For Harry, August passed in a flash, and for once, without any incident. For some reason that he could not grasp, the Dursleys left Harry nearly completely alone, neglecting to even continue to enforce the latest set of punishment chores they had assigned to him. Harry had no issues with this new, and frankly, far superior relationship, and kept to himself in his room, spending most of his time reading through his textbooks as well as the other books he had purchased in Diagon Alley.
Finally, after a month of anticipation, the first of September came. Fortunately, Uncle Vernon had – albeit grudgingly – agreed to drive him to King's Cross to catch the train that would take him north to Hogwarts. Unfortunately, that day coincided with Dudley's welcoming day at Smeltings, and Uncle Vernon had insisted on bringing him to his school first, which meant that Harry was going to be cutting it too close for comfort with the train's scheduled departure.
'How close are we?' Harry asked, nervously glancing at the clock, which now read 10:45, as they proceeded slowly down Euston Road through a terrible traffic jam.
'What're you in a rush for?' Uncle Vernon replied sarcastically. 'I'm sure the train will wait.'
'The ticket says that the train leaves at eleven – '
'No respectable school will leave one of their pupils behind,' Uncle Vernon jibed, and Harry did not miss his implied meaning. 'Even if you do miss the train, you can't be telling me they don't have broomsticks or some backup transportation prepared.'
'That's not how – '
'Enough,' Uncle Vernon snapped. 'I've already been kind enough to drive you here today. Don't bother me with stupid questions.'
By the time they arrived at King's Cross, it was already 10:55. Frantically, Harry pulled his trunk and the cage containing his owl – whom he had named Hedwig, after an Austrian mage that he had read about in A History of Magic – out of the boot, and without having time to say goodbye to Uncle Vernon – not that either of them cared – he rushed inside the station and ran towards Platforms Nine and Ten.
Thankfully, Dumbledore had told Harry exactly how to get on the platform the day they had gone to Diagon Alley, and Harry made a beeline for the third dividing arch between platforms nine and ten. After watching what must have been another student push her trolley through the brick wall, Harry took a deep breath and took off towards the entrance.
As the wall rushed towards him, however, a sudden panic that he was going to barrel right into a solid wall seized Harry. He tried to slow his trolley down, hoping to make another attempt at a slower speed, but the trolley was already going too fast. Half a metre from the wall, he closed his eyes and braced for impact.
But no bone-crunching crash came. Instead, after a brief moment of a feeling that reminded him of when Dumbledore had brought him to Diagon Alley, he heard the sound of a shrill train whistle and caught the smell of smoke and steam.
Convinced that he had not actually crashed into the wall, Harry opened his eyes to find himself standing on a platform that looked radically different from the one he had left. Instead of modern light-up displays, every sign, every bench, every lamp-post, was made of intricately-carved wrought iron. The people on the platform, meanwhile, were wearing very different clothes from the business attire of the crowds outside – more in line of what Dumbledore was wearing that day, though with more subdued and less…outlandish…colours.
The centrepiece of it all, however, was what sat on the rails. A great, scarlet steam engine, hitched to seven or eight carriages painted in the same hue, let off a second whistle. The engine carried at its very nose the same crest that Harry had seen on the back of his letter, and above the crest, in elegant calligraphy, were written the words 'Hogwarts Express'.
Harry would have liked to stay and admire the sight, but a third, louder whistle forced him out of his reverie. He looked up at the at the clock on the wall, and to his shock, saw that it was now less than thirty seconds away from the hour. Breaking into a sprint – to Hedwig's dissatisfied hoots at being thrown around in her cage – he clambered up the steps and onto the first carriage, trying to drag his trunk up after him, but struggling to get it onto the train – which gave a sudden lurch as its brakes were released, nearly causing Harry's grip to slip. Thankfully, just as the train began to move, a red-haired woman on the platform reached up and gave the heavy trunk a push, and it finally made it, landing up onto the carriage floor with a loud thud.
It took several seconds for Harry to orient himself and stand up. He dusted off his clothes and picked up his trunk and the cage containing Hedwig before slowly beginning to walk down the corridor, looking for a compartment to sit in. All the compartments in this carriage, however, seemed to already be occupied by older students who did not look the most friendly and welcoming towards a first-year, leaving nowhere for Harry to sit.
Finally, after walking down two cars and just as he was about to give up, he found a compartment in which sat a boy and a girl who looked about his age, wearing the same type of plain black robes that Harry had purchased at Madam Malkin's. Feeling a sudden and inexplicable surge of courage, Harry reached up and knocked on the glass door.
The girl stood up. She had quite curly, frizzy, almost bushy hair, and her front teeth were slightly larger than normal. Harry had a feeling that he had seen her from somewhere, but could not quite pinpoint it.
'Hello,' she said, rather timidly, as she opened the door.
'Hi,' Harry replied, not quite sure of what to say.
They stared at one another for several seconds before the Harry decided to break the silence. 'I'm Harry,' he said, awkwardly putting out his hand.
'Hermione,' the girl replied, shaking his hand just as awkwardly and uncomfortably. 'Hermione Granger. It's…uh…nice to meet you.'
She stepped aside, and the other boy in the compartment stood up. He was holding a toad, and after a few seconds of searching through his memories, Harry realised that he was the boy who had stood in front of him in line at the Magical Menagerie the day that he had purchased Hedwig.
'I…I'm…N-Neville,' the boy introduced himself, awkwardly shaking Harry's hand. 'Neville L-Longbottom.'
'Harry – '
Just then, there was the sound of stomping coming down the corridor. Harry turned his head, and saw a red-headed boy charging towards them, face as red as his hair in apparent exertion. He all but skidded to a stop right in front of Hermione and Neville's compartment, barrelling into Harry and knocking him back several steps.
'I heard Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts this year!' he shouted, panting heavily. 'Did you know?'
Harry froze and stared at the boy, who seemed to not notice him at all. Despite the warning – for lack of a better word – that Professor Dumbledore had given him in Diagon Alley, Harry still could not help but feel stunned and shocked that he somehow knew his name. Desperately, hoping that the redhead would not recognise him on first sight, Harry took another half-step back so that the boy now had his back fully to him. Slowly, he began to retreat away from the compartment, back up towards the first carriage.
'Harry Potter?' the girl – Hermione – asked, confused.
'You know, only the most famous wizard our age,' the boy rattled on as Harry continued to step back slowly. 'The one who defeated You-Know-Who at the age of one? Haven't you heard of the story? You-Know-Who went to the Potters' house ten years ago to kill him – and managed to kill his parents, too – but when he tried to kill Harry, something happened, and he got killed instead. Nobody knows why it happened. A lot of people say different things. Some think he's actually a dark wizard even stronger than You-Know-Who – I think that's rubbish, by the way – and others think that it was accidental magic that killed You-Know-Who. It happened on October thirty-first, by the way. You know, the day that the legends say magic is supposed to be the strongest and most uncontrolled…'
As the redhead kept going on, Hermione's eyes quickly darted between him and Harry, who could see by the expression on her face that she had connected the dots. Harry tried to signal to her desperately, shaking his head, pleading for her to not tell the boy that Harry Potter was, in fact, standing right behind him at that very moment.
'I didn't,' Hermione said unenthusiastically when the redhead finally finished his ramble, and Harry let out a breath of relief. 'But thanks?'
The boy nodded vigorously. 'You're welcome!' he replied, as loud and as tactless as before. He took a brief pause for a deep intake of breath. 'Do you want to go look for him?'
Harry was one compartment away from the spectacle now, but he heard, with no small measure of relief, Hermione answer firmly in the negative. Hoping to escape the redhead's attention and mentally vowing to thank the girl later, he walked back up the corridor as quickly and nonchalantly as he could, through the gangway and back into the first carriage.
Thankfully, the redhead seemed to have gone in the other direction, and even more luckily, there was now an empty compartment in the first carriage. Harry opened the door, lifted his trunk with difficulty onto the luggage rack and sat down on the surprisingly cushy plush seats, leaning back and putting his feet up on the bench across from him.
About an hour into the journey, the train attendant, an elderly woman, came around, pushing a trolley laden with snacks and assorted food items. Harry purchased a few chocolate confectionaries that the attendant told him were called 'Cauldron Cakes', along with a seemingly standard egg-and-cress sandwich. He ate his lunch in peaceful silence, looking out the window as the English countryside flew by.
He spent the majority of his early afternoon reading, as the landscape outside began to morph into a more northernly, Scottish feel. Occasionally, students would pass by his compartment and look in, but none bothered him – not even the red-haired boy from earlier – and Harry was quite happy to be left alone to his own devices as he read about the Wizards' Rebellion of 1708 in the Mughal Empire and the razing and massacre of the magical enclave of Manikarnika in A Compendium of Magic in the World.
Sometime in the late afternoon, Harry was surprised to be disturbed when his compartment door slid open. He lifted his eyes from the book and was surprised to see not one, but three, girls standing by the doorway, all of them about his age and wearing the plain black robes that some of the other first-years were wearing.
The girl on the left had elegantly-braided, jet-black hair and a haughty, almost aloof expression that made her appear removed and unreadable and yet, at the same time, like she was constantly evaluating and calculating the situation around her. The girl in the middle, whose posture and stance, slightly in front of the others, projected a sort of 'leadership' air, like what Dudley had over his gang. She had a clear look of superiority on her pug-like face.
The girl on the right, however, even on first glance, appeared different from the other two. Her brown hair was hanging free around her shoulders and slightly tangled in places, and her face, despite her obvious attempts to hide it, projected a sort of discomfort and anxiety that Harry had only ever seen from those whom Dudley's gang had bullied into doing their bidding.
'Hello?' Harry ventured nervously, discomforted by the girls' appearances.
'Who're you?' the girl in the centre asked, a barely-concealed tone of superiority in her voice.
'Uh…Harry,' Harry replied. He debated with himself whether he should introduce himself by his surname, too, as he remembered the redhead's behaviour earlier and Dumbledore's warning. But after several seconds of internal back-and-forth, he decided to introduce himself anyway – as Dumbledore had said in the same breath, Harry should not live in constant anxiety, either.
'Harry Potter,' he said, tentatively reaching out a hand.
The lead girl's jaw dropped noticeably, and she glanced at her two companions, both of whom had a look of surprise on their faces, the girl on the left noticeably more so than the one on the right. Some moments of silence later, the lead girl turned back to Harry, her facial expression noticeably changed for the better. That, however, only served to further add to Harry's discomfort.
'Hi, Harry,' she said, putting out a hand and flashing a smile. 'I'm Pansy Parkinson.' She pointed to the girl on her left. 'This is my…friend, Daphne Greengrass,' then the girl on her right, 'and this is Tracey Davis.'
'N-Nice to meet you,' Harry replied, shaking the girl's hand tentatively.
'Are you excited to be finally going to Hogwarts?' the girl asked without pause.
Harry swallowed his ever-growing awkwardness and regret at introducing himself by his full. 'I…I guess?'
'I definitely am,' Pansy said, unprompted. 'Do you know which House you want to be in?'
Harry blinked, more confused than ever. 'H-House? You mean, like – '
'The Houses, of course,' the girl said with an eye-roll. 'Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and the best, Slytherin.'
'I…I don't really have a preference.'
'You should,' Pansy said with a not-quite-kind grin, and the girl on the left – Daphne – nodded in agreement. 'The house you want to be in is Slytherin. All the other houses breed only the…wrong types.'
Harry did not like that statement at all, and there was something about it more sinister than anything that Dudley had ever said to him. Yet Harry could do nothing more than to nod dumbly along, completely lost by the course of the conversation.
'I…uh…I'll see you there, then,' Harry mumbled, wanting nothing less than for the girls to leave his compartment so that he could return to what he had been doing before.
'I hope I will, too,' the girl said, and her tone made it obvious that it was somewhat of an expectation, despite the smile that she attached to it.
'Where have you been living all this time?' Daphne piped up now. 'We haven't heard anything about you for almost a decade.'
Harry did not know whether he should ask why they would be actively searching for his whereabouts in the first place. He decided against it, though, hoping to end the conversation. 'My aunt and uncle,' he replied, telling the truth but not elaborating further.
'Your aunt and uncle? Are they wizards?'
'Uh…no, they aren't.'
Daphne's face morphed into an expression of pity, and Pansy's face briefly flashed to something that Harry did not like the look of, before turning back into a carefully managed look of what might have been commiseration.
Pansy's eyes narrowed, and she pointed at Harry's clothes. 'So that's why you're wearing…those clothes.'
Harry was confused. 'Sorry?'
'Your clothes,' Pansy stated matter-of-factly, as if it were obvious. 'They make you look like a muggle-born – they're the only ones who wear that kind of stuff around. You don't want to look like one of those.'
'W-Why?' Harry asked nervously, an ominous feeling coming over him at Pansy's words.
'You don't want that hurting your image,' Pansy advised. 'I'd put on your robes on as soon as possible and toss those muggle things in a bin. It's not like you'll be needing them. Especially not in Slytherin.'
'I'll see you at the sorting, then,' Pansy said, and not even waiting for Harry to reply, she turned and left the compartment, Daphne and then Tracey following her. Harry could not help notice that Tracey's gait seemed to be rather reluctant, her back slightly hunched as she shuffled away behind her friends.
The rest of the journey passed without further incident, and as the skies outside the train's windows began to fall dark, the Head Girl came around and instructed everyone to change into their school uniforms. Harry put his robes, which were surprisingly comfortable and warm, over his clothes, and gathered his trunk and Hedwig's cage as the train began to slow down, before coming to a stop in a small station located by a small patch of woods, through which the lights of what looked to be a town filtered through.
Harry joined the rest of the students on the train as they queued up to disembark. The late-summer Scottish night air was cool and damp, and Harry found the extra layer provided by the robes perfect for the temperature. The platform itself was lit by a series of regular-looking lanterns – regular, except for the fact that they were floating in the air, completely unsupported by any poles or hangings. As Harry moved with the rest of the crowd of students, he felt through some 'sixth sense' a feeling that the air itself was, somehow, alive and active.
'First-years, over here!' a familiar voice rang out over the crowd of students, which Harry recognised as that of Hagrid, the gamekeeper that he and Dumbledore had run into that day in Diagon Alley. Harry slowly squeezed towards the source of the voice, but he was bumped this way and that by the mass of older students. Finally, he managed to break free, and found himself with a group of younger students, all of whom looked about his age and were wearing plain black robes. He spotted in the crowd Hermione, distinguishable easily by her hair, standing next to Neville, while the rude redhead from earlier in the morning was standing several people away. He tried to locate Pansy and the other two girls, hoping to avoid them, and found them standing by the front, safely diagonal from where he was standing.
Hagrid waited for several more minutes, and after the only people remaining on the platform were the first-years, he began leading them all down a winding path leading through the woods.
After some minutes of walking, Harry found himself standing at the edge of a small bay that seemed to lead into a larger loch. A long pier led into the bay, on either side of which were lashed what looked like wooden rowboats.
'First-years head up to Hogwarts in boats,' Hagrid explained. 'We'll seat four to a boat. Don't push, don't seat more than four per boat. You don't want to be losing your House points before the year even starts, do you? Leave your things by the boats before you get on. They'll be brought up for you.'
Following Hagrid's instructions, Harry queued up, deposited his trunk and Hedwig's cage on the pier – which Hedwig appeared rather unhappy about – and stepped into a boat with three other students. The four of them exchanged pleasantries: one boy introduced himself as Dean, another as Aakshansh, and a girl – who had come from France – as Jeanne.
Once all the first-years were seated, all the boats untied themselves from the dock at once, and in an impossibly orderly fashion, proceeded towards the mouth of the bay towards the open loch. Harry could hear the excited chatter of the other first-years, carried by the wind, over the quiet splashes of the waves against the bow and the gentle rustling of leaves from the shore.
The line of boats made a right turn as it reached the mouth of the bay, and when Harry's boat followed the rest around the corner, he caught sight of it for the first time.
Hogwarts – it was unmistakable that it was Hogwarts – stood over the lake at the top of a sheer cliff. As the boats drew nearer, Harry could begin making out walls, towers, and battlements, as illuminated by the orange fire of the light emanating from behind the windows, contrasting spectacularly with the black silhouettes of the mountains behind it. Hogwarts was not just any ordinary school. It was literally a castle.
The awe did not diminish as they neared the opposite shore of the lake. The castle now stood imposingly over them as the boats floated slowly and leisurely into a small cave at the base of the cliffs, in which Harry saw another pier, a wide staircase, and a pair of great wooden doors.
The boats docked and lashed themselves to the piers. The first-years got off, queuing up behind Hagrid and following him up the steps. Hagrid unlocked the doors and pushed them open, revealing behind it another, grander set of marble stairs.
At the top of the stairs stood an old, stern-looking woman, dressed in deep green robes and a pointed hat, much like what Dumbledore had worn the day that he had revealed to Harry that he was a wizard, though less nonconformist aesthetically.
'Ah, Minerva,' Hagrid greeted the woman before turning to the students. 'First-Years, this is Professor McGonagall, your Transfiguration Professor. She'll be leading you the rest of the way.'
'Thank you, Hagrid,' Professor McGonagall said as Hagrid departed back down the staircase. 'First-Years, after me, please.'
Harry and the rest of the first-years quietly followed Professor McGonagall up several flights of staircases and through a long, spacious, high-ceilinged corridor. At the very end of the corridor was a tall archway, and over the heads of the other students, Harry could see a great room beyond, lit with what looked like elegant chandeliers.
Professor McGonagall stopped and turned around to face the first-years. 'In a few moments, I will be leading you into the Great Hall for your sorting,' she announced. 'You will be sorted into one of four houses – Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff. While you are at Hogwarts, your House will be your most important unit. Your actions will reflect on your House. Positive actions will earn your House House Points, and similarly, negative actions will lose House Points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points will be awarded the House Cup.'
'All clear?'
A wave of nods emanated through the column of gathered first-years.
'Follow me, then.'
Professor McGonagall turned and started off towards the archway, the first-years following her. Excited whispers circulated through the group, and from the words that Harry could make out, many students were already speculating on which House they might be sorted into.
Harry had read about the House system at Hogwarts in Hogwarts: A History, but he could not remember what defining characteristics of each of the Houses were – even the names themselves were odd enough that he had forgotten them until Pansy Parkinson had mentioned them on the train. Some part of him felt that the whole thing was a little arbitrary – how exactly does someone's personality at age eleven determine where they will be for the next seven years? But perhaps, he argued back to himself, it was just an aspect of magic that he did not yet understand.
The hall at the end of the corridor had looked magnificent from afar, but Harry felt a whole new level of awe as he stepped into the space itself. The ceiling was at least three to four stories high, and by some kind of magic, it was enchanted to resemble the night sky – in fact, in near-perfect replication of the partly cloudy weather outside. The chandeliers were more lavishly decorated than any other that Harry had ever seen, with brightly burning candles in place of lightbulbs. The four long tables were already packed with students, and at the very front of the hall, underneath a giant, painted rendition of the Hogwarts crest, sat a row of adults that must have been the teachers. Harry could spot Dumbledore, sat at the very centre; Hagrid, at the right end of the table; and an empty seat to Dumbledore's right that Harry presumed was Professor McGonagall's. Between the four long tables for the students and the table at the head of the hall was a small, raised platform, empty save for a three-legged stool, on top of which sat a slightly battered, patched, brown hat.
The hall fell quiet as Professor McGonagall walked up to the chair and lifted the hat from it. 'In a moment, I will call you up one by one to be sorted,' she said, her voice echoing off the walls. 'I will place this hat on your head, and it will place you in the House where it believes you are most suited. Any questions?'
After several seconds of silence from the first-years, Professor McGonagall pulled out a piece of rolled-up parchment from her robes, broke the seal, and unrolled it.
'Abbott, Hannah,' she called.
A girl with blond hair braided into pigtails walked up to the stool and sat down. Professor McGonagall dropped the hat onto her head.
'Hufflepuff!' the hat cried moments later, in a voice so unexpectedly loud that it almost made Harry jump.
'There was an uproar of applause from the second table from the left of Harry – which he assumed was Hufflepuff's – as a yellow crest magically appeared on the left breast of Hannah Abbott's robes. Harry watched as she walked down to her new Housemates, receiving handshakes from the older students and being shown to her seat.
It did not take long for the hat to sort the next several students. When Tracey Davis was called up, however, something strange happened. Professor McGonagall placed the hat on her head, but unlike with the others who had come before her, the hat did not make its decision nearly instantaneously. As the seconds turned into a minute, and a minute turned into two minutes, two minutes turned into three, and three into four, the hall fell silent with anticipation.
Harry, too, was wondering what was going on. Was the hat broken? Was it even possible for magic to be broken? Or was the hat simply having trouble determining where exactly to place her?
'Slytherin!' the hat suddenly cried, and the Slytherin table – the table to the left of the Hufflepuffs – broke out into applause as Tracey walked down to be received by her new Housemates, a look of anxiety mingled with relief on her face.
Hermione was called after several more first-years were sorted quickly into their houses. Like Tracey, the hat took its time to deliberate, though thankfully, it did not take as long as it had for the new Slytherin. After two or three minutes, with a cry of 'Gryffindor', Hermione got off the stool and found her place at the Gryffindor table along the right wall of the hall.
'Daphne Greengrass,' Professor McGonagall called.
Like Hermione, it took a while for the hat to decide where to place Daphne, but after two minutes, she was sorted into Slytherin, a small smile on her face as she walked down to join her House.
Another dozen or so students were sorted, among them Jeanne from the boat, who went to Ravenclaw. Neville was then called up, and like had happened with Tracey, Hermione, and Daphne before him, the hat deliberated for a long while before placing him into his House – Gryffindor. Neville walked over to the table, looking rather unsure, but was greeted with the exact same raucous applause as had met every one of the others.
After Pansy Parkinson was placed into Slytherin, it was finally Harry's turn.
'Harry Potter.'
In a split-second, the entire hall fell silent, and Harry could even hear the rustling of robes as students shifted in their seats. As Harry walked up to the stool, he could feel the eyes of hundreds of students staring at the back of his head. Briefly, he saw Headmaster Dumbledore's face, and he gave Harry a slight apologetic look.
Professor McGonagall gestured at the stool, and Harry sat down, trying to not look at – and failing that, not notice – the stares coming from every corner of the room.
The hat dropped over his head, and thankfully, it covered his eyes.
'I would be uncomfortable, too, if I were you,' a voice suddenly sounded in his head – but it was not his own. The voice sounded more…sage, more ancient than his.
You can talk? Harry thought back, realising that it was the hat 'talking' to him through his thoughts.
'Not in the conventional sense, no,' the hat replied. 'Although I would say that this manner of communication is far better than speaking out loud.'
Is it?
'It's more private. You can be more honest when you know that no one else is listening.'
I suppose that's true.
'It is,' the hat agreed. 'Now…where should we put you…'
Harry glanced around the hall. Every pair of eyes was still fixated on him. There was the redhead from the train, yet to be sorted, whose eyes were almost bulging out of his head. Hermione and Neville, Harry saw, were focused on him too, though trying their best to make it seem not as obvious. His eyes darted to the Slytherin table, where he saw Pansy Parkinson leaning forward, whispering to the girls around her, all the while sneaking glances at him that made him even more uncomfortable and anxious than he had been when she had approached him on the train. Wherever the hat put him, Harry hoped that it was not with her.
'Not wanting to be in Slytherin, I see.'
I'd rather not, Harry admitted. I felt uncomfortable when that girl tried to talk to me earlier.
The hat gave a small sigh. 'Unfortunately, wanting something is one thing, but getting something is another.'
What do you mean?
'The magic that the founders imbued in me forbids me from placing students based on where they want to go. If every student could simply pick their House, after all, then why should I exist?'
Harry felt himself nod a little in agreement – the hat had a point.
'I'm glad you approve. Now…Slytherin…you could be great in Slytherin. You have the potential to be cunning and clever…you want to prove yourself, I can see that…plenty of intellect. But…maybe that's not the best match for you…'
Harry let out a small breath of relief.
'Ravenclaw…now that's a possibility, too. Intelligence…thirst to learn…but I get the feeling you wouldn't be very happy there. Hufflepuff…I don't think that would fit you.'
So, Gryffindor? Harry asked.
'Hmm…Gryffindor. I can see a tenacious kind of courage in you. Most definitely determination… Chivalry…now that's a hard term to define, but you have the honour…a strong idea of right and wrong. Well, then, it looks like it best be…'
'Gryffindor!' the hat shouted.
The applause and cheers from the Gryffindor table was deafening, and as Harry approached, it only grew louder still. A pair of red-headed twins clapped him on the back and lifted him into the air as he passed them, and another red-headed boy, who wore a silvery badge with a 'P' on his chest, shook his hands in a business-like manner. Finally, after much un-wanted and uncomfortable fanfare and celebration, Harry was released and allowed to sit down, taking the seat offered to him opposite Hermione and Neville.
'Congratulations,' said Hermione.
Neville nodded. 'Congratulations.'
'Thanks. And…uh…thanks for…for on the train, by the way,' Harry said to Hermione as Aakshansh Trivedi was sorted into Hufflepuff. 'For…you know, telling Ron to…'
Hermione gave a slight shrug. 'Don't mention it.'
The rest of the sorting proceeded quickly, with no more students taking more than half a minute. Dean from the boat was sorted into Gryffindor, and to Harry's dismay, so was the redhead from the train, Ron Weasley. The moment he was sorted, Ron had made a beeline to Harry to shake his hand, even trying to squeeze into the seat next to him. Only after the red-headed twins – who, Harry realised, were his older brothers – intervened with a threat of giving him the 'Percy treatment' did he finally leave Harry alone.
When the final first-year, Blaise Zabini, was sorted into Slytherin, Professor McGonagall brought away the stool and the hat. When she returned and sat down with the rest of the teachers, Dumbledore stood from his seat, and with a soft clearing of his throat, the entirety of the hall fell quiet.
'I am sure that you are all hungry after a long day of travelling,' he said, and there were murmurs of agreement among the students. 'A few words before the feast. To you recently-arrived first-years, firstly, a congratulations. Every single one of you here demonstrates enormous magical potential, and I hope that in the next seven years, that potential will be fully realised.'
Neville gave a small gurgle in his throat, and Hermione sat up a little straighter.
'First-years, it is our tradition to begin each Welcoming Feast with an offering to the Istworjancis, the seven Creators who, according to legend, created life on Earth and magic,' Dumbledore announced. 'This has been a tradition dating back to since when Hogwarts was founded, done in hopes that the year ahead will be successful and prosperous. You are all, of course, invited to join along or to not take part as you please. If you choose to simply watch, I ask you to please, out of respect for students taking part, remain silent. Professor Sprout, if you please.'
A woman seated to Dumbledore's left passed to him what looked like a widened, shallowed chalice, then a bundle of what appeared to be twigs. Dumbledore placed the branches carefully in a circle around the chalice, before pouring some kind of liquid from a goblet over them. Then, he drew his wand and waved it around the edge of the chalice, and the ends of each of the twigs successively lit up with a small, multicoloured flame.
'Istworjancjes,' Dumbledore said, his voice taking on a slight singing tone.
'Istworjancjes,' repeated some of the students, bowing their heads in the direction of the flaming chalice. Other students, meanwhile, sat silently, watching but not taking part.
'Zyladaczex, pruszeti so Milaszow cejkeszi, mic en ojw Pytwaje toco.'
The same students who had repeated the previous invocation repeated this utterly incomprehensible refrain fluently. Harry sat up a little taller, looking around the room in curiosity. A majority of the students did not seem to be following along and instead simply looking on, but there were sizable portions of students from each of the tables who were.
'Wertmenex, pruszeti ojw Gebjan toco milasztyje mi midseneje hesti,' Dumbledore said.
'Wertmenex, pruszeti ojw Gebjan toco milasztyje mi midseneje hesti,' the students echoed.
'Cuznawtecex, pruszeti so julogeni nesrej miden Szastoj.'
Harry looked over to Hermione and Neville as the participating students repeated the line again. Neville was not taking part, instead looking on in respectful silence. Hermione, meanwhile, was trying to hide her confusion and apparent curiosity while at the same time trying to emulate Neville. Harry shot her a questioning look, but she only gave a slight shake of her head and motioned for Harry to look ahead towards Dumbledore, as Neville was doing.
'Zadowajtecex, pruszeti so nesrej cejkeszi perdtnes hnes Pontew.'
'Zadowajtecex, pruszeti so nesrej cejkeszi perdtnes hnes Pontew,' answered the students, and Harry sat as still as he could, battling with his desire to look.
'Hwjerikwunex, pruszeti so xarniczri mi Szastow dotezi kojlmi, kis midajleti ojw Dexow nesrem.'
Harry's curiosity overcame his self-control, and he could not help but look around the room again. This time, though, as he looked around, he noticed something odd. Some of the students who had repeated after Dumbledore in the previous refrains – and especially some from the Slytherin table – remained silent after this one, looking down at the table and breaking their concentration on the chalice.
'Selcjer, pruszeti so njens xarniczri mi gindwadeti.'
This time, everyone taking part repeated the line, including those who had remained silent with the previous refrain. It was as if they had never broken their gaze as their eyes were once again stoically focused on the chalice in front of Dumbledore.
'Mi, Nebokwunod, kis nesrej isdotez Sel Wulsztat, mi kijx wjej na kojlis aztdalgsenjecmi hesos.'
Dumbledore now waved his hands over the chalice, and with a loud whoosh, a tall flame erupted from it, burning brightly for several seconds, before going out as quickly as it had appeared. The twigs that had lined the rim of the chalice were gone, presumably consumed in the flames. After examining the chalice for several seconds, he passed it back to Professor Sprout and sat down.
'Thank you for your attention,' he announced. 'Now, let the feast begin.'
In an instant, plates and plates of all manners of foods materialised on the tables, and the previously silent hall erupted into loud and boisterous chatter. Harry looked around him at the food on display. There were plates of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, shepherd's pie, curries, salads, and a host of other dishes that he could not name. Harry tried to decide on a course, but found that the variety was so great that he was having trouble deciding what he wanted, and only after a long minute of deliberation, did he finally settle on a basic fish and chips.
Once Harry had begun to feast, it was as if some force had appeared to propel him to eat more, and more, and more, such that by the time pudding came around, he had no more room left for even another crumb, and with some regret, had to forego the treacle tart. When the pudding was cleared away, Harry was alternating between wanting to fall asleep and trying to prevent his own stomach from bursting.
Professor McGonagall stood up at the head table. 'Prefects, please lead your students to your House dormitories,' she said, her voice amplifying off the walls of the once-again quiet hall. 'Head Students, a word, please.'
The red-headed boy who had earlier shaken Harry's hand rose from his seat. 'Gryffindor first-years, with me, please!' he called in a rather pompous manner. 'Hurry up, but do not push!'
Harry rose from his seat rather reluctantly and made his way over to the Prefect, taking his place in line. After a count of numbers, he led the students out of the hall, down the long corridor from which they had come earlier, and up a flight of stairs which pivoted about its base as they climbed.
'Don't worry,' the Prefect, who had introduced himself as Percy, said as some of the first-years, Harry included, grabbed onto the handrails and held on for dear life. 'These stairs are designed to move to dock with the correct next landing.'
Sure enough, after some seconds of movement, the staircase ground to a halt, its top step meeting one of the two possible landings on the next level without even a visible gap. Percy led the students up the next flight, which, like the one before it, also moved to meet one of the three possible destinations. Finally, three moving flights of stairs later, they climbed through a small wooden door, behind which was yet another staircase – this time a steep spiral one.
'This way up to Gryffindor tower,' Percy called back over his shoulder as he began taking the stairs two at a time. 'It will be a long walk. Pace yourselves.'
In truth, Harry thought it was not a terribly long climb – only sixty or so steps in total – but when they got to the top, he could see some of the other first-years panting, their faces red. Even Percy looked a little winded.
At the top of the staircase was a short corridor, at the end of which was a painting of a rather large woman, dressed in a white wedding dress and holding a wine glass in her hand. The most striking thing about the painting, however, was that the woman in it was moving.
'Hello, Percy,' the woman in the painting said. 'Are these the new first-years?'
'Hello,' Percy replied. 'Yes, these are the new first-years. Fourteen of them, to be exact.'
'Hello, first-years,' the woman cooed in a kind of baby-voice. 'We'll get to know each other quite well, I'm sure. Just don't forget the password!'
'Behind this door is the Gryffindor common room,' Percy explained to the gathered first-years. 'As you have just heard, you will need to give the password to enter beyond here. The password will change regularly, so as to prevent unwanted visitors from learning the password and entering without permission. It will be your responsibility to remember the password. The one for this week is "ruby".'
'Ruby!' Percy called, and with a nod from the woman, the painting swung aside, revealing a low door. Percy led the first-years through, having to duck to avoid hitting his head.
Beyond the door was a large, cosy space. A fireplace burned in the corner, around which were several armchairs upholstered in the red colour of the Gryffindor House. Along the walls were several desks, and a row of bookshelves lined one of the back walls. Several older students were already seated around the room, reading or talking quietly with their friends. On either side of the bookshelves, two doorways opened into two more sets of spiral staircases.
'Up the left staircase are the boys' dormitories. The first-year dormitory is the first door you see on the way up,' Percy said, gesturing at the doorways. 'Up the right staircase are the girls' dormitories. First door up as with the boys. Any questions?'
The first-years collectively shook their heads.
'Good. Curfew for first-year students is ten o'clock. Do not let myself nor any of the other Prefects or Head Students catch you out of the Gryffindor Common Room later than ten, or you will lose your House points. Also, from the headmaster: all students are forbidden to set foot in the corridor leading from the rightmost landing on the third floor. Anyone who does so risks not only points and detention, but also bodily harm. Is this understood?'
Harry nodded, unsure of what Percy meant by 'bodily harm' but not wishing to find out.
'Up to the dormitories now, then,' Percy said. 'Your things will have already been brought up for you. Make sure to go to sleep early. Your first day of classes is tomorrow.'
The group split apart, Harry and the rest of the first-year boys heading up the left staircase. As instructed, they stopped on the first landing and opened the door, stepping through one by one.
Beyond the door was a circular room, and seven four-poster beds were arranged in a circle along the walls. By each bed, the students' trunks and the cages containing their pets were already stacked. Harry spotted Hedwig and his trunk by the third bed from the left, the one right next to a window which looked out over the lake and grounds.
The boys dispersed around the room. Harry, Neville, and Dean helped one another unpack their things and soon after, many were getting ready for bed. Harry, however, after releasing Hedwig into the night sky to hunt, sat down by his bed, looking out the window, tuning out Ron, Seamus, and another boy called Raul's loud bickering over whether an English or Spanish team was better at some game called 'Kwidditch'.
The pearl-coloured moonlight reflected off the calm surface of the lake and illuminated the jagged mountaintops in the distance. Down below, Harry could see the empty grounds of Hogwarts, bordered in the distance by the treeline of an expansive, dark forest that seemed to move and sway as if it, somehow, had a life of its own.
Just twelve hours ago, he had woken up in his bedroom at Privet Drive, and now, he was sitting in his bedroom at the top of a castle, looking out over the grounds of a magical school.
Perhaps, everything he had ever wanted was coming to fruition.
