CHAPTER THREE
The doors open so quietly that, were it not for the light which spilled out over them, or the fact that it was something he'd been waiting for, he may not have even noticed.
A woman with dark hair and emerald green robes stands, framed by firelight and shadows, at the top of the stairs. She scowls at them.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid says.
"Thank you, Hagrid."
She opens the door a little wider and walks off. After a moment's hesitation, the first-years follow her across the stone floor of a massive entrance hall and into a small, empty chamber off to the side. They crowd in, nervous, and Icarus jumps when someone takes his hand.
Arianna meets his gaze for a moment, flushes, then looks down. She's shaking.
So he squeezes it, gently, and doesn't let go.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall says, "the start-of-term feast will begin shortly, but before we can commence, we must sort you into your Houses. The Sorting ceremony is, perhaps, the most important ceremony we have. For your duration here, your House will be like your family. You will have classes together, sleep in the same dormitories, and spend your free time in your common rooms. There are four Houses: Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. Each has its own long, outstanding history. Each has produced amazing witches and wizards. Your successes, while you're here, will reward you house points, while any rule-breaking will rid you of them. At the end of the year, the House with the most points will be rewarded with the House Cup. I hope every one of you will put forth only your best. Now, please, try to neaten yourselves up. I will return when we are ready for you."
She leaves, closing the door softly behind her, and everyone breaks out into nervous whispers.
"I hope we're in the same House," Arianna mumbles.
Icarus makes some sort of shrug-and-nod motion. He figures he probably shouldn't tell her that, most likely, they won't be. After several long, painful minutes studying a crack in the floor in front of him, Professor McGonagall reappears.
"Come along now," she says, "the ceremony is about to start. Form a line and follow me."
Icarus shuffles into line behind a girl with uneven pigtails and they follow Professor McGonagall out of the little room, through the entrance hall, and into the Great Hall.
Stories, he realizes, aren't enough for a place like this.
It's huge; they're led between the two center tables and thousands of floating candles, the ceiling is open, practically nonexistent, and glittering with stars. Two fireplaces, one on either side of the hall, are blazing, framed by statues of each House mascot.
Professor McGonagall lines them up in front of the staff table at the front and disappears.
Icarus glances over, meets a steady, electric blue gaze, then looks quickly back to the man across from him. Severus Snape studies him for a moment with curious, dark eyes, then looks back over to Professor McGonagall, who's carrying a three-legged stool, a ragged hat, and a roll of parchment, to the center of both groups.
She sets the stool down, with the hat on top of it, and steps away.
There's nothing, for a while. Then it shifts and the seam opens and it sings:
You'll search high and you'll search low,
But never will you find
An older, wiser Hat than me!
For I was sewn by four great mages,
Far back in the darkest ages!
So try me on and let us see;
If you belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave and true,
Or in Ravenclaw,
Where wit and brains are turned to art,
Or in Hufflepuff,
Where loyalty and faith are praised 'bove all,
Or even in Slytherin,
Where ambition and cunning finds its mark.
There's not a thing that gets past me.
So never fear! Put me on!
Let me see!
Let me figure out which House
You're truly meant to be!
The Hat falls silent as the Hall erupts with applause, bows to each table, then goes still. Professor McGonagall steps forward, unraveling the roll of parchment she still carried.
"When I call your name," she says, voice echoing clearly throughout the Hall, "you will sit on the stool and put on the Hat. Ailis, Margaret!"
The girl next to him, the one with the uneven pigtails, flushes and makes her way to the stool, stumbling once. It takes the Hat a few seconds, then;
"SLYTHERIN!"
He swears he sees her lips move in a silent thank Merlin when she takes it off, before rushing to the applauding table and taking a seat.
"Amita, Nalini!"
Another girl - brown, with waist-length hair - hurries forward. The Hat barely touches her head before screaming "HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Bell, Katie!"
He swallows, trying not to fidget, and risks another glance at Snape, who is very clearly not paying him any attention. There are several more Slytherins and Gryffindors, and several more Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, before "Sylvester, Arianna" is called.
She hesitates, glancing at him, before heading towards the stool.
It takes the Hat an entire minute.
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
She takes it off, her expression both happy and a little disappointed, before heading to her table.
Then -
"Sørensen, Icarus!"
He steps forward and all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears. All he can feel is the gaze of a thousand people.
Only one matters.
He takes the Hat, sits down, and puts it on. For a long time, there is nothing.
Fascinating.
He jumps. The Hat laughs.
You've got a busy head, child, it says, a good one for Ravenclaw; and a good heart…almost fit for…
He shivers. But?
You'll be difficult, certainly, the Hat admits, so much to sort through…such thin lines…
Shouldn't this be easy?
Usually, it is, the Hat murmurs.
I have a question, he thinks, hurriedly, well, more than one, I guess, but…before you decide -
Hmm?
Do they have to re-enchant you? To keep you working? I mean, most magic has a time limit, doesn't it? Unless there's -
No, the Hat says, trembling on his head with amusement, no, I don't get re-enchanted.
You're telling me…seriously…that the founders - they were powerful enough to keep something enchanted for a thousand years without being alive?
The Hat shifts again, almost like it's uncomfortable.
Ah, it sighs, there we go -
"SLYTHERIN!"
He jumps again, this time so badly that he almost falls off the chair. The Hall's applause is hesitant, at first, when he takes off the Hat, then deafening. He hurries over to the Slytherin table, where Nathan scoots over to give him a seat.
"That took forever, mate," Nathan says, amused, "what was it saying to you?"
"N-nothing, really," he mumbles, as the next student - "Yumatov, Sergei" - is sorted into Slytherin too. Then the last one, "Walter, Jeff" is sorted into Ravenclaw and Professor McGonagall is hauling the stool and the Hat away, and Professor Dumbledore, in shimmering lilac robes, rises to stand in front of the carved owl podium.
"Welcome!" he says, spreading both arms out in greeting, "and welcome back, to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we dig in, I'd like to remind you all that the treacle tart is absolutely delicious! Now, please, enjoy!"
He sits back down and suddenly the tables are groaning under the weight of hundreds of dishes. The smell hits and suddenly Icarus is starving, reaching for every plate within arms reach simply to fill his own. There's chicken and vegetables and mashed and roast potatoes, lamb and rice pilaf, every kind of gravy, Yorkshire puddings -
"It's been a while since there's been a legitimate hatstall," someone says, shoving their way in between Icarus and Nathan, "what was your name again? Icarus?"
Icarus nods, once. He stabs a roast potato with his fork and swallows it whole.
"I'm Fen Liu," the stranger says with a self-important sniff, "your prefect."
"Right," Icarus says, wanting to eat his food in peace, or at least with someone he knew, "Do prefects usually steal other people's seats?"
Fen stares at him. He stares back.
"It's your first day, so I'll let you off with a pass," Fen says, eventually, "but you ought to be more careful about how you address your betters."
"You're my elder," Icarus corrects, "not my better."
Maybe it was a mistake, by the way Fen's expression twists, but he couldn't care less. The prefect gets up and leaves. Then, unfortunately, he notices that all of the new first-year Slytherins are staring at him.
So much for not wanting to draw attention to himself.
"Wow," the girl across from him breathes - Esther, he thinks - "I mean…you're not wrong, but…"
"That was awesome," Nathan says.
"I wasn't -"
"It was stupid, is what it was," the other girl, Margaret, interrupts, "he was a prefect. What if you get in trouble?"
"I-"
"Oh, come off it Mags," Nathan grumbles, "you saw how he shoved his way over here."
"So?"
"I really just wanted -" Icarus tries again.
"He was being a bit rude," Margaret agrees, "but that's still not a reason to-"
"Can you shut up?" says a short, stocky boy with an insane amount of freckles, "He's been trying to say something the entire time."
He points his fork at Icarus. Icarus feels his ears start to burn as the focus centers on him again.
"IjustwantedtoeatwithsomeoneIknew," he mumbles, before promptly digging into his food.
Nathan's grin is almost as blinding as the silverware.
Fortunately, a second-year leans over and asks them if any of them plan to come and watch quidditch tryouts. It turns quickly into a debate over the quality of the newest brooms and the prospects for the Holyhead Harpies, considering how they'd played the year before. The freckled boy who'd spoken earlier - Douglas Emerson - admits to being terrified of heights and finds that, unfortunately for him, flying lessons are a requirement for first years.
For the most part, Icarus listens and eats, only pitching in when asked a question directly. His nerves fade more with each bite and soon he's warm and comfortable, and the chatter of the Great Hall is almost familiar.
Once everyone finishes eating their fill of the main course, the food fades to be replaced with towers and bowls of desserts. The conversations shift, too, towards other lessons and extra-curricular activities.
Soon enough, the desserts are gone.
The Hall falls silent as Dumbledore rises once again to his feet, smiling kindly.
"A few more words, now that we are all fed and watered," he says, "there are a few start-of-term announcements which I must give out. First-years, please note that the forest is strictly forbidden. Some of our older students may well do with a reminder that this rule still applies to them," he looks pointedly over the Gryffindor table, "and if they are caught again, it may result in more severe action than detention. I have also been asked by our caretaker, Mr. Filch, to remind you all that no magic is to be used in the corridors while transitioning between classes. Quidditch tryouts, for all who are interested, will begin the second week of term. Please submit your names to Madam Hooch by next Saturday."
"I would also like to note the recent increase in sleep-walking related incidents around the school. If you find that you, or a fellow roommate, begin to have a tendency for it, please inform your Prefects - or your Head of House - so they may take the appropriate steps forward in the oversight of your safety. It is, after all, our foremost priority. And lastly, on a happier note, I am pleased to inform you that we are welcoming our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Karim."
A tall man in a deep blue sherwani stands and bows towards them as they begin to applaud.
"I heard that positions cursed," one of the other first-year girls mutters - Julia, he thinks - "that they're always having to replace them and now no one wants to sign up."
"I mean, would you?" Nathan mutters back.
"And, now, before we all go to bed," Dumbledore cries, flicking his wand, "let us sing the school song!"
Icarus bites back a groan and rises to his feet with everyone else as a long golden ribbon twists itself into words:
"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."
He trails off into something of an inarticulate mumble at the end, thoroughly despising the english language, and whoever had decided to write the damn thing.
"Now, then," Dumbledore waves his hand, "off you trot!"
The benches scrape back and the first-years shuffle towards their prefects. Fen's eyes linger on Icarus far too long for it to be comfortable, before he smiles and leads them away from the Great Hall. They go down a long stairwell on the righthand side of the marble staircase and along a wide corridor, passing several empty classrooms before coming to a stop at a plain looking stone wall. The girl next to Fen - only a few inches taller than the first years - steps forward.
"Astrea," she says, voice bouncing away into the shadows.
An ornately carved ebony door appears and swings open. They tumble through behind the prefects into a long, spacious common room. Icarus glances around, noting the murals adorning the walls with sleepy interest and comes to a stop with everyone else.
"Welcome to Slytherin," Fen says pleasantly, "to your right, you will find the female dormitories. To your left, the male. Tomorrow is a Sunday, so you will have the day to explore the castle and become acquainted with your classrooms. Make sure to be in the Great Hall at twelve to receive your schedules."
Icarus follows the other boys up into the dormitories and along a hallway lit by sconces which burn a blueish-green, before going into the last room. Five four-poster beds surround a central heater, each with their own small desk. Their trunks sit at the end of four of them, two on either side.
He goes over to his, the first on the left, and pulls out his pajamas. He changes in silence, tugs the curtains of his bed shut, and slips beneath the covers.
For once, he sleeps without dreaming.
...
NOTES:
The sorting order might seem odd, but ø does come after y in the Danish/Norwegian alphabet.