Author's Note: A new chapter to celebrate both Harry and J.K. Rowling's birthdays.
The great oaken door swung open at once to reveal a witch in a set of emerald-green robes. She had a rather stern looking face and this impression was reinforced by the way her silvering black hair was pulled back in a tightly coiled bun at the base of her neck.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.
"Thank you, Hagrid," said Professor McGonagall, giving the large man a nod. "I shall take them from here."
She allowed the door to swing open even wider and they were given their first look at the inside of the castle.
It was quite impressive indeed. The entrance hall was so large that the whole of Agesander Hall could have fit within it, though it would have been a bit of a squeeze. The stone walls were lit not with torches, but instead with rune etched brass braziers that produced glowing balls of spell-light that hovered in the air like miniature suns. Smokeless, silent and eternal, they provided as good a light as an electric bulb in a muggle-home, but even they weren't bright enough to completely pierce the shadows concealing the hall's high ceiling.
Professor McGonagall lead the forty first years across the flagged stone floor, so that they passed by a set of closed doors to their right and the base of a magnificent marble staircase to their left, and into a small, empty chamber just off from the hall.
The room wasn't quite big enough for all of them to fit comfortable, which meant that they all had to stand much closer together than they would normally have. As the door closed behind them, Harry found he wasn't the only one 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 have to 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 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 result in a loss of points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor I assure you. I hope that each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.
"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 whilst waiting."
Her dark eyes peered over top her square-rimmed spectacles intently, landing for a moment on Luna's bottlecap earrings, Neville's badly tied tie, and on Ron's dirt smudged nose.
Harry couldn't help nervously running his fingers through his hair in a desperate attempt to tidy it. The Sleekeazy was beginning to lose its battle and his hair was rapidly returning to its usual messy state.
"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."
She left the chamber and Harry found himself trying to swallow around a lump that had inexplicably lodged itself in his throat.
"How exactly do they sort us into our House?" he asked Luna, wondering why it had never occurred to him to ask this question before.
"I don't know," Luna said mysteriously. "The method is kept very hush, hush."
"I heard its some sort of test," Ron confessed. "Fred said that its really painful, but I think he was joking."
A test? Harry fretted, his heart sinking horribly. But I hardly know any magic yet!
He glanced around at his fellow first years and saw that they all looked terrified as well. No one was talking much except for Hermione Granger, who was whispering very fast about the spells she had memorized and wondering which one she'd need. Harry wished she would be quiet, because her muttering wasn't helping his nerves at all! In fact, he didn't think he had ever been this nervous before in his life … except, perhaps the day he had been allowed to open The Book of the Dead for the first time and he'd been sure that the curse on its pages would rend him down to cinders for having disturbed it….
Yes, Harry decided watching the door that Professor McGonagall had exited through. This was exactly like that, because at any moment now the professor would come back and lead him to his doom.
Then, quite suddenly, everything seemed to become even worse.
Harry felt the rolling chill and sudden wave of nausea that came from being in the presence of the Dead. He whirled around searching for the source and spotted it just as several people behind him screamed.
A haunt of almost two dozen ghosts had just come streaming in through the wall behind them. Silvery-gray and with a misty aura, they glided through the room. Talking amongst themselves as they went; paying little mind to the first years they were phasing through.
Heartrate returning to normal as he recalled that the spirits of Hogwarts didn't feed upon the Living, Harry noticed at last that the lot of them seemed to be arguing. One ghost, that of a portly little monk if his habit and tonsure were anything to go by, was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second change –"
"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves?" asked another ghost. This one the ghost of a man wearing a high collared doublet and hose straight out of the fifteenth century. "He gives us all a bad name as you well know. And he's not even an actual ghost, so I don't see – I say, what are you all doing here?"
Nobody answered.
"They are new students," said the ghost of a solemn young woman, who with her hip length hair, bell sleeved gown, and phantom seax belted at her waist looked as though she had stepped out of a painting from Arthurian legend. "You are about to be sorted then, I suppose?"
A few people nodded mutely.
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" burbled the Friar, beaming at them. "My old house, you know."
"Move along now," barked a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to begin."
Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.
"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall instructed them, "and follow me."
Feeling oddly as though he were moving through treacle, Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair. Luna, then Ron, joined the que behind him, and then they all walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.
Harry had never before encountered such strange and miraculous place. Along the walls were more enchanted braziers, but they weren't the only source of illumination. Floating midair were countless candles; the wax dripping from them vanishing into thin air before it could land upon any of the students seated below or the four long tables they were seated at. The tables themselves were made of some lustrous dark timber and set with glittering golden plates surrounded by a plethora of knives, forks and spoons; silver and onyx salt and pepper cellars; as well as, gold rimmed crystal goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table were the teachers were sitting.
Professor McGonagall led them up in front of this long table, so that they came to a halt in a line facing their fellow students, with the teachers behind them. Dotted here and there among the students were the ghosts from before, each of them shining a misty silver in the candlelight.
Mainly to avoid the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He apparently wasn't the only one looking heavenward, because he heard Hermione Granger whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."
It was hard to believe that there was a ceiling up there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.
Harry looked back down just in time to see Professor McGonagall place a four-legged stool in front of them. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat that looked as though it were made of brown leather. It was worn shiny in some places, patched in others, and looked quite ancient.
The hubbub in the hall had died down and now everyone, student and teacher alike, was now staring at the hat. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then, inexplicably, the hat twitched. The crown of the hat scrunched up so that the folds in the worn leather became something vaguely face-like and then a rip in the brim opened wide like a mouth. And then – most unexpectedly of all – 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 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!"
The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables in turn and then became quite still again.
"So we've just got to try on a hat!" Ron whispered sounding quite relieved. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."
Harry tried to smile but feared that the expression on his face was closer to that of a grimace. Yes, trying on a hat would be a lot better than having to do some sort of test, but he did wish that they could try it on without everyone watching. Never mind that the hat seemed to be asking for quite a lot; Harry didn't feel particularly brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. Not to mention that Harry also didn't particularly care for the idea of something – even if it was just a hat – riffling about in his head like it was a library book. There were quite a few things inside his noggin that he would much rather keep private, thank you very much.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.
"When I call your name, you will come forward, put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she informed them, then read off the first name on the list. "Abbott, Hannah!"
A pink-faced girl with long, blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. There was a moment's pause –
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.
The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at it. Harry could see the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.
"Bones, Susan!" called Professor McGonagall reading off the second name on the list and a girl with long brown hair in a plait came forward.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah Abbott at the Hufflepuff table.
The third name called, that of "Boot, Terry" was that of the first boy to be called forward to be sorted.
He was also the first to be sorted into "RAVENCLAW!" which set the table second from the left to clapping and cheering; several of Terry Boot's new Housemates even stood up to shake hands with the brunette as he joined them.
"Brocklehurst, Amanda" 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 catcalling as she claimed a seat beside Cormac McLaggen.
"Bulstrode, Millicent," the big-boned girl who had shared a boat with Hermione and Neville then became the first new Slytherin. In spite of all that Harry had heard of Slytherin House, they didn't look like a thoroughly unpleasant lot. In fact, Millicent Bulstrode was welcomed to the table with a smile from a dark-skinned girl, one of the House's prefects if the green-and-silver badge on her chest was anything to go by.
After Millicent Bulstrode, a pair of boys "Corner, Michael" and "Cornfoot, Stephen" were sorted into Ravenclaw. Up next was one of Draco Malfoy's lackeys, the boy with the pudding bowl haircut, whose name was apparently "Crabbe, Vincent." The hat sat on his head for only a moment before declaring him a Slytherin.
As the sorting continued Harry couldn't help noticing that it sometimes took the hat longer to place certain people into their House. "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 and he was able to pass the hat off to "Goldstein, Anthony" who was almost immediately declared a Ravenclaw.
Malfoy's other lackey "Goyle, Gregory" was also sorted very quickly with the hat giving at shout of "SLYTHERIN!" as soon as it was settled atop his head.
As Goyle lumbered off to join Crabbe at the Slytherin table, Hermione Granger almost ran to the stool when her named was called and eagerly jammed the battered hat on her head.
"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat after a moment's consideration and Harry could hear Ron groan on the other side of Luna.
As Hermione Granger made her way over to the Gryffindor table and claimed an empty seat beside Percy the Prefect, Harry was struck by an awful thought, as one often is when very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said that there had obviously been a mistake and he'd best start applying to one of the other schools of magic to take him.
While Harry's distressing thoughts were churning about in his head four more first years were sorted, including the little Asian girl he'd shared a boat with – "Li, Sue" joining Amanda Brocklehurst at the Ravenclaw table.
Up next was the boy who kept losing his toad, "Longbottom, Neville," who had a hard time of it trying to be sorted. First, on the way to the stool he tripped over the hem of his robe and fell over, then the hat took several minutes to decide where to place him, and then, when it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing the hat, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it Luna.
Luna's own sorting was much less eventful with the hat resting on her head for but a moment before declaring her a Ravenclaw – just as she had assumed she would be.
The girl right after her, "MacDougal, Morag," also became a Ravenclaw, but "Macmillan, Ernest" the stoutly built boy who went after her was quickly sorted into Hufflepuff.
And then it was Malfoy's turn. He swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once. The hat had to barely touch his slicked back white blond hair before it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"
Leaving Malfoy to go off and join Crabbe and Goyle at the far-right table, looking very pleased with himself.
Aside from Harry himself there were now only thirteen first years left to be sorted.
"Malone, Roger" … "RAVENCLAW!"
"Moon, Leanne" … "HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Nott, Theodore" … "SLYTHERIN!"
"Parkinson, Pansy … "SLYTHERIN!"
Then a pair of twin girls, "Patil, Padma" and "Patil, Parvati" who went to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor respectively. And they were followed by "Perks, Sally-Anne" who joined Megan Jones at the Hufflepuff table and then, at long last –
"Potter, Harry!"
As Harry stepped forward, whispers broke out quite suddenly all over the hall. With people saying things like "Potter, did she say?" and "Does she mean the Harry Potter?"
The last thing Harry saw before the sorting hat dropped over his eyes was an entire hall full of people craning forward to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the dark interior of the hat and with nothing else to do, he waited.
"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. And a strong spirit – wounded, but healing nicely – that will serve you well on the path you must walk young Abhorsen…." The hat hummed again, then went on, "Not a bad mind either. Why your fairly quick-witted at your best … and there's talent too, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice healthy thirst to prove yourself as well…. But where should I put you….?"
Harry gripped the edges of the stool tightly and thought, Anywhere, just don't send me away!
"Oh, child," soothed the hat's voice. "They're not about to send you away … you'll be great, you know, it's all here in your head … but where to put you … Slytherin would be a good fit, but you're perhaps a bit too bold by half for old Salazar's House – so it had better be GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took the hat off, handed it to "Rivers, Oliver," and walked shakily towards the Gryffindor table. He was so relieved to have been chosen that he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"
As the Ravenclaw's table ran parallel to Gryffindor's, Harry chose a seat just across the aisle from Luna, not realizing that it meant he would be sitting opposite the ghost in the high-collared doublet. In fact, he hadn't noticed the ghost at all, having passed off the pricking of nausea the ghost's presence caused him as the remnants of nerves, until the spirit reached across the table to give Harry a congratulatory pat on the arm.
With anyone else the ghost's hand would have pass right through them, leaving them with the feeling of having plunged their arm in a bucket of ice water and perhaps the sensation of a drain of energy, but not so with Harry. He could feel the ghost's hand upon his arm as surely anyone else's. The touch was icy cold to be sure, but no less immaterial than any other living soul's.
The ghost jerked his hand back as though he had received an electric shock and he stared at Harry with wide, almost fearful eyes.
"Y-you," he spluttered. "My – my Lord Abhor- –!"
"Don't!" Harry hissed, a tinge of power rising up within him to coat the back of his throat. He would call on Dyrim if he must to still the spirit's tongue or Belgaer if he absolutely had to, to wipe the knowledge of his identity from the spirit's mind. "No one knows of that and it should stay that way. Please."
"Of – of course," the ghost conceded at once, "My word as a de Mimsy-Porpington."
Harry nodded accepting the oath and to the spirit's apparent relief turned his attention to Luna, who had been watching the whole proceedings with eyes as round as Galleons. They gave each other little nods of greeting, then Luna returned her attention to the sorting as Harry looked up at the High Table which he could now see properly. At the end nearest to him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs up. Harry grinned back a touch too widely in return.
Aside from Hagrid there were seventeen other people seated at the Hight Table: six men, ten women, and another ghost. Seated at the very center of it all in a golden thronelike chair was Albus Dumbledore, who Harry recognized at once from his Chocolate Frog Card picture. At the other end of the table, away from Hagrid, Harry could also see Professor Quirrell – looking very peculiar in a large purple turban – and beside him, to Harry's astonishment, was the man in black from Cokeworth.
There were now only four people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a black boy even taller than Ron, joined Harry at the Gryffindor table. Followed by "Turpin, Lisa," who joined Luna in Ravenclaw and then, finally, it was Ron's turn.
He was a pale green now, which combined with his red hair made him look vaguely like a Christmas decoration. But Ron needn't have worried; because, much like Malfoy before him, the hat barely had to touch the top of his head before it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry clapped along with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to him.
"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley pompously over top Harry's head as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin.
With the last name called and all forty of the first years sorted, Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took away the Sorting Hat and its stool.
Harry felt his stomach give a faint gurgle of hunger and glanced down at his empty gold plate. The sandwiches and sweets felt as though they had been eaten ages ago rather than mere hours.
A sudden hush fell over the hall as Albus Dumbledore climbed to his feet. He was beaming at them all, his arms spread wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.
Is this a genuine display of welcome, Harry pondered, or is it all an act?
"Welcome!" he cried. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our magnificent feast, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" Then, with a small bow, he added, "Thank you!"
As he returned to his seat everyone clapped and cheered, but Harry could feel his eyebrows climbing towards his hairline.
"Is – Is he a bit mad?" he wondered to himself, then gave a small jerk as someone tapped him on the shoulder.
Luna had turned around in her seat and reached across the aisle to tap him on the shoulder. Around her, her housemates stared at her in quiet shock as apparently such commingling just wasn't done.
"He has a lot of magical power, but isn't of the Blood. It tends to drive all of the great ones a bit mad now," Luna whispered, her words ringing with some subtly power. She gave a slow blink and suddenly brightened. "Ah, the foods here!"
Harry turned back around in his own seat and found himself gawping at the display before him. Without his even noticing when it had happened the dishes along the table had piled themselves with food and he had never seen such a variety on a single table before in his life. There was roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, fish, and lamb, as well as, Yorkshire pudding, potatoes prepared in every way possible, vegetables of all sorts, tureens of different kinds of soup, boats of gravy, bottles ketchup, and, for some strange reason, little bowels of peppermint humbugs and sherbet lemons.
Harry spread his napkin across his lap – a sheet of crisp scarlet linen that was dusted with tiny golden lions, which were either a miracle of needlework or some impressive spellcasting – and began to pile his plate with food. Choosing for himself some sort of small round fish that had been grilled and coated in a tomato, garlic and basil sauce, as well as, a medley of steamed vegetables and creamy mushroom risotto, all the while leaving the peppermints and sherbet lemons well alone. It was all so delicious he found himself going back for seconds and sampling a few of the other dishes as well.
"That does look good," said the ghost opposite Harry rather sadly, watching Dean Thomas as he cut up his steak.
"Can't you –?" asked Dean, and Harry guessed that the other boy was probably muggle-born.
"I'm afraid I haven't had to eat anything in nearly five hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course –" he side-eyed Harry as he said this – "but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself, have I? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."
"Oh, I know who you are!" said Ron at once. "My brothers told me about you – you're Nearly Headless Nick!"
"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy –" the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted him.
"Nearly Headless?" he asked. "How can you be nearly headless?"
Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he wanted.
"Like this," he said irritably and he seized his left ear and pulled.
His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously killed him by trying to decapitate him, but they had clearly not done it properly. In fact, Harry could have done the job better.
Looking quite pleased at the stunned looks on the faces of the first years surrounding him, Sir Nicholas flipped his head back onto his neck, adjusted his high collar so that it was securely in place, and said, "So – new Gryffindors! I hope you are all going to help us win the House Cup this year! Gryffindor has never gone so long without winning it! The Slytherins have beaten us to it for the last six years in a row! And I must say, it has caused the Bloody Baron to become most smug – he's the Slytherin ghost, you know."
He nodded his head in a wobbly manner in the direction of the Slytherin table and Harry took note of the frightful looking ghost sitting there. The Bloody Baron had been a youngish man at the time of his death, but his gaunt features and wide, staring eyes made him seem older. As for his name, it was obviously derived from the shining silver blood that stained his richly embroidered robes and cloak.
"How did he get covered in blood?" Seamus asked with morbid interest.
"I've never asked," said Sir Nicolas delicately, a statement that Harry noticed did not actually reveal whether or not he knew the answer to Seamus's question.
After everyone had eaten as much as they could possibly manage, the remnants of food began to fade from the plates, leaving them just as spotless as they had been before. Then a moment later the desserts appeared and there was just as much variety to them as there had been during the main course. There were blocks of ice-cream, pies with every sort of filling imaginable, chocolate eclairs, jam doughnuts, trifle, rice pudding, jelly, and much, much more…
While Harry debated with himself whether or not he had enough room in his already stuffed stomach for a bit of treacle tart, the talk around him turned to their families.
"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. "Me mum's a witch. Me dad's a Muggle. Mum didn't tell him what she was 'til after the wedding. So it was a bit of a nasty shock for him."
There was a smattering of laughter around him.
"I don't rightly know what I am," Dean admitted. "My mum and step-dad are both Muggles, but I never knew my biological father… he disappeared before I was born, so for all I know he could have been a wizard."
There was a solemn silence after this, because those who had grown up in the Wizarding World knew all too well that a sudden disappearance a decade before often meant that the person had been killed in the war with Voldemort.
"What about you, Neville?" Ron asked.
"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "But my family didn't think I had any magic myself for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me – he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once and I nearly drowned – but nothing actually happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie had come around for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Aunt Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. Only instead of going splat, I bounced – all the way down the garden path and into the road. Grandad hexed Great Uncle Algie something awful for dropping me, but he was really pleased I'd managed some magic. And Gran was so happy that she was crying. Then you should have seen everyone's faces when I got in here – they thought I might not have enough magic to come to a school like Hogwarts, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased that he bought me my toad."
Good on Grandad Longbottom for hexing the idiot, Harry thought crossly. If Neville had indeed been a Squib then a fall like that could have killed him.
On Harry's other side, Percy Weasley and Hermione Granger were talking about lessons:
"I do hope they start right away," Hermione was saying eagerly. "There's just so much to learn. I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else. Of course, it's supposed to be frightfully difficult!"
"Don't worry," Percy consoled. "You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing. It'll be a while before Professor McGonagall allows you to do anything more complicated, I assure you."
A little further down the table Parvati Patil was musing with her Ravenclaw twin, Padma, about how much longer it would be before they were allowed to head off to bed. Each of them stifling yawns in their hands and triggering a contagious bought of yawning in Harry himself.
Harry too was beginning to feel sleepy as the effects of a long day and a belly full of good food began to work its magic on him. And so, it was with half-lidded eyes that he looked back up at the High Table. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet; Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore; and Professor Quirrell, in his ridiculous turban, was talking to the professor in black.
What happened next was very strange. As Professor Quirrell turned to respond something said by the slender looking witch on his other side the dark eyes of the man he had been speaking to meet Harry's own over top his turban and Harry felt the most peculiar sensation. The lightning bolt scar on his forehead throbbed with the dull ache of a lost tooth and Harry swore he could feel the scuttling legs of an insect and the phantom rasp of scales encircling his neck. But then Professor Quirrell looked back at the man in black and the feeling began to fade as the man's dark eyes looked away from him.
"Empty night, what was that," Harry rasped, running the palm of his right hand over this throat just to reassure himself that there wasn't a snake hanging like a noose about his neck.
"Everything alright, Harry?" Luna asked softly, her nearly colorless eyes peering worriedly at him across the aisle.
"Y-yeah," said Harry, removing his hand from his throat, still feeling quite shaken. He then turned and tapped Percy Weasley on the shoulder and asked, "Who's that teacher sitting next to Professor Quirrell?"
"Oh, you know Professor Quirrell already, do you?" the prefect remarked, glancing up at the High Table overtop his horn-rimmed glasses. The older boy made a faint humming noise and then said, "The one on the right is Professor Sinistra, she teaches Astronomy. As for the man on his left – that's Professor Snape, the resident Potions Master."
Harry watched Snape for a while, but the Potions Master didn't look at him again.
After a while the desserts too disappeared, Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again, and the hall fell silent once more.
"Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered," he said. "I have a few start-of-term notices to give you, but first I would like to announce we have a change in staff this year. As I'm sure those of you in your third year and above will have noticed, Professor Quirrell has rejoined us after his yearlong sojourn. However, this year he shall be joining us not in the position of your Muggle Studies teacher, but as your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
This announcement was met by a polite round of applause, during which Harry heard Percy mutter under his breath, "Ah, no wonder Snape was making Quirrell so nervous earlier. Everyone knows he wants the Dark Arts job…."
"Now," said Professor Dumbledore moving on as the applause for Quirrell died out, "for the start-of-term notices.
"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils as the beasts dwelling within it do not take kindly to visitors. Which is something a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well –" Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins as his said this. "I have also been asked by our caretaker, Mr. Filch, to remind you all that no magic is to be used between classes in the corridors.
"Also, tryouts for the Inter-House Choir are to be held are to be held at the end of the week. They will be overseen by Professor Flitwick. Meanwhile, Quidditch trails will be held throughout the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their House team should contact Madam Hooch. As for the other wide array of clubs and organizations offered here at Hogwarts, sign-up sheets with the pertinent details should be showing up soon on the notice boards in each House's Common Room.
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death."
Only a few students laughed – Cormac McLaggen among them. Harry, however, was frowning up at the headmaster.
"He's not serious, is he?" he asked Percy Weasley.
"Must be," said Percy, frowning up at Dumbledore, too. "It's odd though, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere – the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. You'd think he might have told us prefects, at least!"
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore, as the muttering his last announcement had generated died down. Harry noticed as the other teachers' smiles became rather fixed.
Dumbledore drew his wand from within the voluminous sleeve of his robe, gave it a little flick – as if he was trying to get a fly off the end – and a long golden ribbon few out of it. The ribbon then rose into the space before the four tables and began twisting itself into words.
"Now, everybody chose your favorite tune," Dumbledore instructed, "and off we go!"
And the school, in the most unorganized hodgepodge of sounds Harry had ever had the misfortune of being subjected to, began to bellow:
"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."
Harry who'd sung to the tune of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" finished rather quickly, but there were plenty of others who finished well after him and eventually 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 loudest.
"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic of its own sort beyond all that we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
After wishing Luna a goodnight, Harry followed the rest of the Gryffindor first years as they were led by Percy Weasley and his fellow prefect, Isobel MacDougal, through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Harry's legs felt like they were made of lead, but only because he was so tired. He was too sleepy to pay any mind to the people in the portraits that lined the corridors, who whispered and pointed as they passed, or the fact that twice Percy and Isobel led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed even more staircases and traversed seemingly endless corridors, the lot of them yawning and dragging their feet, and just as Harry was beginning to wonder how much farther it was that they had to go when they came to a sudden stop.
A bundle of walking sticks were floating in midair ahead of them, and, as Percy took a step toward them, they stared throwing themselves at him.
"That's Peeves," Isobel whispered taking a protective step in front of them, while Percy continued forward. "He's the castle's resident poltergeist."
Well a poltergeist certainly explained why Harry wasn't sensing the deathly aura of one of the castle's ghosts. Poltergeists weren't members of the Dead at all. Instead they were constructs made up of the ambient magic and wildly fluctuating emotions of a dwelling's residents.
"Peeves," said Percy in a loud, blustering tone, "Peeves – show yourself."
A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered him.
"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron about this," Percy threatened.
There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a too wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.
"Ooooooooh!" he cried with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"
He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.
"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy.
Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks as he did so. They would have landed on Neville's head if not for Isobel pulling him out of the way in time. In the distance they could hear Peeves rattling coats of armor as he zoomed past.
"You'll want to watch out for Peeves," Isobel warned, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder as they set off again.
"Precisely," said Percy pompously from the front of the line. "The Headmaster and the Bloody Baron's the only ones who can control him, he won't even listen to the Prefects. Ah, here we are – Gryffindor's Landing."
They had reached a corridor that seemed to go nowhere and was otherwise empty save for a portrait of a very fat women in a set of fancy looking pink silk robes that hung on the back most wall.
"Password?" she asked.
"Caput Draconis," said Percy importantly, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it – Neville needing a leg up – and found themselves in the Gryffindor Common Room. A cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs and whose walls were lined with scarlet tapestries with gold brocade.
"Alright, girls follow me," said Isobel, herding the four new Gryffindor girls – Hermione, Parvati Patil, Fay Dunbar, and Lavender Brown – to a door on the right side of the fireplace.
Meanwhile the boys – Harry, Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus – were shepherded to the opposite side of the fireplace by Percy. They were then led up to the top of a winding mahogany staircase to a room where they found their beds at last, which consisted of a set of five four-posters that were each was hung with velvet curtains of a deep red and made up with a scarlet duvet and sheets of pale gold.
Their trunks had already been brought up by someone, so all they had to do was pull on their pajamas and fall into bed. They exchanged goodnights at once and soon everyone was crawling into their chosen bed with the only disruptions coming from Ron yelling, "Get off, Scabbers! Quit chewing my sheets!"
Harry dozed off as soon as his head hit his feather pillow and he was soon carried away into a deep and restful sleep.
On the western side of the castle, at the top of a tightly spiraling staircase and past an aged wooden door with no handle was the Ravenclaw Common Room. A broad circular room whose most prominent feature were its gracefully arching windows hung with blue-and-bronze silks that gave it an airier feel than the rest of the castle. In the light of day, the Ravenclaw students would have a spectacular view of the school grounds and the surrounding mountains, but at this late hour the windows appeared so dark as to be nearly opaque.
Across the spangled midnight-blue carpet and towards the back of a niche opposite the handless door was a tall statue made of white marble. This statue, which had been shaped into a likeness of the House's founder, Rowena Ravenclaw, stood guard over yet another door. This one leading up to the Ravenclaw dormitories in the tower's turrets up above.
It was here, in her dormitory shared with five other girls, that Luna Lovegood lay in her four-poster bed beneath an eiderdown of sky-blue silk. While the wind whistling around the tower windows had lulled her dormmates into a deep sleep almost at once. Luna's own sleep was far from restful. The blonde Seer was caught in the throes of a nightmare or perhaps some strange vision about her best friend, Harry Potter.
The black-haired boy was wearing the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher's strange purple turban, which seemed to be speaking to him, but Luna couldn't understand what it was saying as it spoke in a strangle sibilant hiss of a language. Harry appeared to be arguing with it in the same strange language, his bright green eyes flashing with anger and denial as the turban slowly began to unwrap itself from around his head and coil its trailing ends serpent like around his neck.
Luna could hear – as if from a great distance – the sound of high, cold, cruel laughter as Harry struggled against the strips of silk attempting to throttle the life out of him. Then suddenly there was rushing sound as if some great beast were arising from the depths as a great power awoke – the strips of fabric caught alight and finally Luna was catapulted awake.
She was drenched in a cold sweat and shaking like a leaf in a high wind. All around her, her dormmates slept on as Luna pulled a handkerchief from underneath her pillow and began daubing at her face dry. She was startled to realize that it wasn't just sweat dampening her face, but also cold tears running from her eyes as though icy scales had just melted from over top them.
Had that been just a nightmare brought on by too much trifle or a True Seeing made confusing and indistinct without the clarifying guidance of frozen water? Luna had no way of knowing. And that in and of itself filled her with a sense of unease.
Author's Note: I know I've been producing chapters rather quickly this month, but things may slow down as I get the next couple of chapters just right. They are a bit more divergent from canon that the last two so the process is a bit less re-watch scene from the movie, re-read chapter in book, add a dash of Luna and world building/merging, blend until smooth, then post.
"The Sorting Hat's Song" and "The Hogwarts School Son" of course belong to Ms. Rowling.