Finally! The sorting, as promised. Enjoy these familiar places and new friends.
On the night of the great feast in Hogwarts' enormous hall, Clara was waiting in the clock tower, watching the enormous pendulum swing to and fro. Owls hooted in the eaves, their voices woeful and low as they waited for the school year about to begin. Down the hall, Peeves cartwheeled in whirling circles in the air, his cackles bouncing from the stone. Clara tucked her feet in closer, trying to remain invisible to his wicked gaze. She was seated on the floor under a window, beside a tall stone brazier that jutted from the wall. The brazier was a thick pillar, keeping her from view.
Several quiet days had passed in harmony. Several more students were admitted to the school, in dregs of small families, with no formal explanation from Professor Roselia. When questioned, she responded only that prominent families made prominent enemies. She had also made it very clear, in a tone dripping in seriousness, that exploration of the grounds would have to wait until the school year began. Not all teachers had returned to their posts, she explained, so students would be confined to their house commons, the library and the great hall. Clara was led each morning to the great hall from her room, then to the library, where Thomas and Harlowe kept her welcome and entertained until mid-afternoon, when Professor Roselia permitted them to retire to the Hufflepuff common room for several hours until bed.
In the light of a cheerful fire, Thomas had finally spilled some explanation. He'd been twisting a leaf he called 'dittany' between his fingers, staring into the twisting flames. Harlowe had tipped some sort of sparkling powder into it almost an hour ago, which made the fire take on scenes that changed every few minutes: Wild orange horses galloping across a plain, then trees rustling and bending in imaginary wind, then a magician pulling several rabbits of increasing size from his hat. "There's a nasty group running around," he said, "Of rather powerful witches and wizards… Very intelligent people, intense people…" He said the word 'intelligent' as though it were poisonous. "And they aren't fond of some prominent wizarding families. Especially those with, er, political ties. Some threats have been bandied about, towards their kids. Exhibit A." He gestured to himself. "It doesn't matter." He shook his head and tossed the dittany leaf into the fire, where it burnt up into an image of mice in tutus. "Nothing will come of this sort of action, nothing ever does. It's all empty threats." But his voice sounded hollow. Clara pushed him just once, and asked if anything had ever happened, but he just shrugged and began a long, rapturous rant on the many uses of dittany.
On this day, with all of the teachers returned to the castle, Professor Roselia finally permitted Clara to wander – Under Harlowe's slightly older, and therefore more trustworthy, eye. Clara had made a rather mean escape from her friend by encouraging her to drink a lot of pumpkin juice in preparation for a day of exploration, then abandoning her when she ducked into a bathroom. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate Harlowe's kindness – She really, really did. Harlowe liked to please her friends as much as she liked to please authority, and had done everything in her power to make Clara feel comfortable since she arrived.
Except, Clara needed one more thing to be comfortable with her choice to come to Hogwarts: Time alone. So she had retreated here, to a beautiful, quiet place, and hidden behind the pillar.
A small, honey coloured owl swooped downward from the rafters, landing in front of her on a skittering of claws. He hooted in a friendly way and turned his head right the way to the side, staring at her. "Are you excited?" She asked him. He gave only a single hoot. "No, I don't suppose you are. It must mean a lot of more work for you. The young ones might harass you, too, I suppose…" Clara trailed off, gazing up at the roof full of owls. "You're all beautiful."
Apparently put out at losing her attention, the honey-coloured owl hopped closer, fluttering his wings, and nudged her arm with his beak. "Oh!" Clara hesitated. She lifted her hand with one crooked finger and offered it to him. He nudged it until she smiled. "I do think I like it here, you know. I don't think I've ever had such friends before – And I've only known them a few days. What do you think friendship would feel like once you'd had it for years? Like sunlight, I expect. A warmth you can rely on every day." That's what Harlowe and Thomas reminded her of. They were entirely relaxed with one another. It didn't matter if Thomas ranted too long, or if Harlowe scolded him for breaking the rules. It seemed as obvious as the sun coming up that they should enjoy one another's company anyway. "But one day, she will find me here," Clara said sadly. The owl hooted sadly in agreement and laid its head on her hand. "I'll have to go, then. Oh, but I'll have food and a room in the meantime. And if I can learn some magic before I go, I mightn't have to steal anymore. I could make a living somehow." She nodded to herself, feeling confident in her rationale. "Yes, I'll stay."
Then the grand clock chimed above her, and the owls took off, swirling in figure eights, off the rafters and out through a large open window into the night. The little owl hopped away and took flight, flapping to gain altitude, then swooping out and away down the hall toward Peeves. He let out a howl of delight and followed it, calling, "Here, o', here, little birdie – Let me pull some feathers out!"
Clara took her chance, wondering despite herself if the owl had created the opportunity on purpose. The ringing peels of the grand old clock followed her down the decorated hall, past paintings that waved her on. Possibly, she would never grow accustomed to it. Though she'd always known about the wizarding world, she had been raised apart from it for so long, used magic so little, learned so little, that it continued to astound her in fresh and revealing ways. It seemed strange that the magical world should welcome her like this, even though she was a stranger.
Clara made it to the great hall too late to sneak in before the rush. Students of all ages were filing into the magnificent room. Through the doors, Clara caught sight of floating candles and a night sky so brilliant in colour that it was studded through with violet and rich midnight blues. Black robed students chattered to one another in sets of three and four and five, catching up with old friends. Clara took a deep breath.
"Clara!"
Clara yelped. "Professor!"
Professor Roselia had appeared beside her all of a sudden, though Clara was certain that she hadn't heard anyone walk on the yorkstone floor behind her. "You've been hiding!" The Professor accused, "Harlowe is on the verge of tears, you know. She believes that she's failed in her solemn duty."
"It's a silly duty," Clara huffed, with a hand over her still-thudding heart.
"Clara," the professor began, with a dainty clearing of her throat, "Turn around."
Clara turned, then staggered once, sideways, shocked. "Oh, oh… That's not… That's not where I came from."
"The castle isn't 'set in stone', if you'll pardon the expression. It moves about. The stairs and hallways. Whole rooms wander off and end up somewhere else. If you weren't so careful, you could have gotten lost and missed the ceremony."
"Is it dangerous?" Clara breathed, "Will it send me to strange places?"
"No, no, it's almost always more helpful than hindering, and students that do get lost always turn up. Besides, it tends to quiet down during the school year. It's just on the holidays that the hallways get restless. Now." Professor Roselia took her by the shoulders and guided her around to face the grand hall once again. "It will be an unorthodox night. We rarely Sort so old."
"Sort?"
"Into your house!" The professor nodded at four majestic hourglasses that stood in the entrance hall. Each had jewels sitting in the top half. One was full of rubies, with a thick brass band around the blown glass, like a belt around a woman's bodice. Another was full of diamonds, another of sapphire, the last full of emeralds. They were beautiful. "Harlowe told you, didn't she? About Hufflepuff? Her house?"
"Yes. Hardworking people go to Hufflepuff, don't they?" Clara said.
As they were watching, Harlowe strode in through the doors to the castle, alongside a dark-haired young man in brown robes with a rough shorn beard. As soon as Harlowe caught sight of Clara her eyes bulged like someone had hit her on the back of the head with a pan. She visible controlled herself from walking on over as Professor Roselia gave her a patient smile. The man looked to be in his thirties, though it was hard to tell under the deep tan on his face and hands. He gruffly barked at a student group that was filing in through the doors behind him, flicking his wand at a boy's tie. It zipped smartly up to his neck, making him cough. "Come on, first years! Line up in the order I call your names."
"Hardworking people generally go to Hufflepuff, yes," Professor Roselia agreed. "That group are our first years. They will be sorted tonight, after you. Into Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, or Slytherin."
Clara swallowed, hard. "I'll be going first." It wasn't precisely a question, though it rang with disbelief.
"Yes, well, that is standard for older students. Besides, you would be standing in front of the whole school while you waited, otherwise. You wouldn't like that," she said knowingly. "You will proceed in with me before the others."
The first years had arranged themselves in a nervous double-file line, scraping the floor with the toes of their shoes and gazing in stunned awe at the castle walls. Professor Roselia fell into step behind them, Clara at her heels. Harlowe came down the line to greet them, giving Clara a ruffled look. "Ready?" She proposed.
"Ready," Professor Roselia agreed.
Slightly nervous about betraying Harlowe's confidence, Clara mouthed, 'Sorry'. Harlowe sniffed and nodded and whirled away, back to the front of the line, but when she turned around, she gave Clara a reassuring smile. "Good luck everyone!" She called to the first years.
With Harlowe and the gruff bearded man at their head, the students pattered inside, through the doors, into the din. Chatter rose above their heads, hundreds of excitable witches and wizards with smiles on their faces. Seventh year boys half stood at their tables, crowing for their house. A boy at the green bannered table called out, "Come on kids, we don't bite!"
A younger girl at the red bannered table's face twisted and morphed into an elongated lion's snout with massive teeth, and she roared across the room, making her housemates shriek and laugh.
Clara wanted to be embarrassed, wanted to shrink, but her chest was flooded with awe at the sight in front of her. Above, the richly coloured night sky seemed tangible, as though she could stand up on a table and touch the inky blue. Stars burned and fizzled like droplets of champagne. Clara's heart thudded, her face flushed with joy, at the sheer magic of it all. Oh, what had she been missing all these years?
A long table sat at the front of the room, perpendicular to the four long house tables, upon a raised dais. Each seat at the table was occupied by an adult of what could only be described as exceptional intrigue: A beautiful woman with auburn hair and eyes the colour of oak leaves, with a fierce looking salamander tasting the air on her shoulder; A man with twisted, melted skin, a shock of brown hair on only half his head, and a cheerful smile; A haughty looking woman with a pouting mouth who was arguing with the man beside her, who was a handsome blond fellow. The handsome man was laughing at her. An old man in robes the colour of dust was rolling his eyes at them. Other professors in varying shapes and sizes gazed out at their students. Of all the seats, only three were empty. One of these was the grandest chair at the very centre of the table, golden and high backed, with no occupant.
Professor Roselia pat Clara's back and pulled away from the group. The young students and Clara pooled at the foot of the dais, in front of the whole school, as Professor Roselia took the steps. She took out her wand and flicked it at the floor. An enormous golden owl rose from marble, flicking the molten ground off it's wings as it pulled itself higher. It shuddered and settled, the dripping ground becoming a stem, then froze that way with outstretched wings in the shape of a podium. If she hadn't seen it happen, Clara would have thought that the podium had been there from the start.
"Quiet, please," Professor Roselia began. The students chattered, their excitement petering out reluctantly, until she cleared her throat and continued to speak. "I understand that you're all quite excited. I know you all want your food and to reminisce with your friends, but there are matters of tradition to attend first."
"All of you have sat under Sorting Hat on this dais. All of you have benefitted from its wisdom. The Sorting Hat's insight is a gift to each student, not a constraint upon their person but a recognition of their greatest potential. In each student, a gift waits to be discovered, until they step foot into these hallowed halls." Her gaze fell to Clara, then flicked back to the crowd. "Unfortunately, Headmistress O'Mordha won't be here until the 8th of September. Until then, you're all expected to behave as though she is here to watch over you." Murmurs spread, and Professor Roselia silenced them with a look. "She is performing much needed research on the magical purposes of Australia's northern rainforest flora."
"Now, you've heard quite enough from me. Before we hear from the Sorting Hat, I would like to acknowledge a break from tradition this year. Clara Kettleborn has been learning at home and abroad until now, but has decided to join us for her fifth year of education. I hope you will all be very welcoming!"
Clara's armpits felt hot and damp. Her hands were sweaty. She clenched them into fists and refused to look behind her. Hundreds of stares would be levelled at her black robed back. Her cheeks burned. Harlowe stepped backwards so that they were shoulder to shoulder. Without a word, the girl linked her arm with Clara's.
"Let's offer our magnificent Sorting Hat the attention it deserves." Professor Roselia walked to stool on the centre of the dais. A slumping, old, battered brown witch's hat was propped up on the stool. She picked it up gently by the tip and carried it to the podium, then stepped back.
At first, nothing happened. The battered old hat sat still. Then twin folds in the hat seemed to wrinkle and blink like shadowy eyes. A tear opened in the hat's brim, wide like a mouth, and it began to sing.
"In hallowed halls of grey Yorkstone,
the fables and tales of Hogwarts old,
flourish where you all have grown.
Though none as grand, as good, as bold,
As the fable of the founders four,
From whose font of wisdom we all draw.
Helga Hufflepuff the very good,
Hardworking, kind, misunderstood,
Rowena Ravenclaw the clever,
Pinnacle of all endeavour,
Salazar Slytherin, of ambition,
A most cunning old magician!
And last of all I chose to save,
Godric Griffindor! The brave!"
Cheers erupted from the grand old room. Students clapped and roared their house names in an eruption that the walls of Hogwarts seemed to let echo and bound for minutes. The hat bowed its pointed tip and settled down again, its shadowy eyes winking at the crowd.
"Alright, students," Professor Roselia called over the din, "It's time to meet your new peers!" She picked up the hat by its point and walked back to the stool. A scroll leapt out of the folds of her robes and unfurled itself in the air before her. "First of all, our new fifth year addition… Clara Kettleborn!"
Harlowe squeezed their linked arms together and pushed her forward, toward the steps. Clara's fingers curled over her sleeves, yanking them down over her hands. She took each step like it was hangman waiting instead of a hat. Clara couldn't help but wonder if she wasn't hardworking, or clever, or cunning, or brave. What if she was none of these things? What if the hat said, 'No, sorry, she hasn't got any of the qualities we're after. Send her away.'
Professor Roselia's kind smile was the last thing she saw before she turned to face the student body. Hundreds of eyes weighed her worth. She sat back on the stool and felt the battered hat be lowered onto her head. It slipped down over her eyes, obscuring the students in favour of welcome darkness.
The hat drowned out the noise. All of a sudden, the room full of people seemed quiet and far away, though Clara could still feel the hard stool under her thighs. A voice, sly and old, began to speak inside her ears. You're an interesting one, aren't you?
Am I? Clara wondered.
Oh, yes. You've come to me old, but not yet matured. There are slivers of different kinds of greatness in you, waiting to be fostered. Oh, what's this? There was a sort of pinching, sifting feeling in her head as the hat bore into her person. Oh my, you do have a darkness in you. Perhaps Slytherin, a house of old? Or Gryffindor, to suit that daring nature of yours? Hufflepuff, to complement that determination? No… What's this? Clara felt her mind flicker before the hat's attentions as he tried to get a closer look at whatever had caught his interest. Ah! Yes! The gem, as yet undiscovered, even by you.
"RAVENCLAW!" The hat roared.
The hat was lifted off her head. Clara watched the blue banners above the Ravenclaw table ripple with magic. Students stood up out of their chairs to applaud. A willowy looking girl with a blue tie and a calm smile took the steps to take her hand and guide her down to the Ravenclaw table, where students clapped her back and ushered her into the front rows reserved for new students.