The sharp chime of a bell jangled behind Harry as he stepped fully into the shop, the door closing without sound behind him. Obtaining your first wand was, according to Ms Burbage, a rite of passage that all Witches and Wizards were entitled to experience. Similar in some regards - or so she had said - to other cultural rites in the non-magical world such as the bar mitzvah observed by followers of the Jewish faith. The obtaining of your first wand represented reaching a certain maturity - not necessarily a true coming of age, instead more a symbolic beginning to a person's magical education and thus becoming an active participant in wizarding society. A child who had not yet obtained their wand was considered to be a minor, whereas for one who had, their actions were from that point onward viewed as those belonging to a young adult. This particular rite, she had also informed Harry, was best undertaken alone in order to gain the full experience. And so, it was with some trepidation, that Harry now found himself alone in the unfamiliar shop.
Looking around the cramped and dimly lit room, the first thing that stood out to Harry was the sheer number of boxes. Shelves upon shelves were filled with long rectangular boxes of varying colours, although most were some variation of tan, olive and a deep maroon. Those which were shelved behind a counter near one end of the room had the appearance of being organised in a specific order, however, the further away from the counter you got the more haphazardly - and indeed precariously - the boxes seemed to have been stacked. It was almost as though they had been returned to the shelves in no semblance of order and without regard to whether or not it was where they had originally been removed from.
"Good afternoon," spoke a soft voice. Harry startled. An old man was standing beside him, his sharp, watchful eyes observing him with an almost hawklike level of vigilance from behind a pair of wire rimmed frames.
"Um, Hi. Mr Ollivander?" Harry queried awkwardly.
"Ah, yes." replied the man, his countenance changing in an instant to a more thoughtful expression. "Yes, indeed. I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Harry Potter."
If Harry's initial impression of the man had been one of a spider observing a fly that had landed in its web, that feeling was not lessened by the revelation that he had been expected.
"You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." Mr. Ollivander took a step closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those eyes were unnerving. "Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. "Well, I say your father favoured it - it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course." Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes. "And that's where…" Mr. Olivander's hovered a long white finger over the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead. "A curious reminder of a tragic night" he sighed softly.
"Well now, Mr. Potter. Let me see." He adjusted his glasses slightly on his nose and removed a tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"
"My wand arm? Well, I'm left-handed," said Harry.
"Hold out your left arm then. That's it." Mr Ollivander measured Harry from knuckle to fingertip, then the circumference of his wrist, kneecap to shin, the diameter of his armpit and finally around his head. As took each measurement, he spoke aloud for Harry's benefit, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful substance, Mr. Potter. Early in my career, as I watched my father wrestling with substandard wand core materials such as kelpie hair, I conceived the ambition to discover the finest cores and to work only with those when my time came to take over the family business. This I have done. After much experimentation and research, I concluded that only three substances produce wands of the quality to which I am happy to give the illustrious name of Ollivander: unicorn hair, dragon heartstring and phoenix feather. Each of these costly and rare materials has its own distinct properties. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizards - or witches' - wand."
Harry suddenly registered that the tape measure, which had been measuring of its own accord, had apparently finished its work for the time being as it recoiled itself and hung in mid air for collection. Mr. Ollivander was scurrying about the shop, stretching to reach boxes on high shelves and bending - with an impressive flexibility for his apparent age - to remove those closest to the ground that he required. "That will do nicely I should think," he said, returning to Harry's side with several boxes floating along behind him.
"Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Ash and dragon heartstring. Eleven inches. Flexible but not too much so. Just take it and give it a wave." Harry took the wand and waved it around a bit, but just as he cracked a grin and began to enjoy the silliness of the situation, it was snatched out of his hand and replaced with another. "Dogwood and unicorn hair. Five and a half inches. Not the longest wand by any means, however…" and here he ran an appraising eye over Harry, "good things have been known to come in small packages. Or so I'm told…" he trailed off,
Feeling some of his good cheer leave him at what he was quite certain was a jab at his height, Harry nevertheless reached out and took the wand from the elderly wandmaker. However, he had barely raised his arm when this wand too was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander. "No, no - here, english oak and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, robust. Go on, go on, try it out." And try Harry did. Repeatedly. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was searching for.
I wonder, now - yes, why not - unusual combination - holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." He passed Harry the wand.
He felt a brief tingle in his hand, almost a kin to a small static shock, before once again the wand was taken from him.
"Tricky, tricky, tricky. I had been quite sure… but I suppose not… perhaps in another time? another place?" Harry, now used to the somewhat excitable commentary ignored his attendant's musings in favour of staring at the growing pile of boxes at his feet. The stack of attempted wands was beginning to climb higher and higher, so much so that already the enchanted measuring tape had sensed the need to relocate itself. Despite the growing pile, the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the more excitable he seemed to become.
"Not to fret! Not to fret! We'll find your perfect match here somewhere. How about this then? Eight inches. Cherry and dragon heartstring. A curious wood, I actually crafted this particular wand during some down time on holiday in the 60s. Wonderful nation, Japan, and the hot springs were invigorating! I only wish that perhaps some of the more elderly patrons might have displayed a tad more modesty, but I digress…"
Choosing that moment to tune back into what was being said, Harry took the proffered wand from Mr Olivander, brought it down to his side and then swished it up and to the left across his chest with a great flourish. A fine, faintly visible line erupted from the wand in an upward arc accompanied by the distinct sound of steel whistling through air. The top three boxes on the used wands pile - now bisected - promptly tipped over.
Both Harry and Mr Ollivander stared at the now six pieces of three unique wands laying on the floor. Unable to look any longer at the damage he'd wrought, Harry levelled an accusing gaze at his wand, the tip of which promptly sprouted a small floral arrangement.
"Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good" deadpanned the wandmaker as he released a long-suffering sigh.
"I'll, umm… I'll get those ones too."
"Indeed you will. Come along to the counter now Mr Potter. Your wand has found you."
The remainder of Harry's summer disappeared rapidly, with days spent enjoying the last of the warm weather and nights spent next to the tv, haphazardly skimming through sections of his school books as the excited heartbeat of magic gradually slowed to the more tempered pulse of academia. Before he knew it, Harry had said his goodbye's, promised to write, and stepped through the barrier between the two worlds at Kings Cross Station and onto Platform 9 3⁄4.
A cacophony of sights and sounds immediately assaulted Harry's senses. To say the platform was congested would be akin to saying Wembley Stadium merely pulled in a good crowd. Everywhere he looked people were engaged in heartfelt goodbyes, animatedly catching up with friends they hadn't seen since the previous term, or in the case of one case one wizard, speaking heatedly with a distinctly unimpressed witch in deep blue robes who appeared to be an authority figure of some description.
Shifting his focus to the scarlet steam engine waiting patiently on the tracks, Harry checked the watch on his wrist and noted that he had just under 10 minutes until the scheduled 11am departure time. Jolted into action, he quickly extracted from his trunk the plain set of robes his Aunt had purchased for him to help make his visit to Diagon Alley as authentic as possible. Throwing them on over the top of his shirt and pants much like you would a coat, Harry grabbed his trolley and set off in the direction of the nearest carriage. Looking over his shoulder at a sudden eruption of noise, he realised he'd moved not a moment too soon, as a veritable conga line of redheads burst out from the hidden gateway in the wall behind him and immediately competed with each other for the title of loudest child.
Thankful that he'd chosen to move when he did, Harry wrestled his trunk off the trolley and elbowed his way through the students standing around the door to the carriage and set off in search of an empty compartment, or at least one that contained another first year student. As nervous as he was to be starting at a new school, he was admittedly looking forward to making a few friends his own age.
Aside from Dudley, at St. Grogory's Harry had only ever had a small number of friends and most of them shared a common trait - they were almost all older than Harry. Never really fitting in with his own year mates - a situation not helped by Piers Polkiss - a younger Harry had one day found himself approaching a handful of students in the year above him eating lunch by themselves, preferring to play a quiet game of marbles rather than join in on one of the larger games of football that the bulk of the students gravitated towards.
Despite an initial reluctance to have someone in a younger class join in with them, a few weeks of lunchtime marbles was all it took for Harry to feel like he'd always been part of the group. Unfortunately, with all of them having gone off to secondary schools a year ahead of him, his final year at St. Grogory's was somewhat more subdued and it was really only his friendship with his cousin and the joy at being included in a team sport that made it bearable.
As Harry continued past compartments packed with older students, he wished - not for the first time - that he had been allowed to bring home a pet from the menagerie at Diagon Alley. At least then if he failed to make any friends he'd have someone he could talk to. Unfortunately for Harry, Aunt Petunia hadn't had the best of experiences with animals in her life - as it was she just barely tolerated Ripper during the infrequent visits from Aunt Marge. After vetoing any suggestion of an Owl, Harry's follow up proposal of a Crup was met with no further success.
Stopping outside of a compartment with its blinds partially drawn, Harry peered around the edges of the window to see a boy and a girl who looked to be roughly his age sitting quietly, their faces hidden behind a book and a magazine respectively. Having found no better prospect, Harry steeled himself before knocking on the compartment door and sliding it open.
Two faces immediately peered back at harry. "Uhm, 'hullo" he mumbled. "Do you mind if I…" Harry trailed off, his courage evaporating in the stare of the room's current occupants.
"Come inside and sit? Continue to stand in the doorway? Demonstrate the steps to a basic waltz?" The girl finished for him. "No, to all of the above. Although, if you actually do that last one I will be taking photos" she finished with a cheshire grin. Turning to face the room's only other occupant she continued, "Anything to add?"
The boy looked at her blankly, gave Harry a once over with his eyes and shrugged his shoulders before returning to his magazine.
"Eloquent as always" she muttered with a roll of her eyes. "Well, feel free to take a seat" she said, turning her attention back to Harry. "I'm Sophie - Sophie Roper."
Hurriedly making his way into the room in case the pair changed their minds, Harry's brain vaguely registered that he'd been spoken to and that a response was expected. "Harry Potter, nice to meet you."
Both of Sophie's eyebrows shot up, but other than a quick glance to his forehead she made no further comment. Turning her attention again back to the other boy sharing the compartment, she gave him a level stare. Sensing her eyes on him, he lowered his magazine and met her gaze with a blank look. Sophie replied with a kick to his shin.
"Crabbe", he grunted in Harry's Direction.
"Wonderful!" Sophie exclaimed. "And so, with the formalities now concluded, is it safe to assume you have sufficient reading material to keep you occupied for the duration of the journey?
Slightly intimidated by Sophie's somewhat expansive vocabulary, Harry got the distinct impression that any and all conversation was over for at least the immediate future. Quickly retrieving a Stephen King novel from his trunk, he then stowed it neatly beside the others overhead and took the window seat next to Sophie. Feeling the train jolt to life as it prepared to leave the station, he flicked the book open to his marked page and prepared to settle in for the journey to Hogwarts.
The first couple of hours went by in this manner, with Harry eventually marking his page and putting down his book in favour of watching the countryside go by out the window. Eventually he became aware that he was not the only one to have put down his reading material - evidently Crabbe had at some point grown tired of his magazine and found a more interesting object of study in Harry.
Slightly alarmed at having gained the larger boy's attention, Harry nonetheless met his gaze. After a short but intense period of eye contact, Crabbe broke the silence. "Potter."
This single word statement earned him a raised eyebrow from his friend, who had apparently also noticed his fixation on the newest addition to the compartment. "Yes, Vince." Sophie spoke slowly and deliberately as though addressing a five year old. "He did tell us his name when he came in."
Undeterred, Vince tried again. "You're him."
"Oh." Understanding crossed Sophie's face. "Nice, Vince. Very subtle" she continued with sigh. "Though" and it was now that her face adopted a thoughtful expression, "I suppose it's not as if you're hiding the fact or anything. That scar is real I assume?"
Caught somewhat flatfooted, Harry tried to compensate with a sense of humour that he didn't really feel. "Well, if it isn't, I've been washing my face wrong for years."
A genuine smile graced Sophie's face this time. "Good for you! If you can't stop people from staring you might as well own it I suppose. While we're on the topic and being so open, do you get many people asking you about the night?"
Harry, pleased and somewhat emboldened by her initial response if not the follow up question, decided to take a risk and open up a bit to the two of them. "Not really, although a few people stared when I got my school stuff from Diagon Alley. Mostly I didn't really know too much before the Ministry witch explained it to me - only what my Aunt had told me; that my parents were both killed on Halloween when I was one, and that the guy who did it was some sort of cult leader. Volder-something? My Aunt isn't magical so she wasn't exactly sure and Ms Burbage wouldn't say. Other than that… yeah… just that the house blew up and I was the only one left alive."
Harry watched as Sophie and Crabbe shared a glance. When Crabbe didn't react, she took on a more pensive expression and turned to Harry. "People don't like to say his name. It used to have a taboo on it - if anyone spoke it, he'd know who had said it as well as their location."
Harry was alarmed at this newest piece of news, although it was Crabbe who once again broke him out of his thoughts.
"Voldemort."
Sophie's head whipped around to face her friend. Clearly intending to voice her opinion, Crabbe cut her off as he spoke again. "Wot? He's dead, right? His parent's" - at this he jerked a thumb at Harry - "offed him. They cast some curse and brought the whole house down on top of the lot of 'em."
"Be that as it may" Sophie quickly interjected. Understandably, people don't like the reminder. A lot of people lost loved ones, you know. Even those with families who started off supporting him" - at this she shot Crabbe a look that Harry missed - "eventually realised that he valued no one's interests except his own and would destroy everything we'd built. That's why most people simply refer to him as 'the' Dark Lord. Despite the fact there have been others throughout history, he's the one that everyone still fears to even mention out loud."
"My Mum and Dad…" Harry spoke hesitantly, as though testing the words first. "They really did all of that then? They fought him? I mean, I've been told what happened it just… "
"Doesn't feel real?" Sophie finished for him. I know that's how I felt reading about all of it. I mean a war… a real war. And only ten years ago. Here! in Britain!" Sophie let out a shaky breath. "It's so strange to think we grew up learning all about this, celebrating your family, and yet somehow you grew up as a muggle, barely knowing your own back story."
"No offence meant" she amended quickly at Harry's deepening frown. "But yes, Harry, they fought him and they killed him. What else could have happened? The Dark Lord hardly sounds like the sort to blow himself up, and again - no offence - but you certainly didn't do it. No, all the books say it was your parents who defeated him. Magical law enforcement officers found three bodies next to you under all the rubble, and yet when they pulled you out of there you had nothing more serious than a scar on your head. You were quite literally the boy who lived."
As Harry sat back and attempted to process all of this new information, his mind gave rise to more and more new questions. Unable to keep them all in, he blurted out what seemed to be the most obvious one to him.
"That can't be his real name though, right? Voldem… the Dark Lord'' he corrected at a sharp look from Sophie. "Everyone knows who Hitler was and because of that no one will ever forget what he did. And you said there were other Dark Lords? You can't go around calling all of them the same name - no one would know who you were talking about!"
"Muggle despots aside, yes, we don't call every Dark Lord by that moniker. But that's because we know who they were! We know who Morgan le Fay was. We know who Gellert Grindelwald was. No one knew the Dark Lord's real name - not even his closest followers."
And with that, silence settled upon the compartment. Harry, now with much to think about, did not fight it.
The remainder of the train ride to Hogsmeade Station passed with little fanfare for Harry's cabin. After their somewhat sombre conversation earlier, the three mostly did their own thing for the remainder of the journey. Harry, upon noticing the Crabbe's magazine was about Quidditch, pulled the larger boy into a discussion. Crabbe, pleased to be the one with all the answers for once, was thrilled to find out Harry shared his interest of hitting an iron wrought, flying ball at other human beings, eagerly spent a an hour explaining the intricacies of being a beater and how it related to the other positions and overall game. Harry, surprised at the degree of detail provided - a level which he had frankly assumed was beyond his abilities - quickly found himself revising his opinion of the quiet boy. Sophie, catching his eye with a knowing look, merely smiled as Harry averted his gaze.
As the light outside the train quickly faded into the night sky, a voice came over the train informing them of their pending arrival into Hogsmeade. The three of them used the opportunity to take turns occupying the cabin to change out of their current robes and into their school ones and the accompanying shirt, tie, and pants. Gradually the train began to slow until finally it stopped completely. People pushed their way out of compartments and toward the exit of the carriage, spilling out onto a dimly lit platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air, earning a smirk from Crabbe. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harry heard a deep voice and saw that it belonged to a befittingly enormous man.
"Firs' years! Firs' years over here! C'mon, follow me. Any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"
Bumping slowly against the human tide, Harry, Crabbe and Sophie joined the line of students that were veering away from the pack and instead following the lead of the giant of a man holding the lantern. They followed him down a winding, narrow path that was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much, the silence only broken by a boy ahead of Harry's group as he walked with hunched over shoulders and sniffed miserably.
"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec" their guide called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here." There was a muted "Oooooh!" of appreciation. The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.
"No more'n four to a boat!" was the call, as he pointed to a fleet of rowing boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry, Sophie and Crabbe were joined in their boat by a stoutly built blonde boy.
"Everyone in?" was all the preparation Harry and his friends received before the shout was quickly followed up with "Right then - FORWARD!" With that, the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, its inky depths unnaturally still despite a slight breeze and the passage of at least forty of the small watercraft. Everyone was silent, taking their cue from the imposing castle that loomed overhead, towering over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it perched.
When they reached the cliff, Harry bent his head slightly as the boat carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. Emerging into a dimly lit tunnel, Harry got the impression that they were passing directly underneath the castle.
Eventually they reached a small dock, where they clambered out onto a rocky shoreline. After disembarking, the students once again dutifully followed forward, struggling in parts to traverse the roughly hewn passageway cut directly into the bedrock. After five minutes of this, they emerged onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. Walking up a flight of stone steps, Harry and the other assembled students crowded around a huge, oak front door and waited as their guide knocked three times, before standing back and waiting.
The door slowly swung open, accompanied by the brief sound of footsteps before a figure appeared. A tall witch with dark hair, eyes and complexion, her gaze swept over the assembled students then locked on to the large man who had led them there.
"Right on time, thank you, Hagrid. I will take over from here."
"'S no problem Professor Sinsistra" their guide - now identified as Hagrid - spoke around a beaming grin. With a cheery wave behind him, he disappeared into the castle, leaving the students to the next stage of their welcome.
"Come along then." Professor Sinsistra turned on her heel and strode quickly forward, crossing the cavernous entrance hall in half the time it took for the students scrambling behind her to keep up.
The professor led them into a deceptively spacious chamber on the far side of the room. As the door closed behind the last student, Harry thought he could hear the muffled thrum of voices coming from behind a blank wall directly behind where the professor was standing.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor Sinistra. "I am professor Sinistra; Senior Professor of Astronomy and Head of Slytherin House. We will all enter the Great Hall for the start of term feast momentarily, however, before you may take your seats you will first be sorted into one of our four houses. The ceremony is very important, not merely because it will dictate who you will share a dormitory with for the next seven years, but also because it connects you in tradition with every single witch and wizard who has passed through these halls before you in the almost one thousand years that the castle has stood. This is an honoured group, and tonight you join their number."
"Our four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own unique values and ideals, many of which you will find are complementary to those held by the other three houses. Our founders worked together to better this school, and such is the expectation of every one of you."
"While you are at Hogwarts, academic and sporting successes will earn you house points and acknowledgement, whereas rule breaking will cost you them and earn you the ire of your house mates. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup. I hope each of you hold within you both the desire and determination to bring success to whichever house you come to call your own."
"That is all you need to know at this moment, I should think. Prepare yourself now - if you have not already done so." And with that she removed her wand from within her robe and tapped it on the wall behind her. With a grinding sound of stone on stone, the wall slid aside, and Professor Sinsitra beckoned them to follow her into the Great Hall.
Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall were another three shorter tables where the teachers were sitting. These were arranged such that two tables faced outwards at 45 degree angles with the third table running horizontally behind them both.
It was to that Professor Sinistra led the first years, such that they came to a halt in a long line that wound almost back to where they entered, with the teachers behind them. Harry looked out at what he was sure must be well over a thousand faces staring back at them. Mainly to distract himself from the sensation of being inside a fishbowl, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard a girl's voice whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History." It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply peer out into the universe.
Harry quickly looked down again as Professor Sinistra placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Harry idly wondered if Aunt Petunia's new found excitement for magical fashion would extend to this particular garment.
Sniggering at the mental image of his Aunt wearing the dilapidated hat out to Sunday brunch, Harry was only peripherally aware that the hat had begun to sing in a discordant tone, void of any real talent. Once he became fully cognizant of this fact, he tuned in for just long enough to wish he'd remained oblivious.
The hat finished singing to polite applause from the hall as Harry wrinkled his nose and stretched.
Professor Sinistra again stepped forward, this time 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 said. "Abbott, Hannah!"
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause – "HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.
The middle right hand side table cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw a fat ghost clothed in religious garb waving merrily at her. Harry then did a double take, quickly cleaning his glasses on his robes before resignedly accepting that the spirit was in fact not one of his own imagination's making.
"Bones, Susan!" "HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.
"Boot, Terry!" "RAVENCLAW!" The table to the left of Hufflepuff clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them."Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Slytherin, and the table on the far left of the hall exploded with cheers and even a few cat calls.
"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became the first new Gryffindor, to the loud approval of the remaining table.
As the list of names went on, Harry noticed that while the majority of students took 10 seconds or less to be sorted, occasionally the hat took a little while to decide. When one of the only two students whose name Harry already knew was called forward, "Crabbe, Vincent" sat on the stool for almost a full minute before the hat declared him a Slytherin.
"Granger, Hermione!" A bushy haired girl almost ran to the stool in her excitement and jammed the hat eagerly onto her head. "RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat. She scurried off to her new house table with a pleased grin, almost running straight into an unimpressed "Greengrass, Daphne" who in turn joined Crabbe and several other new students at Slytherin.
When Neville Longbottom was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."
Draco Malfoy calmly stepped forward when his name was, clearly at ease with the current proceedings. The hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!" Though not as vocal as they were for many of their other new students, Draco Malfoy received an approving nod from a number of older students at the table.
At forty minutes into the ceremony, the number of students remaining to be sorted was now noticeably fewer than those who had already been. Moon, Nott, Parkinson, then a pair of girls - both Patil's - then a Perks, Sally-Anne, until finally professor Sinistra called out, "Potter, Harry!"
As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall. "Potter? As in the Potters?" "The boy who lived?" 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. The next he knew, his head and half of his face had been covered. Sensing that the hat would make the first move, Harry waited.
"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Interesting. Very interesting. Not much like your parent's are you? But then, why would you be? And that's not necessarily a bad thing these days anyway."
"I sense much fear in you - but it's as much a fear for those you care about as it is for yourself. And oh, for those you love you are devoted. Both admirable traits, both easily twisted if left unchecked. You enjoy spending time on your own, but you deeply desire to be a part of something. You have all the raw ingredients required for success and a level of determination that surpasses most of the young minds I've sorted so far tonight… So where shall I put you?"
Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought back to those who had been sorted so far. From those who'd looked smug, or ecstatic or even disappointed. Thoughts lingering on the one friendly face who's sorting he knew so far, Harry quietly murmured "Perhaps… Slytherin?"
"Perhaps Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you asking me or telling me?
I do hope you're not basing your answer entirely on where another student was sorted, Mr Potter! Regardless of where Mr. Crabbe had been sorted, you could be great there, you know. It's all here in your head and Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that. You would be extraordinary in Slytherin. You would be comfortable in Slytherin.
But if you truly desire to belong, if you truly want to make friend's who'll stick with you in any situation, then you won't achieve that as you are right now by being comfortable.
Yes, you have all the traits required as well as the work ethic required to make your goals a reality. I've seen enough, better be HUFFLEPUFF!"