Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two
by MysticSong1978
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot switch and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.
Dialogue is in double quotes ("") and Thoughts are in single quotes ('').
The immense door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that, like Professor Snape, this was not someone to cross.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said the giant.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."
She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursley's house in it. Possibly twice. The stone walls were lit with flaming sconces like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors. Harry bet Dudley's school couldn't hold a candle to Hogwarts!
They followed Professor McGonagall across the stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right – the rest of the school must already be in there – but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off of the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend much of your free time in your house common room.
"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."
Harry was relieved to hear that all the houses had produced noble wizards. Or that all the houses were noble with outstanding wizards. Either way, it reaffirmed his belief that not all of any one house could be bad. Plus, if one House was bad, why would they keep using it? Why wouldn't try to do something about it? Harry's previous teachers always wanted to do something about Dudley's treatment of Harry and other children, but Harry had always said it wasn't that bad. Because if word had gotten home . . .
"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."
Her eyes lingered for a moment Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left hear, and on Ron's smudged cheek. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair. Not that it ever behaved.
"I shall return for you when we are ready," said Professor McGonagall."
She left the chamber. Harry swallowed.
"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Ron.
"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."
Harry's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But he didn't know any magic yet – what on earth would he have to do? Why didn't Professor Snape tell him this? Why didn't he let him keep something besides an old history book? Harry hadn't expected something like this the moment they arrived. He looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified too. Even Draco. Harry took heart at this. No one was talking much except Hermione Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she learned and wondering which one she'd need.
Harry tried hard not to listen to her. He'd never been more nervous, never, not even when he'd had to take a school report home to the Dursley's saying he'd somehow jumped on top of the school. 'Hmmm….' Now that he was thinking about it, Harry realized he must have apparated out of desperation. He'd have to ask Professor Snape about that sometime. Harry kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead him to his doom.
Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air – several people behind him screamed.
"What the –?"
He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance –"
"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?"
A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.
Nobody answered.
"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"
A few people nodded mutely.
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."
"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start."
Professor McGonagall had returned. "One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.
"The Hogwarts ghosts," she explained, seeing many still startled faces. "And four of them are House ghosts. Now, form a line," she told the first years, "and follow me."
Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead - or jell-o - maybe one of each, Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron behind him, and they walked out of the chamber back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.
Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where teachers were sitting. Harry felt somewhat relieved to see Professor Snape's dark form at the table, even if he had neglected to mention what went on in the Sorting Ceremony to Harry; it was someone he knew! Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."
It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.
Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.
'Maybe they had to try to get a rabbit out of it,' Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing a magic school might make you do. Then, noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim of the hat 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 one! 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!"
First Years aside, the whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.
"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Harry. "I'll kill Fred; he was going on about wrestling a troll."
Harry smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but he did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking a lot; Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him. And a lot of other first-years, he was sure, looking at the expressions around him. Even Draco wasn't looking quite so sure of himself, although Harry could tell he was struggling to hide his discomfort.
Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and say down. A moment's pause –
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.
The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.
"Bones, Susan!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.
"Boot, Terry!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.
"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers cat-calling.
"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Harry's imagination, after all he'd heard about Slytherin, but despite his vow to be non-judgmental, he found them to be a rather unpleasant-looking lot.
He was starting to feel definitely sick now. He remembered how he had always been picked last for anything at school. Sometimes, he wasn't picked at all.
"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.
"Granger, Hermione!"
Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.
"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Ron groaned.
What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just say there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been some sort of mistake and he'd better get back on the train? He forgot that he had what was supposed to be a very special wand, that had worked very well for him. But when you are particularly anxious, mostly you just think about things that make you even more anxious.
When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."
Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"
Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.
There weren't many people left now.
"Moon" . . . , "Nott" . . . , "Parkinson" . . . , then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil". . , then "Perks, Sally-Anne" . . . , and then, at last –
"Potter, Harry!"
As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.
"Potter, did she say?"
"The Harry Potter?"
The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.
"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Lots of heart. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, and . . . hmmm.. well, now that is interesting. . . . So where shall I put you?"
Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, "Please don't send me home!"
"No fear of that," said the voice. "You will be great, Mr. Potter, but I think you'll be best in SLYTHERIN!"
Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Slytherin table. He was so relieved to have been chosen for one of the houses that he failed to notice the utter silence from everyone in hall. Not one bit of applause rang out for Harry's sorting.
Professor McGonagall tried not to look horrified. She had been sure that the sweet little boy she remembered Hagrid rescuing from Godric's Hollow would be in her house, not Severus's. What had happened? Did Severus do something to encourage this placement? She so wished Albus would have let her take Harry shopping instead of Severus! The hat was never wrong, but surely there something amiss in this placement. Harry's parents had both been Gryffindors and usually a child followed their parents. Neville Longbottom had, after all.
Professor Snape was gobsmacked, although years of training concealed this fact from everyone present, except perhaps for Albus Dumbledore whose eyes twinkled with mischief at Harry's sorting.
The Gryffindors were quite put out. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw didn't seem to know what to think. Slytherin, after getting over their shock at the boy who brought down the Dark Lord being put in their house – though perhaps in that light it made some sort of sense – did a brief un-Slytherin like thing: in a rare show of unmasked emotion, they cheered wildly, "We got Potter!"
Ron groaned again.
Harry sat down across from a nasty looking ghost who was coated in what appeared to be silver bloodstains. A boy next to him whispered that it was The Bloody Baron. Draco Malfoy was on his other side, looking at him with a decidedly appraising look.
Harry could see High Table properly now. At the end furthest from him sat the giant of a man he now knew to be Hagrid. Hagrid caught his eye and gave him a brief smile. Harry smiled back nervously. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at once from the card he'd gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young professor from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.
And now there were only three people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a black boy even taller than Ron, joined the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers under the table and a second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry clapped loudly as Ron collapsed into the chair next to Hermione. Harry suspected that despite his friend's wish not to be in the same house as Hermione, he was really relieved to be in Gryffindor.
He could see another redhead patting Ron's shoulder in a somewhat pompous manner as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.
Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.
Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.
"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.
"Is he – a bit mad?" he wondered aloud, a bit uncertainly.
"Mad?" said the boy on Harry's other side. "Definitely. And he favors the Gryffindors - his old house. Potatoes, Harry?"
Harry's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. The boy next to him smirked and offered his hand. "I'm Marcus," the older, rather burly boy said, "Marcus Flint. Welcome to Slytherin. I've got to say, this is . . . quite a surprise."
Harry couldn't tell if Marcus thought it was a good surprise or not that he had been sorted into Slytherin, but he smiled gamely at Marcus. Unless it seemed otherwise, Harry decided he would go with the assumption that the other people at his table actually wanted him around. And if not? Well, at least he was used to that.
He turned back to his plate as more food appeared. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, catsup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs. And then, a moment later, the nutrient potion promised by Professor Snape popped up in front of him. He drank it before he could get distracted by all the wonderful things on the table.
The Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry . . . well . . . okay they had barely fed him enough to keep a small pet alive, if he was going to be honest with himself. This wasn't helped by the fact that Dudley had always taken anything that Harry really wanted, even if it made him sick. Coupled with the beatings he suffered from time to time, he was considerably underweight compared to his age-mates. Hence the nutrient potion.
Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything except the humbugs and began to eat. It was all delicious. He wondered how Ron and Hermione were faring at the Gryffindor table. He chanced a look over his shoulder and found them talking to a ghost who seemed much more jovial than The Bloody Baron. The Gryffindor ghost suddenly pulled his head to one side and Harry realized someone had tried to decapitate him but hadn't quite managed the task. It was enough to put one off eating and Harry quickly turned back his plate.
When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding . . .
Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, and focused in on the conversation at his table.
Draco was going on and on about how his Father promised him the newest broom, but not until next year. "He said it would look odd if I had a broom my first year. Mother was perfectly willing to send me off to school with one, but Father said no, that we must lay low for now, just to be safe. He's even taken to selling some of his possessions off, you know, what with the Ministry making those surprise searches," he said dramatically.
Down the table a bit, one of the ugliest girls he had ever seen was talking with an older girl about Draco and other boys that they considered to be good matches. "Of course," Harry heard the older girl say, "It doesn't really matter much if your parents insist on an arranged marriage." Had he gone back in time? Arranged marriages? He really, really hoped that wasn't something he had to look forward to. Who would even do the arranging? He laughed to himself at the thought of the Dursley's reaction if anyone asked them to make sure he had a good match for marriage!
He turned back towards Marcus, who was still eating, so he turned his gaze on the High Table. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to Professor Snape.
It happened suddenly. Quirrell moved his chair slightly towards the Slytherin table as Professor Snape looked past the turban and straight into Harry's eyes – and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.
"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.
"What is it?" asked Draco, a bit of a smirk trying to cover up his unexpected concern towards Harry.
"N-nothing. It's fine. Just . . my head hurt for a moment."
Draco didn't reply, but his stiff facade broke a little as he pondered Harry's response. For a moment, Harry thought that Draco saw something familiar in him. He wondered if Draco's upbringing wasn't as wonderful as he led people to believe.
The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling he had gotten when he had made eye contact with Snape . . . right after Quirrell had moved closer to his table. And . . . now that he thought about it, he had felt a similar shock upon being pushed closed to Quirrell in the tavern. He had assumed it was his shot nerves from being so close to so many new people, but now he wondered. 'But,' he thought to himself, 'Quirrell seems like such a nervous man, what could he possibly have to do with the pain in my scar?' He noticed Snape glancing between Harry and Quirrell and wondered what conclusions the man had come to. He shook his head and turned back to his dessert.
At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.
"Ahem – just a few words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.
"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to well to remember that as well."
Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone from second year and up who is interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.
"Wait . . . He's not serious. Is he?" he muttered to Marcus.
"Must be," said the boy across from Marcus, as he frowned at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere – the forest is full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that, I do think he might have told us prefects, at least." He nodded to Harry. "I'm Terrence Higgs."
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.
"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"
And the school bellowed:
"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling
With some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot."
Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped the loudest.
"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
The Slytherin first years followed Terrence through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and down a narrow staircase. Harry's legs were like jell-o-lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He was too sleepy to even be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Terrence lead them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries.
They descended more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.
They were facing a tract of bare, damp stone wall.
"Purus Corpus," said Terrence, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. They strode through it, and found themselves in the Slytherin Common Room. A damp, rather chilly room, with dark leather couches, several green lamps, green and silver drapes with snakes coiling around their edges, and a blazing fireplace – although it didn't seem to give off much warmth, and two staircases leading down; one towards the boys' and one towards the girls' dormitories.
Terrence told the new Slytherins that Professor Snape would make time to talk to each of them soon. But, for now, they should get to bed. They'd have a long day ahead of them tomorrow.
At the bottom of the boys' staircase, Harry found himself in a narrow hallway lit by sconces near the ceiling. The first year's room was large, with each bed nestled into a private nook, each boy's trunk at the foot of the bed, and curtains around each of their areas. Thick green blankets and silver quilts layered each bed to help ward off the chills of the dungeon. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pyjamas and fell into bed.
Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much, because he had a very strange dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to him, praising his sorting into Slytherin. It got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully – and there was Ron, laughing at him as he struggled with it – then Ron turned into McGonagall, whose laugh became high and cold – there was a burst of green light, a heart-wrenching scream, and Harry woke, sweating and shaking.
He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke the next day, he didn't remember the dream at all.
Updated 8 January 2017
