Astor
The last few weeks of summer were tense. Each member of the Dursleys family had chosen a different method for dealing with our "freakishness". Uncle Vernon refused to speak to us, look at us, or even acknowledge our existence in any way, though his face grew steadily more purple the longer either of us was in his presence. Meanwhile, Dudley had taken to squeaking and hurrying out of the room, the memory of Snape's final words and McGonagall's magical demonstration apparently lingering in his mind. Aunt Petunia simply stared, this rigid look in her eyes and her mouth a flat line, as if waiting for one of us to drop dead.
It was a relief to wake on the morning of September 1st. Nobody acknowledged us at breakfast, though we were allowed to eat at the table – ever since the professors' visit, we'd been released of our chores and been allowed to eat proper meals. Bryony said, late one night, that maybe they'd had a change of heart, but I knew better: The only reason they did it was that they were scared the wizards were watching and would hurt them if we were mistreated.
Finally, as Bryony took the last bite of her food – my plate was already clean – Uncle Vernon turned to us and barked out, "Well? Bring down your trunks and I'll take you to the city." His mouth twisted as if he'd suddenly taken a bite of something particularly foul.
I nodded. "Of course, Vernon."
He choked at the name, the blatant disrespect in my tone, but I smiled at him – a sharp vicious smile – then stood and strode out of the room, leaving my dirty plate abandoned on the table behind me. Bryony's chair scraped back and then she hurried after me.
"You shouldn't provoke them," she murmured.
"Why not? They're too scared to act."
"What about next summer?"
We aren't ever coming back here. But, I didn't say that, couldn't. She wasn't ready to run away, and I still had to make plans for that.
So the two of us fell into silence as we checked the room again – "Get everything," I told her, heart twisting at the half lie, "we don't know what they'll do to anything we leave." – then carted our trunks downstairs, Hedwig hooting disgruntledly in her cage. Thank God – no, Merlin, that's what wizards said – for featherlight charms, otherwise it'd weigh a ton.
Uncle Vernon didn't look at either of us as we streamed past him, didn't lift a hand to help as we hauled our trunks into the car. Though, I'd hardly expect anything else. Bryony kept glancing at him, and his entire body went rigid when I dropped into the front seat beside him, a cheeky smile in place.
"Well?" I asked when he just sat there, face steadily reddening. "Aren't we due in London?"
The look on his face was positively murderous, but he didn't say anything as we drove off. For once, he couldn't punish us, and by Merlin, I was going to enjoy watching his fear hold him captive.
When he dropped us off at King's Cross, there was entirely too much glee on his face. For once breaking with expectations, he led us right between Platforms 9 and 10, even helping to load our belongings onto a trolley, then waved a hand around.
"Platform 9 ¾, was it?" he asked, grinning like a lune. "Well, there you are. Platform nine, platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it, do they?"
I gave him a bland look, then took Bryony's hand and tugged her through the barrier between platforms. The wall stretched around us, forming a short corridor, then a scarlet steam engine appeared before us, and we stepped onto a large empty platform.
Brilliant.
I glanced at Bryony, but she was frowning. "What is it?"
"Would he…" She paused, biting her lip. "He would've really left us there, with no way home and no way onto the platform?"
"They hate us," I kept my voice gentle, "remember?"
She glanced at me. "I know, it's just… easy to forget, sometimes, you know? Especially this last month…"
No. I didn't know. I could never forget, and I'd certainly never forgive. What they did… no child, no person, deserved that.
"Come on. Let's find a compartment."
She nodded, but the sad look lingered in her eyes, even when I prompted her into a conversation on the creatures' book. Eventually, she'd learn; you couldn't rely on anyone but yourself.
Astor
The last few weeks of summer were tense. Each member of the Dursleys family had chosen a different method for dealing with our "freakishness". Uncle Vernon refused to speak to us, look at us, or even acknowledge our existence in any way, though his face grew steadily more purple the longer either of us was in his presence. Meanwhile, Dudley had taken to squeaking and hurrying out of the room, the memory of Snape's final words and McGonagall's magical demonstration apparently lingering in his mind. Aunt Petunia simply stared, this rigid look in her eyes and her mouth a flat line, as if waiting for one of us to drop dead.
It was a relief to wake on the morning of September 1st. Nobody acknowledged us at breakfast, though we were allowed to eat at the table – ever since the professors' visit, we'd been released of our chores and been allowed to eat proper meals. Bryony said, late one night, that maybe they'd had a change of heart, but I knew better: The only reason they did it was that they were scared the wizards were watching and would hurt them if we were mistreated.
Finally, as Bryony took the last bite of her food – my plate was already clean – Uncle Vernon turned to us and barked out, "Well? Bring down your trunks and I'll take you to the city." His mouth twisted as if he'd suddenly taken a bite of something particularly foul.
I nodded. "Of course, Vernon."
He choked at the name, the blatant disrespect in my tone, but I smiled at him – a sharp vicious smile – then stood and strode out of the room, leaving my dirty plate abandoned on the table behind me. Bryony's chair scraped back and then she hurried after me.
"You shouldn't provoke them," she murmured.
"Why not? They're too scared to act."
"What about next summer?"
We aren't ever coming back here. But, I didn't say that, couldn't. She wasn't ready to run away, and I still had to make plans for that.
So the two of us fell into silence as we checked the room again – "Get everything," I told her, heart twisting at the half lie, "we don't know what they'll do to anything we leave." – then carted our trunks downstairs, Hedwig hooting disgruntledly in her cage. Thank God – no, Merlin, that's what wizards said – for featherlight charms, otherwise it'd weigh a ton.
Uncle Vernon didn't look at either of us as we streamed past him, didn't lift a hand to help as we hauled our trunks into the car. Though, I'd hardly expect anything else. Bryony kept glancing at him, and his entire body went rigid when I dropped into the front seat beside him, a cheeky smile in place.
"Well?" I asked when he just sat there, face steadily reddening. "Aren't we due in London?"
The look on his face was positively murderous, but he didn't say anything as we drove off. For once, he couldn't punish us, and by Merlin, I was going to enjoy watching his fear hold him captive.
When he dropped us off at King's Cross, there was entirely too much glee on his face. For once breaking with expectations, he led us right between Platforms 9 and 10, even helping to load our belongings onto a trolley, then waved a hand around.
"Platform 9 ¾, was it?" he asked, grinning like a lune. "Well, there you are. Platform nine, platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it, do they?"
I gave him a bland look, then took Bryony's hand and tugged her through the barrier between platforms. The wall stretched around us, forming a short corridor, then a scarlet steam engine appeared before us, and we stepped onto a large empty platform.
Brilliant.
I glanced at Bryony, but she was frowning. "What is it?"
"Would he…" She paused, biting her lip. "He would've really left us there, with no way home and no way onto the platform?"
"They hate us," I kept my voice gentle, "remember?"
She glanced at me. "I know, it's just… easy to forget, sometimes, you know? Especially this last month…"
No. I didn't know. I could never forget, and I'd certainly never forgive. What they did… no child, no person, deserved that.
"Come on. Let's find a compartment."
She nodded, but the sad look lingered in her eyes, even when I prompted her into a conversation on the creatures' book. Eventually, she'd learn; you couldn't rely on anyone but yourself.
Livi
Her uncle looked like a woman again. Not a gorgeous one either, the kind in one of those Muggle fashion magazines, not like last time. No, now he looked like a fussy, overworked mother, clutching an oversized handbag and all. It was almost comical – almost, because she knew the reason for his caution, and because she was just as wary as him.
He held onto her hand as they marched through the station, not saying a word, eyes at the watch. He didn't slow or speak as they neared the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10, just clutched her hand tighter and marched her right through it.
On the other side of the barrier, a large scarlet steam engine stood, steam wafting from it. Hundreds of children and parents adorned the platform, dressed in crisp wizarding robes and worn Muggle garb and every variant between.
They passed by a pale, blonde girl, her mother fussing over her; a trunk that suddenly opened to reveal a long, slim leg of what seemed to be some kind of spider, the surrounding crowd oohing and screeching, and a boy with dreadlocks grinning; a group of redheads, four boys and a little girl and a short woman who looked far more overworked and exasperated than Uncle's assumed appearance.
Finally, Uncle stopped, the pair far from the entrance, all the way on the other side of the platform where the crowd had dwindled to small pockets.
"Have a safe trip," Uncle told her shortly, and Livi nodded. "Do you have your mirror?"
Another nod.
"And the dagger?"
She nodded a third time.
"Good. Call me again tonight, after your Sorting. I want to know which house you're placed into." Then, he eyed me. It was very disconcerting, seeing the pale grey eyes – much like my own – from a very different face. "And do try to answer verbally, or has someone hexed your mouth shut?"
Livi rolled her eyes. "Yes, Uncle."
Before he could respond to that, she hugged him. His arms wrapped tight around her, and he whispered, "I'll miss you, cub."
"You, as well," she whispered, and for a moment she sagged into his embrace, allowed herself to forget formality, to enjoy the hug from the closest thing she had to a parent–
And then he drew away, smiling from a stranger's face, and that too was so, so familiar. "Good luck."
She nodded, then turned away, picked up her suitcase – honestly, why anyone used cumbersome trunks was beyond her – and boarded the train.
Hattie
Every year, for as long as Hattie'd been alive, they had gone to King's Cross. One of her very first memories, in fact, was rushing to the train, waving Bill and Charlie off cheerfully, while Ginny sobbed and clutched onto her sleeve. And every year, the Weasley clan was late.
So late, in fact, that this year they were running through the station, scrambling to the platform and then rushing through the barrier. The train was whistling and they were hurrying over, Aunt Molly reminding the demon twins to be good – "A toilet seat, Mum–" Fred began, and George finished, "We never thought of that" – and telling Ron everything would be fine and he'd make it into Gryffindor.
"Mummy, mummy, can I go?" Ginny asked, tugging on Aunt Molly's arm.
"Not until next year, Ginny," Molly said, and she looked sad, for a moment, lines on her face drawn tight, and Hattie wondered what it would be like for her, next year, home alone, with nothing to do, after twenty years of raising her children.
And then the train conductor announced, "We will depart in two minutes."
Another chorus of goodbyes, and they all clambered aboard.
For a moment, the five Weasleys exchanged looks with each other.
Then, Percy puffed up his chest and said, "I should go to the prefect's compartment."
Fred and George nodded. "We're going to find Lee."
And they went their separate ways. Hattie had to prod her twin into movement, and they took off in the opposite direction from their brothers. She peered into every compartment, looking for an empty seat, before she finally found one with only two identical red haired twins.
She knocked lightly, then opened the door. "Hullo. Is anyone sitting here?"
The left hand girl looked up from her book and smiled. "Yes, of course."
The second sister sent her a glower.
Ignoring her, Hattie sat beside the nice twin, and, after a look from one side of the compartment to the other, Ron sat beside her rather than the scowling girl.
"I'm Hattie Weasley," she said, "and this is my twin, Ronald."
"Ron," he snapped, and everyone stared at him. He flushed, ears turning bright red, and slumped down in his seat.
"You don't look much alike," the less polite sister noted, and Hattie couldn't help but raise her hand to her hair – blonde, not the fiery red of her family, the same blonde hair as Aunt Sally and Grandma Esther.
"Sometimes siblings don't," the other sister said, "it's not that uncommon." Then, she glanced back at them, blinked. "Oh, sorry. I'm Bryony Potter."
Ron's eyes all but popped out of his head. "Potter?"
"Yes." The second sister closed her book with a snap. "We're the Girls-Who-Lived."
He goggled at them, awed. Hattie could see the curious questions brewing in him, and she… she would never say it aloud, but her brother lacked tact, and she could already see him saying something awful and them getting offended, and she said, "I'm sorry for your loss."
The girl cocked her head, staring with unnervingly bright eyes.
"Are your family all wizards?" Bryony asked, drawing Hattie's attention and she nodded. "What's that like?"
"Well… normal, I suppose." What other word was there for it? She had grown up with it, she couldn't imagine life without it, but she could hardly describe what it was like.
But the other girl seemed to understand and nodded. "I guess it would be."
"Are your family not?" Hattie asked, and it was so awkward, the way Ron gawked and Astor Potter stared. "Magical, I mean."
"No." It was Astor who answered, her voice as cold as ice. "They're not."
A moment of awkward silence fell, and, naturally, her brother chose to fill it.
"Do you remember it?" he asked eagerly, and Hattie wanted to facepalm. "You-Know-Who?"
"No," Astor hissed, "we don't."
"Oh." He slumped a little, disappointed. "Not anything at all?"
Bryony shifted uncomfortably. "Well, there was a green light…"
"And you really grew up with Muggles? What're they like?"
Bryony glanced at Astor, this pleading, desperate look. "They're–"
"None of your business," Astor snapped, standing up. "Come on, Bryony, we're leaving."
Their trunks floated down from the racks – wandless magic, how extraordinary – and she grabbed hers and stalked out of the compartment. Bryony shot her an apologetic look, following after her sister.
Ron gawked after them. "What'd I do?"
Hattie just sighed.
Livi
It took quite some time to find a compartment. Many of them already had occupants, older students sitting with their friends, not the kind to welcome intrusions, as she and her uncle had arrived quite late. The train was moving by the time she finally stumbled onto the very last compartment, with the sole occupant in the form of a dark haired boy, reading a book.
She knocked lightly at the door, then peaked it open. "May I sit with you? Everywhere else is a bit cramped."
He waved a luxurious hand at the opposite seats.
She nodded in thanks, then slipped inside and sank gracefully into the opposite seat, crossing her ankles faintly and leaving her suitcase on the ground beside her. The other boy eyed her curiously, but remained silent pretending to focus on his book: A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot.
"My uncle says that book is rubbish," she said.
He blinked, glancing up at her. "Oh?"
She nodded. "It's rather biased, apparently. Pro-Light hogwash, the lot of it. The author is great friends with Dumbledore."
He nodded idly; honestly, how did he make everything look so lazy? "Why tell me this? I may support that 'pro-Light hogwash.'"
Livi raised an eyebrow. "A Lestrange, on the side of the Light? I believe your ancestors would be screaming in their graves."
His lips quirked up. "Ah, you have me at an advantage. I don't believe I recognize you from the society galas?"
"I wouldn't be on the guest list," she said bluntly. "My mother was Marlene McKinnon."
A stilted pause.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
She nodded. "Yours, as well. I heard your father perished recently?"
He nodded. "He passed away in his sleep. It was quite tragic."
That was when the door opened again, a pair of girls standing there. Both had vibrant red hair, this odd copper color, almost glowing in the light. Though, one had rather unflattering bangs.
"Hello," the girl in the front said, while the other had her mouth open, a scandalized look on her face. "May we sit here? The company elsewhere is rather unpleasant."
"Astor," the second girl muttered chidingly, "they didn't mean it like that."
The other girl, Astor, ignored her, focusing on Livi and Castor with an unpleasant focus, her green eyes – green like poison, green like the dark flames from a spell her uncle had shown her and made her promise to never use – cutting all the way, as if she was trying to find their hearts and uproot them.
"Of course," Castor said, gesturing to the other seats, "we have plenty of room."
The girl nodded, and, after seeing her and the other girl's luggage into the rack, dropped into the seat beside Livi. Her sister sat more tentatively beside Castor, perching on the edge as if waiting for the need to flee.
Astor. The name was familiar, somehow, and Livi scrolled through her memory, trying to recall the class roster her uncle had made her memorize. Astor… P… Parkinson? No, that was Pansy. Patil? They were twins, but Parvati and Padma. That only left–
"Potter!"
All three of them looked at her as if she were mad, but she focused on the sisters
"You're the Potter twins! Astor and Bryony! The Girls-Who-Lived!"
"Well, yes," Eros said, "isn't that obvious?"
Astor whirled on him. "You knew?"
"Well of course," he replied, "you look like the pictures of that Muggleborn. It wasn't a hard leap. Especially when I saw the scar."
Astor's hands flickered up, rising halfway to her face before dropping again.
"Wait," the second sister, Bryony, interrupted, "you've met?"
"Oh, yes," Eros replied glibly, "we had quite the scintillating conversation over fabric swashes and measuring tapes."
Astor smiled at that.
Conversation flowed from there, and slowly Livi relaxed. Maybe Hogwarts wouldn't be as hard as she'd imagined. Maybe… maybe she could have friends… and maybe she wouldn't have to lie as much as she'd imagined.
Astor
The other two members of the compartment, Livi McKinnon and Eros Lestrange, were far politer company than those in our previous compartment. For one, they didn't stare at my scar, nor did they insist on bringing up parents and families, as if either Bryony or I would be able to discuss such things - the closest we had were the Dursleys, and they'd spent the last month thoroughly pretending we didn't exist. Secondly, they didn't seem to mind quite, much, either, allowing pauses in the conversation and didn't continue to prattle on so long that it was a wonder they hadn't run out of air.
They did talk to us, though, which was a bit of an oddity after a month of rigid silences, tense looks, and otherwise pretending that neither of us existed, especially as the weeks passed and no word came from this Dumbledore. Though, that was far preferably to the menial work of before, but still… the quiet had begun to worry me, make dread curl in my gut, make me wonder how long until it snapped and we'd all suffer for it…
All in all, it was quite a relief to escape the house.
Sometime after twelve, a rumbling, clattering noise came from outside, and a few moments later a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the trolley, dears?"
Bryony leaned forwards, craning to peer past the dimpy woman and see what the cart offered. On the other hand, neither Eros or Livi seemed that interested in the trolley – although, Eros didn't seem to have much of an interest in anything. Perhaps wizarding sweets weren't that good?
However… never before had I had money for any sort of sweets – from cake and ice cream to a simple candy bar – and now… now I had silver and gold rattling around in my little coin purse. It was silly and stupid and careless, but...
Tentatively, I stood and went out to the corridor, Bryony trailing after me and lingering in the door. Rather than Mars Bars or flake bars or Turkish delight, the cart held all sort of strange candies: Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Liquorice Wands, and more.
I blinked at it, then purchased a little of everything. I paid the woman seven bronze knuts and two silver sickles, and returned to my compartment as Bryony chose her own candies.
Eros raised an eyebrow at the purchase. "A little hungry?"
I shrugged as if not noticing his intense interest. "I've never tried wizarding candy before." No need to mention that I'd never had Muggle candy either.
"The pumpkin pasties are decent," Livi said, staring out the window, as Bryony returned with an armful of sweets that she dumped onto the seat. "But watch the chocolate frogs–"
But Bryony had already opened hers, and the frog made a crrrroooaaak! and wiggled out of the package. Bryony shrieked, tossing it away, and the frog leaped, somehow landing on the window and wiggling out of where it'd been left cracked open, flying off out of the train.
"Rotten luck," Eros noted, then returned his focus to his book.
"They jump," Livi finished needlessly. "You should check the card, though. Sometimes they have something of interest on them."
Bryony warily peaked into the passage, then pulled out a slim gold card. Words were written along the back, too small to read across the compartment. She flipped it over, and I glimpsed a face: male, with half-moon glasses perched on a long crooked nose and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache.
"Who is it?" I asked, leaning forwards.
Bryony offered me the card. Albus Dumbledore, it read beneath the man's portrait, and I flipped it over and read:
Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster of Hogwarts. Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.
"Bowling?" I inquired.
"He's considered quite eccentric," Livi replied, "or so my uncle tells me."
I turned the card back over and found that Dumbledore's face had disappeared. The wizarding world was very strange.
Bryony continued through the chocolate frogs, offering them to the others – Livi took a couple, but Eros turned his nose up at them – although she proved far more interested in the collection of famous wizards and witches, especially after determining that eating the frogs' heads made them stop wiggling. Soon she had not only Dumbledore, but Morgana, Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus and Merlin.
"I wouldn't try those," Eros warned when I went to open the container of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavoured Beans. "They take 'every flavor' quite literally."
Bryony leaned forwards, curious, and tried one. And wrinkled her nose. "It tastes like spinach."
There was a knock on the door of our compartment and a girl with long, dark hair came in. "Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?"
"No, sorry," I said, glancing at the others, who shook her head. Eros ignored us.
She scowled. "Brilliant. One day, and he's already run off!"
"He'll turn up." Bryony smiled at her
"Yes," said the girl miserably. "Well, if you see him…"
She left.
"I don't understand why she's so bothered," Eros said, flipping the page. "If my family gave me a toad to bring, I'd lose it as quickly as possible."
I hmmed, then pulled out a book from my blue velvet bag, and began to read. Bryony continued eating the Bertie Botts beans, cringing every once and a while, though I refused to touch mine.
The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers and dark green hills.
The door slid open again. The toadless girl was back, but this time she had a boy with her. He was already wearing his new Hogwarts uniform and robes, shoes polished to a blinding glare.
"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," he asked.
'"We've already told her that we haven't seen it," Eros said, not looking at him.
They left, thankfully, and there were no more disturbances after that.
Eros
Eventually, as the sky darkened, we changed into our school uniforms, Eros stepping outside to guard the door and rapping the glass to tint black, and it wasn't long after that when a voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."
Bryony had gone very pale, and her sister reached across the compartment to take her hand and squeeze it, and idly he wondered if he'd be expected to behave such with his own sibling would've done something similar, if she'd been here.
The train slowed right down as the quartet straightened out their things and finally stopped with a soft lurch. Eros glanced out the compartment and sighed at the sight of dozens cramming the corridor.
He stood and straightened his robes, pushing away the sickening, roiling feeling in his stomach, as if a dozen snakes had crept inside and were writhing around. Then, he stepped out into the crowd, keeping close to the girls he'd forged a tentative, potentially temporary alliance with as people pushed and shoved around him, feet stepping onto his shiny new loafers, elbows catching his gut, his ear, and he had to take deep breaths to keep himself from screaming and lashing out.
The crowd cleared a little once on the platform, and he breathed in the sharp, frozen air gratefully. A chill seeped through his robes, and around him the other girl's shivered.
Then, a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students and a voice called: "Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!"
The source of the voice turned out to be the biggest man Eros ever seen, towering over even the oldest of students, twice the size of anyone here. Was he the part giant his mother had ranted about, once?
"Oh my stars," Livi murmured, gawking up at him. Odd. He'd only ever heard his mother say something like that before – "the blessings of the stars," Bellatrix had said in one of her saner moments.
Astor grabbed her sister's hand and dragged the other girl after her to the massive beast. With another sigh, he followed after the girls, Livi at his side.
"Do you think he drank a bottle of Skelo-Grow as a baby?" Livi asked, still staring at the giant wizard.
"Or he's part giant." Eros was very careful about the amount of condescension he put in his voice, a cutting edge countered by the bland look on his face.
Livi blinked, completely dismissing his potentially offensive tone. "Really? Is that even possible?"
He just gave her a look.
She didn't reply.
By now, Hagrid seemed to have gathered all the other first years, and so he led them away from the other students – for a split second, Eros worried that it was a trap to kill him and the other Wizengamot children, but no, this was Hogwarts, he was safe here – and down a steel narrow path that had them slipping and stumbling, bumping into each other in the darkness. The only light was Hagrid's lantern, wafting from far ahead, as the quartet was at the very back of the group alongside a still sniffling toad boy.
"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."
True to his word, the narrow path opened up as soon as they rounded the bend, and there it was, perched atop a high mountain of a massive black lake. Its windows sparkled like the stars in the sky, dozens high in the many turrets and towers.
There was a loud "Oooooh!"
Eros snorted. Really? The family's palace in France was grander than this.
He turned his attention from the sight and headed towards one of many little boats perched on the water. The four of them settled in one.
"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid a few moments later, who had a boat to himself, "Right then – FORWARD!"
And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at rhe castle growing steadily nearer. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.
"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy which hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel cutting under the castle, the air dank and humid.
After a few more moments, they reached a kind of underground harbour, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.
"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.
"Trevor!" cried Neville Longbottom blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last on to smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.
They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.
"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"
Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door. A moment later, it was opened by a stern faced witch in all green – ironically, as she was the Head of the Gryffindor House.
They were shuffled into a small room that quickly become cramped upon the entrance of fifty or so students, and then Professor McGonagall gave a long speech about the Sorting and Houses, which would've been more helpful if not for the fact that anyone could hear as much from family or the proper book.
As everyone speculated about how they'd be Sorted – a test of some kind, seemed the consensus, the most outlandish tale involving wrestling a troll – Eros leaned against a wall that somehow managed to be dirty and dusty. Around the room were a series of faded tapestries, showing the four houses.
"Oh, please," Livi said as one girl began talking about how they'd have to tame a dragon, "is everyone here a halfwit?"
Hmm. He'd never taken her for someone who'd use such language; she'd been rather prim and proper on the train, almost as if she'd received the same training as all noble ladies.
"How are we Sorted?" Bryony asked.
"A hat," Eros chimed in. "It sings a song – a different one every year, probably because of how boring the rest of its year is – and then we put it on our head and it uses Legilimency to determine where we belong."
Bryony frowned. "What's Legilimency?"
"Muggles would call it telepathy," Livi chimed in, examining one of the tapestries.
Screams cut through the crowd, and Eros turned–
Oh, just ghosts, prattling on about someone named Peeves.
"Move along now,' said a sharp voice. 'The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."
Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.
"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first-years, "and follow me."
A hush had fallen on the other students, all too cowed by their nerves over the Sorting to speak. It was rather soothing, and Eros relaxed as they walked into the Great Hall.
Thousands and thousands of candles illuminated the place, as if the caretaker had never heard of witchlight. Gaudy gold goblets and plates lay across the tables, although that was far outshone by the grand chair the headmaster sat in at the high table, at the very back of the hall.
The most outstanding thing about the room was also the simplest: the enchanted ceiling, showing the expanse of the night sky, tiny stars glittering. Such a feat was one few had been able to recognize, and then it was to no great effect – the closest, apparently, were the windows at the Ministry, however those were but mere illusions, not true reflections of the outside world like this enchantment. It was but one of many great deeds of magic wrought by the founders, now lost to wizardkind.
They stopped at the top of the dias, arrayed in a line before the entire school. Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first-years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. An extremely frayed and dirty hat with dozens of muted patches.
For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth – and 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!"
The whole Hall burst into applause for the mediocre song. The hat bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.
Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. Then, one by one, she called for the students to be Sorted.
Then, finally, McGonagall called his name.