"I can't stand her."
"Take it easy, you'll be rid of her in seven years."
When the gate opens, a middle-aged woman, who doesn't seem like she can take a joke, stands in front of them. She has tied her dark hair at the back of her head and is eyeing the newcomers sternly through her square glasses.
"The first-years, Professor McGonagall," says Hagrid, apparently pleased with himself.
Thanks to his father, Chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, Draco knows exactly what to think of Rubeus Hagrid. He's an uneducated alcoholic who was kicked out of Hogwarts as a student and thus unable to cast one spell properly. Now he lives in a hut on the school grounds and performs menial tasks, like some kind of servant. At least the fat man made it all the way up here without using an oxygen tent.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here," says McGonagall, pulling the gate wings wide open.
In the Entrance Hall, which is lit by medieval flaming torches, there are several suits of armour and four large hourglasses showing the house points in the form of colour-matching gemstones. A huge marble staircase leads to the upper floors, but first they follow McGonagall into a small chamber.
They are huddled together, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle at Draco's side. Apart from their private tutors, the three don't have much in common: Draco has white blond hair, light blue eyes, pointed features and a sophisticated paleness, like all members of the Malfoy family. Crabbe, on the other hand, wears a black pudding-basin haircut and is fat and lazy, and Goyle has ochre-coloured hair, is rather muscular and - to say the least - of below-average intelligence. This could be why he was left with his godparents Irma and Victor Crabbe as a toddler, because the Goyles were overwhelmed with his upbringing. They're probably glad that he has finally left for Hogwarts, and that their sporadic visits are now being replaced by sporadic letters.
In any case, Crabbe and Goyle look quite imposing because of their stature, so no one has ever dared to mess with them. That's an advantage, as well as the fact that they don't mind being bossed around.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," McGonagall says. "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 ..."
Bored, Draco looks at his fingernails. Of course, he already knows about everything; the four houses, the House Cup, the Sorting Hat, the Muggle-fond Headmaster Albus Dumbledore …
From the corner of his eye he watches Goyle sucking on the rat bite on his finger. If he gets the plague or something, it's Harry Potter's fault alone.
What kind of education must someone have had to refuse a handshake? Only because Draco pointed out to Potter that hanging around with a Weasley means social suicide. Hello, you're welcome!
Had the scarface been a bit nicer, Draco wouldn't have told Crabbe and Goyle to pinch his sweets, and then a rat wouldn't have appeared between the packages to bite Goyle's finger. But who is wondering, where there's a Weasley, there is vermin.
"... house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. 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. I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly."
As soon as McGonagall leaves the room, the students start to whisper excitedly.
"Remember what I told you," Draco murmurs, but Crabbe and Goyle just look at him blankly.
"The thing with Slytherin!"
"Oh ... oh yes."
Draco buries his face in his hands. Sometimes he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry about those simpletons. If only the situation wasn't so bloody serious! His parents, of course, expect nothing else than him being sorted into Slytherin, as it has been tradition in his family for ages. And to prevent the stupid hat from deciding otherwise, Draco's mother gave him the advice to just ask the hat to put him in Slytherin. Hopefully it will be that easy. Ravenclaw would be all right, but Hufflepuff or Gryffindor? Completely unacceptable.
Suddenly the room gets cooler, because a whole bunch of ghosts is floating through the wall. A few students cry out, presumably because they're Mudbloods. Or just dumb, because Goyle's eyes are widened in fear as well, while he is clutching Draco's arm.
"Calm down!" Draco says, pushing him away. He is used to ghosts, there are two of them in Malfoy Manor. However, they mainly stay in the basement, ignoring him and his parents.
A ghost with a ruff looks down at the students. "I say, what are you all doing here?"
"New students!" replies a fat, bald-headed ghost. "About to be sorted, I suppose? Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know."
I hope not, otherwise I might join you up there soon. Or worse: be disinherited.
When McGonagall shows up a moment later, the ghosts disappear and the students follow her back into the Entrance Hall, where they finally enter the Great Hall through a high double door.
It looks exactly as Draco's parents had described. Thousands of candles hover above four long tables, which are set with golden plates and goblets, and where the older students have already taken their seats.
A huge banner hangs over each table; a yellow one with the Hufflepuff badger on the left, followed by the green Slytherin serpent, the blue Ravenclaw eagle and the red Gryffindor lion on the right. But the most impressive sight is the black ceiling of the Hall, which is dotted with stars and thus looks like the real night sky.
Draco used to spend hours looking for the constellations through a telescope, especially the dragon his parents named him after. However, his interests shifted when he got his first toy broomstick when he was six and learned to fly.
McGonagall leads them to the other end of the Hall, where they stand with their backs to the staff table and look into hundreds of expectant faces. In front of them, there is a stool with a dusty, multi-patched pointed hat on it - the Sorting Hat, that is going to decide on their future at Hogwarts.
A few seconds of silence follow, but then the hat suddenly moves and shouts in a piercing voice:
"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."
Not in the mood to hear a silly poem, Draco takes a look at his new classmates. Some listen to the hat intently, others send quiet prayers to heaven.
He spots Theodore 'Ted' Nott, a lanky boy with reddish-brown hair. He also had private tuition with Draco, Crabbe and Goyle, but he and Crabbe hate each other. Apart from that, he has been living a secluded life with his father since his mother died. Still, Draco always got on well with him, and unlike Crabbe and Goyle, Ted actually has a brain.
"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!"
A storm of applause breaks out in the Hall, until McGonagall steps forward with a long roll of parchment in her hands. "When I call your name, you will sit on the stool and get the hat put on to be sorted."
The first few students are sent to Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, accompanied by cheering and clapping from the respective tables. The first new Slytherin member is a chubby brunette girl named Millicent Bulstrode.
"Crabbe, Vincent!"
Before Draco can give him one last look, Crabbe rushes towards the stool as if it were a cream pie. He takes a seat and McGonagall places the hat on his head.
Draco holds his breath. Now it will turn out if his mother was right - providing Crabbe doesn't forget what to do.
"SLYTHERIN!" it sounds through the Hall.
Draco's shoulders sag with relief. So it's true, you can wish yourself into your house!
When it's Tracey Davis' turn, a girl with caramel-coloured skin and curly hair, the hat opts for Slytherin third time in a row.
More first-years are sent to Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, until Goyle's name is called. He nods to Draco and sits down on the stool stiffly. Compared to Crabbe, it takes a bit longer, until the hat chooses Slytherin again. Goyle is followed by the long-haired, blonde Daphne Greengrass.
When a plump Neville Longbottom walks forward, Draco's face darkens. Back then, his uncle and aunt were, like so many others, supporters of the Dark Lord, but their names were revealed by Longbottom's parents, so they're now serving a life sentence in the wizard prison Azkaban.
In the second, Longbottom is picked for Gryffindor, he runs off, still wearing the hat. Draco joins the laughter gloatingly.
Finally, McGonagall says, "Malfoy, Draco!"
He casually steps forward, takes a seat and gives the hat a sceptical look.
Slytherin, get it? Don't you dare to put me somewhere else!
As if in slow motion, McGonagall extends her arm.
SLYTHERIN-SLYTHERIN-SLYTHERIN-SLYTHER-
"SLYTHERIN!" the hat shouts before it even touches his head.
A moment later, Draco is welcomed at his table with handshakes and backslapping. Triumphantly grinning, he sits down next to Crabbe.
"It worked!" Goyle chuckles excitedly.
"I think you broke the record," says a blond student next to Tracey Davis. "The hat has probably never decided on a house so quickly."
Draco waves aside. "I knew I belonged here. Slytherin is a tradition in our family."
"I'm glad to hear that, traditions still have value in Slytherin. You're Lucius Malfoy's son, aren't you? I'm John Bletchley, Prefect."
When Theodore is greeted by the Slytherins as well, Draco tells Crabbe to stop pulling a face and to make room for him.
"Well done, Ted," he says with a pat on the shoulder.
"Ditto. Hey Greg ... Vincent."
Ted knows that Crabbe hates his first name - just like he hates his own, so Crabbe retaliates with a long 'Thee-oh-dohre'.
"Wait a second. Nott?" Millicent Bulstrode asks. "As in Cantankerus Nott, who wrote the Pure-blood Directory?"
"Exactly, Cantankerus was my grandfather."
Daphne Greengrass giggles. "You would've been our teacher's favourite, we had to sing the names to Mrs Travers every Friday morning."
By 'names' she means a list published in the 1930's, containing British wizarding families who had remained pure-blooded until then, which means, did not get involved with Muggles. The whole purpose was to help the old families keeping future generations pure as well. Before he even learned to read and write, Draco could recite the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight by heart.
Tracey Davis rolls her eyes. "That list is senseless! My name isn't on it, although I grew up just like you. My great-grandfather was a Muggle, but I didn't even know him."
"See, Goyle," says Crabbe, "I told you we're not the only ones."
Goyle pouts. "No fair! They have to write a new list, with my name and Crabbe's and David's -"
"Davis."
"- and the Weasleys are crossed off, those blood traitors!"
"He has a point," says Ted. "After almost sixty years, the directory doesn't feel representative anymore. Maybe I'm going to write a new one someday." Grinning, he folds his arms behind his head. "Your family will be listed, too, Crabbe, but only if you name each of your future children Theodore."
"Thanks, but I'd rather die."
Next, Pansy Parkinson (an old surname as well) is chosen for Slytherin. She has a dark pageboy haircut and is quite short, but she has her nose so high in the air, one can't fail to notice her. As she walks - no, struts - to the table, Draco's eyes are caught by the light-reflecting gems on her shoes. They look just as silly as her frilled robes.
As she sits down with the girls, McGonagall says, "Potter, Harry!"
Whispering is heard throughout the Hall and many students stand up to have a better view. Potter makes a face as if the hat is about to bite him.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
A deafening applause follows. "We got Potter! We got Potter!"
Draco snorts. "Who cares, Potter is a freak. Nobody in his right mind would describe Hagrid as 'brilliant'."
"You talked to him?" Ted asks in surprise.
"Met him a month ago in Diagon Alley, in Madam Malkin's shop. Unfriendly guy, guess he prides himself on his status."
Pansy Parkinson laughs. It's a high, derisory sound. "Well, hardly on his good taste when he shops at Malkin's."
Irritated, Draco looks at her. "What do you mean?"
She shrugs. "The styles aren't very modern. Twilfitt and Tatting's are at least halfway based on international fashion."
"I see! And where are your robes from, Timbuktu?"
"How nice that you're asking," she replies smiling and tugs at her ruffle-rag. "But this is a unique piece from my mother. She has her own fashion line, you know?"
The girls stare at her with their mouths open before bombarding her with questions.
"I can't stand her," Draco says to Ted.
"Take it easy, you'll be rid of her in seven years."
"Ha, ha."
Now the dark-skinned Blaise Zabini is the last one to be sorted; he becomes a Slytherin, too.
"You know Francesca Zabini, the model? He's her son," Parkinson explains to the girls.
"Wow! Have you ever met her?"
"Many times, my mum likes to throw parties."
Bulstrode and Greengrass listen fascinated.
"Nice to see you, Blaise," Parkinson pipes as Zabini takes a seat next to Goyle.
He nods to her half-heartedly when Albus Dumbledore stands up, beaming at the students. His silvery beard is so long that it almost touches the ground, he's wearing half-moon-shaped glasses and blue robes with yellow stars.
"Where did he dig up this thing?" Parkinson whispers. "That's so 1983!"
"Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts!" he says. "Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
Goyle bursts into hysterical laughter (hopefully not a side effect of the rat bite) and Dumbledore sits down again while half the Hall is cheering him on. The other half exchanges meaningful glances.
"Looks like someone's going senile," Ted says.
Zabini leans forward. "Is it true that he had allowed more Mud-, er, Muggle-born students to come to Hogwarts than everyone before him?"
"That's right," replies Draco. "My father says, Dumbledore is the most incompetent Headmaster Hogwarts has ever seen. By the way, he's Chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, my father."
"Then you must know who's our Head of house."
Nodding, Draco points at the man with straggly black hair and the whitest skin a living person can have. "Professor Snape, Potions teacher and former school friend of my parents."
"What's he got on his head?" Parkinson looks at a teacher with a purple turban and starts giggling. She sounds like a toddler.
Draco turns to Zabini, nodding in her direction. "So you both know each other?"
"Pansy and I? Since forever."
"I'm sorry for you."
Zabini suppresses a laughter, but says nothing.
Suddenly, there is a Plop! and multi-course menus appear everywhere on the tables.
While the others still marvel at the large selection, Crabbe is piling roast beef and bacon, a roast chicken, a pork chop and two sausages on his plate.
"You've got drool at the corner of your mouth," Ted notes.
Crabbe doesn't answer because he's already chewing, but before he swallows his food, he turns to Ted with his mouth wide open.
Despite the disgusted reactions, no one loses their appetite, and for the next half hour they all enjoy the delicious food.
In the meantime, Draco mentions with a slightly raised voice, that his parents donated money to have the dungeon's bathrooms renewed. The girls are busy to learn from Pansy Parkinson, that they've been living under a rock in the field of fashion, but luckily they've got her now. Tracey Davis seems unimpressed, but Greengrass and Bulstrode are absolutely excited. Ted's one-word-joke ('Hufflepuff') gets everyone but Crabbe laughing, and Zabini and Goyle chat about the current Quidditch season (one of the few topics Goyle can contribute something to), until it comes to an unpleasant interruption: the ghost of Slytherin house joins them. He has a blank, rigid look, an emaciated face and his robes are covered with stains of silver blood, which is why he's also known as the Bloody Baron.
Goyle almost jumps onto Crabbe's lap, who is chewing frantically, as if the ghost were trying to steal his plate. Only when Davis asks the Baron if the stains are from his own blood, he disappears as wordlessly as he had come.
Shortly thereafter, Dumbledore gets up again and clears his throat. "Ahem - 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 in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. 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 term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."
In fact, Draco would love to play for his house, but unfortunately, there is the nonsensical rule that first-years aren't allowed to. He had asked his father more than once for a special permit (his position must count for something), but to no avail. So his poor broom, a Comet Two Sixty, is now getting dusty in his room until Christmas break.
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand sight is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
Here and there, laughter can be heard, albeit partially restrained. But hardly anyone seems to be too concerned, neither is John Bletchley; grinning, he turns to the Ravenclaw table and whispers something to a classmate.
Obviously, it's a strange joke. If a death trap were hidden in the school, Draco's father would know and had told him all about it long ago.
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore says cheerfully. He gives his wand a little flick until a long, golden thread ribbon flies out of it and twists itself into words. "Everyone pick their favourite tune - and off we go!"
"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please -"
At the other tables, most of the students join in and try to outdo each other with their poor singing skills, whereas the Slytherins are rather embarrassed (the only one moving her lips is Daphne Greengrass).
At last, barely two students stop singing at the same time and Dumbledore claps loudest. "Ah, music. A magic beyond all we do here!"
Music? I don't think so.
"And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
The babble of voices in the Hall grows louder.
"First-years, come along!" says Bletchley.