I feel like I haven't posted for a long time, even though it's only been 2 weeks. This story isn't getting very popular, so I would appreciate it if you guys can tell me what I can do better?
Chapter 6: The Feast
The door swings open immediately, like someone has been waiting for your arrival, which there probably was. A tall, black haired witch in emerald-green robes looking no older than sixty stands in the doorway. However, you've learned that wizards often live longer and look younger than they are. She has a very stern face, and the first thought that comes to your mind is that this is not someone to cross. You immediately extinguish your hands.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall." Hagrid greets her.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." Professor McGonagall even has a very strict voice. It's like she was created to be a teacher.
She pulls the door wide open. The entrance hall was so big it can hold a whole house if it wanted to. Torches lined the walls like Gringott, and the ceiling was too high to make out well. A magnificent marble staircase leads to the upper floors, whose torches are currently out.
The new students follow Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. The drone of hundreds of voices can be heard through a doorway to the right, but Professor McGonagall shows all of you to a small chamber off the hall. The first years huddle together in a small circle, closer together than you feel comfortable with, many of you peering about nervously. The room is dimly lit, and you can barely make out anymore than the chess-patterned black and white floor. Professor McGonagall regards you sternly.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry," says the professor. "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."
Like a proper home, with many siblings. You think to yourself.
"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 rulebreaking 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.
"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 linger for a moment on Neville's cloak, which is fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. You see Harry desperately trying to flatten his hair, which is a losing battle, and hold back a giggle.
You wear a smug grin on your lips. Rosier had told you that you would be a Slytherin - all of the death eaters were. But the expression is immediately wiped off your face on your second thought - wouldn't it be better if you become a Gryffindor, which never produced a single dark wizard? No one will suspect you. You decide to take your chance and make your way into Gryffindor. According to A History of Hogwarts, students are sorted by the sorting hat, which is sentient and will read one's mind. So if you can fool the hat - well, you can be in whichever house you want. Just don't let it into your mind, like Morrigan told you.
Speaking of Morrigan, the old raven hasn't visited you for the last few days. What is she doing? You've seen her everyday for at least a year. Perhaps she is at Hogwarts already, waiting for you.
"I shall return when we are ready for you." Professor McGonagall turns around and head for the door. "Please wait quietly."
As soon as she left, the room bursts into furious whispers. People are looking petrified, and asking around how they will be sorted into houses. Seriously, has anyone read their textbooks? At least the Muggleborns should have, how can they not be curious?
You ignore the controlled chaos and close your eyes, clearing your mind like the old raven taught you to. You leave all your worries and thoughts behind and sit atop the clouds, and look down at your old problems with disgust, like a gardener looking at thorns. Taking a deep breath, you - are rudely interrupted by several screams and a collective gasp. You feel a cold gust blowing on your body and open your eyes.
People around you are looking horrified and you understand why. About twenty pearly white and transparent figures streams through the wall, gliding in the air, talking to each other, and barely noticing the first years.
"Ghosts!" You gasp out loud and laugh. You've read about the ghosts in A History of Hogwarts - they seem to have a rich history, many of them minor historic figures. There's also a poltergeist called Peeves, and he's not exactly a ghost. He's never been alive, he just sort of - came to be. He is known for wreaking havoc and pranking both staff and students.
Two of them seem to be arguing. ""Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance -" What seems like a fat little monk says.
"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 that looks like it jumped straight out of a Shakespearean play suddenly notices all of the little first years.
No one answers, too intimidated to do anything.
"New students!" The Fat Friar says, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"
There are a few nods, you one of them.
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" Says the Friar. "My old house, you know."
"Move along now," A sharp voice says in the back. You turn around to see Professor McGonagall back again. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start."
One by one, the ghosts drift through the opposite wall.
"Now, form a line," She tells all of you. "And follow me."
All of the first years obey immediately. You follow Ron, who is behind Harry, having a bad feeling that you are maybe making friends with the infamous Harry Potter, your enemy. You walk out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.
And the light from thousands of floating candles pour across your face, giving you a feeling that you've stepped into heaven. The candles are floating over four long tables, representing the four houses, where the rest of the students were sitting, and not dripping wax at all. If you thought the chocolate frogs were advanced wizarding nonsense, this is definitely elite wizarding nonsense. These tables are laid with golden plates and goblets - and you wonder why gold is so expensive in the muggle world. At the top of the hall is another long table where the teachers are sitting - and you nearly laugh out loud at the variety in the teachers' appearances. From the gigantic Hagrid to another professor the height of a goblin, and from the wise looking Dumbledore to a bespectacled woman that makes her eyes look like bug eyes.
Professor McGonagall leads all of you up there, so that you come to a halt in a line facing the older students, with the teachers behind you. The hundreds of faces staring up at you looks like pale lanterns in the flickering candle light. Dotted here and there between the students, the ghosts shine misty silver. You wear a faint smile, glance up at the ceiling, and stop dead.
You have read that the ceiling of the Great Hall was enchanted to look like the sky outside, but you hadn't know that it would be so magnificent. It was hard to believe that there is a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall doesn't simply open onto the heavens. Stars more numerous than the candles and students combined crowds a velvety black sky, and you can see the faint outline of galaxies. A shining silver moon loom before your eyes, as huge as a salad plate. The craters are as clear as the lines on your palm. This kind of view can only be seen somewhere tucked in the corner of the world, far away from civilization. You decide that you're going to spend hours staring up at this ceiling.
You quickly look down again to see Professor McGonagall places a stool in front of the first years, and plop a dirty, torn old wizard's hat on top of it. It is so muddy you probably wouldn't let it into your room.
"The Sorting Hat," You breath out. The little girl next to you glances sidelong at you in disbelief. You wouldn't believe yourself either if you were in her shoes.
Everyone is staring at the hat, including you. Then suddenly, a rip near its brim opens up like a mouth and it starts singing. You did not read about this part of the hat.
"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 Great Hall rings with applause as the Hat finishes its song. You join them, but slightly questionably. Why are you clapping for a hat? But it bows to the four tables and stays still again.
Ron besides you whispers furiously to Harry. "So we've just got to try on the hat! I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."
You grin a little, but the hat seems to be very inquisitive, and you're afraid of it questioning your motives. But you'll try your best - it's not absolutely necessary that you be in Gryffindor.
Professor McGonagall now steps forward 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 says. "Abbott, Hannah."
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbles out of line, put on the hat, which falls right down over her eyes, and sits down. A moments pause -
"HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hat shouts out.
The table on the far right claps and cheers as Hannah goes to join their table. Hufflepuff is for the royal, you think, definitely not for me.
"Bones, Susan."
"HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hat shouts again. Susan scuttles off to sit with Hannah.
"Boot, Terry."
"RAVENCLAW!"
The table second from the left claps this time; several Ravenclaws stands up to shake hands with Terry as he joins them.
The wise, you summarize. Probably not for me either. I don't even know how to do math.
After another Ravenclaw, "Brown, Lavender" becomes the first new Gryffindor. The Table on the far left explodes with cheer and applause. You see the red headed twins catcalling.
"Bulstrode, Millicent" becomes the first Slytherin. They do look like an unpleasant and grim faced lot. Maybe you have made the right decision to not join Slytherin.
You notice that sometimes the Hat shouts out the answer at once, but sometimes it takes a moment. I Gryffindor, Seamus Finnigan, almost sat there a whole minute before the Hat declared his house. Perhaps some people are harder to read, and has more vastly different personalities.
"Granger, Hermione."
She almost runs to the stool and jams the Hat eagerly on.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Ron groans.
The Hat takes its particularly long time with Neville Longbottom, the boy who keeps losing his toad. When it finally declares him "GRYFFINDOR!", he runs off to the table with the hat still on, causing gales of laughter.
Malfoy swaggers forward when his name is called. You are proud to see that the corner of his robe is still singed. The Hat is still held above his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"
He goes off to join Crabbe and Goyle, looking extremely pleased with himself.
Some other people goes up to the hat - Moon, Nott, Parkinson, and a pair of twins (Patils), then -
"Potter, Harry!"
As the messy-haired boy steps forward, whispers break out throughout the Great Hall.
"Potter, did she say?"
"The Harry Potter?"
People half stands up to get a craning look at him. Poor boy, you think to yourself. But he needs no sympathy. You just hope that he doesn't become arrogant, like Malfoy did.
"GRYFFINDOR!" The Hat finally decides.
An explosion of cheer comes from the Gryffindor table, the loudest one yet. A leader-looking red headed boy stands up and vigorously shakes Harry's hand, completely speechless, while the Weasley twins yell "We got Potter! We got Potter!" He sits down near the ghost in the ruff you saw earlier.
There aren't many people to be sorted by now - you, Ron, and two other boys.
"Thomas, Dean."
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Turpin, Lisa."
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Waldgrave, Amy."
If you didn't feel nervous before, you certainly do now. When your name was called, there were some murmuring going on throughout the hall, particularly loud in Slytherin. Perhaps they all thought, like Malfoy, that there were no Walgraves left? Well, they're wrong. It's you. You exist.
You use your best confident walk to approach the stool. Professor McGonagall drops the Hat onto your head, and you are drowned in darkness.
You shut your mind completely, blacking it out, which wasn't hard, because you are covered in blackness. A prickling feeling invade your neck, just like the one in Ollivander's shop. You immediately knew that there is no way you can block out the hat - there is strong magic at work. Your palm starts to sweat. You grasp the stool tighter.
"Oh! Oh, what a pleasant surprise. A Waldgrave! Haven't seen one in years. Now, where to put you." A small voice says in your ear.
"You're not going to expose me?" You think to it, surprised.
"Hmm? Expose you as what?"
You realize that the Sorting Hat only knows about things it's been taught or experienced because it's a hat, and hats can't hear about current events.
"Nevermind." You think.
"Then let's keep going, shall we?" A pause. "Oho! Some very mixed opinions, hm? A brilliant mind, filled with talent, yes! Very powerful, very powerful indeed. Both cunning and brave, and certainly determined - oh, very difficult."
The Hat reminds you of Ollivander.
"So what shall it be?"
"I've always wanted to be in Gryffindor." From like, five minutes ago.
"Are you sure? You'd do well in Slytherin - ruthless, you are. Some of your family were there. No? Alright then, better be -
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The last word was shouted out, ringing in your ear. You take the Hat off numbly and hand it to Professor McGonagall. You had done it! You fooled the Hat! You walk off towards the far left table, and notice in the back of your mind that they are only giving unsure, polite applause. The leader boy shakes your hand surely and introduced himself as Percy Weasley, the Gryffindor prefect, but you sense his nervousness. They're unsure of you, and your Waldgrave line. You take a seat opposite from Harry.
A minute later you are joined by Ron, who is looking a little green in the face. He was just congratulated on his arrival at Gryffindor by his brothers.
When the rest of the students has been sorted, Professor McGonagall rolls up the scroll of names and takes the stool away. Professor Dumbledore gets to his feet and beam at the students, the light in his blue eyes dancing, his arms open, as if nothing can please him more than seeing all of his students here.
"Welcome," he says. "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 sits back down. You give a quiet chuckle - he sounds exactly like the whimsical old man you met at your orphanage. Harry across from you, however, looks rather dubious about the old headmaster.
"Is he - a bit mad?" He asks Percy.
"Mad?" Percy responds airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"
The plates of the Great Hall suddenly piles up with mounds of food, every kind imaginable - roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy - and some unimaginable ones too, like mint humbug, for some reason.
"House elves," You mutter to yourself as you help yourself to some lamb chops. Again, you've read about them in your textbook. They work in the kitchen, and they have their own special branch of magic, just like the Goblins. They usually belong to a master, unless they are freed by an item of clothing, but they hate freedom. It's a form of punishment, like disowning a child.
"I've always wondered where they are," Hermione, who is sitting next to you, appears to have heard you muttering. "It's nice to see that someone else has read the textbooks."
"Yes, same here." You dig into your lamb chops. Looks like Hermione Granger have mutual feelings for you, too.
"Are you a muggleborn? People that are enthusiastic often are," She asks you, helping herself to some fluffy mashed potatoes.
"No, I'm pureblooded." You try to control the twist of disgust on your face. "I'm raised with them, though. Lived in an orphanage."
"Oh, I'm sorry." She pauses her fork, unsure of what to do.
"It doesn't matter." Comes your reply.
"That does look good." A nearby ghost drifts over to Harry's side, pointedly watching Harry cut up his steak. It is the ghost in the ruff and tights you saw earlier.
"Can't you - ?" Harry turns his head to look at the ghost.
"I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," says the ghost. "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!" Says Ron. "My brothers told me about you - you're Nearly Headless Nick!"
"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy -" the ghost begins stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupts him.
"Nearly headless? How can you be nearly headless?"
Both you and Hermione starts mutely shaking your heads at him before he could finish, but to no effect. He continues anyway, because he doesn't care that someone obviously thinks it's a bad idea.
Sir Nicholas looks extremely miffed, as if the little chat isn't going at all the way he wanted it to.
"Like this." He seizes his left ear and pulls, immediately leading to his head swing off his neck and falling onto his shoulder as if there is a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flips his head back onto his neck, coughs, and says, "So - new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable - he's the Slytherin ghost."
You all look over to see a blood-covered ghost sitting next to Malfoy at the Slytherin. His gaunt face holds blank eyes that stares emptily into space. You are pleased to see that Malfoy doesn't look very pleased with the seating arrangements.
"How did he get covered in blood?" Seamus asks with great interest.
"I've never asked," Sir Nicholas answers delicately.
When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food fades from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appears. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding…
As you help yourself to some trifle, the talk turns to family.
"Muggleborn." Hermione was eating strawberry ice cream. "Both my parents are dentists. You know, teeth adjustments?"
People around her are looking very confused.
"I'm half and half," says 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."
The others laugh.
"What about you, Neville?" Asks Ron, who everyone knows is pureblood. Hogwarts is full of Weasleys.
"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," says 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 dinner, 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."
Neville is the nervous sort of boy that goes on and on but looks uncomfortable when he finishes, like expecting someone to criticize him, or afraid that he's said too much.
"What about you, Amy?" Asks Ron. Everyone else has shared except for you and Harry, but everyone knows where he comes from.
"It's a little confusing with me." You answer truthfully. "Both my parents were magical, but they're dead, so I grew up in an orphanage, with muggles and stuff." Pausing a little, you add, "But someone told me that there has been no Waldgraves for years? They died out when Voldemort -"
There comes several gasps.
"Oh get over it, I'm saying his name. There's nothing to be afraid of in a name." You snarl. You see Neville going white. "Sorry. Anyway, they died during the last wizarding war. So I guess no one knew they had a baby? But apparently they knew I existed, because Dumbledore came to me and invited me here? Like ? What?"
They were all silent, some staring at you, some at their plate. Finally, Ron speaks up.
"My father works in the ministry. He said something about the list of enrollment - they can see where the unregistered magic is coming from, but they can't see who they are. So that's why they send people to talk to muggleborns - to register them. Purebloods only get a letter because they should be registered at birth. So often times people can get problems because an unregistered magic user, like a house elf or something, could go to their area and use magic, and it would appear like they used magic. Anyway, you're parents probably didn't - er, didn't register you?"
He looks like he's questioning his own logic.
"When Dumbledore came to me, though, he knew who I was. He knew that I was a Waldgrave, and he wasn't surprised." This is a mystery to everyone.
"It usually isn't Dumbledore that visits muggleborns, Amy." Says Percy. "He probably knew that it was you doing all that magic, and he came to see you himself. He's - well, he's Dumbledore. You've seen how he is - unpredictable, and a little mad."
You think for a while, and nod your head. "That's probably true."
So, there you go, mystery solved, and you fit in again. On your other side, Hermione and Percy started talking about lessons. They talk off transfiguration, and how it's suppose to be really hard.
You suddenly remember your little mission again. Looking up at the high table, you see Hagrid drinking deeply from his goblet. You shudder to think of him drunk. Professor Dumbledore is deep in conversation with Professor McGonagall, and the nervous young man you met in Diagon Alley, Professor Quirrell, in a purple turban, is talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. He is dressed in all black. The moment you start to frown, he turns his head to look at you. You see beady pits of darkness in his eyes and immediately realize that this might be the infamous Professor Snape, the one you're going to have to talk to. And you simultaneously realize that it's going to be a difficult chat, for he does not look like a happy fellow. The deep line between his eyebrows and his turned down corners of his mouth gives him a permanent frown. He looks past you and away, turning his attention to Harry.
"Ow!" Harry suddenly gives a gasp of pain.
"What is it, Harry?" You ask him.
"Nothing." He is rubbing his scar.
At last, the desserts disappeared too, and Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall falls 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 flashes in the direction of the Weasley twins. They grin mischievously. You decide to approach them later and learn a few tricks.
"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."
You laugh, along with Harry, but you're one of the very few that did.
"He's not serious?" Harry mirrors the question you were going to ask Percy.
"Must be," answers Percy, frowning up at Dumbledore. Then he mutters something about Dumbledore should have explained the reason to them Prefects.
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" The smiles on the faces of the other teachers suddenly become rather fixed.
Dumbledore gives his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flies out of it, which rises high above the tables and twists itself, snakelike, into words.
"Everyone picks their favourite tune," Dumbledore says cheerfully. "And off we go!"
And the school starts bellowing a horrible mixture of songs all consisting of the following lyrics:
"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."
Everyone finished their version of the song at different times, the twins finally finishing in tune to a funeral march, whose last few lines were conducted by Dumbledore using his wand as baton. He was one of those who clapped the loudest.
"Ah, music," he says, wiping his eyes, "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
The Gryffindor first years follows Percy the Prefect out of the Great Hall and through corridors full of moving portraits, pointing and whispering. Many times he lead you through hallways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. You climb up staircases and come to a sudden halt, in front of a bundle of walking sticks floating in midair.
Percy bravely takes a step forward, causing the walking sticks to start throwing themselves at him.
"Peeves," He whispers to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raises his voice, loud enough for several portraits to stir in their sleep. "Peeves - show yourself!"
A loud, rude sound, like the air coming out of a balloon, answers.
"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 appears, floating cross- legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.
"Oooooooh!" He says, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"
He suddenly swoops at the first years. You duck, along with everyone else.
"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" Barks Percy.
Peeves sticks out his tongue and vanishes, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head. They hear him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passes by.
"You want to watch out for Peeves," Says 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." Percy is very full of himself. "Here we are."
At the very end of the hallway is a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress that looks like it's about to burst.
"Password?" She says.
"Caput Draconis." Percy answers surely, and the portrait swings forward to reveal a large round hole in the wall. You all scramble through it - Neville needs a leg up - and finds yourself in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room decorated in scarlet and gold full of squashy armchairs and hanging portraits, including one of a younger but obvious Professor McGonagall.
Percy directs the boys through one door to their dormitory and the girls through another. At the top of a spiral staircase - they are obviously in one of the towers - you find your beds: five four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Your trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, the others pulls on their pajamas and fell into bed, but you had yet to finish your day.
You sneak down to the common room again after Percy leaves for the older boys' dorm, and glance out the window through the velvet curtains. You see a black bird soaring through the sky and grin - Morrigan is here.
You extend your hand out the window, and the dark shape lands on your forearm. You pull it into the light, into the common room brightly lit by a burning fire place enchanted to dispel smoke.
"Hello, Morrigan," You say. "Haven't seen you in a while."
"Hello," It croaks. "Well, you're going to see plenty of me now, I'm going to be living with you for seven years. I hope you have a cage, because I will poop all over the place."
"Yeah, I'll get one for you." You wave away the statement. "But say, old raven, do you deliver letters?"
"Just for you, little fam." It hops onto a table, pecking at the wood.
You go upstairs to pick up a quill and some parchment. When you have returned, Morrigan had somehow managed to find some banana bread and is pecking at it. Sucking on your quill, You begin to write.
Dear Avitus,
I am pleased to inform you that I have made my way into Gryffindor. I understand that I was suppose to be sorted into Slytherin, but the Hat does not know I have joined the army of one of the most ambitious and powerful wizard. Thus, I realize that a Gryffindor identity would raise less suspicion for me as a spy. It will be much easier to gain everyone's trust when I am not placed in the house known for cunningness.
I will keep you informed as I progress into this mission, I plan on talking to Professor Snape tomorrow.
Yours sincerely,
You know who I am.
You feel like keeping your identity secret just in case the letter was intercepted.
"Ready?" You role the little piece of paper up and tie it to Morrigan's leg with a piece of leather.
"That's my middle name." She squawks.
Then without another word, it flaps out the window and soars off into the darkness, it's body a black shadow against the silver moon.
"Be safe," you whisper into the night, and head upstairs for sleep at last. A long day is ahead of you tomorrow.
But are you ready?
So here it is, Amy is in Hogwarts. Please follow or like, or put your advices bellow. Thanks for reading!