Chapter Two: Choices
The door swung open at once. A tall, grey-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face, and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."
She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.
They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right – the rest of the school must already be there – but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering around 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 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 you House points, while any 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 honour. I hope 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 while you are waiting."
Harry and Neville smiled at Hermione, who merely looked smug; they were neat, it was thanks to Hermione that they were neat, and both they and Hermione knew it.
"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. Please wait quietly."
She left the chamber. Harry swallowed.
"How exactly do they sort us into Houses?" he asked.
Hermione shrugged helplessly, suddenly nervous. "I don't know – none of my books said anything about that!"
Ron put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Well, it looks like no one knows. Can't be too bad, then, and it's not like anyone else is going to do any better than us. Fred reckons it hurts a lot, but he's probably just winding me up. You'll be fine, Hermione."
The four of them relaxed, even as their yearmates seemed more and more anxious.
Then something happened that made them jump about a foot in the air – several people behind them even screamed.
About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "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?"
A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.
Ron, still feeling almost invincible after the train journey, actually answered.
"We're the new first years. Are you really ghosts?"
The ghost nodded, and then bowed floridly. "Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your service. I am indeed a ghost, as are my companions here. You're about to be Sorted, I presume?"
Ron nodded. "What actually happens when we get Sorted? Do we have to pass a test? Does it hurt?"
Sir Nicholas laughed, along with the other ghosts. "Not at all, not at all – rest assured, the Sorting doesn't hurt at all. There isn't any test to pass, either – you'll just be Sorted into the House where you belong."
Ron thanked the aristocratic ghost, just as Professor McGonagall returned.
"Move along, now – the Sorting Ceremony's about to start."
One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.
"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."
Feeling rather peaceful, the quartet joined the line together. They walked out of the chamber, back across the entrance hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.
None of the four had ever seen such a strange and splendid place, although Ron had heard at least some true things about it in amongst the stories told by his brothers, and Hermione had read about it. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. The tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. In front of the first years, Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool near the edge of the raised platform that they and the teachers' table stood on. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in her house.
As they stared at the hat, a rip opened near its brim and it began to sing. The Four frankly stared as it sang a song about itself and about the Houses into which it would apparently be Sorting them.
The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song - apparently this was normal. It bowed in turn to each of the four tables, and then became quite still again. Professor McGonagall stepped forward then, holding a long roll of parchment.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause - "HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.
Hannah went to the Hufflepuff table as Professor McGonagall called the next name ("Bones, Susan"), and so on through the list. Sometimes the hat shouted out the House almost at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. All four of them wondered about that, but none of them had any real idea what it meant. As they wondered, Professor McGonagall came to "Granger, Hermione!"
Hermione walked forward a bit woodenly, unable to banish her fears completely. She put the hat on her head as she sat down, and she heard a strange voice in her head. It sounded somehow warm and dry and a little bit musty, and she instantly decided that she rather liked it.
"Oh, my! You, Miss Granger, have outright the best mind I've encountered in quite some years. You will achieve greatness, mark my words, but the different Houses will shape you differently – a great Slytherin and a great Hufflepuff are very different creatures, to be sure. I think we can rule out Slytherin for a start – you already dislike that House, and you certainly wouldn't be receptive to the lessons you would learn there. You would do well in Hufflepuff, but I feel that you would be helping Hufflepuff rather more than it could help you – no, no, that won't do at all. Ravenclaw is the obvious place to put you, with the quality of mind you have, but that seems somehow wrong... Oh yes, that's right! A Ravenclaw loves knowledge for its own sake, but your driving ambition is to prove yourself. That means Slytherin or Gryffindor, and we already know I won't send you to Slytherin. I suppose that means... GRYFFINDOR!"
The last word was shouted out loud, and Hermione jumped. She recovered herself, and left the hat neatly on the chair as she walked to the loudly cheering Gryffindor table.
A few students further down the list, it was Neville's turn. He tried to appear calm, and he mostly succeeded, but he did fumble the hat somewhat as he put it on his head. He heard a voice which to him sounded somehow stifling and oppressive. He flinched involuntarily.
"Ah, Mr Longbottom. Your timing is exquisite – had I to sort you as you were even yesterday, I might well have put you in Hufflepuff. You would do well there, no doubt, but you proved today that you belong elsewhere. You have set yourself on a path, young man – I encourage you to stick to it, and therefore I shall send you to... GRYFFINDOR!"
Neville hastily pulled the hat off his head, then dropped it on the stool as he almost ran to the Gryffindor table.
The Sorting continued, with students unknown to the Four. They weren't at all surprised to see Draco Malfoy go to Slytherin, nor that his two nameless bodyguards were already there waiting for him. And then:
"Potter, Harry!"
As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.
"Potter, did she say?"
"The Harry Potter?"
The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.
"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Interesting, Mr Potter, interesting indeed. Not a bad mind, but you're not driven by any grand desire to know – you're much more interested in what you might be. You are driven, Mr Potter, by a desire to prove yourself – that's a very Gryffindor thing, but also a very Slytherin thing. You share this desire with Miss Granger and Mr Longbottom, and I suppose you share it with Mr Weasley also. If you share their quest, then I suppose you must also share their House – better be GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry jumped up, pausing only to drop the hat back on the stool before outright sprinting to the Gryffindor table to join Hermione and Neville. He was grinning wildly, elated. His attention all on his friends, he hardly even noticed the pompous welcome he received from an older redhead – another Weasley, perhaps?
Ron, meanwhile, was standing in the dwindling line of first years. No matter how much he told himself he was sure to end up in Gryffindor, he couldn't help but worry that he would be separated from his new friends. He watched anxiously as a few more students were sorted, and was actually rather relieved when his own name was called. He walked forward and sat down heavily, dropping the hat on his head.
"Ah, Mr Weasley – I've been waiting for you. I believe you want to go to Gryffindor, and it's clear you have the courage for it. Shall we make it Gryffindor, then?"
Ron mentally nodded, a strange sensation.
"Good," the hat said. "GRYFFINDOR!"
Ron dropped the hat back on the stool, and staggered towards the Gryffindor table. Silly or not, he had seen his whole life depending on that decision – small wonder that he was shaking now. He joined the other three, who had somehow managed to get seats together and save room for him. They welcomed him excitedly as he sat down between Hermione and Neville. They watched the last two students Sorted, and then the tall and ancient wizard in the middle of the teachers' table stood up and raised his hands for silence. He had long white hair and a long white beard, and the Four all recognised him as Headmaster Albus Dumbledore – they had talked about him, in the long hours on the Hogwarts Express.
Dumbledore was beaming, looking as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.
"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!
Thank you!"
He sat back down. Everyone clapped and cheered. Harry turned to Hermione.
"So, Hermione. Did any of your books mention the Headmaster being insane?"
She shook her head, looking just as disconcerted as he did, but then Ron chimed in:
"Oh, he's mad alright – didn't I mention that? Absolute genius, most powerful wizard in the world, but completely mental. This is pretty normal for him, from what my brothers have told me."
"Plus," said Neville thoughtfully, "right now is when he tries to make exactly the impression he wants to make on the first years. There's more to him behind that weirdness, I'd bet, but I don't know what it is."
The other three suddenly looked thoughtful also, but a moment later they forgot all about that as the table in front of them was abruptly filled with food. They tucked in with gusto, far too busy to say anything more.
After he had eaten his fill (as much as his stomach could hold), Harry sat back contentedly and began to take an interest in his surroundings. Neville, Ron and Hermione were still eating, although Hermione was chatting to the older redhead beside her. On the staff table, Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were in what seemed to be casual conversation. Professor Quirrell, back turned, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. Judging from the look on the hook-nosed professor, their conversation was rather less casual. As Harry began to wonder about this, the hook-nosed professor looked past Professor Quirrell and Harry suddenly felt a sharp, hot pain shoot across his scar.
"Ow!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.
Neville, sitting next to him, turned in concern. "What is it?"
Harry shook his head to clear it, as the pain faded. "Pain in my scar – first time it's ever happened. Who's the black-haired professor talking to Professor Quirrell?"
Neville frowned. "I think that's Professor Snape, who teaches Potions. Do you think he had something to do with it?"
Harry shrugged. "Dunno – all I know is that it happened when I almost caught his eye."
Neville nodded. "Fair enough. I don't really have any ideas, but we probably should tell Ron and Hermione when we get the chance – this is weird even for the wizarding world, and it could be serious. Plus, Hermione might know something."
Harry nodded. "Good thinking."
A moment later, the remaining dessert dishes disappeared from the table, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.
"Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.
"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And 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, who bowed as extravagantly as they could without actually standing up.
"I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.
"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.
"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 very painful death."
Harry and Neville exchanged a glance, and Neville shrugged. On Neville's other side, Ron was assuring Hermione that Dumbledore probably was serious. Hermione seemed doubtful, to say the least. This doubt turned to bemusement as they all sang the school song, with bizarre words and all different tunes – she really didn't know what to think anymore.
The Four, along with the rest of the Gryffindor first-years, followed the older redhead (Percy Weasley, apparently) through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up a marble staircase. They all stumbled somewhat, exhausted and more than ready for sleep. They paid no attention to the bewildering maze through which Percy led them, and barely raised an eyebrow at the talking portrait who demanded a password before swinging forward to reveal the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. They did all note the password, though - "caput draconis". None of them wanted to be locked out of their common room. The common room itself was a cosy, round room full of squashy armchairs. It felt somehow welcoming to all of them, though they were only vaguely aware of it at the time.
Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory, and the boys through another. At the tops of two spiral staircases – they were obviously in two towers – they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep-red velvet curtains in the girls' dorm, and the same in the boys'. Their trunks had already been brought up, and boys and girls alike changed quickly into pyjamas and collapsed into bed.