If I owned Harry Potter, you wouldn't have had to wait for this chapter.
Chapter Five
The Sorting
"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall said. She was sterner in person than she'd come across as in writing, but no less poised. "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…"
The Sorting. It seemed like everybody he'd met had mentioned it. Dumbledore had been the first, wishing him luck with his Sorting. So had the Weasley twins. He and Hermione had discussed it at Flourish and Blotts, and the people in his little boat had done the same: Hermione favored Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, Neville wanted Gryffindor but thought he'd probably end up in Hufflepuff, and Seamus Finnigan, the Irish boy they'd met while looking for Trevor, just hoped the more painful rumors about the Sorting weren't true.
Nobody seemed to have any idea what the Sorting involved. Hogwarts: A History had spoken vaguely of a test of character, and other than that, said that the Sorting process was traditionally kept secret from outsiders. Seamus had heard a half-dozen different claims from his mother, each one more outlandish than the last. Neville had simply been told that he should make sure to wash behind his ears—"but Gran always says that, so it might not mean anything at all," he said.
Hermione was growing increasingly nervous, and even after Harry reminded her that they couldn't possibly expect her to know any magic yet, she kept reciting spells under her breath, as if she was going to forget them in the next ten minutes. Neville was fiddling with his cloak so much that the clasp had worked its way around to his shoulder. Seamus was tapping his foot, and the redheaded boy from his compartment seemed to be turning green; his brothers had apparently claimed he would have to wrestle a troll. Even Draco Malfoy was glancing around nervously, as though expecting that troll to burst through a stone wall at any moment.
Outwardly, Harry was calm, but that was only because he was repeating Ellie's instruction as though it were a mantra: Always look like you know what you're doing. In truth, Harry hadn't been this nervous in years. It had been a very long time since something he actually cared about wasn't under his control. This Sorting, Professor McGonagall had claimed, would have a tremendous influence on the next seven years of his life.
And Harry had no idea how it would go.
From what he'd read, Gryffindor sought brave and chivalrous people; "chivalrous" here seemed to be a combination of both honorable and helpful to those in need. Slytherin sought cunning and ambitious students. Ravenclaw sought swots, and Hufflepuff sought the students you'd want to partner with in group projects.
Maybe he'd end up in Slytherin—after all, tricking Vernon into giving him a day in Diagon Alley had been pretty cunning, hadn't it? Most of the former Death Eaters mentioned in The Ministry of Magnates had been Sorted to Slytherin, though, and Harry assumed Draco Malfoy and his muscle would end up there too. That would be an interesting school experience, assuming he wasn't murdered in his sleep.
Maybe he'd end up in Gryffindor—hadn't he just casually walked down Knockturn Alley the previous day? But despite her wishes, Harry was certain that Hermione would go to Ravenclaw; she was too smart to end up anywhere else. That would leave Harry alone in the house. He worried he'd end up in a dorm room full of Boy-Who-Lived fans like that redhead. Harry winced as he imagined staring at the mirror, brushing his teeth, trying to ignore other boys gawking at his scar. Maybe it'd be better to be with the Death Eater children. At least he'd be allowed to stab them if they tried anything.
Maybe he'd end up in Ravenclaw with Hermione. He imagined that would be a peaceful, quiet group; his only worry would be that they would be excessively curious about his scar, which could lead to a lot of pestering, or to him waking up strapped to a table surrounded by instruments with strange spinning bits while a needle descended towards his forehead.
A few people behind Harry screamed, and he whirled around, hand reaching into his pocket (though he fought the urge to actually draw). A group of pearly white translucent people had somehow floated into the room—and even as he watched, more passed through the wall. They conversed with each other about someone called Peeves until a ghost in a ruff suddenly noticed the children.
"I say, what are you all doing here?" he said.
"New students!" said the smiling ghost of a corpulent monk. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"
A few of Harry's new classmates nodded.
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" the ghost said. "My old House, you know."
Maybe Harry would end up in Hufflepuff—but no, that was just silly.
Professor McGonagall arrived again and shooed out the ghosts, then formed everyone into a line and led them into the Great Hall.
It was all the strangeness and majesty of Hogwarts Castle's exterior expressed in one room. Four long tables, set in gold and silver, stretched the length of the hall, with black-robed students sitting at them on benches. A fifth table stood at the head of the Hall; the teachers and Hagrid sat at it in comfortable-looking chairs. Above all this, thousands of burning candles illuminated the hall. Above those, banners spaced along the length of the hall hung over the four tables: emerald over the nearest table, then bright yellow, midnight blue, and scarlet. Each banner held the name or crest of one of the Houses.
And above the banners were the heavens. Harry could perceive the vague shapes of beams and joints and roof slats, but all of it seemed to be translucent like glass, and the Milky Way shone more brightly and clearly through it all than Harry had ever seen before.
Hermione whispered, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."
"I know," Harry whispered back to her. "I didn't expect it to be so beautiful."
Harry's attention was drawn back to Earth when the chatter in the Great Hall died down. Professor McGonagall had led the first years to the head of the room, in front of the teachers' table, and set a wooden stool in front of the students. On top of that stool was a pointed wizard's hat so patched and frayed Harry thought it might be older than the castle. For a few seconds, there was complete silence.
Then the hat sang. It sang and it called itself the Sorting Hat and it talked about the Houses and it instructed them to put it on to be Sorted and it ended its song with a horrible pun.
And everyone applauded.
"Maybe Dumbledore is normal for a wizard," Hermione murmured to Harry, her eyes wide.
Soon, Professor McGonagall started reading names from a long roll of parchment. "Brown, Lavender" was the first person Harry recognized—she'd been in one of the compartments they'd visited during the Quest for the Lost Toad. It wasn't too long afterwards that "Granger, Hermione!" was called.
She glanced at Harry uncertainly and he said, "Good luck!" She smiled, ran to the stool, and almost jammed it on her head.
And then they waited. And waited. And waited. Hermione took much more time than any student before her had; Harry could not see her face, but she was leaning forward in much the way she had when they'd speculated about the process used to flavor Bertie Bott's earlier.
Finally, much to Harry's surprise, the Hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" Hermione found a seat at the table with the red banners and waved to Harry, a very pleased smile on her face.
"Longbottom, Neville!" was the next name Harry recognized. Neville tripped on his way to the stool, then sat upon it for nearly as long as Hermione, but unlike Hermione, he seemed to be almost in a panic as the Hat made its decision. The Hat called "GRYFFINDOR!" for him too, but he ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back to give it to the next girl as the Hall laughed. Hermione waved him over to her excitedly, and he sat on one side of her.
Hermione seemed to be keeping the other side open. Harry's worry about the Sorting only increased. It really wasn't going as he'd expected.
Harry was slightly reassured to see Malfoy become a "SLYTHERIN!" Still, before he knew it, Professor McGonagall called, "Potter, Harry!"
Whispers instantly broke out throughout the hall.
"Potter, did she say?"
"The Harry Potter?"
"Does that mean Portia is here, too?"
Reminding himself to look like he knew what he was doing, Harry took the Hat and sat upon the stool. As the Hat dropped down over his head, he got one last glimpse of a thousand people all trying to get one last glimpse of him.
"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. You have some of the traits I'm looking for in each House, but none of them are quite right…"
Not Slytherin? Harry thought.
"Oh, you have all the cunning a Slytherin could ever hope for," the Hat replied. "I can see it all here in your head—you could be great. You are powerful and intelligent and resourceful—but what do you want to do with all that?"
Harry thought for a moment, and realized he didn't have an answer.
"That's the problem, you see, ambition. Salazar would think this a tragic waste of potential."
(And the Sorting Hat was pleased as it saw that the seed had been planted, for its duty was to guide each child to their full potential, and this boy could accomplish almost anything he set his mind to, if only it occurred to him to set his mind to anything at all.)
"No, definitely not Slytherin House for you," the Hat continued."You are smart enough for Ravenclaw, but the true Ravenclaw sees knowledge as an end in itself, while you see it as a means. They're not the right choice, either."
What about Gryffindor? Harry asked.
"Gryffindor...well, chivalrous, yes, I can see that. You've been a white knight to many people in need. The real problem is bravery."
I'm no coward! Harry thought.
"No, you're something else entirely. Ever since you accidentally put a knife through your uncle's hand, you've been utterly fearless."
Is that supposed to be a bad thing?
"No, but it's not a Gryffindor thing. Bravery is not lack of fear; it's setting your fear aside to do what needs to be done. Your response to fear is untested. I have no way to tell if you're suitable to Gryffindor."
Which leaves… Harry thought with dawning horror.
"Yes, Hufflepuff," said the Hat.
Oh, come on! I wouldn't fit in there at all!
"Why not?" the Hat asked. "You are certainly hardworking—I've never seen a child work as hard as you with as little grumbling—and you are loyal to those who are loyal to you. In Hufflepuff you would be surrounded by trustworthy children, and your ability to be loyal would grow."
But...but...I'm just not that kind of person! Harry thought.
"I Sort each child to the House where they will grow to their greatest potential, not necessarily the House they most resemble at age eleven. Merlin knows half of the Gryffindor firsties need to finish growing their spines, and few of the Slytherins come into their own as plotters before Fifth Year."
Then couldn't you send me to Gryffindor to "grow a spine" too?
"Not everyone can," the Hat replied, "and I can't be sure about you."
Something within Harry chilled. Or Slytherin, to find an ambition? he asked desperately.
"You just don't seem to be the type," the Hat said. (And by telling Harry that he couldn't, the Hat all but ensured that he would. Yes, this Sorting was going exceptionally well.)
And so Harry would go to Hufflepuff…
He could imagine it now—the Hat shouting out the name, the Hufflepuff table applauding madly, Hermione looking like someone had burned a book in front of her, and throughout the rest of the hall, snickers and whispers of "so much for the Boy Who Lived…" Those snickers would follow him, and even the tactic he'd used in Little Whinging—intimidating people into leaving him be—would be hard to pull off…
You've faced worse, he reminded himself. You'll face this too. And he hardened his resolve.
"Well, I guess that settles it," the Hat said. "Better be—GRYFFINDOR!" it shouted to the hall.
What?! Harry thought, as the applause began to wash over him.
"You felt fear and were prepared to face it," The Hat explained. "That's Gryffindor enough for me."
A day will come when you find me holding something sharp, pointy, and inside you, Harry thought back fiercely, and as the Hat chuckled in his ear, he pulled it from his head.
Gryffindor was beside itself with joy. The entire table was applauding—not polite applause like they'd given for the other firsties, but ferociously, as though they'd just won a great prize. The twin upperclassmen, Fred and George, were chanting "We got Potter! We got Potter!" Oddly enough, the Hufflepuffs were applauding too, though he didn't understand why. He sent a silent apology to the House in yellow—he didn't mean to malign them, he just didn't want to be one of them.
Well, maybe that didn't actually help. Oh well. He'd never particularly tried to be a good person.
"Welcome to Gryffindor, Fred!" the Weasley twins said together as Harry reached the table.
"Thanks, George and George!" Harry laughed. He slapped both Twins on the back, gave a few other boys high fives, shook the hand of the redheaded prefect who'd chased off Malfoy, and plopped down next to Hermione, who gave him a sort of sideways hug.
He could get used to this hugging thing.
"Congratulations, Harry!" she said, beaming.
He squeezed her shoulder and turned to watch "Thomas, Dean", the black West Ham fan, join Gryffindor.
There were only a few children left to sort. "Turpin, Lisa" joined Ravenclaw. The staring redhead from the train—"Weasley, Ronald", so perhaps he was the Weasley twins' brother or cousin—looked extremely relieved when he collapsed onto the bench across from Harry. "Well done, Ron, excellent," said the prefect, and now that they were next to each other, Harry could see that they must be related too. How many Weasleys were there at this school?
"Zabini, Blaise" became a Slytherin, and Professor McGonagall took the Sorting Hat away. Then Albus Dumbledore stood, beaming as though a thousand of his closest friends had come to dinner, and the hall quietened.
"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Before our feast begins, I'd like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!
"Thank you!" he said, and sat again. Everyone clapped and cheered.
Harry and Hermione looked at each other. "Mad," they said together.
They soon dug into the food that magically appeared on the platters. The Gryffindor House ghost, an aristocratic chap who'd died around the time the New World was discovered, introduced himself, and Ronald Weasley continued to show his superior tact by bringing up a memorable but apparently hated nickname. Harry resolved to use "Sir Nick" himself.
When the desserts appeared, talk turned to the new Gryffindors' families. Seamus had a Muggle father; Neville had been raised by his grandmother and a horde of great-uncles and -aunts; Ron talked about his five wizard brothers, who apparently included Fred and George and Percy the prefect, and his little sister. Hermione was caught up in a discussion of academics with Percy, so Harry answered for her. "Hermione here's got Muggle parents, and I might as well have. My Muggle aunt and uncle knew, but they never told me."
Parvati Patil broke in. "Really? So that story about you and Dumbledore in the Black Forest—"
"Made up," Harry said. "I've never even seen a unicorn, let alone bonded one as a familiar."
Parvati and Lavender Brown looked crestfallen. "I was looking forward to meeting Portia," Lavender said.
"I read there are unicorns in the Forbidden Forest," Hermione offered.
"Maybe Hagrid knows a few," Harry said. "He's the gamekeeper, and a pretty friendly bloke."
Lavender looked at Hagrid speculatively.
Hagrid must have noticed Harry and Lavender looking at him, for he gave them a cheery wave. Harry waved back, his eyes roaming over the other teachers. Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore were deep in a discussion of some kind; further down the table, Professor Quirrell, who'd added an absurd purple turban to his ensemble, was looking at the next teacher down, a wizard with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.
The other teacher looked past Quirrell's head straight into Harry's eyes, and suddenly, Harry's scar felt like he'd run one of his knives along its length. He winced, reaching up to touch it.
"Harry?" Hermione asked.
"Nothing," Harry said, but Hermione looked unconvinced. "Just a little headache. I think it was the Sorting."
"You were under the Hat a long time…"
"So were you," Harry said.
"It was thinking about Gryffindor, but was leaning toward Ravenclaw," she said.
"What changed its mind?" Harry asked.
"I told it that either way, I wouldn't do anyone's homework for them anymore." Then she reddened and clapped her hand over her mouth.
Harry went very still.
"H-Harry?" she asked.
Harry grasped her elbow and turned her to look at him. "If anyone ever makes a problem of themselves," he growled, "you come to me and they won't be a problem anymore. All right?"
"A-all right," she said, and she didn't leave his side that night until it was time to go to their beds.
—
A/N: I think Hufflepuff is highly underrated by many people, including this story's Harry.
Portia is borrowed from Labyrinth by Kroontjespen (story number 8375078 on this site). It's an entertaining Slytherin!Hermione/Harry story which sadly hasn't been updated in about six months.