THE SORTING HAT

SIR NICHOLAS

For someone who had resided in the same building as Peeves for nearly five hundred years, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington had managed to remain relatively sane. Of course, rarely a year went by when the poltergeist didn't attempt to tarnish the ghosts' reputation in some way; this year was no exception.

'I pinky promise I won't misbehave,' Peeves was saying in his most saintly voice. 'You can trust me on that.'

He was speaking before the whole Ghosts' Council in the courtyard outside the Entrance Hall. The ghosts were floating in a horseshoe formation, shining silver in the moonlight.

'But we can't trust you, Peeves, that's the point,' said the Grey Lady, her voice gentle yet firm. 'How can we allow you to attend the Start-of-Term Feast when we saw you causing havoc in a disused classroom only this morning?'

'I was merely rearranging the furniture, Your Ladyship,' replied Peeves.

'And what about all the trouble you gave Mr Filch last year? I suppose he asked you to trap Mrs Norris in that suit of armour?' enquired Nicholas.

'I believed I was doing him a favour, Your Not-Quite-So-Headlessness,' said Peeves, bowing low. 'That cat is a beastly creature.'

'That's rich coming from you!' piped up Moaning Myrtle.

'Oh, be quiet you silly girl, no one asked you –'

'Enough!' boomed the Bloody Baron, and Peeves fell silent at once, looking sheepish. 'We will discuss this further without your presence, Peeves.'

'I wasn't aware further discussion was needed,' said the Grey Lady sleekly. A prickly silence followed: it was rare for the Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron to see eye-to-eye, let alone directly address one another.

Finally, the Baron spoke again to Peeves.

'You will abstain from attending tonight's feast, Peeves. The council will decide in due course whether you can be trusted to attend future feasts, namely those at Hallowe'en and Christmas, and our decision will be final.'

For a moment, Peeves looked as though he was going to embark on another tantrum. However, with what looked like an enormous effort, he bowed low once more and said, 'Yes, Your Bloodiness. I await your decision, Your Bloodiness.'

With that, Peeves zoomed up and away; the ghosts broke off into smaller groups and floated back through the castle wall.

Nicholas drifted alongside the Fat Friar.

'What an ordeal. You were keeping quiet, I'd rather have liked to hear your take on the matter.'

'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?'

For only then had Nicholas noticed they were no longer alone. About forty boys and girls in robes were congregated in the chamber. Judging by their pale faces and bewildered expressions, they could only be –

'New students!' smiled the Fat Friar, when no one answered. 'About to be Sorted, I suppose? Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know.'

'Move along now,' ordered Minerva McGonagall, who had just entered the chamber herself. 'The Sorting Ceremony's about to start.'

Nicholas and the Friar led the way through the opposite wall, and across the Entrance Hall. Most of the ghosts, including Moaning Myrtle, zoomed off to their usual residencies around the castle; the House ghosts and Professor Binns proceeded to the Great Hall, where they bid each other farewell and parted to their relevant tables. A thousand candles were floating in mid-air, making the plates and goblets shimmer with golden light.

The Gryffindors greeted Nicholas with enthusiasm as they waited for the first-years to arrive.

'Hi, Nick,' said Fred. 'How's it hanging?'

'By the skin of his neck, still,' smirked George.

'Yes, very amusing, Mr Weasleys,' said Nicholas, while Lee, Angelina and Alicia chuckled. 'But you can't keep using the same joke, you know. It's getting rather tedious.'

'Oh, I think we can.'

'How was your summer, Nick?' asked Angelina.

'Too short, my dear, as is always the case for us ghosts,' said Nicholas. 'The seasons tick by far too quickly when you've seen as many years as I. You wait all year for summer, for warmth and sunshine, yet it's over before you know it. Autumn arrives with indecent haste, with winter just around the corner. Before you know it, it's summer again. Bear that in mind as you grow older.'

'Wise words,' said Fred.

'Eye-opening stuff,' said George.

'Your sarcasm, as entertaining it undoubtedly is for your friends, is incredibly unhelpful,' Nicholas told the twins with dignity. Behind him, the line of first-years were filing into the Hall, huddling before the stool at the teachers' table. 'Part of my duty is to offer guidance to the students of Gryffindor house. If you think my advice is of little use to you, you need only say.'

'We're only joking, Nick,' said Fred.

'Yeah, we admire you really,' said George. 'You do give great advice.'

'Absolutely. We think you've got a good head on those shoulders – even if it does keep falling off.'

Nicholas glared at the twins. He turned his back on the third-years' renewed sniggers, just as every eye in the Hall fell upon the Sorting Hat.