- CHAPTER THREE -
A Solemn Sorting

"What is that spell?" Harry asked, once they were out of the crush of students hurrying to get inside.

Hermione wrinkled her forehead. "I've never seen anything like it! The power it must have taken-"

"It must be the new school defences," Ron said, unconcerned. Harry was less certain.

"If they could cast a defensive spell that powerful, why didn't they do it last year?" Dumbledore had known full well the danger they were all in.

"Probably because that cow Umbridge wouldn't have allowed it," said Ron, with a scowl. "Hey, did any of you see the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

"Why, did you?" Dean Thomas came squeezing through the crowds to join them.

"No, nobody has," Ron said, shaking his head.

"There's already a betting pool going on," said Dean. "What d'you reckon this year: useless, or evil?"

"Evil," said Harry. He knew the way his luck ran.

"Useless," said Ron.

"Evil and useless," Neville suggested glumly.

"Useless at being evil!" Ron countered.

Hermione heaved a big, put-upon sigh. "Honestly."

Their group was amongst the last to arrive in the Great Hall, but the school still seemed woefully depopulated. There seemed to be hardly any first-years; Harry counted about twenty-five, all looking rather small and lost. Barely more than half a dozen per house.

Professor McGonagall strode in to take charge of the milling first-years. "Attention, please! The Sorting ceremony is about to commence- thank you, Professor Flitwick." The diminutive Charms professor had just arrived carrying the traditional stool and the Sorting Hat, which went together to be rather taller than he was.

"Settle down, please," McGonagall requested of the Hall at large, still alive with murmurs and curious whispers. They all watched the hat. A moment later, it twitched into life.

I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
My purpose is quite clear
To split you is my task; to that
I always will adhere.
The founding four were true and good
Pure friendship shared they all.
But argue all day long they could
On how to run the school.
Each had their own opinion clear
Of what should be most prized
And so, to share the children here
Four houses were devised.
Said Gryffindor: "I claim the bold."
The proud and strong he took.
But brave souls don't heed what they're told
And seldom stop to look.
Said Ravenclaw: "I claim the wise."
Her house praised careful thought.
But those who think long seldom rise
To finish what they ought.
Said Slytherin: "I claim the pure."
Ambitious souls, each one.
But lines of blood do not endure
And plots are never done.
Said Hufflepuff: "I will not choose!"
She took all to her heart.
But those most loyal still can lose
If they will not take part.
Divide you all, I can, I must
By weaknesses, and strengths
But you must never think to trust
These labels to all lengths.
A house is but a house; a name
My children, you are more.
Live in the house I bid you claim
But do not close the door.
The Founders were a family
Divided, but still whole,
And that is what we now must be
If we're to reach our goal.

The hat fell silent. So did the Hall. This sombre song was unlike even the previous year's startling effort; then, as now, it had warned of the dangers of being divided, but this was the first time Harry could remember it starkly outlining the houses' faults along with their greatest strengths. Only a few people even started to applaud, and the claps quickly died away.

McGonagall took her customary place with the scroll. "Adams, Jane," she announced briskly. The first petrified eleven-year-old hesitantly crept forward.

Harry listened to the ceremony with half an ear, clapping automatically at the occasional roar of "Gryffindor!" His attention was on the teachers' table, which still had one place conspicuously empty. He nudged Ron.

"Looks like the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher hasn't arrived."

"Do you think they might have been trapped outside by the spell?" asked Neville worriedly.

"Maybe they'll let you teach us officially this time, Harry!" Ron said optimistically.

Harry smiled, but inside he doubted it. And he wasn't sure he wanted the responsibility. He might be able to show people how to throw spells about, but as events in the Department of Mysteries had shown, he was woefully inadequate at anticipating even the most ridiculously simple of enemy plans.

Dumbledore gave a long speech, which Harry determinedly ignored as soon as it became clear he wasn't going to say anything about the new Defence teacher or the magical dome outside. He was through with listening to Dumbledore. He talked in riddles, and that had been almost comforting when it seemed that he had all the answers, but now it felt like he was deliberately playing games with people's lives. How many people had been nearly - or really - killed thanks to trusting to a few cryptic words that they thought ought to mean something?

There were far too many secrets being kept from him "for his own good". Well, if they wanted to play that game, he knew exactly what to do about it.

That night, after he was supposedly safely tucked up in his familiar school bed again, he put on his Invisibility Cloak, and slipped out.

The school was quiet. Even the ghosts and the pictures seemed subdued. He remembered that the Fat Lady had hardly been her energetic self when welcoming them back to Gryffindor Tower. He wondered whether it was the same solemn attitude that had settled over the school's human inhabitants... or something more.

He wasn't surprised to find that many of the staff were still up and about, and with some careful footwork he was able to creep up behind McGonagall and Flitwick and eavesdrop on their conversation.

"-all settled in?" That was Flitwick.

"It appears so. We can only hope that none of the students disobeyed our advice, and went roaming too far before you put the shield back up."

"If they did, I'm afraid, there's nothing we can do about it. If the shield comes down, it's down. It's not a spell I can easily restore, and with that thing outside, well-" The little wizard shook his head.

"Your other illusion is still holding?" McGonagall asked.

"Yes. Yes, that one is hardly a problem to maintain... Still, I wonder if perhaps we should-"

"It would only cause panic for the students to see it."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." Flitwick sighed. "I just think that the more minds we have together working on this, the better."

"Not at the expense of adolescent hysterics," McGonagall said firmly. "Besides, we have the whole year to work on a solution, and some of the finest minds in wizarding Britain at our disposal."

Flitwick nodded. "Let us hope that they prove fine enough."

At this point, they moved out of Harry's hearing range, but the conversation seemed to be over, so he didn't try to follow. Instead, he crept back to his dorm, turning over what he'd heard in his mind. So, this dome was more than purely defensive. There was something out there that the staff were trying to keep out. And Flitwick was hiding something with an illusion - some kind of problem that needed to be solved?

Something, he thought grimly, which was being kept from them in case they panicked - never mind the number of times he and his friends had proved themselves more than capable in a crisis.

"Dancing nogtails," he mumbled to the Fat Lady, who sleepily opened the passage for him.

He stomped up the stairs back to his room. Oh, yes, he might be The Boy Who Lived when they needed him to be. When it was convenient for them. But the moment they ran out of hoops for him to jump through, he got stuck on a shelf and treated like a child until they were ready to use him again. He was just a tool to them - a weapon, to be used in the battle against Voldemort, and then casually thrown back and expected to act as if nothing had changed.

Well, he'd be their weapon. It wasn't as if he had a choice. But he was damned if he was just going to sit around and wait like a good little boy while they decided amongst themselves how much he should be told and how much he should be 'protected' from. Something was afoot here, and he was going to find out what.

The next morning, however, drove most thoughts of investigating from his mind with more mundane matters. The timetables for the new year had arrived, and he groaned in dismay when he read his own over breakfast.

"Potions first thing - and a double session on Thursdays?"

Ron raised his hands to the sky in triumph. "I'm free. I'm free! No more Potions, no more Snape - forever!" His feet tapped out a little dance of glee under the table.

Hermione ignored him. "We're studying for the NEWTs now, Harry. Frankly, I don't think even three lessons a week is nearly enough. We're going to have to use every minute of our spare time for studying."

Ron snorted. "Yeah, right."

Harry studied his timetable again. Aside from the horror of a triple dose of Snape, it really wasn't all that bad. After Potions he had Charms before lunch, and then he was free for the rest of the day. And tomorrow he had double Defence Against the Dark Arts. He was looking forward to that, at least, assuming the new teacher ever turned up. If there even was one. Why couldn't they have hired Lupin?

Hermione tugged his arm. "Come on, Harry. You don't want to be late for Potions."

No, he definitely didn't. In fact, he didn't want to go at all.

Snape was his usual glaring self as Harry took a seat with Hermione. The only other Gryffindor who had dared to come back was Parvati Patil, who was sitting with her Ravenclaw twin. The NEWT classes, optional as they were, mixed all four houses together in one classroom; hardly a problem in the under-subscribed Potions, but popular classes like Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts were likely to be more of a cram. Harry saw to his dismay that Malfoy and several of his fellow Slytherins had opted to keep taking Snape's lessons, although Crabbe and Goyle at least had been weeded out by the entry requirements.

The Potions master stalked to the front of the classroom, robes swishing. "This is not an easy subject," he said, without preamble. "You will not be given a free ride. Some of you have been accepted into this class, over my objections, without making the required grade in the OWL. Make no mistake, you will improve, and you will do so immediately, or else you will fail the entire course." The sneer that accompanied this was directed solely at Harry, who was pretty sure he wasn't the only one in the class to have scored less than an O in the OWL.

Snape leaned forward menacingly, black eyes glittering as his bony fingers gripped the corners of his desk. "Every potion you make in the next two years will count towards your final grade." There was a ripple of absolute horror through the class. "I will be observing your performance at all times. It is not my job to shepherd you through meaningless academic hoops, and stuff your thick and unwisely swollen heads with clever exam answers to be regurgitated and forgotten. I am here... to teach you to make potions - and make them perfectly, each and every time you sit down to do so. You will leave this class as expert potion-brewers - or you will not leave this class at all."

From the looks on the faces of the students around him, nobody was entirely sure he was speaking figuratively. The Slytherins, unused to being lumped in with the rest of the class when it came to this kind of treatment, were taking on some shades of green and grey that rather nicely mimicked their house colours. Even if Snape was intending to play his usual game of favourites, they were still going to get put through the wringer.

Harry fought the urge to groan aloud. A grade for his next two years of classwork - assigned by Snape? He might as well fill in the T for himself right now. He might have scraped that unlikely 'Exceeds Expectations' in the OWL, but that was thanks to the impartial external examiners. If he had to win Snape's approval in class as well as pass the exam and the practical, he didn't have a hope in hell of getting a top grade.

Harry gritted his teeth. There was still time to drop out and change subjects... but no. He wouldn't give Snape the satisfaction. If Sirius were here, he wouldn't-

He clamped down on that thought, hard. He wasn't going to think about Sirius; not here, and now, with Snape waiting in the wings to pounce on the slightest sign of weakness. He would just bite his tongue, and take notes like a good little boy, and pretend that schoolwork could actually still even matter after everything that had happened.

Just like everybody expected him to.

Charms was better. Ron was in this class, and so were most of the rest of Gryffindors and indeed the year group - excitable little Professor Flitwick was well-liked by most of the school, and compared to the difficult disciplines of Transfiguration and Potions, charm-work was practically a breeze.

Unfortunately, only in comparison. NEWT-level work proved to be just as tough as everyone had claimed it would be, and while Harry might be well ahead in offensive and defensive spells, when it came to charms for more ordinary purposes, his education was decidedly patchy. After his fourth failed attempt to master a Sweeping Charm, he felt like snapping his wand in frustration. It was hardly likely he was going to live long enough to need to know how to do magical housework, anyway.

"It's Verrium Mundio!" Hermione said helpfully, sweeping her own pile of sand into a neat conical heap with a few deft flicks of her wand.

"Verrio Mundi- uh-"

Harry's angry wand stroke managed to sweep up his sand, Hermione's, Ron's school bag, and Neville Longbottom. "Sorry, Neville!" As everything went down in a tangled heap and Harry winced, Ron leaned over.

"Teach me that version. Next time mum's on at me to tidy my room, I can just open the wardrobe and sweep everything into it."

"Nice smooth wand movements there, Harry, but let's work on fine control, shall we?" said Professor Flitwick, after he'd crawled out from beneath the table he'd quickly ducked under to avoid low-flying Nevilles.

Harry grimaced, and kept practising.

After lunch that day, they went to see Hagrid. Harry had to admit that now he was no longer taking Care of Magical Creatures his timetable was probably considerably less dangerous - but not nearly as eventful.

The oversized Groundskeeper smiled and waved at them as they approached. Harry saw to his surprise that a large number of pens of varying shapes and sizes had been set up not far from the Quidditch pitch. He leaned over the slatted fence of the nearest cautiously - long experience with Hagrid's idea of a good pet had taught him that - and found himself looking down into a hollowed out area that that had been flooded until it resembled marshland. There didn't seem to be anything living in it, just some grasses and waterlilies, and few chunks of dead wood drifting on top of the water.

"What's this for, Hagrid?" he wondered curiously.

"Careful there, Harry, mind yeh don't-"

Harry's foot dislodged a few clods of earth that went tumbling down into the water. One of the floating pieces of wood abruptly developed paws and very sharp teeth, wriggling over with alarming speed to investigate the ripples. He took an involuntary step backwards.

"It's a Dugbog!" said Hermione knowledgeably, peering over his shoulder. "They eat Mandrakes, you know." The boys both remained blank, and she rolled her eyes. "Honestly, I know Umbridge was a bad teacher, but did you do any of the reading she assigned?"

"What's with all the pens, Hagrid?" Ron asked curiously. It wasn't like Hagrid to be this organised at the beginning of the year; he always rather gave the impression that his classes moved on to studying new creatures as and when he managed to pick them up from some shady character in a pub.

"New arrangements, see." Hagrid scratched his beard awkwardly, and the three of them exchanged glances. Hagrid was almost painfully bad at covering it when he was hiding something. "Professor Dumbledore asked me ter get all the creatures together at the beginning of the year, so we'd have them all in one place, like. Yeh should come an' have a look, we've got Muscomens an' Fire Crabs an' all kinds o' stuff."

"Is this because of the dome?" Hermione guessed shrewdly.

"What dome? Oh, that dome." Hagrid attempted, rather badly, to act as if he'd completely forgotten the existence of the enormous, shimmering magical barrier covering the entire school and grounds. "Well, it's the new defences, see, an' it takes a lot of power ter keep bringin' it up and down all the time, so it's easiest if we have everything we need all together, right...?" He swiftly and shiftily changed the subject. "Have yeh ever seen a colony o' Muscomens before? Yeh don't see them much in captivity - they can sense thoughts, yeh know, so they're right difficult ter catch-"

"But what's it here to protect against?" Harry refused to be distracted.

"Well, You-Know-Who, o' course!" Hagrid said, too quickly.

"Yes, of course," agreed Hermione, pointedly taking both of the boys by their elbows and steering them away before they could make efforts to interrogate him any further. "Anyway, very nice to see you Hagrid, sorry we can't chat, but we've got to get to class."

"What did you do that for?" Ron demanded in a harsh whisper, as soon as they were a little way away. "Two more questions and he'd have cracked like a Cockroach Cluster!"

"Yes, and then he'd get in trouble, and everybody would know we knew what the dome was for, and probably keep a closer eye on us than ever."

"She's got a point," said Harry.

"It can't just be to keep Dark wizards out," said Hermione. "If it is, why haven't they done it before? I mean, when everybody thought Sirius-" She cut herself off abruptly, looking mortified.

"It's all right, Hermione," Harry said quietly. It still hurt to even think about Sirius, but it would be even worse to stop thinking about him completely, and try to pretend he'd never existed at all.

"Anyway," she continued shakily, "it doesn't make sense. I know things are bad now, but they can't be any worse than last year. They wouldn't do something as drastic as this unless..."

"Unless there was something else going on," Ron finished grimly.

They all looked up at the iridescent dome. What kind of magic was it - and more importantly, what was going on in the outside world beyond it?