The second chapter emerges; it seems that this story will have a lot more
chapters than I originally intended for it to have. I said we would
probably have twenty chapters, right? Well, looking at what I've written
and the half-planned rest of it, I think I can safely say I'll have written
twenty chapters and not even be close to ending this monster. I'm in over
my head; I really am. Too bad I'm enjoying myself so much. *grins*
*****' Hogwarts never changed. Through years of turmoil, year after year of new students wearing down its hallowed steps, it had remained the same. Those stone walls would never crumble, those silent corridors, echoing with the faint sounds of children's laughter would never fall. Hogwarts was, still is, and always has been a constant in every student's life. And a big part of Hogwarts' school year was the Sorting ceremony, as any of the alumni would tell you.
The Sorting ceremony is what decides the rest of a student's stay at Hogwarts; whether it will be bad or good, whether it will be amusing or the most horrible experience in your life. Ravenclaw is probably the best House you can end up in; future employers will think you're extremely smart and hire you before anyone else, and you'll get to stay with people who are a lot like you. Hufflepuff is good in that respect as well, as employers will think you're hardworking, and your Housemates will be intensely loyal. Gryffindors tend to get menial or even dangerous jobs, because any sane employer will realise you lived most of your Hogwarts years as the biggest prankster in the neighbourhood Slytherins are doomed, but proud of it.
But the Sorting ceremony is where these things are decided, so if you end up in the wrong House, you're not going to have a very nice Hogwarts stay. Of course, the nifty thing about the Sorting Hat is that it can't put you in the wrong House; it reads your mind. But what's on the outside is almost never any guide to what's on the inside; therefore, it is amusing to watch first years being Sorted.
Sitting at the Slytherin table, I had a perfect view of the High Table and the teachers and the tiny stool where the Sorting Hat lay. I smiled to myself; each year, the Sorting Hat song seemed to get more and more like that Muggle novel, the Three Musketeers, who said "all for one, and one for all", or possibly the other way around, I've forgotten. But the point was that they seemed to want us to unite; in first year, Slytherin had gotten a most unflattering verse, while Gryffindor was praised. As the years went by though, the contents changed, until last year when everyone got to hear the version that actually pitied Salazar Slytherin. I couldn't wait for this year's version.
The tear in the brim of the Hat opened, and it began to sing the same way it always had; if cloth had a voice, that would be it. I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the table, making sure I caught every word of the lyrics, just to see what it had come up with this year.
.
Welcome you shall be
To yet another year in school
Where you shall learn of history
And how to use magic as a tool
.
In which of the four Houses
Will you then reside?
Which colours of your
clothing shall you abide?
.
Mayhap it shall be Ravenclaw
Or perhaps Hufflepuff?
Or shall the choice stand between
Slytherin, and the lions
Of Gryffindor?
.
High in the tower
The Ravenclaws observe
To great deeds and fame
Their knowledge will serve
.
The Hufflepuffs find beauty
in work and honesty
Perhaps it shall be they
Who get your loyalty?
.
Nobility and courage
Are what Gryffindor sees
If you have these two
You shall fit in with ease
.
While Slytherin is fearsome
Here also many dreamers hide
Should you take this path
You just might turn the tide
.
Whichever House it is
in which you your friends will make
Don't worry at all
I'll choose for your sake
.
It silenced, and was met by roaring applauds from every corner of the Great Hall. The Sorting ceremony began, and McGonagall stepped up to the stool and started reading out the names of the first years. After a while, everyone settled down to listen, completely quiet. The Sorting ceremony was definitely one of the things that you did not even think about disturbing, even if you were a prankster.
I blinked. Damn; that was a good one. Never before had it spoken about Slytherin in such flattering ways; while ambitious might be flattering, dreamer was definitely more so. And "You just might turn the tide" had a definite prophetic quality. This year just might be different from the previous ones. Maybe the others would realise Slytherin would be there even when the Light won, this time. Though I doubted that; they never had before. I shook off my thoughts, and concentrated on the Sorting; I wanted to know what first years we would be saddled with this year, after all.
"Angevine, Cain," McGonagall called, and a small, brown-haired boy made his way from the back of the group to the stool, putting the Hat on his head.
A tense moment of silence followed, before the tear in the brim of the Hat opened once more, shouting out the name of the House Cain Angevine would be Sorted into. I held my breath, not wanting to disturb it in the least.
"Slytherin!"
Our table erupted in cheers loud enough to deafen an elephant as we welcomed Cain to our House. I must have cheered the loudest, because Millicent, who was sitting next to me, leaned away, laughing at me. The little first year arrived at the table, looking shaken at our enthusiastic greeting, before I turned around to watch the next person be sorted.
"Darius Bungard," I sniggered a bit at the name.
It was a boy as well, with sandy hair this time. I was too far away from the stool to see any more details than that, so I gave up and watched instead. The Hat was placed on the boy's head, and about half a minute ticked by before it shouted. I had begun to look around me, wondering what had happened when it finally gave the shout.
"Ravenclaw!"
Well finally, I thought, rolling my eyes. That Hat sure has a hard time making up its mind sometimes. I turned my attention away from the Sorting after that, and drifted off into thoughts. Every year at the sorting ceremony, Slytherin is handed about seven new students, all of which can either become Death Eaters, or model students, or something in between. In all of those students, possibilities lie hidden. External forces; their parents, their teachers, their future employers, but also we, their friends and role-models, would affect them in ways we couldn't even imagine. One wrong word might turn them onto the path to Voldemort, just as one right word might turn them towards the Light.
In the background, I could hear even more students being Sorted, and applauded dutifully each time a new Slytherin entered our ranks, but I was far away in my thoughts. I was scanning the High Table. It might seem strange to spend my first night back at school staring at my teachers, and it is, but over the years I had developed it as a defence mechanism. After so many horrible Defence teachers, you learned to watch out for potential psychos. They always seemed to have something strange about them, already at the Welcoming Feast.
The teachers were all watching the Sorting, looking quite satisfied and happy, with the obvious exception of my uncle, Snape. He has yet to look happy any time of year, much less at the Welcoming Feast. Next to him, where the Defence teacher usually sat, Professor Sinistra was now sitting. This confused me momentarily, and at first I assumed she was going to be the new Defence teacher, but then I whacked myself over the head mentally, and looked over the rest of the seats. Professor Trelawney's chair was empty, but that was nothing new; it always was. There was one empty chair left though, in between Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall, which I assumed must belong to this year's Defence teacher.
A teacher not being present at the Feast was not a good sign; that was what fake-Moody had done, and he had turned out to be a Death Eater. Hopefully, this teacher merely had a headache or something. I didn't think I could take another year of dastardly plots that affected my Defence teachers. Without my noticing it, the Sorting had ended, and the chatter started up again, but died down quickly as Dumbledore stood up to speak.
"Welcome to yet another year at Hogwarts" He began, looking out over us, "Welcome back, all of our older students; you have been sorely missed this summer. Hogwarts is not the same without you. This year, I am proud to say that we did manage to get yet another Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, though due to temporary illness, he will not be joining us tonight."
A lot of mumbling broke out around me at this statement; by now, everyone knew the curse associated with the Defence position. I congratulated myself on being right about the illness, and hoped to myself that it was a simple illness, and not something like Lupin's lycanthropy. Having a more or less normal teacher, who got normal illnesses like the flu or a cold for once would be nice.
"The list of forbidden items in the corridors has grown to include the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes articles of the names Exploding Snappers, Rainbow Bombs, Lightning Sticks and Edible Parchment. Further I would like to add that the Restricted Section of the library is still restricted, and that all students are prohibited entrance to the North Tower. Now," Dumbledore beamed, "Tuck in!"
I blinked. If that was not the most cryptic start-of-term speech I had ever heard, then I did not know anything. But my confusion disappeared as food began to fill the plates and bowls in front of me. I grinned widely; food was high on my list of priorities. My mouth watered as I watched the delicious Hogwarts food in front of me, and I did not wait to snatch up my plate and start filling it. Mashed potatoes, plates of bacon, shepherd's pie, Yorkshire puddings, enough gravy to last an Imperial army, and I had no clue where to start. I had to save space for the sweets too, which could prove a problem. But then again, being a growing and healthy young boy, I had space enough to spare. I piled shepherd's pie and bacon onto my plate, and settled back to eat with the first grin I had worn in days adorning my face. It was a satisfied grin, a grin of anticipation, but nothing more.
"Hungry Blaise?" Millicent asked me, smiling.
"Yeah, a bit," I nodded, beginning to stuff it into my mouth, "And since my mother told me not to speak with food in my mouth, I'll have to shut up now."
"Well, thank god for small mercies," Millicent grinned, before piling food onto her own plate, "We wouldn't want you talking, after all."
I would have stuck out my tongue at her, but as my mouth was full of food, I refrained from doing so. I made a face at the second year across from me instead; she was looking at me strangely. I hate when people look at me strangely; it usually means they're noting my eye colour, even though that comes after staring for a full minute at my bony face. Alright, I know I'm ugly; that doesn't give them the right to stare their eyes out at me, does it? The second year looked away quickly, probably scared of me. A lot of the younger ones are; I can't imagine I look that scary, so I don't really understand them.
I surveyed this year's crop of first years, chewing on a piece of bacon. There was Cain, of course, but also an odd assortment of little boys and girls, eating away at the dishes in front of them, still looking slightly scared. They should be; no one quite knew what the first night in the Snake Pit would be like, not even those of us who had been there for a long time. And from what I remember, the first night at Hogwarts is enough to freak you out, no matter how stable and sane you are. Tomorrow, no doubt, when classes began, Cain and the others would be bleary eyed and tired, wondering why they ever chose to come to Hogwarts.
And then, we would teach them about the true meaning of Slytherin.
In a sense, Slytherins ruled Hogwarts. We might be hated and despised, but we were always there. Whenever Gryffindors failed, we were there to laugh at them. Whenever Ravenclaws' knowledge ran out, we were there to steal their books. Whenever Hufflepuffs fell, we were there to kick them when they were down. We were, in short, everywhere, and we had always been everywhere. I smiled. We were there, even when everyone else had fallen, plotting our revenges, or our next plan. I mused on the superiority that was Slytherin, until the plates emptied, and we had to leave the Hall.
"Prefects! Lead the first years to your House!" Dumbledore ordered happily, "May you all have a good night's sleep!"
The Slytherin House stood up as one, and the first years looked around to find their prefects. Draco, with his badge displayed proudly on his chest, waved them to him, and although they looked confused at the lack of a second prefect, they followed him. As they passed, I took the opportunity to look them over. Small, brave faces, prepared to face a night in the dungeons of Hogwarts, with people they didn't know. Some of them, of course, had older siblings in our ranks, but it wasn't the same. Not at all; a sibling can't hold your hand in the dark of a new room when you're scared, and they can't go to classes with you when you're nervous enough to throw up. A sibling can't be there when you need them the most, because they aren't you.
******'
The walk to the dungeons has never been nice, though I suppose it's better in the summertime, when the halls aren't so bloody freezing. The portraits in the dungeons aren't nice, and they aren't polite, and they sure as hellfire aren't ready to give you directions when you're lost. They're more likely to laugh at you when you try to find your way. Trust me, Christoph, the resident vampire painting gets a kick out of misleading young students, and girls especially. He freaks me out, and that's saying something.
With every other Slytherin in school at the present time, I wandered down the stairs and winding corridors to our Common Room. The dungeon corridors are dark and the air was slightly humid, as it always has been. There's dark down here so old that it had come alive. It moved, and sometimes, I swore that I could hear it breathing. I could hear it whisper in the corners; memories of people who lived here hundreds of years ago linger on, especially down here in the living dark, where memories do not fade, but become part of the darkness. I looked ahead over the mass of students, and could make out Draco's peroxide blonde head at the front of the group.
"The password is Mordre," He called out, turning to all of us. "Remember that; you'll have use for it as I'm sure you understand. If you don't, well; there's no helping some people."
With a nasty smile, he disappeared through the opening behind the painting of Valji the Unrepentant, leaving the poor first years scared out of their wits. Sighing, I elbowed by way through the group of students in front of the portrait hole, ignoring the yelps of pain that emitted as my sharp elbows connected with some poor student's ribs. I was tired, I was hungry again, even though I'd eaten less than a quarter of an hour ago, and if I did not get to sleep within the next half hour, I was going to hurt someone, badly.
******'
Ending Notes; it was shorter than average, but I did just spend a whole chapter going through the Sorting ceremony. I even went into the meandering ramblings that is Blaise's mind. Now, please leave a review, even if you think it's bad. Thank you all for the reviews I already have.
*****' Hogwarts never changed. Through years of turmoil, year after year of new students wearing down its hallowed steps, it had remained the same. Those stone walls would never crumble, those silent corridors, echoing with the faint sounds of children's laughter would never fall. Hogwarts was, still is, and always has been a constant in every student's life. And a big part of Hogwarts' school year was the Sorting ceremony, as any of the alumni would tell you.
The Sorting ceremony is what decides the rest of a student's stay at Hogwarts; whether it will be bad or good, whether it will be amusing or the most horrible experience in your life. Ravenclaw is probably the best House you can end up in; future employers will think you're extremely smart and hire you before anyone else, and you'll get to stay with people who are a lot like you. Hufflepuff is good in that respect as well, as employers will think you're hardworking, and your Housemates will be intensely loyal. Gryffindors tend to get menial or even dangerous jobs, because any sane employer will realise you lived most of your Hogwarts years as the biggest prankster in the neighbourhood Slytherins are doomed, but proud of it.
But the Sorting ceremony is where these things are decided, so if you end up in the wrong House, you're not going to have a very nice Hogwarts stay. Of course, the nifty thing about the Sorting Hat is that it can't put you in the wrong House; it reads your mind. But what's on the outside is almost never any guide to what's on the inside; therefore, it is amusing to watch first years being Sorted.
Sitting at the Slytherin table, I had a perfect view of the High Table and the teachers and the tiny stool where the Sorting Hat lay. I smiled to myself; each year, the Sorting Hat song seemed to get more and more like that Muggle novel, the Three Musketeers, who said "all for one, and one for all", or possibly the other way around, I've forgotten. But the point was that they seemed to want us to unite; in first year, Slytherin had gotten a most unflattering verse, while Gryffindor was praised. As the years went by though, the contents changed, until last year when everyone got to hear the version that actually pitied Salazar Slytherin. I couldn't wait for this year's version.
The tear in the brim of the Hat opened, and it began to sing the same way it always had; if cloth had a voice, that would be it. I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the table, making sure I caught every word of the lyrics, just to see what it had come up with this year.
.
Welcome you shall be
To yet another year in school
Where you shall learn of history
And how to use magic as a tool
.
In which of the four Houses
Will you then reside?
Which colours of your
clothing shall you abide?
.
Mayhap it shall be Ravenclaw
Or perhaps Hufflepuff?
Or shall the choice stand between
Slytherin, and the lions
Of Gryffindor?
.
High in the tower
The Ravenclaws observe
To great deeds and fame
Their knowledge will serve
.
The Hufflepuffs find beauty
in work and honesty
Perhaps it shall be they
Who get your loyalty?
.
Nobility and courage
Are what Gryffindor sees
If you have these two
You shall fit in with ease
.
While Slytherin is fearsome
Here also many dreamers hide
Should you take this path
You just might turn the tide
.
Whichever House it is
in which you your friends will make
Don't worry at all
I'll choose for your sake
.
It silenced, and was met by roaring applauds from every corner of the Great Hall. The Sorting ceremony began, and McGonagall stepped up to the stool and started reading out the names of the first years. After a while, everyone settled down to listen, completely quiet. The Sorting ceremony was definitely one of the things that you did not even think about disturbing, even if you were a prankster.
I blinked. Damn; that was a good one. Never before had it spoken about Slytherin in such flattering ways; while ambitious might be flattering, dreamer was definitely more so. And "You just might turn the tide" had a definite prophetic quality. This year just might be different from the previous ones. Maybe the others would realise Slytherin would be there even when the Light won, this time. Though I doubted that; they never had before. I shook off my thoughts, and concentrated on the Sorting; I wanted to know what first years we would be saddled with this year, after all.
"Angevine, Cain," McGonagall called, and a small, brown-haired boy made his way from the back of the group to the stool, putting the Hat on his head.
A tense moment of silence followed, before the tear in the brim of the Hat opened once more, shouting out the name of the House Cain Angevine would be Sorted into. I held my breath, not wanting to disturb it in the least.
"Slytherin!"
Our table erupted in cheers loud enough to deafen an elephant as we welcomed Cain to our House. I must have cheered the loudest, because Millicent, who was sitting next to me, leaned away, laughing at me. The little first year arrived at the table, looking shaken at our enthusiastic greeting, before I turned around to watch the next person be sorted.
"Darius Bungard," I sniggered a bit at the name.
It was a boy as well, with sandy hair this time. I was too far away from the stool to see any more details than that, so I gave up and watched instead. The Hat was placed on the boy's head, and about half a minute ticked by before it shouted. I had begun to look around me, wondering what had happened when it finally gave the shout.
"Ravenclaw!"
Well finally, I thought, rolling my eyes. That Hat sure has a hard time making up its mind sometimes. I turned my attention away from the Sorting after that, and drifted off into thoughts. Every year at the sorting ceremony, Slytherin is handed about seven new students, all of which can either become Death Eaters, or model students, or something in between. In all of those students, possibilities lie hidden. External forces; their parents, their teachers, their future employers, but also we, their friends and role-models, would affect them in ways we couldn't even imagine. One wrong word might turn them onto the path to Voldemort, just as one right word might turn them towards the Light.
In the background, I could hear even more students being Sorted, and applauded dutifully each time a new Slytherin entered our ranks, but I was far away in my thoughts. I was scanning the High Table. It might seem strange to spend my first night back at school staring at my teachers, and it is, but over the years I had developed it as a defence mechanism. After so many horrible Defence teachers, you learned to watch out for potential psychos. They always seemed to have something strange about them, already at the Welcoming Feast.
The teachers were all watching the Sorting, looking quite satisfied and happy, with the obvious exception of my uncle, Snape. He has yet to look happy any time of year, much less at the Welcoming Feast. Next to him, where the Defence teacher usually sat, Professor Sinistra was now sitting. This confused me momentarily, and at first I assumed she was going to be the new Defence teacher, but then I whacked myself over the head mentally, and looked over the rest of the seats. Professor Trelawney's chair was empty, but that was nothing new; it always was. There was one empty chair left though, in between Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall, which I assumed must belong to this year's Defence teacher.
A teacher not being present at the Feast was not a good sign; that was what fake-Moody had done, and he had turned out to be a Death Eater. Hopefully, this teacher merely had a headache or something. I didn't think I could take another year of dastardly plots that affected my Defence teachers. Without my noticing it, the Sorting had ended, and the chatter started up again, but died down quickly as Dumbledore stood up to speak.
"Welcome to yet another year at Hogwarts" He began, looking out over us, "Welcome back, all of our older students; you have been sorely missed this summer. Hogwarts is not the same without you. This year, I am proud to say that we did manage to get yet another Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, though due to temporary illness, he will not be joining us tonight."
A lot of mumbling broke out around me at this statement; by now, everyone knew the curse associated with the Defence position. I congratulated myself on being right about the illness, and hoped to myself that it was a simple illness, and not something like Lupin's lycanthropy. Having a more or less normal teacher, who got normal illnesses like the flu or a cold for once would be nice.
"The list of forbidden items in the corridors has grown to include the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes articles of the names Exploding Snappers, Rainbow Bombs, Lightning Sticks and Edible Parchment. Further I would like to add that the Restricted Section of the library is still restricted, and that all students are prohibited entrance to the North Tower. Now," Dumbledore beamed, "Tuck in!"
I blinked. If that was not the most cryptic start-of-term speech I had ever heard, then I did not know anything. But my confusion disappeared as food began to fill the plates and bowls in front of me. I grinned widely; food was high on my list of priorities. My mouth watered as I watched the delicious Hogwarts food in front of me, and I did not wait to snatch up my plate and start filling it. Mashed potatoes, plates of bacon, shepherd's pie, Yorkshire puddings, enough gravy to last an Imperial army, and I had no clue where to start. I had to save space for the sweets too, which could prove a problem. But then again, being a growing and healthy young boy, I had space enough to spare. I piled shepherd's pie and bacon onto my plate, and settled back to eat with the first grin I had worn in days adorning my face. It was a satisfied grin, a grin of anticipation, but nothing more.
"Hungry Blaise?" Millicent asked me, smiling.
"Yeah, a bit," I nodded, beginning to stuff it into my mouth, "And since my mother told me not to speak with food in my mouth, I'll have to shut up now."
"Well, thank god for small mercies," Millicent grinned, before piling food onto her own plate, "We wouldn't want you talking, after all."
I would have stuck out my tongue at her, but as my mouth was full of food, I refrained from doing so. I made a face at the second year across from me instead; she was looking at me strangely. I hate when people look at me strangely; it usually means they're noting my eye colour, even though that comes after staring for a full minute at my bony face. Alright, I know I'm ugly; that doesn't give them the right to stare their eyes out at me, does it? The second year looked away quickly, probably scared of me. A lot of the younger ones are; I can't imagine I look that scary, so I don't really understand them.
I surveyed this year's crop of first years, chewing on a piece of bacon. There was Cain, of course, but also an odd assortment of little boys and girls, eating away at the dishes in front of them, still looking slightly scared. They should be; no one quite knew what the first night in the Snake Pit would be like, not even those of us who had been there for a long time. And from what I remember, the first night at Hogwarts is enough to freak you out, no matter how stable and sane you are. Tomorrow, no doubt, when classes began, Cain and the others would be bleary eyed and tired, wondering why they ever chose to come to Hogwarts.
And then, we would teach them about the true meaning of Slytherin.
In a sense, Slytherins ruled Hogwarts. We might be hated and despised, but we were always there. Whenever Gryffindors failed, we were there to laugh at them. Whenever Ravenclaws' knowledge ran out, we were there to steal their books. Whenever Hufflepuffs fell, we were there to kick them when they were down. We were, in short, everywhere, and we had always been everywhere. I smiled. We were there, even when everyone else had fallen, plotting our revenges, or our next plan. I mused on the superiority that was Slytherin, until the plates emptied, and we had to leave the Hall.
"Prefects! Lead the first years to your House!" Dumbledore ordered happily, "May you all have a good night's sleep!"
The Slytherin House stood up as one, and the first years looked around to find their prefects. Draco, with his badge displayed proudly on his chest, waved them to him, and although they looked confused at the lack of a second prefect, they followed him. As they passed, I took the opportunity to look them over. Small, brave faces, prepared to face a night in the dungeons of Hogwarts, with people they didn't know. Some of them, of course, had older siblings in our ranks, but it wasn't the same. Not at all; a sibling can't hold your hand in the dark of a new room when you're scared, and they can't go to classes with you when you're nervous enough to throw up. A sibling can't be there when you need them the most, because they aren't you.
******'
The walk to the dungeons has never been nice, though I suppose it's better in the summertime, when the halls aren't so bloody freezing. The portraits in the dungeons aren't nice, and they aren't polite, and they sure as hellfire aren't ready to give you directions when you're lost. They're more likely to laugh at you when you try to find your way. Trust me, Christoph, the resident vampire painting gets a kick out of misleading young students, and girls especially. He freaks me out, and that's saying something.
With every other Slytherin in school at the present time, I wandered down the stairs and winding corridors to our Common Room. The dungeon corridors are dark and the air was slightly humid, as it always has been. There's dark down here so old that it had come alive. It moved, and sometimes, I swore that I could hear it breathing. I could hear it whisper in the corners; memories of people who lived here hundreds of years ago linger on, especially down here in the living dark, where memories do not fade, but become part of the darkness. I looked ahead over the mass of students, and could make out Draco's peroxide blonde head at the front of the group.
"The password is Mordre," He called out, turning to all of us. "Remember that; you'll have use for it as I'm sure you understand. If you don't, well; there's no helping some people."
With a nasty smile, he disappeared through the opening behind the painting of Valji the Unrepentant, leaving the poor first years scared out of their wits. Sighing, I elbowed by way through the group of students in front of the portrait hole, ignoring the yelps of pain that emitted as my sharp elbows connected with some poor student's ribs. I was tired, I was hungry again, even though I'd eaten less than a quarter of an hour ago, and if I did not get to sleep within the next half hour, I was going to hurt someone, badly.
******'
Ending Notes; it was shorter than average, but I did just spend a whole chapter going through the Sorting ceremony. I even went into the meandering ramblings that is Blaise's mind. Now, please leave a review, even if you think it's bad. Thank you all for the reviews I already have.