Theirs was one of the last coaches to arrive; by the time the three of them hurried up the great stone steps into the Entrance Hall and met up with the other seventh-years, the Great Hall was nearly full. Around the Slytherin table stood an unusually large knot of older students, talking and laughing conspicuously.
"Don't tell me Draco's doing his impressions already," said Beth, rolling her eyes.
"I wonder if Potter fainted on the train again," said Mervin eagerly.
The crowd shifted so that they could see past the clustered bodies to the person at the epicenter.
Bruce's face fell into a stunned mask. "That's not..."
Aaron's eyes lit up. "It is!"
The large boy turned towards them, and Warrington rumbled:
"Montague!"
Donegal Montague, former Slytherin Chaser and Hogwarts expellee, broke from the crowd and sauntered toward them, a smug expression on his pockmarked face. He had certainly grown during his year away from Hogwarts; his broad shoulders indicated that he hadn't wasted his chance to spend extra time training.
"Well well," he said, drawing near to them, "looks like the team's back together." He clapped Warrington on the shoulder. "You're looking good. Pucey, how's the arm?"
"Great," said Aaron excitedly, flexing his fingers. "I worked on it all summer."
Montague nodded, satisfied. "Good to hear. Snape's made me captain this year and I want as many experienced players as I can get." He cast a glance at Bruce. "Why Bletchley, you don't look happy to see me!"
Bruce was still looking rather stunned. "Sure I am," he managed. "I just never heard of anyone getting unexpelled."
"I'm the exception to every rule," said Montague smugly. His joviality held a kind of challenge. "I got my O.W.L.s, I'm back up to scratch. And God knows the team needs me."
Bruce's shoulders stiffened. Then he forced a smile and extended his hand. "Welcome back. We're going to have a good season."
"Oh yeah." Montague wore the grin of a crocodile. "Yeah, we are."
He gave Bruce's hand another squeeze, slapped him on the shoulder, and went back to the end of the table.
"This is fantastic," gushed Aaron, as the seventh-years hijacked a set of seats at one end of the table. "Up to five returning players, and Montague's a bloody good Chaser... Sets us up nice for next year too... Nice bit of luck that he's back, eh?"
"Nice," Bruce echoed halfheartedly.
Beth didn't say anything, but felt a pang of genuine for sympathy for Bruce. She had never doubted that he would be made captain of the Quidditch team one day. It hurt to see his dream dashed. Still, she thought with an inward sigh, they should have seen it coming after Bruce's infamous failure to appear at the championship game in fifth year. He had done it to protest Marcus Flint's barbaric strategies; Don Montague, Beth remembered, had the same sort of tendency to foul first and think later.
There came a hush and murmurs as the doors to the Great Hall swung open and the first-years, led by Professor McGonagall, filed in and lined up at the front of the hall. Melissa and Bruce craned their necks to get a look at them. They looked unbelievably young. Beth waffled for a moment, then finally pulled out her Quick-Quotes Quill to record the Sorting. The Dark Lord might want to see it ... and if not, well, you never knew when it would be useful.
Professor McGonagall set down the stool she had been carrying and stood back. The Sorting Hat slouched on its stool for a single dramatic moment, in which it did its best to look like an inanimate object. Then the tear in its brim opened wide and the hat, as it did each year, began to sing.
It sounded at first similar to the previous year's song, describing the founding of the school, but one line caught Beth's attention:
For were there such friends anywhere as Slytherin and Gryffindor?
Unless it was the second pair of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?
Beth knew that Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor must have once cooperated in the building of the school ... but best friends? It sounded a little farfetched. She noticed a few of the Ravenclaws casting sidelong glances at the Hufflepuff table.
So how could it have gone so wrong? How could such friendships fail?
Why, I was there and so can tell the whole sad, sorry tale.
Said Slytherin, "We'll just teach those whose ancestry is purest."
Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose intelligence is surest."
Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those with brave deeds to their name."
Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot and treat them just the same."
"I knew it!" Melissa hissed gleefully. "Hufflepuff really is the leftover house!"
"Hush!"
The story woven in the Sorting Hat's song may have been legend, or fact: the Founders had compromised with the four-house system, but it wasn't long before passions rose and infighting nearly overtook the school. When Slytherin left, according to the song, the fighting died out. (There wasn't a verse about how he had left a basilisk in the basement as a goodbye present.) Beth couldn't help but think that since the Sorting Hat had been on Gryffindor's head at the time, it might have been a little biased.
And never since the Founders four were whittled down to three
Have the Houses been united as they once were meant to be.
And now the Sorting Hat is here and you all know the score:
I sort you into Houses because that is what I'm for,
But this year I'll go further, listen closely to my song:
Though condemned I am to split you still I worry that it's wrong,
Though I must fulfill my duty and must quarter every year
Still I wonder whether sorting may not bring the end I fear.
Oh, know the perils, read the signs, the warning history shows,
For our Hogwarts is in danger from external, deadly foes
And we must unite inside her or we'll crumble from within
I have told you, I have warned you... Let the Sorting now begin.
The hat ended its song and the Great Hall filled with applause ... but Beth noticed a restless, confused whispering over the clapping of hands.
"That was very odd," said Melissa, looking closely at the hat which now slumped, immobile, upon its stool. "Did you get it?"
"I got it." Beth handed her the napkin and grabbed another on which to record the Sorting.
The first boy went to Gryffindor ("Typical," muttered Mervin, "we never get the first one,") and was followed by a bright-eyed girl sent, after a short deliberation, to Ravenclaw.
"It was just so different," muttered Melissa, almost to herself. Clearly, her mind was still back on the Sorting Hat's new song. "Does it know something that we don't?"
"Hush," said Bruce tensely. "They're in the B's."
Beth had no idea why this was a big deal until she heard McGonagall call out the next name:
"Bletchley, Sally!"
Beth had completely forgotten that Bruce's sister would have to be Sorted before she joined them. The little girl came forward fearlessly and clambered onto the stool.
The Sorting Hat perched on her ears for several long moments. Sally began to fidget. Then the tear in the brim opened wide:
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The far side of the hall rang with cheers. Beaming, Sally leapt from the stool and ran over to the Gryffindor table, surrounded by well-wishers. She turned toward the Slytherin table and gave her brother an enthusiastic wave.
Quickly Beth turned to Bruce. He sat frozen, his mouth slightly ajar. Very slowly, he raised one hand and gave her a feeble wave in return. Sally, however, may not have noticed; she was already chatting excitedly with the upper-class Gryffindors.
"Burkes, Beauregard!"
"Oh Bruce," said Melissa, with genuine sympathy, "I'm really sorry."
Bruce shook her hand from his shoulder roughly. "Don't be," he said shortly. "She was Sorted, wasn't she? It's where she belongs." He took a long drink from his glass.
"SLYTHERIN!"
"He looks like a good flyer," Bruce said, eyeing Beauregard Burkes critically. "Light, graceful. We'll need another Seeker in a few years. Wonder if his eye's any good."
Beth and Melissa exchanged uncertain looks, then silently agreed to drop the subject.
A few dozen firsties and a handful of Slytherins later, the Sorting was finished. Beth put away her pen and notes as McGonagall removed the hat and stool from the front of the room. At the head table, Headmaster Dumbledore rose and spread his arms in a warm and enthusiastic welcome.
"To our newcomers, welcome! To our old hands - welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!"
There was laughter and applause. "That man really knows how to please a crowd," said Mervin, as heaping platters of food and drink rose from the empty table before them.
"Nitwit blubber oddment tweak," said Bruce, attacking a plate of chops.
"It doesn't matter what the Daily Prophet says about him," Melissa mused, "he's always going to be influential." She watched Professor Dumbledore for a moment, chatting lightheartedly with Professor McGonagall on his left, and then reached for a large silver platter of baked potatoes. She took one and then shoved the platter under Beth's nose.
"You want a potato, Beth?"
"No thanks."
Melissa fixed her with a very meaningful look. "Let me rephrase that," she said pointedly. "You want a potato, Beth."
Beth glanced down at the plate of baked potatoes in her friend's hand. Usually, they smuggled start-of-year notes to the new S.S.A. inductees inside those potatoes. Beth had been under the assumption that there would be no notes passed. Just as deliberately, she said, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Can't make it worse," said Melissa. She picked up a potato and dumped it onto Beth's plate. "I'll be back."
It took about five minutes for Melissa to wander around the table and drop a potato at each member's plate. She returned with an empty platter and a disgruntled expression. "You weren't kidding about Oren last year," she muttered to Mervin, "that boy hates potatoes. I think he was ready to throw it back at me." She plunked back down and set aside the empty platter, which sank into the table and then popped back up, refilled with crescent rolls. "Good thing I'm so intimidating."
Beth muffled a snort.
Her job as Society President done, Melissa dished herself some chicken and immediately began to scan the Great Hall for new faces, noteworthy conversations and interesting seating arrangements. Her eyes fell on the front of the Great Hall. "Well! It's about time!"
Beth had not been paying attention. "What are you talking about?"
Melissa gestured to the head table. "Our new D.A.D.A. professor. She's a woman. And I say, it's about time!"
Beth followed where her friend was pointing. A dumpy, middle-aged woman wearing a pink cardigan and a simpering smile was seated to Dumbledore's right. For a teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts, she just didn't look very dangerous. Beth let out a snort.
"Are you sure that's her?"
"Don't be ridiculous, she's the only new face. Of course it's her." Melissa straightened her robes fussily. "She looks quite familiar. I wonder where I've met her."
"It certainly wasn't in Gladrags," said Antigone from further down the table, looking the woman up and down disdainfully. "Honestly, when will they hire a professor with some sense of fashion?"
"There was Lockhart," Melissa pointed out.
Beth shuddered. "You've got to be kidding. Remember what he wore on Valentine's Day?"
Melissa's face fell. "The pink robes. Right." She heaved a sigh. "He did look nice in turquoise, though, didn't he?"
Beth reluctantly had to admit that that was true.
It wasn't long before the desserts faded away and Dumbledore rose to his feet at the Head Table. Beth got out her Quick-Quotes Quill again.
"Well," said Dumbledore, looking as usual delighted at the start of a new school year, "now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices. First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students - and a few of our older students ought to know by now too."
Beth thought she saw his gaze slide toward the Gryffindor table.
"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door."
Mervin looked interested. Beth suspected it wasn't because he wanted to be a more effective prefect.
"We have had two changes in staffing this year."
"Oh gosh, we hadn't noticed," muttered Bruce. Beth elbowed him in the ribs.
"We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the-"
"Hem hem."
"Take place on the what?" Aaron said desperately, leaning forward. He was destined, however, never to learn, because the pink-clad woman to Dumbledore's right was standing up, simpering up at him in a very expectant way. Dumbledore paused for just a minute before plopping into his seat and turning toward her like a fascinated schoolchild.
"Take place on the what?" repeated Aaron helplessly.
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, for those kind words of welcome. Hem hem." She cleared her throat again with a funny, feathery little noise. "Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say! And to see such happy little faces looking back at me! I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!"
"Oh, please," muttered Bruce, rolling his eyes.
"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance," Professor Umbridge went on. Her voice had somehow lost all intonation and now held the wooden pacing of frequent rehearsal. "The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching."
At the head table, Professor Snape curled his lip. Everybody knew that he hated the legions of people who had come in to fill the D.A.D.A. position, because he wanted it himself; clearly, though, there was a special place in his black heart for this one.
"Hem hem. Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school..."
Her voice had begun to drone. By now hardly anybody was paying attention. Aaron got out his new set of Gobstones to show them off to Warrington, examining each with an expert eye. Bruce sat back in his seat and watched the clouds roll across the enchanted ceiling. Mervin started to carve into the table with his silverware until one of the other prefects stopped him.
Beth let her eyes roam around the Great Hall. She was surprised to see how few of the faces were familiar: she recognized nearly all of the older students, but she had never crossed paths with most of the younger ones. Apart from her own house, she had spent most of the previous year with either Cedric Diggory or the Durmstrang students. Now none of those remained. She was left with the Slytherins, and very few others.
"...preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."
The hall rang with silence.
Beth glanced up at the head table to see Umbridge seated once again. Dumbledore and the staff began to applaud, but without real vigor; a few students joined in, but it died early. Umbridge did not appear to mind. Finally, Dumbledore stood up again.
"Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating." He dropped a polite bow in her direction. "Now - as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held during the first two weeks of school. Please see your heads of house or team captains for specific times. Our flying instructor Madam Hooch also has access to the field schedule."
Most of the Quidditch team turned to look at Montague, who gave them a cocky thumbs-up signal and mouthed, "Saturday."
"Finally," said the headmaster, "I must remind you that first years are advised that they are not allowed to own their own brooms." Dumbledore gazed out at them, seeming to take in each student's face at once. Then he smiled and raised his hands once more. "Well, the key to learning is a good night's sleep, and it seems to me that we ought to start now. First-years may follow their prefects to their dormitories. Now - off to bed with you all!"
The older students began standing up and starting towards the dormitories, while the first-years milled around wondering how to identify the aforementioned prefects.
"We didn't sing the school song," Beth noted.
"Thank heavens," muttered Melissa. "The cacophony gives me indigestion. First years, Slytherin first years! All first years, follow me, please!" she called over the crowd, while Mervin, on the other side of the table, yelled, "Come on you lot, firsties over here."
They started down the stairs toward the dungeons, prefects in the lead. Pansy Parkinson had taken a couple of the first-year girls under her wing, but Draco didn't so much look like a guide as a prince, haughtily leading the way with his courtiers flocked around him.
Beth hung back near Aaron and Bruce. It wasn't as if she didn't know how to get to the common room by now, and she could always get the password from Melissa before bed. She let herself be swept along in the tail end of the crowd, down the steps and past the familiar portraits, through the ever-darkening stone corridors, and finally to the stretch of bare wall that hid the entrance to the Slytherin quarters.
Melissa worked her way to the front of the crowd. "Nigellus."
The stones began to churn and pull away to reveal entrance to the common room.
Beth felt a chill slide up her spine. Even amid the press of the crowd, she suddenly felt very strongly that someone's eyes were fixed to the back of her head. She turned instinctively in the direction of the Great Hall. A shadow - maybe the edge of a cloak - flickered around a corner and was gone.
I don't like that, thought Beth, holding very still.
Something grabbed her arm.
Beth jumped halfway to the ceiling and came down blushing furiously. It was Melissa, laughing, completely in her element. "Are you going to stand out here all night?"
"I thought I saw somebody following us," said Beth, looking over her shoulder again.
"You know, maybe you're right," said Melissa, opening her eyes wide. "Maybe it was all of Slytherin house coming down to the dorms from the feast."
"Har har," said Beth irritably. "Then why did they turn around and leave once you gave the password?"
Melissa shrugged. "Must have left something upstairs."
At the sight of Beth's dubious expression, she frowned and pulled her aside.
"Listen, please, Beth," she said, with a strangely worried expression, "it's been a hard summer, I know. But this is Hogwarts. We're safe in here. This is the one place You-Know-Who can't come. So what if he spies on us? We won't be doing anything worth seeing. This is the safest place we can be. It's so secure that they hid the Philosopher's Stone here."
She went off to show the first-years to their dormitories.
Beth watched her go. It occurred to her that the Philosopher's Stone hadn't been as safe in Hogwarts as expected.
