I Want to Go Home
Chapter Two: Sorted
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Gordon Korman's "I Want to Go Home". Anything you recognize is not mine.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who took the time to review, alert and favourite. Hope you guys enjoy the next installment!
The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross unless it became absolutely necessary.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."
The double doors swung wide and the students followed the soft click-click of Professor McGonagall's heels deeper into the castle, more than a few of the gawping at the surroundings with awed expressions on their face. The entrance hall was just as impressive as the outside of the castle, and so big you could have fit a football field inside, bleachers and all. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches that flickered in the breeze as the doors swung shut seemingly of their own accord behind them. The ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent staircase of white marble facing them led to the upper floors.
They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right –the rest of the school must already be here – but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall, her voice was quiet but she had no need to shout to command their attention, "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 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 lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on a very tall, freckly, orange-haired boy to their left who had smudged dirt on his nose.
"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall, "Please wait quietly." She left the chamber.
"How exactly do they sort us into our houses Terry, I've looked through every book I could find of course but there's nothing. Hogwarts: A History doesn't even mention it except to say that the Founders wanted to teach different types of students and that it was Godric Gryffindor who came up with the way to continue to segregate the students they would have favored into their houses but really how can they expect us to prepare—"
"Breathe Granger," said Michael, cutting off Hermione's increasingly hysterical tirade.
"There's a sort of unwritten rule that you keep the sorting more or less a secret," said Terry, "I don't know the particulars but I know you won't need to do any actual magic, so don't be too worried."
"Right," nodded Hermione, and then she began listing all the reasons she really needed to relax very fast under her breath.
"Yes, because that is the very definition of relaxation," sighed Michael.
Terry was helping Neville get his cloak on straight when behind them several people screamed. Everyone started reflexively and Michael's hand went to his wand.
"Those are ghosts," said Harry quietly, his eyes as wide as they'd ever been.
And it was true about twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Michael bit off an annoyed breath and Neville and Terry slumped against each other in relief.
"Yeah, those are the Hogwarts ghosts," said Terry.
Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing.
What looked to be the ghost of 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?" asked a ghost wearing a ruff and tights who, it seemed, had finally noticed the first years.
Nobody answered. Not even Harry could summon up a smart-mouthed comment.
"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose."
A few people nodded mutely.
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar, "My old house, you know."
"Move along now," said a sharp voice, "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start."
Professor McGonagall had returned and was shooing the ghosts along with nothing more than a stern look. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.
"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."
Hermione rushed forward eager to be first into the Great Hall and ended up next to a girl with candy-apple red hair. Terry and Neville fell into step behind a sandy-haired boy and an incredibly tall black boy and Harry and Michael followed them.
McGonagall lead the first years out of the chamber back across the entrance hall and through a set of double doors that swung open as she approached revealing the truly cavernous room beyond. The Great Hall was at least a full order of magnitude more magnificent than the entrance hall.
There were four long tables with benches that sat the whole of the student body and another table on a raised dais that sat the professors all lit by an indecent number of floating candles.
"The fire-department would have a conniption if they saw this place, and I'm sure that ceiling is not to code," Harry said flatly, surprising a soft snort of laughter from the boy behind him.
Everyone else was oohing and awing over the beauty that was the night sky and a perfectly clear representation of the stars outside, it was almost as if the Great Hall had no ceiling at all.
"It was bewitched to look like exactly the sky by Helga Hufflepuff herself, I read all about it in Hogwarts: A History," gushed Hermione in a rather loud whisper to the red-headed girl next to her.
Professor McGonagall lead them all up to the front of the hall so that they had their backs to the teachers and were facing the rest of the student body, the ghosts glittering mistily here and there stark against the sea of black and glinting gold.
There was a soft clack that echoed loudly in the silence of the hall and Harry turned his attention back to McGonagall who set a small three legged stool down in front of the line of first years and then set a pointy wizard's hat on top of it.
The hat was as patched, frayed, dirty and generally old as it was possible to be, with a great ragged tear near the brim and Harry wasn't entirely sure he wanted to put it on his head, vague warnings from his elementary school teachers about not sharing hats and lice flitting through his brain. Then the tear opened wide 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 Hufflepuff's 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 entirety of the Great Hall burst into applause at the mediocre display of music. Harry was already lamenting the loss of his iPod. The hat, for its part, looked as pleased with itself as a hat could look and bowed to all the four house tables before becoming quite still again.
"We have to try on a hat," said Michael looking singularly unimpressed.
"That does seem to be the case," agreed Harry quietly.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a long roll of parchment in hand and behind her the hall went quiet again.
"When I call your name, step forward and take a seat on the stool. I will place the Sorting Hat on your head and you will be sorted into your houses," she instructed.
She paused for a moment to make sure there were not questions and then turned to her roll of parchment.
"Abbott, Hannah," she called.
A lanky girl with coltish legs and blonde pigtails stumbled out of line and, trembling, seated herself on the stool. McGonagall then lowered the hat onto her head and it slipped right past her eyes to rest on the bridge of her nose.
After a short moment the tear in the brim of the Sorting Hat opened wide once more and the hat shouted loud enough for the whole hall to hear:
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
There was a rousing cheer from the table with the yellow accented robes and ties and as Hannah Abbott loped over to join her new house her own, robes, and tie changed to match before Harry's eyes. At least he wouldn't have to worry about buying yet more new robes, Harry reflected, watching the Fat Friar wave the girl into an empty seat.
"Bones, Susan."
The girl with the candy-apple red hair next to Hermione slipped out of line and tentatively sat herself on the very edge of the stool as though she were afraid of breaking it.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat cried again, and as soon as the hat cleared the top of her head she was off towards the cheering Hufflepuff table like a shot, dropping into the seat next to Hannah Abbott with a blinding smile.
"Boot, Terry."
Terry didn't look nervous at all and Harry took a brief moment to wonder if that genial, easy-going smile he was sporting ever came off. The hat dropped over his eyes and then seemed to take a very long time deciding, much longer than it had with either of the girls. Finally after several minutes the tear at the brim opened and the hat declared:
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Terry looked faintly surprised as the hat came off but grinned widely at the cheering table. The Gryffindors were cheering even more loudly than the Hufflepuffs, applause mixed with whistles and hooting.
"Damn," cursed Michael quietly.
"What?"
"There's no way I make Gryffindor, not in a million years. We're going to be separated."
Harry really didn't know what to say to that, though he did try to think of something as Bronson, Brown and Bulstrode went into Slytherin, Gryffindor and Slytherin. The problem was Harry didn't have any real friends and he'd never known another person since the cradle. He didn't know what it felt like to be separated from a friend like that so what comfort could he possibly give?
"Brocklehurst, Amanda."
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Corner, Michael," called McGonagall.
"Good luck," Harry offered.
"Yeah, thanks."
Michael took a fortifying breath and stepped out of the line, his resigned expression disappearing quickly beneath the brim of the hat.
"RAVENCLAW!" the hat shouted almost immediately.
The Ravenclaw table burst into sudden applause, more subdued than either the Gryffindors or the Hufflepuffs but more enthusiastic than the Slytherins, and Harry noted that at the Gryffindor table Terry was cheering his friend on as he walked toward the rest of the students with their robes done up in blue.
Cornfoot, Stephan joined him there not a moment later.
The Sorting seemed to stretch on and on, as one by one his fellow first years were divvied up by personality. It was interesting to watch to be sure, especially since the hat sometimes seemed to just know immediately where a student belonged and at other times it took a very long time for it to make up its mind. However, Harry was hungry, starving really. He hadn't eaten anything on the train and by the time the hat had finally declared Finnegan, Seamus a Gryffindor he was all for numbering the rest of the students off and sending them to sit down like they did in gym class.
When her name was called Hermione was up on that stool in a flash practically vibrating, whether in excitement or nervousness Harry couldn't really tell but when the hat shouted Gryffindor she was all excitement and Harry spared a quick thank you to all the deities he knew of that it was Terry she was plopping down next to.
Neville Longbottom, white-faced and terrified, was so relieved when he too was declared a Gryffindor that he ran off with the hat still on his head and flushing scarlet had to run back and hand it to a disapproving looking McGonagall so that Morag and Isobel MacDougal could be sorted back to back into Ravenclaw.
"Nott, Theodore."
"SLYTHERIN!"
After Nott a girl named Parkinson with an unfortunate nose also made Slytherin and twin Patils were separated for Gryffindor and Ravenclaw respectively. Perks, Sally-Ann was declared a Hufflepuff, and really where else could she go with a name like that? Then finally McGonagall called his name.
"Potter, Harry."
There was a sudden all-encompassing silence in the Great Hall but that only lasted a half-second at most before the whole school began to whisper to their neighbors and crane their necks for a good look at him.
Harry sighed. He'd almost managed to forget about this, the single most annoying aspect of the Wizarding World. His sudden fame.
"Potter?" hissed the crowd.
"The Harry Potter?"
"Do you see him?"
"Is it really him?"
Harry was almost glad when he sat himself carefully on the rickety three-legged stool and allowed Professor McGonagall to drop the must old hat over his eyes and ears blocking out the rest of the world entirely. It was almost as good as his earphones, not that he wished the hat would sing again. Once had been plenty.
"And just what is wrong with my singing young Potter?" demanded a voice.
It sounded like the hat. He hadn't heard the hat speaking to anyone else though, so the voice must be inside his mind.
"Very astute young Potter, yes, I can read your mind."
Harry didn't like the idea of that at all, first boarding school now he didn't even have privacy in his own head.
"Oh, stop your carping, it's not that bad. Now let us see here. Ooh difficult, very difficult, plenty of courage I see, fairly loyal as well, but lazy yes…yes. A good mind, and talent, oh yes, now that is interesting…"
'Hey,' thought Harry rather suddenly, barely able to believe that the idea hadn't occurred to him while he was waiting in line with the other students, 'If you can't decide on a place to sort me you can always send me home, right? Just say that there's been some sort of mistake—'
"Oh no you don't Potter, you're staying right here whether you like it or not."
'And I don't like it,' Harry clarified, in case the hat wasn't clear on his stance on the matter.
"You don't have to like it. It's such a pity you have no great ambition," sighed the hat, "With cunning and talent like that you would have done marvelously in Slytherin, as it is though, better be RAVENCLAW!"
When McGonagall took the hat from his head she seemed to be a tad surprised. The Ravenclaw table broke into the loudest round of applause that Harry had heard from them yet and Harry scowled as he took a seat next to Michael who looked at him like he'd grown a third or fourth head.
"It's rude to stare," Harry pointed out.
"You're Harry Potter," said Michael incredulously.
"That does seem to be the case," Harry agreed easily.
"But that—you…" Michael trailed off sputtering and unable to complete a sentence.
"Think about what you want to say and in the meantime have a roll," suggested Harry shoving the warm lump of crusty bread into the other Ravenclaw's gawping mouth with more force than was absolutely necessary.
While Michael had been busy trying to get his words out the Sorting had been finished and Dumbledore had stood up to say a few decidedly random words, and now the tables were filled to bursting with large golden platters heaped high with delicious looking food.
"Did you have to do that?" Michael demanded snappishly, spitting the roll out onto his plate.
Harry considered the question with all due seriousness before nodding firmly.
"Yes," he said as he scooped a large dollop of fluffy mashed potatoes neatly onto one side of his plate, "I really did."
Michael scowled as he began to roughly deposit food onto his plate, clearly annoyed, but at least he wasn't acting like some sun-struck featherbrain anymore.
"You're the kid who made that crack about the fire-department, yeah?" said the blond boy sitting across from Harry, "You muggleborn too?"
"Halfblood but muggle-raised," Harry answered.
"Sweet, I was worried I'd be the only one, I'm Kevin Entwhistle by the way."
"Harry."
"Good to meetcha, these two blokes doing a goldfish impression at you are Stephan Cornfoot and Anthony Goldstein by the way," said Kevin gesturing to the blond on his left and the willowy brunet on his right.
When they still couldn't stop staring Kevin smacked them both upside the head.
"Oi, peabrains, all the dinner'll be gone if you don't stop ogling, yeah?"
The smack and genial scold seemed to jolt both the boys out of their trance and they flushed brightly, mumbling incoherent greetings before using dinner as an excuse not to meet Harry's cool gaze.
"Don't mind 'em, they're decent blokes, I spent the whole of the train ride with 'em," Kevin added.
Harry eyed the two boys dubiously but decided not to argue. It looked like he was going to have enough trouble with the females in his year, they had all gathered at the end of the table and were pointing whispering and giggling. All danger signs when it came to the fairer sex, especially the giggling.
Harry tuned them out with the ease of long practice and instead started eavesdropping shamelessly as Stephan Cornfoot pointed out all the different professors for Kevin in between delicate bites of meat pie.
"—is Hagrid of course, he's the groundskeeper, gamekeeper and keeper of the keys. Rumor has it he also does important errands for Dumbledore on the side. Thoroughly Dumbledore's man that one. He was given a job here after being expelled from Hogwarts as a student.
The empty seat on the far end is meant for Trelawney the divination Professor, she's a bit of a wing-nut or so I hear, and almost never comes down from her tower.
Next to him is Charity Burbage, you'll know her as well she's in charge of going around to all the muggleborns and getting them acclimatized. She teaches Muggle Studies, supposed to be a fair sort but not that interesting.
Next to her is Bathsheda Babbling, she teaches Ancient Runes and beside her is Professor Pomona Sprout who teaches Herbology and is Head of Hufflepuff house.
McGonagall you know, Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor, yadda yadda, and she's next to Dumbledore of course. Now there's an odd duck. He's brilliant, done things with a wand and cauldron other wizards can only dream of, a true prodigy. He defeated the Dark Lord Grindelwald in the forties. He worked with Nicholas Flamel on the twelve uses of dragon's blood back in the day but his real power lies in his ability to manipulate words and people. He's got his hands in every major and minor political going on in the country and most of them out of Britain for that matter. The only reason he's not Minister for Magic a hundred times over is because he keeps refusing the job.
On Dumbledore's other side is Filius Flitwick, he's Ravenclaw's Head of House and he teaches charms. Don't let his size fool you though; he was a dueling champion when he was younger. Next to him is Severus Snape, he's Head of Slytherin and teaches potions. He's the youngest person to attain a potion's mastery in the past century but he's a crap teacher. He blatantly favors his house and takes points left right and centre from all the other houses. Everyone knows that he'd rather be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts but that's Quirrell's job this year. Quirinus Quirrell is the young one in the ridiculous purple turban next to Snape."
Just then Snape glanced over the top of Quirrell's head and his gaze met Harry's head on and something very strange happened. The lightning bolt scar on his forehead, the one that Harry had never paid much mind to until he'd found out it was the reason he was so damn famous, flared with a sudden burning pain. Before he could school his expression, Harry outright flinched at the pain and dropped his eyes back to his plate.
"You alright Harry?" asked Kevin concerned.
He was fine. A tad shaken but the pain had gone as quickly as it had come and he had no interest in drawing attention to his famous scar.
"Bit my tongue," Harry said softly flicking his gaze tentatively back up to the head table.
Snape was no longer paying the students any mind, though, having engaged Quirrell in conversation. Harry relaxed minutely into his seat.
"Anyway, Stephan you were telling us about Quirrell, do you know where he got that stupid thing on his head?" put in Anthony Goldstein.
"Not a clue," shrugged the willowy brunet boy, taking a sip of the pumpkin juice Harry was making a point to avoid.
"Do you know why he looks so nervous?" asked Michael, "Besides the fact that he's got Snape breathing down his neck of course."
"Well the story is he switched his mastery from muggle studies to Defense and he was fine while studying out of the books but when he went off to get some field experience in the Black Forest out in Albania something out there spooked him good. Now he's scared of everything, his subject, his students, his shadow. He won't last the year I'll bet."
"Nobody with half a brain is going to take that bet Cornfoot," sneered Michael, "Everyone knows about the curse."
"I don't, yeah," Kevin protested, "What curse? Who got cursed?"
"It's not a who as such," Michael explained, "It's the Defense position itself, each year teachers are driven off by one thing or another. A few of them have actually up and died. Hogwarts has had a different Defense teacher every year for going on 50 years."
"Dumbledore's been having real trouble hiring I hear," added Anthony shaking his head, "Nobody wants the job anymore, it doesn't matter what the pay is or what the benefits are. People are scared."
"Or just sensible," said Harry, "I wouldn't take a job I knew was cursed."
"True," agreed Stephan, reaching for a platter of desert that had suddenly appeared, "But I'm getting off topic, next to Quirrell is Septima Vector, she's the Arithmacy professor. I hear she's tough but fair. Gives a mountain of homework though and her exams are always the hardest. Next to her is Rolanda Hooch she teaches flying and refs all the Quidditch matches."
"What's Quidditch?" interrupted Kevin only to be met with incredulous stares from the three boys with all wizarding background, "What's with the look? All muggle family here!"
"Quidditch is our sport, it's played in the air on brooms, like football only a hundred times cooler!" gushed Anthony.
Harry thought that Quidditch would probably be interesting to watch but vowed never to play it himself. The very thought of nothing but an enchanted twig between his legs keeping him from being street pizza enough to send a frisson of healthy fear racing down his spine.
After Quidditch had been mentioned though, Stephan was side-tracked from his descriptions and drawn into a debate about broom models and teams that was enough to make Harry's head spin with confusion. Still there were only three people left un-introduced at the head table, a harried looking man with a missing arm, a pretty middle-aged woman with stars on her robes and in her hair, and a kindly looking woman in a getup that immediately labeled her the school nurse.
Just as Harry was considering whether or not he would be able to fit a third helping of desert into his already bursting stomach and things between Michael and Stephan were getting heated about just which broom was the best for chasers, Dumbledore stood up and raised his hands. All at once the hall fell silent and the food disappeared from the platters.
"Ahern - 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 blue eyes flashed in the direction of the Gryffindor table, directly at a pair of red-headed highly freckled twins if their maniacal grins were anything to go by.
"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."
A few people laughed hesitantly as though they thought this might be a joke but Dumbledore looked perfectly serious.
"He's not serious, is he Steph?" asked Kevin worrying his lower lip between his teeth.
"Don't call me that," snapped Stephan, before frowning at Dumbledore again, "He must be, though. He's not the sort to joke about that kind of thing."
"All the more reason to leave, before I get turned around in the halls and end up dead," Harry said matter-of-factly.
The girls, who had apparently been eavesdropping, began to titter nervously amongst themselves. The older Ravenclaw prefect from the train leaned around the boy sitting next to her to give Harry a stern glare.
"That's enough out of you Potter, pay attention!"
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore.
Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed and he could guess why having already been exposed once this night to the torture that was what wizards thought of as music.
Dumbledore 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, snakelike, into words.
"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "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.
Harry valiantly refrained from outright clapping his hands over his ears but couldn't hold in the wincing as the very concept of music was butchered all around him. Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the red-headed Gryffindor twins with the insane grins 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. Harry didn't clap at all.
"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here!"
"I can see that," Harry agreed in an undertone.
"And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
"Oi, you were supposed to be singing!" Kevin said nudging Harry under the table with his foot.
"I don't sing," said Harry calmly.
"All the better for me I suppose," said Michael who looked like he too would have rather been plugging his ears for the whole ordeal.
"Alright First Years, come on, gather around here!" called the bossy Ravenclaw prefect.
The first years got up and gathered around her so reluctantly Harry followed. The prefect surveyed them taking a head count and then consulting a list before nodding to herself. With a swish of her wand the list vanished.
"Welcome First Years to Ravenclaw house, I am the fifth year prefect, Penelope Clearwater, and this is my counterpart Dave Hatton," she said waving to the tall grinning student behind her, "We are here to guide you until you find your feet here at Hogwarts and you can feel free to come to us with any questions."
She paused to make sure no one was dying to ask a question but after the ordeal of the train ride, Sorting Ceremony and feast, not even the bright Ravenclaws could muster up a question or two from beneath the fog of fatigue.
"Alright then, follow me."
Penelope led them out of the Great Hall and back into the entrance hall, up that grand marble staircase and then across what felt like the entire castle and then up again. It seemed a little like a fairy tale, and in Harry's brain an annoying Disney narrator was chanting 'In the highest room of the tallest tower…' over and over while his legs carried him forward on autopilot.
When they finally reached the top of a spiral staircase they all packed tight on a landing in front of a door with no knob or key hole but only a bronze doorknocker in the shape of an eagle.
"This is the entrance to the Ravenclaw Tower. Unlike the other Houses our Tower has no password. Ask to enter and the guardian will give you a riddle. If you give an acceptable answer you will be admitted. If you cannot give a correct answer then you will have to wait for someone who can answer the riddle."
Harry thought this was perhaps one of the most ridiculous things he had ever heard, but out of politeness refrained from saying so aloud.
"Allow me to demonstrate."
"May I enter?" Penelope asked the bronze eagle.
The eagle roused itself and blinked at her.
"What gets wetter and wetter the more it dries?" asked the doorknocker.
"Towel," answered Dave Hatton, still grinning as if this were the most fun he'd ever had.
"You may enter."
The doorknocker stilled and the door swung inward to reveal a short passagway leading into a room well lit by lamps and fireplaces.
"Welcome to the Ravenclaw common room."
The room was wide and circular and the very definition of airy. Where the stone walls were not set with high arched windows draped in blue and bronze silk they were obscured by white wood bookshelves filled with volume upon volume of magical text. The floor around the outside of the room was made of white marble but two steps down the main body of the room was lined with plush midnight blue carpet and there were brown leather couches, chaise lounges and rounded armchairs upholstered in blue crushed velvet and there were a couple of upper year students lounging about in groups, chatting quietly and getting caught up with friends they hadn't seen all summer. The second tier of the common room, accessible by another, thinner, spiral staircase was ringed with scrubbed white wood tables and old-style study cubicles. The domed ceiling was painted with stars and against the far wall there was a white marble statue of a noble lady with a book in one arm and an eagle alighting on the other, which was held up to provide a perch.
"Beyond the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw there are two doors, the boys' dormitory is through the door on the right-hand side, the girls' dorm is on the left. There will be a plaque above the door denoting the year to which the occupants beyond it belong and each year group has its own attached bathroom. Please take a copy of the first year timetable and a map before you head to bed. Tomorrow breakfast will be served in the Great Hall starting at six and will end at nine. Your fist class starts at eight and you will all want to give yourself plenty of time to get something to eat and find your classroom so I don't recommend having a lie in."
Penelope's eyes lingered on Harry as though she thought that he was the one most likely to pull that kind of stunt.
"Alright, that's everything for now. If any of you have questions Dave and I will be in the common room and available to answer them for the next twenty minutes."
The first years grabbed their map and timetable and trudged past the statue and through the doors leading into the dormitories. The boys found theirs at the top of the stairs and Kevin pushed the door open to reveal a semicircular room with five white wood four poster beds hung with blue velvet drapes and topped with sky blue silk eiderdown comforters. At the foot of each bed was a trunk and next to each bed was a small desk with a chair and a bookshelf that served double duty as a nightstand. There was one door leading off the main room and it opened into the promised bathroom which was stocked with toiletries for those who'd forgotten to pack their own.
"Well I'm all for turning in early, s'been a long day, yeah," Kevin said moving to his new bed and rummaging around in his trunk until he came up with a set of pajamas and a toothbrush and then disappearing into the bathroom.
Too tired to talk much the other boys followed his lead. Stripping out of their uniforms and brushing their teeth and washing their faces mechanically, mumbling half-hearted 'g'nights' to each other before collapsing onto their four posters and curling up in their comforters.
Harry blessed whoever had the foresight to add hangings to the beds because drawing them shut around his bed he had enough privacy that he could drift off relatively easily, wishing in vain that his iPod worked in this bloody castle.
That night he dreamed strange dreams.