rippling in an approximation of a shrug. "Said he loved a good book and wanted to be with like-minded individuals. Very polite lad."
"I thought so as well," Phineas said from his portrait. "Shame he didn't go to Slytherin."
"Quite," the hat said in flat tones.
Albus pulled his half-moon spectacles away and pinched at the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes. Harry Potter had been troubling enough when he'd been unaccounted for; now that Albus had him tucked away safely in Hogwarts, he was proving to be just as much a source of grief. It was imperative that he be made ready for whatever dark form Tom manifested once he took the bait. The Philosopher's Stone had already been moved to Hogwarts and was behind a carefully-crafted series of security measures. Albus didn't imagine Tom being able to reach it for however long it took to modify the Mirror of Erised and render the stone truly unattainable.
Until then, it was a waiting game, a gambit to lure out the self-styled Dark Lord. Perhaps it was dangerous to execute such a play in a school, but the students had been warned away.
So long as they remained far from Fluffy's chamber, there would be no cause for alarm.
Mostly Hermione-dominant in this one, but that was mostly because Harry's version of events would have been utterly and remorselessly uninteresting.
Feedback is always welcome!