The door opened immediately to reveal a tall witch with black hair, dark green robes and a witch's hat standing there. She looked rather stern and Ron instantly realised that you should never get in trouble with her. "The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall," said the giant, pointing at the crowd of nervous eleven-year-olds.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." Professor McGonagall walked towards a large door at the front of the big Hogwarts castle and pulled it open. Inside, the Entrance Hall was so big you could have fit have the Burrow inside it. The stone walls surrounding the hall were lit with flaming torches, and the ceiling was so high that you couldn't even see it. The floor was made from marble, as polished as ever, and there was a magnificent staircase leading upwards a few feet away. Ron and the other first-years looked around the hall in awe, gazing high at the ceiling and feeling the smoothness of the floor. The redhead knew that Hogwarts was wonderful, but he didn't know it'll be this amazing. Once all the students had looked their fill, they followed Professor McGonagall across the floor. Ron could hear more than a hundred voices babbling to each other behind a door to the right – it was the rest of the school, of course – but Professor McGonagall showed the first-years into a small chamber away from the hall.
They crowded inside, peering around nervously and excitedly, wondering what would happen now, and waited for Professor McGonagall to speak. Ron was positively awed at Hogwarts; it really was very big. A few moments later, Professor McGonagall walked to the front of the crowd and addressed the students. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she said, loud enough so that everybody could hear it, "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 your 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." Her eyes lingered for a while on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, before turning to Ron, looking sternly on his smudged nose. Out of the corner of his eye, the redhead saw Harry nervously try to flatten his hair, which was sticking up as usual. "I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall, "Please wait quietly." She gave a slight wave to the children before leaving the chamber.
Harry swallowed. "How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Ron.
His words triggered the memory; one week ago, Ron had asked Fred how they got chosen into houses. "Some sort of test, I think," he said now, "Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking." And then he just realised what he said. A test. What kind of test would it be? Would somebody start firing questions about magic at them? Would they have to show their magical abilities? Ron's mind raced through the possibilities, his heart racing, and he generated many unlikely theories about what they had to do. The redhead could somehow see that Harry was thinking about this too. Minutes passed in almost silence; everyone was looking absolutely terrified and didn't dare to open their mouths, except for that bushy-haired Hermione Granger, who was muttering very quickly under her breath – Ron couldn't catch what she was saying.
The children waited for Professor McGonagall to come back; all of them were full of tension, even Ron was slightly pale. The redhead remembered the only time he had been this nervous – he'd stolen the Honeydukes chocolate Percy had gotten when Ron was 7, and Mrs Weasley had thought Fred and George did it. He remembered the memory now, but the boy didn't smile at all; his mind was still on the Sorting. Then something happened which drove his worries away – several people screamed.
Ron gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to each other 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, who were staring at them nervously. Nobody answered; they were all too scared to speak. Ron and Harry watched the ghosts nervously, although Ron was a bit less nervous than Harry – his brothers had told him that there were ghosts at Hogwarts, and most of them did no harm at all.
"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at the crowd. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?" A few people nodded mutely, still not knowing what to say, and the ghost continued. "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" he said. "My old house, you know." He smiled even more heartily and kindly to the crowd of eleven-year-olds, and Ron, too busy staring at the ghosts, did not realise that Professor McGonagall had returned. She creaked open the door of the small chamber, and walked inside.
"Move along now," she said sharply. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start." Slowly, one by one, the ghosts disappeared through a wall, still talking to each other. "Now, form a line," she said to the first-years, "And follow me." Ron bit his lips anxiously as he followed Professor McGonagall outside in a neat little line; Neville Longbottom was behind him, slightly purple in the face, and Harry was ahead. They walked outside of the little chamber, back across the glorious Entrance Hall, and this time headed to the door on the right. Ron could hear hundreds of voices chatting to each other before Professor McGonagall pushed open the double doors and the children walked into the Great Hall.
Ron had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles which were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting and talking to each other. These 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. Full of amazement and awe, Ron turned towards the ceiling, which was a velvety black sprinkled with small white stars. He heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky
outside, I read about it in Hogwarts: A History." The redhead and the other first-years gazed around the Great Hall in awe, walking a bit slower so that they could catch every sight. Ron looked at the so-called ceiling again, and wondered if what Hermione was saying was true – it did look like there was no ceiling at all, and they were just looking at the sky.
Once Harry and Ron had looked their fill, they quickly looked forward to see Professor McGonagall placing a small four-legged stool in front of them. On top of it, she silently placed a pointed black hat which was, in Ron's opinion, patched and frayed and very dirty. He wondered what they had to do with it – maybe pull a rabbit out of it, like the Muggles usually did? Well, he didn't have the slightest inkling about how to do that. Now everybody in the Great Hall was staring at the hat, so Harry and Ron stared at it too. There was complete silence for a few moments. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth – and 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 and then became quite still again. Ron was almost weak from relief; all they had to do was put a hat on! He whispered Harry this once the hat had stopped singing, and remembered the memory from two weeks ago; Fred and George were going on about wrestling a troll. Everyone began to stare at the hat once again, and the redhead absentmindedly thought about which house he would go in. Hopefully it would be Gryffindor, but Mum wouldn't say much if he got placed in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. Slytherin… well, it was complicated. Now, Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a long roll of parchment in her hand. She inspected it for a few moments, running the back of her quill down, and then looked up. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said, before looking at the parchment again, "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. There was silence for a moment, but then –
"Huffflepuff!" shouted the Hat into the crowd. The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to
sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Ron saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.
"Bones, Susan!"
"Hufflepuff!" shouted the Hat again, quicker than last time. Susan scuttled off to sit with Hannah as the Hufflepuff table burst into applause again.
"Boot, Terry!"
"Ravenclaw!" it said loudly, and the table second from the left clapped loudly as Terry walked away to sit with them. Ron could indistinctly hear the Ravenclaws talking to each other. As the Sorting passed on, Ron wondered when his turn would come. Of course, it was sorted alphabetically, so he would probably one of the last. After Harry. The redhead watched Lavender Brown be sorted into Gryffindor and listened to Fred and George catcalling from the crowd. Then a Seamus Finnigan jammed the hat onto his head, and after a whole minute, the Hat finally decided on Gryffindor.
"Granger, Hermione!" said McGonagall, and Ron's ears perked up; hopefully Hermione wouldn't be in Gryffindor – he couldn't bear her. Hermione ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly onto her head. A moment's consideration, and then –
"Gryffindor!" called the Hat. Ron groaned as he watched Hermione scuttle off to the Gryffindor table. As somebody else got sorted, the redhead peeked at Harry from the corner of his eye and saw that he was nervous too. And then a horrible thought struck him.
What if he was placed in Slytherin? What would Fred and George say? What would Percy say? What would mum think? What would Harry think? Forcing himself to not think about that scenario, Ron looked up in time to see Neville Longbottom become a Gryffindor. Poor Neville ran off to the table on the right still wearing the hat, and had to give it back to the next person hurriedly. When Malfoy's name was called, he swaggered forward and the Hat had barely touched his head before it cried out, "Slytherin!" Malfoy walked to the Slytherin table, looking very proud of himself. Ron snorted quietly.
There weren't many people left now. A Pansy Parkinson went into Slytherin too, then a girl called Parvati Patil got sorted into Gryffindor, and her twin Padma into Ravenclaw. Slowly, the crowd of first years thinned, and then, finally, Professor McGonagall looked at the parchment once more, and called out, "Potter, Harry!" Immediately, whispers followed Harry as he stood up and began to make his way towards the hat.
"Potter, did she say?"
"The Harry Potter?"
Everybody was staring at Harry now. He slipped the hat underneath his eyes, and everyone watched him warily. After a long time, the Hat finally called out, "Gryffindor!" as Harry shakily took off the hat and moved towards the Gryffindor table, where the applause had broken out immediately. Percu instantly got up and started shaking his hand, while Fred and George were yelling something. There were only three people left to be Sorted, including Ron. Some Lisa Turpin became a Ravenclaw, and then –
"Weasley, Ronald!"
Ron shakily made his way to the four-legged stool before sitting down on it. The last sight he got was of everybody in the Great Hall looking at him before he was looking at the black inside of the hat. The redhead was pale green by now, something that did not match his hair colour. One second later, however, the hat shouted, "Gryffindor!" And the right-most table burst into applause as Ron collapsed into the chair beside Harry.
"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy pompously over the loud applause that was made from the table next to them – Blaise Zabini had just been made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her piece of parchment and took the Sorting Hat away before sitting down on her seat next to Professor Dumbledore. Ron couldn't catch the other people on the teachers' table, however, as two things happened at once; Dumbledore stood up, and the redhead realised he was hungry. He looked longingly at his golden plate, which was empty, and only just realised that the Headmaster was speaking.
"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts!" said Dumbledore, once the students had quietened down. "Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" Everybody laughed and cheered as Dumbledore sat down again. Ron could distinctly hear Harry say to Percy,
"Is he a bit – mad?" And honestly, the redhead had to laugh at that. Dumbledore – mad? Well, the answer was yes, he was. But Ron had no time to think about this just yet; The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup and, for some strange reason, mint humbugs. Watching Harry's jaw drop, Ron grinned and began to stuff some food onto his plate before taking a spoon and fork and beginning to eat them.
"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, now arriving at the Gryffindor table and watching the students devoured their food hungrily.
"Can't you—?" said Harry, but he was interrupted by the ghost again.
"I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years," he said. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."
"I know who you are!" said Ron, suddenly remembering. "My brothers told me about you – you're Nearly Headless Nick!"
"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy –" the Gryffindor ghost began stiffly, but he was interrupted by a sandy-haired boy Ron knew to be Seamus Finnigan.
"Nearly Headless?" said Seamus Finnigan, "How can you be nearly headless?"
"Like this," said Nick, looking increasingly irritated aas though this conversation wasn't going the way he wanted. He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell on to his shoulder as if it
was on a hinge – all the first years gasped in surprise. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back on to his neck, coughed and said, "So – new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindor have never gone so long without winning. Slytherin have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable – he's the Slytherin ghost." Harry and Ron looked across at the Slytherin table to see a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy, too, and Ron knew that Malfoy wasn't terribly pleased with the seating arrangements.
"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus interestedly – it looked like he, too, had been looking at the Slytherin table.
"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.
When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the puddings appeared. Blocks of ice-cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding… The first-years gasped in amazement as the dessert appeared, and each one examined the food for at least a moment. Ron piled everything he could fit onto his plate, looked at the food adoringly and began to eat. "Much better than corned beef," he thought to himself as the redhead took a slice off of his apple pie and devoured it in just a couple of minutes.
As the Gryffindor students continued gobbling down their desserts, the topic of the talk turned towards families. "I'm half and a half," said Seamus, "Me dad's a Muggle. Mam didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him." Everybody laughed, including Harry and Ron.
"What about you, Neville?" asked Ron interestedly – it was definitely a good thing to get to know his classmates better.
"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the family thought I was all Muggle 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, I nearly drowned – but nothing happened until I was eight. Great-uncle Algie came round for tea and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my great-auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced – all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased. Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here – they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great-uncle Algie was so pleased
he bought me my toad."
Ron could see Hermione look absolutely scandalised at the idea of holding an eight-year-old kid out of an upstairs window by his ankles. Grinning, the redhead moved slightly closer to hear what Hermione and Percy were talking about together – when he realised it was lessons, he rolled his eyes and returned back to his food.
Once Ron was slightly full, he burped quietly and looked over at the teachers' table. In the middle, there was Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster, with his silvery white beard dangling inches from his food; next to him, there was Professor McGongall who was talking to Dumbledore; on the Headmaster's other side there was a rather small teacher who Ron didn't recognize; on the far corner closest to Gryffindor table, there was the giant from before; and in the other corner, a teacher in a large purple turban was talking to another with greasy black hair, a hooked nose and sallow skin.
Ron was just thinking how oily that teacher's hair was when Harry said "Ouch!" Immediately, the redhead whipped his head around to see Harry wincing and clutching his scar.
"What is it?" asked Percy.
"N-nothing," said Harry, letting go of his scar. Ron had the feeling that he wasn't saying the entire truth. "Who's that talking to Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked now to Percy, pointing at the teacher with the purple turban. Ron leant slightly closer to hear their conversation.
"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to – everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."
After a couple of moments, the puddings vanished too and the plates were left sparkling clean. Dumbledore wiped his face with a handkerchief before standing up; the students quietened down slightly. "Ahem – just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First-years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." His eyes twinkled in the direction of Fred and George. "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 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."
At this statement, there were only a few people who laughed – including Harry. Once the students had quietened down again, Dumbledore continued; "And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" He gave his wand a little flick as if he was trying to get a fly off the end and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which
rose high above the tables and twisted itself snake-like into words. "Everyone pick their favourite tune, and off we go!" And the school bellowed:
"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."
Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only Fred and George 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 beyond all we do
here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!" The Gryffindor first-years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall and up the marble staircase. As they walked up never-ending staircases, Ron just realised how sleepy he was. The only thing he wanted at the moment was to crawl into a comfy bed and close his eyes. They passed portraits that moved and drifting staircases, but the redhead could see that everybody was too tired to notice. It seemed like it had been forever before the group of Gryffindors finally stopped. A bundle of walking sticks was floating in mid-air ahead of them and as Percy took a step towards them they started throwing themselves at him.
"Peeves," Percy told the first-years, "A poltergeist… Peeves – show yourself." A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.
'Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?'
There was a pop and a little man with wicked dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks. "Oooooooh!" he said, 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 on Neville's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armour as he passed. "You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us Prefects. Here we are." At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.
'Password?' she said.
"Caput Draconis," said Percy loudly and clearly, so that everyone could hear, and the portrait swung forward to
reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it – Neville needed a leg up – and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cosy, round room full of squashy armchairs. Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase – they were obviously in one of the towers – they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep-red velvet curtains. Their
trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pyjamas and fell into bed.
"Great food, isn't it?" Ron muttered to Harry through the hangings. "Get off, Scabbers! He's chewing my sheets."
And, too tired to say anything else, the redhead crawled into bed, put on the blanket, and instantly fell asleep. Within minutes, he was breathing loudly. That night, his dreams were rather different – Harry seemed to be placed in Slytherin and him and Malfoy were teasing Ron together. And then Percy went ahead and gave points to Slytherin because they were doing the right thing, then he received a Howler from mum telling him to transfer to Slytherin too… and then the Sorting Hat approved this and then Ron was put in Slytherin… hopefully things at school would be better than this dream.