The massive oak doors swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.
"The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall," said the man, waving a giant hand behind him at the assembled children.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."
She pulled the door wide. The Entrance Hall was so big you could have fitted the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors. Several stone benches lined the walls between paintings and tapestries.
They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right – the rest of the school must already be here – but Professor McGonagall showed the first-years into a small empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.
"Welcome to Hogwarts,"said Professor McGonagall. "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 your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the 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." She looked over the children. "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."
Her eyes seemed to linger for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair to no use.
"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."
She left the chamber. Harry swallowed.
"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Ron. "There was nothing about it in any of the books."
Ron shrugged. "Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."
Harry shifted nervously, looking back at his twin when she wrapped a hand around his wrist. She looked just as nervous as he felt. In fact, everyone in the room looked vaguely terrified. No one was talking much except Hermione Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learnt and wondering which one she'd need. Harry tried hard not to listen to her. He'd never been more nervous, never, not even when he'd had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he'd somehow turned his teacher's wig blue (the teacher had been insulting the twins' parentage and Harry had been quietly furious. Next thing he knew the wig was blue). He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead him to his doom.
Then something happened which made him jump about a foot in the air – several people behind him screamed.
"What the…?"
He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to each other and hardly glancing at the first-years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying, "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance –"
"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?"
A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first-years.
Nobody answered.
"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be sorted, I suppose?"
A few people nodded mutely.
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."
"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."
Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.
"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first-years, "and follow me."
Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line behind Elowen, with Ron behind him, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.
Harry's jaw dropped as they entered. He had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles which were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. On a dais at the other end of the Hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up there, so that they came to a halt in a line on the steps facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upwards and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Hermione 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 open on to the heavens. Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently 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.
Elowen leaned into Harry's side and whispered, "Aunt Petunia would never have let that in the house."
He nodded in agreement. It was truly an ancient looking scrap of fabric. Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing a magic school would do – noticing that everyone in the Hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth – and the hat began to sing:
"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.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
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!"
The whole Hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became still again.
"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Harry. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."
Harry smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but he did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or cunning at the moment, and the only person he felt particularly loyal to was Elowen. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.
Professor McGonagall now stepped forward 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 blonde girl, who rather reminded Harry of Tom the bartender, stumbled out of the line and sat on the stool, the hat covering her eyes completely. She sat in complete silence for a moment, and then —
"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat shouted out and the table to the far right burst into cheers. As Hannah stood and started over to the Hufflepuff table, Harry watched as her robes, previously the same plain black as his own, changed color to have a yellow lining and a yellow crest on the breast. The ghost of the Fat Friar waved merrily at her as she sat.
"Bones, Susan!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan ran off to sit next to Hannah.
"Boot, Terry!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them, his robes changing to a dark blue lining.
"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Fred and George catcalling.
"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. The table of green-lined robes was much more reserved in welcoming its new member, and maybe it was Harry's imagination, but he felt as though several of them were glaring at him and El.
He was starting to feel definitely sick now. He remembered being picked for teams during sports lessons at his old school. He had always been last to be chosen, not because he was no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked him.
As "Finch-Fletchley, Justin!" joined Hufflepuff, Harry decided maybe not watching would calm his nerves, and with a tight grip on his twin's hand, he stared up at the ceiling, only half listening. Sometimes, Harry noticed idly, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. 'Finnigan, Seamus', the sandy-haired boy before Elowen in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.
"Granger, Hermione!"
Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.
"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Ron groaned.
A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train? What if he was forced to leave his twin behind in this strange world and return to the Dursleys?
Elowen squeezed his hand to get his attention. "Are you alright?" she whispered. "You look like you're about to be sick."
"Just nerves," Harry answered as "Greengrass, Daphne!" joined Slytherin.
When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, 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" (Ravenclaw).
Draco swaggered forward when his name was called and Harry rolled his eyes at the blonde's antics. The hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "Slytherin!"
Draco went to join the table of green, sitting next to Greengrass, looking pleased with himself.
There weren't many people left now.
"Moon" … "Nott" … "Parkinson" … then another pair of twins, "Patil"and "Patil" … then "Perks, Sally-Anne" … and then, at last —
"Potter, Henry!"
As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out all over the hall.
"Potter, did she say?"
"The Harry Potter?"
"Why did she call him Henry?"
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.
Interesting. Very interesting, a voice said in his mind. Harry willed himself not to startle.
Are you the Hat?
I am indeed. Now where shall I put you? The Hat mused. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting … So where shall I put you?
Not Slytherin, Harry thought immediately. Given how both Ron and Hermione had acted about Slytherin, Harry could only imagine how the next seven years would go if he wore green.
No? You'd do well in Salazar's House, young one. Your friendship with the young Malfoy and you family name would help you fit right in. You could be great there.
Ron says everyone thinks Slytherins are bad, and I know that's not true but I would rather not have the scrutiny on my every action. Harry thought for a moment. Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw would be best, I think.
Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw? No, you are perhaps least suited for those houses. While you are hardworking and loyal, your loyalty is solely to your twin, and while you are intelligent, the house of the wise would not help you thrive. No, if you are adamant about not Slytherin —
I am.
Well. Better be "GRYFFINDOR!"
The last word was shouted out for the whole hall to hear. The Gryffindor table clapped enthusiastically as he made his way shakily to the table. He was so relieved to have been chosen, he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got a Potter! We got a Potter!"Harry sat down next to Hermione, opposite the ghost in the ruff he'd seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water. He shook it off quickly and looked back up at his twin.
"Potter, Elowen!"
El strode forward head held high among the renewed whispering. Unlike Harry sitting there for nearly five minutes, Elowen was only under for about two minutes. The Hat yelled "GRYFFINDOR!" and soon enough El was at his side. She leaned close.
"Your argument must have been convincing," she said in a whisper. "The Hat's first words were 'I suppose you're going to argue the same' before he tried convincing me to go to Slytherin. He didn't try very hard either!"
She turned back to watch the rest of the Sorting and struck up a conversation with Neville Longbottom, about what, Harry couldn't hear. He could, however, see Draco over at the Slytherin table, looking a bit disappointed that she hadn't joined the sea of green. Harry couldn't help the rush of satisfaction he felt that his twin had joined him.
Harry could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs-up. Harry smiled politely back. And there, in the centre of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognised him at once from the card he'd got out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole Hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Snape, too, on the other side of the table, looking supremely annoyed as he sat next to a nervous young man who looked very peculiar in a large purple turban.
And now there were only three people left to be sorted. "Turpin, Lisa" became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers under the table and a second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair across from him.
"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley pompously across Harry as "Zabini, Blaise"was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.
"What did the hat say to you, Harry?" Ron asked in a less than quiet voice as he joined the table. "You were nearly a hat stall!"
Harry opened his mouth, trying to think of an answer that wasn't 'I almost Sorted Slytherin' when Hermione cut him off.
"Weren't you listening?" she demanded. "His name is Henry, probably only family gets to call him Harry. And in any case, you should call him Heir Potter or Potter until he gives you permission to use Henry. All the muggleborn introduction books say so."
Ron glared at her. "Don't you ever mind your own business?" Hermione shrank back a bit. "Besides, my family doesn't bother with all that stuffy Pureblood nonsense, and Harry already said I could call him Harry, right?" He looked to Harry for an answer.
Harry barely had to think about it. "Yes, we're friends, Ron. You're one of my first friends ever. And," he turned to Hermione, scowling, "I'll thank you not to tell people what they can and can't call me. That's my business, not yours."
He was rewarded with a bright grin from Ron and a huff from Hermione. Percy cut in from Hermione's other side.
"Our family does too bother with all that 'stuffy pureblood nonsense' and you've been taught it, too, Ronald." He sniffed. "You just don't visit Dad at work, so you've never seen our parents use it. His job would be much harder if he refused basic etiquette."
"Shut up, Percy," Ron mumbled, ears bright red as he glared at his plate.
Harry looked down at his own empty gold plate. He had only just realised how hungry he was. Lunch on the train seemed to have been ages ago now.
A hush fell over the hall and Harry looked up to see that Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.
"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.
"Is he… a bit mad?" he asked Percy uncertainly.
"Mad?" said Percy airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world!" The prefect paused, then nodded. "But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"
Harry's mouth fell open and he met Elowen's equally wide eyes. The dishes in front of them were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup and, for some strange reason, mint humbugs.
The Dursleys had never exactly starved the twins, but they'd never been allowed to eat as much as they liked. Dudley had always taken anything that he thought the twins really wanted, even if it made him sick, and even after a month of living in the Leaky Cauldron, the twins were unaccustomed to quite so much food being readily available. Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything except the humbugs and began to eat. It was all delicious.
"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Harry cut up his steak.
Harry blinked. "Can't you…?"
"I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."
"I know who you are!" said Ron suddenly. "My brothers told me about you – you're Nearly Headless Nick!"
Harry could see Elowen squint at the ghost's attached head and mouth the words nearly headless Nick to herself.
"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy—" the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.
"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"
Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he wanted.
"Like this," he said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell on to his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned and disgusted looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back on to his neck, coughed and said, "So – new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindor has never gone so long without winning. Slytherin has won the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable – he's the Slytherin ghost."
Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Draco who, Harry was amused to see, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.
"How do you suppose he got covered in blood?" Elowen mused with an interested glint in her eye as she picked up her knife. Seamus, across from her, scooted a bit closer to Ron.
"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately, then floated away to greet some of the older students.
When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the puddings appeared. Blocks of ice-cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding…
As Harry handed Elowen a bowl of strawberries and helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.
"I'm half and half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mam didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."
The others laughed.
"What about you, Neville?" said Ron.
"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the family thought I was a Squib for ages. My great-uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me – he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned – but nothing happened until I was eight. Great-uncle Algie came round for tea and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my great-auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced – all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased. Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here – they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great-uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."
Elowen was staring at Neville with increasingly horrified eyes, but an elbow to the ribs from Harry kept her from saying something. She shook her head.
"Harry and I were raised by our Muggle aunt and uncle," she volunteered. "They don't particularly like magic and we didn't even know we were wixen until our letters came."
'Don't particularly like' was putting it mildly in Harry's opinion, but he wasn't about to volunteer that information.
On Harry's other side, Percy Weasley and Hermione were talking about lessons ("I do hope they start straight away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult –"; "You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing –").
Harry, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, slumped against his twin and looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Snape was talking to the turbaned teacher again.
It happened very suddenly. Professor Snape looked past the turbaned teacher straight into Harry's eyes – and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.
"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.
"Harry?" Elowen turned to him immediately, concern taking over her face. "What's wrong?"
"What is it?" asked Percy.
"N-nothing," Harry waved off Percy's question and shook his head at Elowen, telling her with a look that he'd fill her in later. Reluctantly, she turned back to Neville.
The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the odd feeling Harry had got from Snape's look – a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.
"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Snape?" he asked Percy instead.
"Oh, you know Snape already, do you?"
"He's the one who took us to Diagon Alley," Harry answered.
"Lucky you,"Percy said. "Well, that's Professor Quirrell. No wonder he's looking so nervous. Snape teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to – everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."
Harry watched Snape and Quirrell for a while but Snape didn't look at him again.
At last, the desserts disappeared and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The Hall fell silent.
"Ahem – just a few more words now we are all fed and watered."
"What are we, horses?" Elowen muttered under her breath. Harry snorted.
"I have a few start-of-term notices to give you," Dumbledore continued. "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."Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins. "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." He paused for the cheering to die down. "And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
Alarmed, Harry shared a look with Elowen.
"Is he serious?" she leaned around him to ask Percy. "Why would he even tell us that?"
"Must be a liability issue if he doesn't," said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere – the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us Prefects, at least."
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' — and several students' — smiles had become rather fixed.
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick as if he was trying to get a fly off the end and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself snake-like into words.
"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"
And the school bellowed:
"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."
Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand, and when they had finished, he was the one who clapped loudest.
"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
The Gryffindor first-years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall and up the marble staircase. Harry's legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He was too sleepy even look at the people in the portraits along the corridors who whispered and pointed as they passed, or notice that twice Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry was just wondering how much further they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.
A bundle of walking sticks was floating in mid-air ahead of them and as Percy took a step towards them they started throwing themselves at him.
"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first-years. "A poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves – show yourself."
A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.
"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"
There was a pop and a little man with wicked dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.
"Oooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle firsties! What fun!"
He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.
"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy.
"That isn't going to work, is it?" Elowen asked Ron. He shook his head.
"Fred and George say that Peeves hates Percy because he always does this," he whispered. "Can't say I blame him."
Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head — or would have, had Elowen not pulled Neville out of the way just in time.
They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armour as he passed.
"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us Prefects. Here we are."
At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very elegant, plump woman in a pretty pink silk dress.
"Password?" she said.
"Caput Draconis," said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it – Neville needed a leg up – and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs and couches.
"Now, I'm sure you're all tired, so we won't keep you up with the welcome speeches tonight," Percy said, "however there is a meeting first thing tomorrow before we lead you all down to breakfast. Don't worry, an alarm will go off at six am." He smiled apologetically at the chorus of groans. "It is a bit early, but as breakfast begins at 6 and ends at nine, it should give you plenty of time for you to get dressed and ready before the meeting, and leave plenty of time for you to eat."
That said, Percy directed the girls through one staircase to their dormitory and the boys through another. The twins hung back, staring at the stairs warily. Though theyd grown used to separate beds over the last month, this would be the first time they'd ever slept in separate rooms.
"Nothing for it," Harry said eventually, and pulled Elowen into a tight hug before turning to the boy's stairs. "See you in the morning, El. Love you."
"Love you, too, Harry." And they separated up different staircases.
At the top of a spiral staircase – they were obviously in one of the towers – Harry found the first year boys dormitory at last and pushed open the door. Five four-poster beds hung with deep-red velvet curtains were spread around the circular room. Their trunks had already been brought up, and beds claimed. Harry found his trunk at the foot of the bed between Neville and Ron and nodded gratefully to his friend. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pyjamas and fell into bed.
"Great food, isn't it?" Ron muttered to Harry through the hangings. "Get off, Scabbers! He's chewing my sheets."
Harry was going to ask Ron if he'd had any of the treacle tart, but he surprised himself and fell asleep almost at once.
Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much, or perhaps it was the absence of his twin, but in his, frankly, restless sleep, 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 – and there was Draco, laughing at him as he struggled with it – then Draco turned into Snape, whose laugh became high and cold – there was a burst of green light and Harry woke, sweating and shaking, and wishing El was next to him.
He rolled over and tried to fall asleep again, tossing and turning. When he woke the next day, he didn't remember the dream at all.