CHAPTER THREE
Icarus knows he shouldn't be nervous. Knows there's no point.
But he can't help it. It's in the air, like an electric undercurrent that no one asked for, and even the splendor of the Great Hall does nothing to remove it.
Professor McGonagall, a strict woman with tidy black hair, lines them up in front of the staff table and disappears. He fights the urge to look up, to search for his father's gaze.
He fails.
Even with the glamor, Severus is able to offer the smallest of smiles, and he feels the tension vanish from his shoulders like it'd never existed in the first place.
"Is that the Hat you were talking about?" Arianna whispers from next to him, hazel eyes wide.
He'd met her not long after he'd been dropped off on the train and they'd sat in the same compartment for the entire ride. She was muggleborn, and barely knew the first thing about what she was getting involved in after getting the letter.
"Yeah," he whispers back as Professor McGonagall sets it down on a little stool, a tightly rolled scroll in one hand.
Arianna sucks in a shaky breath and nods. For a while, nothing happens - then the Hat shifts on the stool, a tear at the brim opening like a mouth.
"You'll search high and you'll search low,
But never will you find
An older, wiser Hat than me!
For I was sewn by four great mages,
Far back in the darkest ages!
So try me on and let us see;
If you belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave of heart,
Or in Ravenclaw,
Where sharp minds embrace all arts,
Or in Hufflepuff,
Where just and loyal folk are often a light in the dark,
Or even in Slytherin,
Where cunning and ambition opens paths so often overlooked.
There's not a thing that gets past me.
So never fear! Put me on!
Let me see!
Let me figure out which House
You're truly meant to be!"
There's a round of polite applause as Professor McGonagall unravels the scroll to call forward the first student.
"When I call your name, you will come forward to sit on the stool and put on the hat," she says, "Ailis, Margaret!"
A tiny girl with uneven pigtails stumbles out of the line and up the few stairs to the stool. The Hat barely touches her head before shouting its decision.
"SLYTHERIN!"
She's up off the stool and at the Slytherin table in seconds.
There's still an echoing ovation as the next name, "Amita, Nalini", is called. It takes a little longer but she's sorted into Hufflepuff.
Then the next, "Belby, Marcus" is sorted into Ravenclaw; "Bell, Katie" into Gryffindor and then - then he kind of loses track. Of names, at least.
Until Arianna is called.
Her freckles are dark against the pale skin of her face as she steps away from the shrinking line and up to the stool. She picks up the hat, takes a seat, and plops it over her head. It drops to meet her chin.
After a minute or so, it arrives at a decision.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" it roars.
She takes it off and wobbles over to the Hufflepuff table.
"Sørensen, Icarus!"
He can't help it. His eyes dart over to his father's again and their gazes meet and it's the only thing that gets his feet moving.
The Hat settles over his head and shrouds his vision. For what feels like a long time, nothing happens.
"Huh."
He flinches and the stool shakes under him.
"Tricky," the Hat sighs, almost happily, "unusually so. You've a good mind and a large heart but…oh, my, so many secrets…"
He hesitates, saliva thick in his throat.
I hear…you take people's choice's into consideration? He thinks.
"Smooth tongue, too," the Hat says, "yes, I do. What of it?"
I just…most of my family has been in Slytherin…if that would make things easier for you.
"I could see that, I suppose," it purrs, "Let me think."
And it falls silent again, this time for so long Icarus' legs start to go numb.
"A shame, really. Wizards. But if I must choose, better be -"
"SLYTHERIN!"
The applause is hesitant, at first, but by the time he's sat in the open seat by Nathaniel Morgan, it's close to deafening. It's a while before it quietens down enough for Professor McGongall to make herself heard.
There's only two students left, though, a "Yumatov, Sergei" who's also sorted into Slytherin and a "Walter, Jeff" who goes to Ravenclaw. Professor McGonagall packs up the chair and the Hat quickly, spiriting them back to wherever she'd gotten them from in the first place.
Professor Dumbledore, in shimmering lilac robes, rises to his feet and spreads his arms in greeting.
"Welcome!" he says, "And welcome back, to another year at Hogwarts! Please, enjoy the feast!"
The table creaks under the sudden weight of food - from roast and mashed potatoes, to honey glazed ham and baked chicken, yorkshire puddings, peas, carrots, and fountains of gravy. It might be the second most useless feast Hogwarts held, according to his father, but it's a feast nonetheless and he is impressed.
But he's barely taken a bite of his first chicken leg when his meal is interrupted.
A horrid, cold feeling settles into the left side of his body and he looks over to see a ghost sitting - quite literally - between him and Nathaniel.
"So, a Hatstall, are you?" it murmurs softly, "I must say, I think the thing's getting sloppy. Two in a century? Used to be unheard of."
"I know you," Margaret says excitedly, leaning over her plate with large eyes, "you're the Bloody Baron!"
"Well, actually, I prefer -"
"How come you're all covered in blood?" asks the dark-skinned girl next to her - Esther, he thinks - "Were you attacked?"
"I'd really rather not talk about it," the ghost grumbles miserably.
"And I'd really rather prefer you didn't sit in me," Nathaniel snaps, "I'm trying to eat."
The ghost - Baron, or whatever - turns to glare at him. He meets his gaze evenly, and raises an eyebrow in challenge.
Icarus takes another bite of his chicken just as the silent battle comes to an end and the ghost floats off to bother someone else.
"Thanks," he mumbles.
"No problem," Nathaniel says, stuffing a pile of potatoes in his mouth, "guy ha'o manners."
"That was a bad idea," says a second year, leaning across the table for parsnips, "he's your only ticket out of dealing with Peeves."
"Whof's Peefs?"
Steadily, the food starts to disappear from the table, and at the exact moment he starts to feel like he can't handle another bite, it completely vanishes to be replaced by dessert. It's every dessert he can think of, too, and more. Piles and piles of ice cream, tarts and pies, chocolate eclairs and jelly and trifle…
As he reaches for the apple crumble, the conversation meanders to their pets.
"Did any of you manage to bring pets?" Douglas asks, his round face warm and inviting, "I would've but dogs aren't on the list - and I doubt me ma would've let me anyway."
"I've got a cat," Nathaniel answers, "her name's Frida. You're - you're ok with cats, right? Only some people -"
"Are you kidding? I love cats!" Douglas says happily, "What about you, Sergei?"
"I 'ave an owl," Sergei offers quietly, "if any of you want to send letters."
All three gazes converge on Icarus. He shakes his head.
The chatter starts to turn into an unintelligible buzz and soon enough even the desserts are gone. Dumbledore rises to his feet a second time.
"A few more announcements, now we've all satiated our hunger and our thirst," he says, "first years please note that the forest on our grounds is strictly out of bounds. This applies to our…older students, too. Mr. Filch has also asked me to remind everyone that magic is not allowed in the corridors between classes. Quidditch tryouts, for all those who're interested, will be held in the second week of term. Please submit your name to Madam Hooch by next Saturday, and remember that these tryouts are only available to second-years and above."
"I understand you're all quite ready for bed," he continues, "but please join me in greeting our newest member of staff, Professor Karim, who will temporarily be taking the position of the Defense Against the Dark Arts," A young man in a dark blue sherwani stands and bows to scattered applause, "and Professor Burbage, who will be taking over the subject of Muggle Studies." A woman with waist length dirt-blonde hair stands and waves enthusiastically to the Hall.
"Now then, off you pop. Prefects, lead your first years to your dormitories, please."
The sudden squeal of wood against stone meets Icarus' ears. He stands, slightly dizzy, and follows the other first-years over to two fifth-years. The taller one gives them a slow, lazy smile.
"Hello," he says, "my name is Fen Liu, and this is Ciara O'Brien. We'll be your main points of contact during your first year at school. If you would follow me."
They do, out of the Great Hall and down a winding set of stairs to the dungeons. They stop in front of a long, blank segment of wall. The girl, Ciara, steps forward and speaks the password, her voice echoing into the long shadows of the corridor.
"Astrea."
An ornate ebony door appears in the brick work and swings open. They step through after the Prefects into a carnivorous room of emerald fireplaces and leather furniture.
"Welcome to Slytherin," Fen says, "to your right, you'll find the female dormitories and to your left, the male. Tomorrow might be Sunday, but don't think you'll be able to sleep in. We'll come to take you to breakfast at seven. Other than that, I'm quite sure you're perfectly capable of finding your beds by yourselves."
They split, heading to their respective dorms, and even Icarus, as tired as he is, isn't able to absorb the simple splendor of his room.
He changes and slips under the cotton sheets of his bed; carved initials shimmer on the bedpost he faces, etching themselves on the back of his eyelids as he falls asleep.
For once, he doesn't dream.