1stSeptember 1991

The Sorting Hat was a very odd thing indeed. He'd braced himself for unicorns, dragons, ghosts, and talking animals. But he hadn't expected talking clothing! After an explanatory song it was time for them all to try on the hat, much to Ron's relief (he'd apparently been expecting to have to fight a troll).

Hermione got into her favoured choice of Gryffindor, as did Neville after a longer wait under the hat. Harry clapped for both of them, and gave Neville an encouraging smile and a wave when he glanced a little worriedly in his direction. They would be friends no matter what – he wasn't going to give up the chance of a real friend even if they ended up in different Houses. Malfoy ended up in Slytherin – no doubt Ron would be pleased. There weren't as many people left now.

He heard the call for "Moon" …, "Nott" …, "Parkinson, Pansy" …, then there were some others. It was Pansy Parkinson's name that caught his attention and made him lose track of the Sorting. That was his grandmother's family name! His grandmother Heather had a flower name too, and gave flower names to Lily and Petunia. Perhaps there was a relation here at Hogwarts? Could Pansy be a Muggle-born cousin of his? Pansy had been sorted into Slytherin, and seemed warmly welcomed at that table. Ron had seemed to imply that only "blood purists" were welcome in Slytherin. Maybe they weren't all bad.

"Potter, Harry!"

Harry was jerked out of his reflections and stepped forward to try on the hat, doing his best to ignore the very embarrassing outbreak of whispers all over the hall. Couldn't they just treat him like everyone else?

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "A little divided but not too difficult. A good mind. There's talent and determination, oh my goodness yes – such a strong thirst to succeed in your goals and so much ambition. And indisputably cunning! You know how to get what you want, no doubt about that. I definitely know where to put you…"

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and frantically thought, "Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff."

"What? Oh my goodness no, you're not at all suited for there," replied the hat.

"But I'm good at hard work! I'm very ordinary and I'm patient and unafraid of toil, just like in your song."

"Ordinary? You could be great you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness. No doubt about that. You work hard it's true - but it's not for the simple joy of achieving something through the sweat of your brow and the work of your hands, nor for the delight of helping others. No, it's all about what it will get you, or what it will cost you if you don't do it. That's a Slytherin mindset to the core. No, no, Hufflepuff wouldn't suit you at all."

"Not Slytherin! They'll think I'm evil. It will be absolutely miserable here. And I don't want to be a great wizard, just a normal one," thought Harry desperately. "I don't want to stand out."

"Hmph," said the hat, "well if you absolutely are decided against Slytherin, perhaps Ravenclaw will do. I can see you certainly throw yourself into your studies - there's a smart mind there."

"No!" thought Harry insistently. "I don't want to be one of the smart nerds. Everyone will expect me to do well. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would be so angry!"

"Fine, fine!" replied the hat huffily. "What a year! The loyal, patient ones insist on Slytherin, the clever bookworm won't accept anything but Gryffindor, and now you, powerful, cunning and ambitious to the core, nag me for Hufflepuff - where you are least suited! Oh, I'm only a hat, I've only been doing this for centuries, what would I know? I do strive to be an accommodating piece of millinery when I can, but there are limits young man. Enough I say! You'll have to make do with the only option left, at least I can see a good dash of courage in you. Better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He walked shakily to the Gryffindor table, relieved that he'd escaped Slytherin and Ravenclaw. He hardly noticed he was getting the loudest cheer yet. At least he'd be with Neville and Hermione; that was something. He didn't feel especially brave, but he supposed that's what you got for making the hat settle for your third most suitable house. A redhead who looked a bit like Ron shook his hand and introduced himself as Percy, and another matching couple of gingers were jumping up and down cheering, "We got Potter!" Just how many of them were there?

Ron Weasley got into Gryffindor too, and rushed over eagerly to sit next to Harry, as "Zabini, Blaise" was made a Slytherin. Harry looked over at their table and hoped he wouldn't regret his stubbornness to the hat. It might've been nice to be in the house with his possible cousin, but the reputation of the house didn't seem to be the best. He was so tired of being thought to be a cheating, bullying troublemaker, and he wanted to capitalize on his fresh start here. He knew the power of a poor reputation when starting a new class, and definitely wanted to avoid it here in a world where they killed those wizards they thought were evil. He'd read A History of Magic. They got "creative" with punishing evil wizards and criminals.

"So," he said casually to Ron, "Blaise got into Slytherin – what do you think of that?"

"Figures. Everyone knows his mum's a murderer a dozen times over, even if they've never proved anything. I'm not surprised her son would end up in You-Know-Who's house," Ron said darkly.

Harry was satisfied. People would judge you, knowing nothing about you personally, based on hearsay and what house you were in. He'd made the right choice.

Dumbledore (who seemed a bit mad) started the feast, which Harry tucked into enthusiastically. This was his favourite magic trick ever. He also slipped a roasted jacket potato into his robe pocket for later, just in case.

He and Ron chatted to Sir Nicholas, tucked into a marvellous range of desserts (though there wasn't any fruit), and met Seamus, who was a half-blood. They chatted about their families a bit, and Harry gave horrified sympathetic looks to Neville when he told stories about his Great Uncle Algie. Apparently he'd pushed Neville off a pier and how he almost drowned, and another time he dropped Neville out of a window, but he bounced down the garden and into the road. Ron and Seamus didn't seem to see anything amiss with the tales. But Harry was appalled. Neville could've died. Did his Uncle Algie think he deserved to die if he wasn't magic enough? Even Uncle Vernon wasn't that bad.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered to Neville, when the other boys were distracted with eclairs. "My aunt and uncle are a bit like that too, except that they didn't want me doing magic. But even they never went that far. Your great uncle sounds dreadful."

"It's okay," said Neville. Harry saw it wasn't, really – Neville's brave smile to hide the disappointment in the others' reactions was obvious if you cared to look. But he let it go. He similarly didn't want to talk about the time his uncle threw him in his cupboard for a week after ending up somehow on the roof of the school kitchen. Neville was braver than he was. Clearly he belonged here in Gryffindor. Not that Harry saw much point in talking about these things, really. It didn't gain you anything; no-one ever did anything about it. Hmm. Which was probably the kind of reasoning that made the hat want to put him in Slytherin, come to think about it.

Percy and Hermione were chatting about what lessons would be like, when he suddenly got a weird pain in his head while looking past a man in a turban at one of the professors with greasy black hair.

"Who's that teacher with the long black hair and the big nose?" he asked Neville.

"That's Professor Snape," said Neville. "I'm not sure but I think the man in the turban is Professor Quirrell, Percy said he used to teach Muggle Studies but now he'll be teaching Defence."

"I've got a bad feeling about him," said Harry. "Professor Snape, that is."

"I think your feeling would be dead right," agreed Neville.

After a very disturbing death threat from Dumbledore, a truly appalling school song (the book on schools was right – Music clearly wasn't a subject taught here), they were all shuffled off to bed in some delightfully cosy looking four-poster beds hung with red velvet curtains.

Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much, because he had a very strange dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to him, telling him he must transfer to Slytherin at once, because it was his destiny. Harry told the turban he didn't want to be in Slytherin; it got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully. Then there was laughter, the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, whose laughter grew high and cold – there was a burst of green light and Harry woke, sweating and shaking.

He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke the next day, he only remembered that in his dream he was arguing with someone about Slytherin. Possibly Snape.