Chapter 5 - Partition Problem

Disembarking from the train was a chaotic bustle of black robes. Fortunately an announcement had advised students to leave their luggage, or it would've been a nightmare. Hermione had wondered how it got to the proper places - particularly given a seventh of the students hadn't been assigned a dorm yet. Hogwarts, a History didn't mention anything about liveried staff...perhaps the conductor who ran the Express - a seasonal occupation if ever there was one - had his own temporary staff who would see to them, or knew some broad charm he could use to send them properly off?

Most of the students were heading towards a long line of carriages, but a voice began calling out for "Firs' years" to follow him, and upon seeing the voice came from an enormous shaggy man carrying a lamp, no first-years felt it prudent to disobey. For all his size, he seemed friendly enough, and apparently knew Harry already, as he called him out by name. Hermione edged her way through the crowd to stand next to the boy, nodding politely to Ron and Neville who were nearby - the latter clutching his toad so tightly its eyes were bulging a bit.

"Who's that?" she asked.

"Oh, that's Hagrid...he's the groundskeeper here, and, uh, something about keys. He's really great!" answered Harry enthusiastically.

"Keeper of Keys", Hermione suggested, nodding.

"You're a first-year?" asked Ron, incredulously. "I'd reckoned you were a Prefect and just, er, really short." Hermione laughed at what she interpreted as another offhanded compliment.

"No, I'd have had a badge, wouldn't I? I certainly hope I make Prefect, when the time comes," Hermione said, a bit wistfully. Hagrid was leading them down an alarmingly dark and slippery path. Though he held aloft a large lantern, it wasn't doing much for the students towards the back of the group, so Hermione withdrew her wand.

"Lumos," she said, holding the tip low so it illuminated the ground some distance around her without disrupting anyone's night vision. It wasn't nearly as much light as Hagrid's enormous lantern, but it helped a little for those nearby. Though the students who noticed seemed more surprised than grateful, and whispers began to circulate.

"So how do you know all these spells already?" persisted Ron. This seemed like an obviously stupid question, but Hermione reminded herself what Hannah had said about her books - there might be other equally good reasons to have not opened a single one, so she tried not to get snippy.

"I practiced on the train. The instructions in the books are fairly clear if you read carefully," she added, modestly.

Ron's expression suggested he didn't think this was a proper explanation, but their conversation was interrupted as the path carried them around a clump of trees. A variety of appreciative noises floated up from the group as the Black Lake and the elaborate castle that was Hogwarts itself came into view for the first time. Hermione had already seen pictures of it, of course, but they'd been somewhat grainy and monochrome - even considering they'd been animated, she had to admit that they hadn't properly prepared her for seeing it in person.

Hagrid directed their attention to the little boats on the shore and instructed them to board, but no more than four to a boat. Hermione looked around for her compartment-mates (since they'd already established a convenient group of four), but she saw another girl she didn't know had already joined them on a boat, and was talking animatedly with Parvati.

She saw Harry, Ron and Neville were sharing a boat - Hermione was worried if they continued their conversation, it would end with one or both of them feeling uncomfortable, but there wasn't much for it. She stepped into the boat with them and tried to look like she was deep in thought, as that might dissuade him.

Of course, the easiest way Hermione knew of looking like she was deep in thought was to actually be deep in thought, so she began to consider the impending Sorting. She already had a good idea what she was going to say (or 'think'?) to the Hat on her own behalf, but she wondered about the other first-years, who might not have had the same advice she'd been given. That led her to consider the Sorting as a whole, and she immediately saw a possible problem.

There were about forty of them, and an even mix of boys and girls. So naively, that would seem to work out, five girls and five boys to each of the four Houses. But what were the odds of everyone's best-suited House working out evenly, like that? It seemed a lot more likely you'd have a little more here, a little less there. Then, if you took preference into account...well, from her reading, Gryffindor tended to get a lot of 'good press', and Slytherin much the opposite...wouldn't you expect there to be a lot more kids who'd rather be in Gryffindor than Slytherin?

The question was, did the Hat make completely objective decisions? Or did it take into account that, from the perspective of the administration, things would be a lot easier if the Houses were divided evenly...what if Gryffindor ran out of beds? Fairer, too, taking House points into consideration...if the populations became too lopsided, there'd be a significant advantage to the 'fuller' houses, wouldn't there? So what would the Hat do if there happened to be, say, seventeen perfect Hufflepuffs in a given year? With each Hufflepuff Sorted, would the Hat make the criteria stricter for subsequent Hufflepuffs and less strict for the others? But then the order in which students were Sorted would make a large difference...those assigned earlier would tend to have a better chance of getting their preference or the best match of House. The school had been running for so long, Hermione assumed they must have figured out a way to make it all work, but she just couldn't see what it was...

By now, they'd made their way to a hidden harbor beneath the castle, and Hagrid had led them up a flight of stairs and into the castle itself, having just handed them off to Professor McGonagall inside the main door. She was wearing the same green robes she'd worn to Diagon Alley, and was looking very stern.

Hermione raised her hand.

McGonagall's expression did not alter, though she might have taken slightly deeper breaths for a moment.

"As we progress, I will be informing everyone of everything they need to know for tonight's itinerary. Everyone please hold your questions for another time?" Hermione reluctantly lowered her hand, and there were titters here and there from other first-years, though they vanished instantly at a sharp look from the Professor.

McGonagall led them through the enormous entrance hall past a large - closed - doorway, beyond which a great many voices could be vaguely heard, and into a small chamber, bereft of comfort or decoration. She welcomed them to the school, then explained - rather briefly, in Hermione's opinion - about the Sorting and the House system. The Professor didn't even give any details on the Houses, though Hermione was pleased to note she at least mentioned that every house had "produced outstanding wizards and witches", but that wasn't nearly enough to undo the reputation of Slytherin, if promoting objectivity had been the intent.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said McGonagall, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Hermione. "Please wait quietly," she instructed, then spun on her heel and strode out.

The children all looked terrified, and began looking at each other, though only a few ignored the Professor's instructions and whispered urgently. Hermione wasn't afraid, but she was feeling a bit peeved. That had to have been deliberate. But why would she want to frighten everyone just as they were entering the place at which they would be spending more time over the next seven years than their actual homes? And she'd been quite quick not to let Hermione ask any questions. Was it...could there be some benefit to the students being almost entirely ignorant of what was going on? She noted that it hadn't been mentioned in Hogwarts, a History, which now seemed an odd omission for something so fundamental to the operation of the school.

Well...if there was a reason to keep it secret, then by her omission, along with what she'd said earlier, Professor McGonagall had technically told Hermione that she did not need to know that reason, had she not? And if that was true, then she must not be concerned about preventing students from telling anything they did know (or possibly, did not expect they knew anything of substance, noted Hermione's responsible side). Hermione itched to follow this line of reasoning to its logical conclusion and start loudly telling everyone everything she knew. But the Professor had been quite explicit about waiting quietly. She decided to compromise.

"It's not that kind of test," Hermione whispered to the students nearby. "The Sorting Hat just decides, based on your qualities and potential, which House best suits you. It apparently takes your preferences into account, though you may need to be fairly stubborn about it. However, the reputations the Houses have aren't entirely fair, and I've read that some people think House rivalries do more harm than good at the school."

Hannah, Harry and Neville looked at her consideringly. The Patil twins were whispering to each other while looking in her direction, and Ron looked unsure.

"What, our lives are in the hands of a ruddy hat?" he said, not whispering as quietly as he might have.

"Not our lives, Ron, just where we sleep. Every House can be just as-" She was interrupted by a stubborn rebuttal from the redhead.

"Who could get a proper sleep if they were surrounded by Slyth-" He was interrupted in turn by a scream and several gasps, as a bunch of ghosts having a conversation floated straight through one of the walls. It took a moment for them to realize the room was occupied, and one of the glowing figures asked the first-years what they were doing there.

"Failing to wait quietly?" answered Neville, rather uncertainly, who it appeared wasn't entirely convinced they wouldn't be tested, or weren't being tested right now. Parvati put her hands over her mouth to stifle a giggle.

"A gaggle of first-years on starting day, I'd say you're about to be Sorted," said the bald one who looked like Friar Tuck, smiling tolerantly. Hermione saw this as a defensible opportunity - since they were already talking, now - to get some more answers.

"Yes, exactly. Would you have any advice for us on that?" she asked quickly.

"Do we want his advice?" muttered Padma. "He did get killed, after all…"

"Oh, just be yourself," the rotund ghost said merrily. "If you're very lucky, you'll get into Hufflepuff, like I did!" A blond boy on the other side of the group sniggered.

"Doesn't seem very lucky," Padma continued, still under her breath, though Parvati tried to shush her. At this point Professor McGonagall returned and all interesting conversation ceased...events which Hermione was beginning to suspect might be causally correlated, though of course her sample size was still rather small.

"If you would?" she said sharply to the ghosts, waving a hand towards the Great Hall. "We're about to begin the Sorting Ceremony." The ghosts wafted off agreeably through another wall, seemingly unruffled by the Professor's snippiness. Hermione supposed being dead for a while might make it harder to get upset by that sort of thing.

McGonagall led them back out the door they'd come in, then into the Great Hall. Hermione wondered about the wisdom of lighting the room by candles floating overhead everywhere, but she supposed if they could make candles ignore gravity, wax drippings should solve themselves. She peered at the closer ones as they passed, trying to see what exactly happened - would they just pool under the wick, or halfway down, or…

Hermione's examinations of the candles were interrupted as Professor McGonagall brought them to a halt, the line stretching out in front of the High Table where the other Professors and Staff were seated, but facing the four other very long tables that held the rest of Hogwarts' students. A twitch of her wand conjured a simple wooden stool, which she placed in front of the center of the line. She then produced a large pointed hat from somewhere - Hermione thought it only a bit odd she hadn't noticed her carrying it before - and set it on the stool. She'd thought Tonks was just being derisive by calling it moldy, but the hat looked filthy and it now seemed quite plausible there was mold or worse hidden in its various folds and patches.

Hermione made a concerted effort not to sigh audibly as the Hat began to sing.

Not that she had anything against singing, exactly, but the lyrics were a bit irritating. While they at least had more details about the Houses than the Professor had seen fit to provide, they were quite simplistic, and held the exact sort of bias that Hermione had been hoping to counteract with her comments in the waiting room. I mean, honestly, she thought, 'use any means to achieve their ends'? It's essentially saying, 'Any kids I stick in here, watch 'em close, because they're probably already halfway evil.' And it's saying this about eleven-year-olds. Was it really any wonder if more Slytherins than average became Dark Witches or Wizards, living seven years with that hanging over their heads? The bigger surprise was that any Slytherins managed to graduate well-adjusted, and yet that was something that apparently did happen regularly, according to her books.

As the hat bowed to the House tables - not to the first years, she noted, though the song had clearly been meant for them - Hermione wished there was some way to undo what the hat had done, but speaking out of turn now seemed entirely out of the question. Professor McGonagall stepped forward, unrolling a narrow scroll.

"When your name is called, sit on the stool and put on the hat to be sorted. Abbott, Hannah!" The shy blond girl from Hermione's compartment walked slowly to the stool. She glanced at Hermione, who nodded encouragingly at her, then sat down, putting on the hat, which slumped over her eyes, as it was - somewhat curiously, given its ostensible purpose - not sized for an eleven-year-old.

She sat there for a little over a minute, her mouth slowly turning down into a frown. But after she suddenly stuck her tongue out, the Hat immediately responded with a shout of "GRYFFINDOR!". One of the tables began cheering and applauding, waving her over, and as the girl approached it, a few of the students at the table stuck their tongues out at dramatic angles, as if in salute. Hannah seemed a little embarrassed, but was smiling brilliantly. The girl gave a spirited thumbs-up gesture to Hermione after she'd sat, which made her smile back. It seemed her advice had at least helped one person.

Hermione watched the process closely as each student was called up. The length of time under the hat varied. For most it was quite short, though some took longer, though only one other took as long as Hannah. Finally it was her turn, and she strode confidently to the stool, taking a seat and placing the hat over her head.

Don't just yell 'Ravenclaw', please...there are some questions I wanted to ask, she thought immediately. From seeing the other students Sorted before her without hearing a word, she'd suspected either some sort of silencing charm, or actual telepathy, and given the hat's task, the latter had seemed more likely.

"So I see," came a voice into her head after a moment, sounding a bit weary. There was a pause, then, "May I ask a question or two first?"

Of course, Hermione thought, politely.

"What is my proper name?" asked the hat. Hermione was confused by the simplicity (and the reflective nature) of the question, then suspicious. She wasn't sure where it was going with this.

I imagine it would be 'the Hogwarts Sorting Hat', she thought tentatively, hedging in case other magical schools had their own Sorting Hats.

"You're sure?" it asked, a bit coyly.

Well, as sure as I can be, given there's so little written about you, Hermione responded, a bit peevishly. That was actually part of what-

"Maybe you just haven't read enough books yet?" it interrupted, almost sounding as if it was taunting her. She mentally dug in her heels and refused to give it the satisfaction of a defensive reaction.

I'm sure I haven't, she thought, projecting cheerfulness. There are obviously a lot of them, after all. But I do what I can.

"Ah, that will work out splendidly, then!"

How is that? she asked, suspicious again.

"Well, since, as you quite correctly answered, I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, and not, for example-" the hat's voice took on a particularly playful tone, "the 'Hogwarts Question-Answering Hat', I'll just let you get on with your reading…"

But-

"RAVENCLAW!"

Hermione wondered - quite deliberately before removing it - if anyone had ever tried to set the Hat on fire. Sadly, even if it was still reading her mind after it had Sorted her, the implied threat would be spoiled, since it would thereby also know she'd never actually do such a thing.

Probably.

She had entertained the notion deliberately, with carefully imagined visuals of the cheerful orange flames flickering hungrily. Apparently, being 'outsmarted' by an article of clothing had brought out a heretofore unsuspected vindictive streak in Hermione - which she didn't feel particularly proud to discover, and only further increased her irritation.

There was a hesitancy to the applause, and Hermione realized her feelings must be showing on her face, and they thought she was unhappy about being Sorted into Ravenclaw. She tried to focus on the fact that at least she'd been sorted 'appropriately' - for what it was worth - and that she really was looking forward to seeing what Ravenclaw House was like, and was able to smile genuinely by the time she got halfway to the table, taking a seat at the mostly-empty section reserved for the new first-years.

From the moment the Hat went onto Neville's head, even without being able to hear any details, it was clear from his expression that he and the Hat were embroiled in a contentious debate. A minute passed, then two...three...four… The average volume level of the House tables gradually increased as speculation about what was going on spread. One of the older Ravenclaws further down the table declared knowledgably that he'd read in a book called Hats Off that this was called a 'hat-stall', and was very rare. Hermione would've immediately demanded to know where he'd found that book, but McGonagall had begun to aim particularly stern looks at the louder patches of conversation, so she waited.

In the end, Neville folded his arms stubbornly, and as his face began to grow pale and a trifle blue, it was clear he was actually holding his breath, a tactic Hermione had heard children occasionally used but had never witnessed until now. Disapproval was warring with concern on Professor McGonagall's face, but she glanced at the Head Table and the Headmaster gave her a tiny shrug, his genial expression unchanged since the Sorting Ceremony had begun. Neville started to sway, and when it seemed he was about to actually pass out, the Hat relented, with a shout of "HUFFLEPUFF!" The boy released his held breath explosively, then took several great gulps of air, though he half fell off the stool in the process.

There was a brief silence as the House tables digested this. All of that...to get into Hufflepuff? But the Hufflepuff students rose almost as one and gave him a standing ovation. Hermione and Hannah joined in, bringing up several other Gryffindors in their wake, while most of the remaining students and Professors only looked amused or dubious. Neville set the Hat back on the stool firmly, then walked to his table, blushing furiously at the applause but looking grimly satisfied, and to Hermione's eye, standing a little straighter than he had before.

Parvati and Padma went to Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, respectively. This surprised quite a few people, since they were twins, and while many had apparently assumed that like The Twins, they'd go to the same House, Hermione had not been so sure. Partially because she'd read articles about twin studies and the nature vs nurture debate, and knew that was far from a foregone conclusion - but also she'd already noticed that Padma seemed more intellectually-inclined, if only slightly. She supposed that even if they'd started out the same, if Padma somehow got slightly ahead, Parvati might have then started to rely on her sister slightly more for such things than on her own knowledge, and it could have eventually become a self-reinforcing cycle. Though she reminded herself that she did still need to ask some wizard-raised students exactly how they'd been educated up to this point.

When Harry Potter was sent up, speculation amongst the House tables became a bit more open, though a lot of it seemed to be students who had also neglected to do the math and thus hadn't realized the Boy Who Lived would be here this year. Harry walked to the stool slowly, glancing once at Hermione. She tried to give him an encouraging smile, and he seemed only a little nervous. But the Hat remained on his head for quite some time. He was wringing his hands a bit, and towards the end, he shook his head once emphatically.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat shouted, a moment later.

The Gryffindor table went wild with celebration. She supposed it was because he was famous - it'd be like having a movie star come to live with you, or something. Or maybe they thought it linked their House with his defeat of You-Know-Who? Not that she imagined a baby could really be capable of any virtues let alone Gryffindor's particularly, nor how they would help against an extremely powerful wizard. Hermione also wondered what Harry's apparent debate with the Hat had been about...it must've suggested a different House first, but she really hadn't interacted with him enough to have a good model of his personality, so it was hard to guess which it might've been.

The last few students were Sorted - the Hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" quite soon after touching Ron's head, and he'd given Hermione a grateful look afterwards, as if only her advice that he could insist on it had allowed him entry - then the Headmaster rose, to say a few words before the food was served.

Which he did.

There was widespread applause and cheering as he sat down, though the applause from the Ravenclaw table seemed polite at best. Many of the first-years looked at each other as if trying to decide how to phrase a question delicately, or if they'd sound stupid for asking.

"Gryffindor," Hermione said with a soft sigh, and the first-years became thoughtful.

"Well, yes, there is that," admitted a nearby older girl. "But he is quite old...my great-grandfather is younger than Dumbledore, and he sometimes wears his underwear on the outside of his robes. But apparently he's been doing this sort of thing for some time. Dumbledore, that is, not my grandfather."

"My dad thinks it's strategy," said another boy, "he's just started acting peculiar early so when he does eventually go senile, no one will be able to tell." Hermione frowned.

"Because he thinks it would be good to maintain his various important positions even after he's genuinely lost his faculties?" she asked, dubiously. Everyone in earshot appeared to give this some consideration, but any resulting concern was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a wide variety of food and drink along the center of the tables, and the hungry students immediately began helping themselves.

"I was under the impression food couldn't be conjured...where did all this come from, exactly?" Hermione asked, curiously.

"The kitchens, of course," said a third-year boy further down the table. "Hogwarts' House Elves do the best cooking I've ever tasted, though don't tell my mum I said so," he continued, breaking his grin to make room for a bit of sausage.

"Sorry if this is obvious, but I'm muggle-born...what's a House Elf?" Hermione asked. Clearly she hadn't picked up enough background reading...she could've easily squeezed in another five books, maybe even ten if she hadn't re-read some of the less interesting material…

"Wonderful wee things," answered Morag MacDougal, another first-year girl who'd been Sorted after Hermione. "They know all kinds of magic for doing things for ye, mending, cleaning, cooking and such. Only the more distinguished families keep one, but Hogwarts has, oh, I don't know, dozens at least. Our House Elf, Geagol, can make these wee roses out of strawberry ice cream that are so lovely ye almost can't bear to eat them!" Hermione tried to estimate the combined salaries of dozens of magically-talented live-in servants, but she hadn't managed to get a good feel for the local economy yet. She wondered how taxation worked, and how interconnected the muggle government and Ministry of Magic's finances were - there'd been no tuition for Hogwarts, so presumably the school itself was paid for by the Ministry? Unless they had some sort of endowment?

"So I guess your family's distinguished, then?" asked Terry Boot. Morag nodded casually.

"Oh aye, pureblood on both sides for generations. Not that I pay much attention to all that," she added airily, despite having made a point of dropping it into conversation.

"Do the Elves have their own schools? It seems like just humans, here," Hermione noted, looking around. Her books had made it clear that there were a number of intelligent species, but strongly implied that the others were not quite as intelligent as humans, and that their cultures were more primitive. Though she'd already read about the Goblin Rebellions, and seeing as how they ran a bank, Hermione suspected their perceived inferiority may have been because they weren't permitted to use wands rather than anything inherent. From Morag's description it seemed clear that Elves were as least as magically talented as humans, but her books hadn't mentioned them at all. Most of the non-muggle-born students in earshot chuckled.

"Schools?" repeated Morag, incredulously. "Merlin, nae...I think they just pass it along tae their children." Hermione tried not to become flustered by the laughter.

"Oh...does their, er, culture not believe in organized education?" she asked.

"They don't have a culture, Hermione," explained Padma, patiently. "All they do is work for whatever House they're bound to." Hermione went still. 'Bound'? she thought. That can't mean what I think it means. Almost everyone I've met seems very nice, they can't be keeping slaves...can they? But that was just the part of her that didn't want to believe it was possible...she was well aware from her knowledge of muggle history that most slave-owning societies could seem quite enlightened from the inside, with lots of polite rationalizations about why it was entirely acceptable, or even a kindness to subjugate a certain class or race. She set down her fork, suddenly not very hungry.

The other Ravenclaws didn't seem to notice her distress, or maybe they just assumed she was a light eater, but the conversation moved on to other topics while Hermione tried to decide what to do. She'd have to be careful and do more legal research...for all she knew there were sedition laws or other restrictions on speech or protest. Or maybe she was interpreting things incorrectly, and there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for what only seemed like a horrible ethical scar across magical society.

Eventually, after the food vanished and was replaced by an equally wide assortment of desserts - which Hermione also abstained from - and after a moderate interval those had vanished as well, the Headmaster rose once again. He gave some entirely sensible and not at all insane-sounding notices about not entering the forest (full of dangerous magical creatures), not using magic in the (crowded) corridors, and something about Quidditch trials - a term which Hermione had come across in her reading but only in passing.

Then he gave another one.

A handful of students laughed, but Hermione didn't think it sounded particularly funny. Except the upper-year Ravenclaws were nodding, not as if this was simply a poor joke they were ignoring, but rather as if it was just another typical notice. Then again, maybe it was? Hermione had formed the impression that magic was, in practice, a lot more prone to life-threatening accidents than muggle technology (automobiles notwithstanding)...so she supposed there was no point in couching things in euphemisms if doing so would endanger children.

They then 'sang' the school 'song', and Hermione wondered if there might be not-so-subtle differences in musical sensibility between the muggle and magical cultures. She tried to pick one of the upper-years nearby and follow their tune, but she couldn't really make it out in the cacophony, so she tried to fit her own tune, but the meter of the lyrics kept changing. Halfway through she gave up and sang it to scales as best she could, changing direction on alternating lines.

After the Headmaster dismissed everyone, Robert Hilliard, a dark-haired fifth year, led the first-year Ravenclaws on a winding path through the castle. He advised them that since today was a Sunday and it was an odd-numbered year, Ravenclaw Tower could be reached through taking four right turnings, one left, then two more right on the Grand Staircase. This involved actually back-tracking at one point, but given the movement of the flights of stairs, it all seemed to work out. They followed him up another spiral staircase which wound along the wall of the tower itself, around an empty central shaft. Though there was a handrail, Hermione kept close to the wall, and resolved to practice Arresto Momentum from her Grade 2 spellbook daily. When they'd almost reached the top of the staircase, the Prefect stopped everyone and turned to address them.

"Other Houses have the entrances to their Common Rooms obfuscated in some way. But Ravenclaw's stands proudly for everyone to see. There is no knob or handle, only a knocker shaped like an eagle - the symbol of our house. Since someone is undoubtedly about to ask - I don't know for certain why it's an eagle and not a raven, but I suspect it is because only animals noted for ferocity were used in heraldry at the time." Several of the first-years lowered their hands.

"While other House entrances are protected by guarded passwords or codes, the guardian of our door will admit any - and only - those deemed worthy, who correctly answer a riddle it poses, which changes each time it is answered correctly. You will wait here while I go ahead of you and enter, then you may follow and attempt the riddle yourselves - and by all means pool your wits. Since it is the first day, there will be a welcoming party going on in the common room...but only for a half-hour or so, so it's in your interest to apply yourselves. If you take too much longer than that - which would be somewhat disappointing - and no one has stayed later in the common room to read - which is technically possible, I suppose - the door next to the statue of Rowena leads to the dormitories. Girls to the left, boys to the right, first-year beds are on the very top floor - you will move down as you advance in year, as you can less afford the distraction of the better views when your classes become more taxing. Any pertinent questions?"

The first-years looked at each other, but no one spoke. Robert made his way up to the door and used the knocker, listened to something inaudible, then thought for a moment. He said something else they couldn't hear, then the door swung open. The boy waved cheerily at the first-years, then entered, closing the door behind him. Everyone made their way up to the door. Fortunately, the knocker was placed low enough that even the shortest first-year could reach it.

"Let's get on with it, then," said Michael Corner, who reached up and rapped the knocker.

"A man left his first son eleven knuts, the second eight knuts, and the third ten knuts. What was the man's profession?" came a gentle, almost musical voice. There was a collection of confused looks.

"What do you call a person who sells canoes?" asked Kevin Entwhistle. "Is there a name for that?"

"I think it actually said k-n-u-t-s knuts, you know, money?" suggested Terry. "It said 'left', like he's dead and it was in his will or something."

"That wouldn't even make any sense," complained Amanda Brocklehurst. "The specific amounts ought to matter somehow...how are that much - or little - money and his profession connected?"

"They sort of are," argued Morag, "if he can only leave his sons so few knuts, his job doesn't pay very well, does it? That narrows it down a little, we can just start guessing along those lines."

"We're meant to figure it out, though, aren't we?" asked Sue Li. "Just guessing seems like cheating."

"Narrowing it down shows we're smart!" insisted Morag. "It'd take ages to guess without that."

"If you're right," warned Anthony Goldstein. "Just because he did leave them that much doesn't mean he couldn't have left them more...maybe he's just being responsible with his money, or he didn't particularly like his sons."

While Hermione listened to the byplay with half an ear, she pondered the riddle. She agreed with Amanda that the amounts were probably important, and possibly the fact that it was money as opposed to other countable objects. There was something about the situation in the riddle that sounded familiar, which was odd as she hadn't even heard of knuts until a few weeks ago...

"Oh!" said Hermione. Everyone looked at her. "I think I've got it, but I'll wait if anyone else wants a chance to figure it out for themselves," she said, trying to be considerate.

o-o-o-o-o

A/N: Sorry that took so long! Aside from a few fixed points, I'm trying to write this 'organically', which is to say, by the seat of my pants. But I wasn't sure I was comfortable with how things came out with the Sorting, and I actually ended up writing several different versions, a couple of which were vastly different. In more than one, Hermione's conversations with the Hat were much longer. In one, she and Harry were sorted into Slytherin. In another, Hermione and Hannah were sorted into Slytherin, and Harry and Draco were sorted into Hufflepuff. I think I could - barely - defend the logic behind any of those scenarios, but the one I stuck with is a less jarring departure from canon and does send the story in mostly the direction I'd wanted. I may have Hermione run into the Hat in Dumbledore's office later, though, some of those conversations were interesting.

[Edit 2015-03-16: I'm no longer accepting PM's with answers to this riddle, as I finally got around to putting the answer in the text in Chapter 8. If you're dying to know the answer without spoiling yourself by peeking ahead, there are comments on one of the posts in /r/rational for this story that reveal it (though there may be spoilers there as well).]