Notes: Another chapter. And Hogwarts! Read on, my friends, read on.
I've had several people subscribe to this story, subscribe to me, or add this story to their faves list, but only one person has reviewed! I feel so sad! Please, please, please, REVIEW! Thank you for the alerts and faves though! It makes me happy~!
I DON'T OWN THE EXCERPTS FROM PS/SS IN THIS CHAPTER; THEY BELONG TO THE MARVELOUS J. K. ROWLING.
Chapter 3: Lit by Candles
September 1, 1991
Platform 9 ¾
Apart from the hustle and bustle of the platform, Harry bid Bella and Polaris goodbye and stepped on to the train, carrying a knapsack full of books, a sandwich, and a flask of tea for the journey. His sandwich contained reminders of safety, health, and the growth of knowledge, and was a standard lunch for the Hogwarts Express.
Finding an empty compartment was easy enough, and he was soon seated against the window with the Potions textbook, reading it for the second time. The train ride passed in close-to-silence, with a small interruption from the Malfoy heir, who introduced himself and his "friends", who were really just goons. Parkinson stopped by, and so did Zabini, but no one stayed long. When the sun set, Harry changed into his robes and continued to read, reviewing the seventh chapter.
The train stopped at Hogsmeade station a little more than an hour later, and the students quickly got off the train and headed to the carriages. There was a loud bellow of "Firs' years! Firs' years! This way!" and Harry headed in the general direction of the loud voice, the source of which was a huge man almost twice the size of any normal person. Harry wondered absently if he had giant blood.
The man, who told them to call him Hagrid, took them along a path, giving them their first sight of Hogwarts. Almost all of the huge castle's windows were lit, and they were quite obviously trying to impress the first years. It worked. There was a loud, collective "Ooooh!" as they rounded the curve in the path, and Harry lifted an eyebrow.
Hogwarts Castle was huge, with each window lit up to shine through the darkness like a beacon. The towers spiraled into the sky, piercing the slight cloud cover with conical roofs, the rough stonework illuminated by the light that was obviously created artificially — it would be a complete waste of candles otherwise. Below the castle, the lake swept out in glittering waves of water, narrowing into streams at points and eventually ducking under a stone outcropping to create some sort of grotto that was likely to be their entrance to Hogwarts. The forest reached to the edge of the lake in places, sporadically pulling back enough for a rocky beach to have formed, though the beach was probably the cause of the retreated tree-line.
Hagrid led them on their way down the path, someone occasionally tripping or stumbling on the steep slope. The first years spread out along the beach at the bottom, some glancing nervously at the boats that had been used for hundreds of years.
"Come on, don't be shy. No more'n four to a boat!" the man shouted. "Everyone in? Right then— FORWARD!"
Harry ended up in a boat with three other boys, two of which had clearly just hit it off on the train, considering one needed to explain things quite a lot. The other had a nervous stutter and a habit of dropping whatever he was holding when someone spoke to him. Harry felt a slight stab of pity for the boy, whom, he could see from the shape of his eyes and the tilt of his head, was a Longbottom. Was this really the child of Frank and Alice? He seemed rather pitiful, for a pureblood (1).
They reached the overhang quickly, and Hagrid yelled, almost too late, "Duck your heads!" The lanterns' light flickered off the water and reflected onto the walls with a greenish cast, giving the tunnel they were going down an eerie glow. The boats drifted down the tunnel towards the edge of the cave it opened into, where there was a small beach of pebbles. Hagrid seemed to have found the toad of the Longbottom boy, and handed it to him before leading the first years through a rocky tunnel and out onto the grass in front of what seemed to be the main doors.
"Everyone here? You there, still got you toad?" he asked before pounding on the doors. They opened, revealing a stern witch in emerald robes with features similar to those of the McGonagall family.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall."
Ah. So she was a McGonagall. That made sense. It seemed that there would be a difficult teacher to get around; McGonagalls were notoriously in Gryffindor.
"Thank you, Hagrid, I will take them from here," she said, before opening the doors wider and ushering them inside.
The entrance hall was large, but not quite due the gasps and open mouths of awe the first years were giving it. Harry was certain there would be more significant sights to come. The book Hogwarts: A History told of moving staircases, a ceiling that reflected the night sky, and secret passages. When he asked Bellatrix if this was true, she simply smiled mysteriously and changed the subject.
He walked with the rest of the sheep across the hall and into a smaller chamber, much too small for the many children, and stood quietly bristling at the invasion of his personal space.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said 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 free time in your House common room.
"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin." Harry noted her mention of Slytherin House last, and the expression of distaste that crossed her face before she hid it was interesting. "Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you House points, while and 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." There was a large outbreak of whispering at the word "honor", and Harry concluded that the House points were mostly a waste of time.
"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 swept over them, pausing slightly at the messier students, including the Longbottom boy and a boy with red hair who was undoubtedly a Weasley.
"I shall return when we are ready for you," she said. "Please wait quietly." She left, the door closing with a solid thunk.
Harry stood and listened to his yearmates explode into whispering, probably guessing what the Sorting would be like. Bellatrix had told him that he would find out when he was Sorted, and that there was no point in guessing when he would know in a few minutes. The Parkinson girl was whispering and giggling with Bulstrode, and Zabini was speaking in low tones to Malfoy. Then, several shrill screams split the air surrounding him, and he spun to see what they were shrieking about.
It was just the ghosts. Honestly, were these idiots all Mudbloods (1)? He rolled his eyes and watched the pearly white specters argue— probably about Peeves, the poltergeist. The Fat Friar was taking Peeves' side, it seemed, while Sir Nicholas was going on about how Peeves had had all the chances he would get, and they should exorcise him. Harry agreed, even though Nick was the Gryffindor ghost.
Then the knight noticed them, and Harry sighed. The Fat Friar was always overly friendly to the new students. Harry sneered in distaste.
"New students!" he said, beaming down at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose? Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old House, you know."
"Move along, now," said the cutting voice of Professor McGonagall from the front of the room. The students turned to face her, most of the chatter silencing under her stern stare. "Form a line, please, and follow me." She led them out of the chamber, across the entrance hall again, and through the big double doors to the Great Hall.
The Great Hall was magnificent, the thousands of candles lighting it casting the ceiling into shadow. The four House tables, long and filled with robe-clad bodies, were all facing the Head table, expectant faces like moons of light. Harry shivered.
Professor McGonagall placed an old hat, patched and frayed and dirty, on a four-legged stool, before stepping back and watching it. Everyone else stared at it too, and Harry felt the edge of nervousness creep into his stomach. Irritated, he banished it.
And then the hat started 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!"
So, it seemed no one really liked Slytherin. It was probably because there were so many perceived "evil" people who had come from that House. Harry rolled his eyes. Honestly, the idiots. Didn't they know that almost all the politicians (except for Fudge, the blibbering moron, how did he become Minister in the first place anyway?) were from Slytherin? And the Dark Lord was cleansing the Wizarding World of the impurity that Mudbloods and Muggles brought with them, and they hated him (1). Fools, all of them.
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and stepped forward with a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name," she said, silencing the quiet chatter that had started up in the ending of the Sorting Hat's song, "you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted. Abbott, Hannah!"
And so the Sorting went on while Harry brooded, the metaphorical rain cloud over his head growing darker every minute. He looked up, however, when they reached the Ps, anticipating the look on the Great White Coot's face when the name of someone who was supposedly dead was called out.
The hat Sorted Perks, Sally-Anne, and McGonagall finally cleared her throat and read out, "Potter, Harry!" It sounded almost hopeful, like a question. Instant silence fell. Harry smirked and stalked up to the hat. Gasps rang out across the hall, the echoes multiplying the sound by ten, and the shocked looks on their faces were worth indeed eleven years of anonymity. He sat on the stool and placed the hat on his head.
A little voice spoke into his ear. "Hmm...? What do we have here?"
(1): Harry's been raised by the Dark side. Do you really think he'd be a golden boy, perfect and kind in every way? No. I don't entirely agree with his thinking, but this is clearly how JKR says the Dark purebloods raise their children.
Three cheers for snow days! Even if they're only, like, an inch of snow. Because the school overreacts sometimes. AWESOMENESS SHALL ENSUE! KESESESE! (Please note that I do not own the awesomeness that is Hetalia, or Prussia.)
I repeat: PLEASE REVIEW! You really have no idea (or maybe you do) how much an author loves getting reviews. They really do make my day. Almost as much as hot chocolate. Mmm... chocolate...