Now that her mind was clear, Lucy could appreciate the beauty of the Great Hall, but she thought that watching her peer's reactions was more interesting. Ron's jaw had dropped and Harry's emerald eyes were wide, the candlelight reflecting off them in a wonderful way. She felt a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach — for once, she didn't feel like an orphan at all. Maybe this was what it felt to belong?

Professor McGonagall led the awed first years up a short staircase and to the upper part of the hall, where a lone stool stood in the middle. There were no dragons nor trolls to fight, but Professor McGonagall set a ratty wizard's hat down on the stool. Lucy didn't find it too threatening, but she gaped when a rip at the brim of the hat opened like a makeshift mouth. Then, out of all the things the hat could've done, it 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 tap hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,

and I can cap them all!

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a thinking cap!"

Lucy was one of the many to clap her hardest as the Sorting Hat finished its song. It was no opera singer, but she'd be damned if that hat didn't write better songs than the rubbish Wool's staff played on the radio.

Ron leaned over to she and Harry and whispered, "So we've just got to try on the hat! I'll kill Fred; he was going on about wrestling a troll!"

"Let's not get our hopes up," Lucy sighed. Though she only just picked up a few spells, she was also a bit disappointed that all they had to do was try on a hat. It'd be a lot more entertaining if they had to fight a troll, that was for sure. "I hope someday I get to meet a troll."

"Here's hoping one shows up to Hogwarts," Ron grinned, and Lucy bit back a laugh for Harry's sake. He looked a tad green as he stared at the eyes of the older students.

"When I call your name," Professor McGonagall said, drawing their attention. "You will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Abbot, Hannah!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat shouted.

Lucy turned her attention back to Harry, who was looking more nervous with each passing second. "What's up with you?" she asked him.

"What if you don't get picked? If the hat can't decide?" Harry blurted out. Lucy didn't know the answer, but luckily for the two of them, Ron did.

"C'mon, there hasn't been a wizard in history who hasn't been sorted! If you're not sorted you're a squib, and, well, squibs don't even get an acceptance letter, do they?"

"Yeah," Lucy agreed like she'd known that the entire time. "If you don't get sorted into a house, I'll eat that dirty hat up there."

Ron snickered at the mental image, and Harry managed to crack a smile.

Time seemed to creep by as Lucy, Ron, and Harry waited for one of their names to be called. She wasn't surprised to see Megan Jones sorted into Hufflepuff, but she did notice that the boy she'd laughed at on the platform's name was Wayne Hopkins, and he too had made it into the house of the Badgers. She'd sighed in relief when Hermione Granger was sorted into Gryffindor — a house she didn't want to get into, for the sheer fact that everyone else did. If she was sorted into Gryffindor, she wanted it to be because she belonged there, not because it was popular.

"Potter, Harry!"

"Good luck," Lucy whispered, giving him a pat on the back. She was reminded he was famous once more because all the students in the Great Hall turned their heads to get a look at the Boy-Who-Lived. The entire thirty seconds it took for the hat to decide, the hall was completely silent, leaning forwards in anticipation. Even Professor McGonagall lowered her stern demeanor to appear curious.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Everyone burst into applause, clapping louder than they had when the Hat had finished its song. Ron's brothers, George and Fred, were chanting, "We've got Potter! We've got Potter!" in sync, and Professor McGonagall had to clear her throat a total of three times in order to capture everyone's attention once more.

But hardly anyone cared about the sorting anymore. They were all looking over at Harry, which rubbed some of the first years the wrong way. Lucy however was happy for the distraction, and she walked up happily as Professor McGonagall called her name.

"Rochester, Lucille."

"Cheers, mate," Ron said. Lucy grinned at him and walked towards the school, her nerves settled for the time being.

The sorting hat fell over her eyes and onto the brim of her nose. Shortly after, a small voice murmured in her ear. "Ah... I could see you going a number of ways, Ms. Rochester... Definitely not Ravenclaw, no. A little rude for Gryffindor, are you?"

Hurtful, she thought back.

The hat continued on without apologizing, which she hadn't expected the sorting hat to do in the first place. "You have lots of bravery, but that's not what you value most, is it? No, definitely not... You wouldn't do too bad in Slytherin. You're plenty ambitious and cunning..."

Her stomach dropped. It was bad enough that her wand thought she was a dark wizard, but now the hat was thinking of sorting her into a house with a bad reputation? She thought of Ron, who thought Slytherin was terrible. Not Slytherin, please. Draco Malfoy's an ugly git, and I really have to prove him wrong.

"Not Slytherin...? it's tempting, but ultimately Slytherin would not help you grow. You would be good in Slytherin, but perhaps Slytherin would not be good for you. It'd hold you back... Well, that leaves one more. Not very patient, I see, but I sense an iron will. You're not exactly afraid to get your hands dirty, are you?"

You can talk, Lucy thought, remembering how filthy the hat looked.

"Hurtful. Well, better be — "

"HUFFLEPUFF!"