Chapter Ten: The Sorting Hat's Silent Song

The pack of students was a sopping, dripping mess when we finally made it into the cavernous Entrance Hall. Now that we were all together – the second-years with their young, fearful eyes, to the seventh-years, who tried their best to stand tall and defiant – I could feel the tremor in the atmosphere. Terror rippled through the masses as the towering oak doors creaked shut, locks clicking and popping and snapping into place. Death Eaters – some in floor-length cloaks, some in trench coats… some with hoods drawn, a few in decorated black masks – emerged around us, a charge of them gathering to stand guard at the doors while the others circled us like sharks scouting their prey.

A chorus of relieved whispers cut across the crowd when a familiar face was the next to appear.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall said, commanding silence, but rather than looking at us, her eyes darted between the Death Eaters as she spoke. Though she was a stern, fierce witch, she was wringing her hands so tightly that they appeared colorless; even she was thrown off-kilter under the new regime. "Everyone please, to your tables."

Reforming into single-file lines, we scrambled into the Great Hall, our squeaky shoes leaving behind a slippery trail of water on the stone floor. The first thing I noticed as we entered the hall was that, although it was familiar, it was dreadfully altered. Above the long, narrow tables, where there had once been banners emblazoned with the traditional house emblems, hung four green and black pennants, each with identical images of a skull and serpent. The ceiling remained enchanted to simulate the night sky outside, which was flashing with bursts of lightning and shrouded with a rainfall that disappeared long before reaching the floor. Though it was merely an enchantment, the opaque mist seemed to leak down from above into the hall, creating a faint fog throughout. It may have been my imagination, but there seemed to be far fewer floating candles than usual to illuminate the vast room, giving the entire place a feeling similar to the dungeons.

Everyone hurried to their seats nervously, Luna splitting off to the Ravenclaw table, Neville and Ginny taking spots near the head of the Gryffindor table with me. Somewhere in the distance, I spotted Ernie, who gave me a tight nod before finding a seat next to Susan. As the chairs filled in, it became suddenly apparent just how many students had not returned this year, with nearly half of the seats unoccupied for each house apart from Slytherin, whose population appeared unchanged.

As we waited for the sorting ceremony to commence, I peered over my housemates' heads to scan the staff table. At the center was the high-backed chair that belonged to Professor Dumbledore… though I supposed it would belong to Snape now. It was, however, empty at the moment. Among the teachers, I found Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher who looked as though she'd been napping in the greenhouse moments before, with smudges of dirt on her cheeks and nose and bits of leaves caught in the wisps of gray hair peeking out from her small cap, and the Charms teacher, Professor Flitwick, who was so tiny that he needed several pillows on his chair to reach the tabletop. Chortling loudly down the way from Flitwick was the Potions teacher, Professor Slughorn, his walrus-like mustache tinged with red from the wine that he was gulping down by the goblet.

Most notable, however, was that flanking the headmaster's chair on either side were two squat-looking Death Eaters. To the left, a male Death Eater was bent over the table, hunch-backed as he leaned on his elbows and studied the four groupings of students; on the right was a female Death Eater. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a bun so tight it seemed to be stretching her eyebrows to a freakish height, and her beady eyes swept across the four tables in a sinister manner as she examined the gawking crowd. I recognized her immediately.

Ginny smacked me in the shoulder unceremoniously with the back of her hand. "It's the Carrows!" she hissed, saying my thoughts aloud.

"According to the Prophet, the woman is our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and her brother is teaching Muggle Studies. Or maybe it's the other way 'round," said Neville, frowning. "Are we really supposed to take a pair of Death Eaters seriously?"

Ginny scoffed. "Can't wait to see what they've got planned for us… I wonder what Harry would do, if he had them for teachers."

"Probably something reckless," said Neville, smirking confidently.

"And definitely something against the rules," I added.

Ginny laughed at the thought, but her smile faded quickly. "I wish he was here… it's weird without them, isn't it," she said sadly.

"We'll just have to cause some trouble in his honor," Neville said. "No way I'm going to let them bully me around."

At that, the doors to the Great Hall swung open and Snape burst in, triggering several dozen pairs of eyes to widen and lock on to his dark form. The massive room seemed to become smaller around him as he strode to his place at the table like a force of nature. Ginny's entire body tensed beside me.

When Snape reached the ornate golden seat, he looked over the silent room, hesitating on me so briefly that no one else would have noticed. Professor McGonagall was next to emerge through the doorway, a stool and a tattered, patched brown hat in her hands. She was heading a pack of pale-faced first years who were followed up by Hagrid, his gigantic boots squelching with each step as he trudged along behind the students and moved to his seat at the end of the staff table.

Everyone now situated, McGonagall wordlessly set the stool and hat down at the front of the room, and the entire place waited with a sense of jittery anticipation.

And waited.

And waited.

After an uncomfortable amount of time had passed, the staff looked between one another worriedly. Snape simply arched a brow. Professor Flitwick whispered into Professor Sprout's ear, Slughorn offered a loud, slurred suggestion to poke it in the eyehole, and a wild-haired professor with glasses that magnified her eyes to an amusing size gave one clap… then another… then another in the hat's direction as though attempting to wake it from a slumber. Murmurs bounced all through the hall, with faint whispers of "why isn't it singing?" and "what's going on?" permeating the silence.

"It's supposed to sing right? About the four houses?" I said to Ginny, clearly recalling the song - and warning - that had come from the wide rip at the hat's brim during my own sorting ceremony last year.

Ginny nodded. "I haven't got a clue what's happening," she said.

Neville's lips were pressed together thoughtfully. "Maybe it's refusing?" he suggested.

"Refusing? Do you mean like… it's protesting? Can it do that?" I asked. Ginny's face brightened, and I got the impression that the idea delighted her greatly.

"Don't see why not. It's only been giving us warnings for two years. It's probably ticked that no one bothered to pay attention, 'n look where we are now."

"Quite unusual, indeed. I've never seen anything like this before," said what sounded like a voice from under the table. I was a bit confused until the pearlescent white form of Nearly-Headless Nick emerged right through the wood and cutlery. "Good to see you, young Gryffindors. Yes, in over five hundred years, the hat has never failed to sing. Though I cannot say I've ever witnessed a staff like this one before, either. You may be right, Mr. Longbottom. It seems the hat is proclaiming its stance with silence this year."

Nearly-Headless Nick was now hovering a few inches over the table, bobbing as the other house ghosts came floating in from various locations, nosy about all the excitement.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, and the baffled mumblings ceased at once. Her brows were creased, the thin lines around her mouth looking deeper than ever as she pulled a scroll of parchment from her robes.

"Amigold, Harriet," she began, pinching the parchment firmly between her fingers so that it began to wrinkle.

Everyone waited with bated breath as Harriet Amigold stepped slowly towards the hat and sat on the stool, looking downward as she fidgeted with a thin silver ring on her thumb. Would the hat refuse to place students in houses, too?

Once the hat was touched to her curly head of hair, the brim crinkled and frowned.

"Ravenclaw," it announced in a low voice, void of any enthusiasm. A pitiful applause came from the Ravenclaws as the entire staff table seemed to exhale a simultaneous sigh of relief; what would they have done if the new students couldn't be placed? I assumed there wasn't a backup method of sorting.

"Belmont, Finian," was next. I recognized him as the little boy who clung to his mother on the platform, begging not to come. He was quivering visibly, dragging his feet as he slowly approached the stool, and was abruptly placed into Hufflepuff. Then came "Bittner, James" and "Chip, Wesley," (both Slytherins), followed by "Danner, Emma," the first Gryffindor of the year.

The group of first years dwindled quickly. Like the house tables, the cluster of eleven-year-olds was notably thinner without any Muggle-borns, so the sorting ceremony was significantly shorter than last year's. By the end, Gryffindor had received just a handful of new students.

After the final round of applause had subsided, Professor McGonagall hurried off with the hat and stool. As she darted down the center of the room, I could have sworn I heard her uttering a reprimand to the hat in a scolding tone. She disappeared from sight, and when Snape rose to the podium to give the start of term speech, it was my turn to hold my breath. He opened his mouth to speak, and instantly was met with rapidly-increasing grumbles and cries of outrage. A few of the bolder kids shouted "murderer!" or "traitor!"… and the boldest came up with a variety of colorful insults that popcorned from every table apart from Slytherin. Ginny's fists were clenched, her arms shaking with anger, and I could see that she was resisting the urge to voice her own opinion of Snape as well.

"Silence!" Snape shot, his cold tone booming through the hall, but it only served to heighten the outbursts, and I couldn't imagine what it must have felt like. To be keeping a secret like he was… to know that he was risking his life to save us all… and to be met with such hatred… it must have been so painful. I was locked on to him, trying to apologize for my peers with my eyes, but he was staring forward into the scene of commotion, impassive as the Death Eaters that stood along the edges of the room began to close in on the rowdy students.

At the opposite end of the Gryffindor table, I heard a young, loud-mouthed boy, no older than twelve or thirteen, yell "get away from me! You're outnumbered! You can't make us listen to him, and you can't force us to be Voldemort's slaves!" The boy was poking his wand at a Death Eater, whose face was hidden by a mask that deepened the sound of his gravelly voice.

"Do not dare speak the Dark Lord's name," he said.

One of the boy's older friends put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Mav… back off," he said, but his plea was ignored, and the kid actually stuck out his tongue like an immature toddler. I cringed, embarrassed for the Gryffindor house.

The boy, 'Mav', went on, seeming unable to help himself. "Don't say… what? Sorry, couldn't hear you there, behind the mask and all. Was it… VOL-DY-MORT?" Every syllable was emphasized with mocking enunciation. "Voldy-mort, Voldy-mort, Voldy-mort," he sang. The older boy was frowning severely, while several of the onlookers were doubled up with giggles.

The Death Eater charged up, turning his wand on the grinning boy. "YOU WILL BE THE EXAMPLE! CRUCIO!" he said. The boy's laughter cut off, its echo still reverberating around the hall when it was overlapped by wails of pain. Instantly, Gryffindors began to roar in anger. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs shrieked and gasped. Slytherins snickered or stared silently. It only lasted for a moment, but when it was over everyone in the hall had shut up without the need for another directive and I could feel the shock within the silence. My classmates had not realized the lengths that Voldemort's followers would go to in order to command respect. They hadn't seen or experienced what I had. They were ignorant… naïve… unaware of the fact that they were in the presence of true, pure evil.

The boy was now curled in a heap on the floor, panting as his friend rushed over and knelt down beside him. The Death Eater, meanwhile, gave a singular nod in Snape's direction.

"Let that…" Snape said slowly and sharply, "be a warning to the rest of you. Insolence… disrespect… disobedience… of any manner, will not be tolerated. It has come to my attention that some of you may be operating under the notion that insubordination would be… somehow… brave. I will caution all of you right now that any such thoughts must be dismissed immediately. In past years you may have found it acceptable… enjoyable, even, to disregard certain rules. Be aware that any such behaviors will be met with nothing less than swift and severe consequence." His black eyes stared rather cuttingly at the Gryffindor table from between ebony curtains of hair. "Lenience will no longer be granted in any degree, regardless of circumstance.

"Now then… as many of you are aware, there have been a number of staffing changes for the coming school year. Allow me to introduce Professor Alecto Carrow, your new Muggle Studies teacher." The short woman had still been staring at the young, writhing Gryffindor boy with a triumphant expression on her face. She stood and gave a nod to the crowd of students who shot icicles back at her. "Previously, Muggle Studies was an elective course, however it is the opinion of the ministry that all young wizards need understand some of the lesser known realities of Muggle society, thus the course is now compulsory for all. You will find this reflected on your schedules.

"Furthermore, as I have taken over the post of Headmaster, my previous post of Defense Against the Dark Arts has been assumed by Professor Amycus Carrow, whose expertise and experiences in the dark arts should provide invaluable insight into the subject matter," Snape continued, appearing overall impassive. Amycus Carrow merely raised his chin in acknowledgement, his thin lips arched into a small frown. "Professors Carrow and Carrow have also been tasked with heading the newly developed Department of Rule Enforcement, and will thus be in charge of executing appropriate consequences for any and all acts of disobedience. Should their methods prove ineffective, any student who continues to show neglect for rule-following will answer directly to me – and do not doubt me when I say that you would much prefer to answer to the Carrows than be referred to my office.

"In order to ensure compliance, you will find that security staff have been stationed at various posts throughout the school. The ministry has also been working in close collaboration with the dementors of Azkaban, who will henceforth serve as guards at each of the school's exits. I feel confident that, given the newly established security measures and the diligence of our rule enforcement leadership, any thoughts of insubordination will be abruptly dispatched.

"Lastly, the Ministry has determined that, effective immediately, Quidditch will no longer be an offered extracurricular, as it does not sufficiently serve to enrich the education and growth of young wizards and witches." He put up a hand before the mute audience could react. "There will be no further discussion on this matter.

"I look forward to the year ahead, and I welcome the opportunity to uphold our finest Wizarding traditions and values as your new Headmaster. Welcome back, and enjoy your meal."

When Snape resumed his place at the head table, Alecto leaned over and whispered in his ear, to which Snape responded with a miniscule smirk. Ginny, meanwhile, was silently seething, her face filled with such redness it looked as though she'd been slapped very hard on both cheeks. She was uttering rather unkind words about Snape's idea of "Wizarding traditions" and where he could shove them, while Neville contemplated his reflection on an empty silver plate. Nick continued to bob up and down over the table, arms crossed pensively.

"Don't feel much like eating," Neville said when the tables suddenly became overladen with the usual extravagant buffet. I happened to agree with him, however for very different reasons.

As dinner commenced, the hall's occupants ate in near total silence, broken up only by the clanking of silverware against plates. Ginny, Neville, and I all were lost in probably very different trains of thought, prodding absently at mashed potatoes and roast beef until we were dismissed to our common rooms. The first years headed out before the rest of us, each house guided by two Death Eaters to their new dormitory rather than by the house prefects as was customary. Then, the upperclassmen were dismissed in single-file lines out of the Great Hall.

I felt a tap on my shoulder from behind as the lot of Gryffindors made their way synchronously towards the staircases. "Do ya reckon they'll be in our common rooms, too?" asked Seamus Finnigan in a hushed tone. He indicated towards a couple of Death Eaters who stood straight-backed in front of the massive oak entrance doors.

"Probably. And it looks like the Slytherins won't be held to the same expectations as the rest of us this year," I said, watching curiously as Goyle separated from the Slytherin line, waddled up to one of the Death Eaters, and poked the plump man in the shoulder. He nudged his head in my direction and mouthed something indiscernible. The man's narrowed eyes latched on to me, gleaming with deviltry.

"That's her, eh?" he said, intentionally raising his volume to be heard over the footsteps. Goyle sniggered and nodded before marching back in the direction of the dungeons, tottering behind his pack of housemates. The Death Eater sized me up with a wretched look that said 'I'm watching you,' and a realization struck immediately: the Death Eater was Goyle Sr.