The Sorting Hat
The door swung open instantly, revealing a tall witch with raven-black hair, dressed in emerald green. She had a stern face and an imposing demeanor. Harry immediately recognized her from Sirius’s stories. She was Professor McGonagall, the head of Gryffindor House. Sirius had described her as an incredibly fair woman who didn’t tolerate nonsense. “She has a heart of gold under all that composure, but you’d better not make her angry, Harry. The fact that she doted on your father never stopped her from giving him punishments,” he had said with a laugh. Recognizing those traits Sirius had described, Harry thought he was right: better not contradict her. Yet, seeing her in person, he also felt reassured. She seemed like someone who could keep everything under control, and at that moment, with his heart pounding with excitement, that was exactly what he needed.
“Here are the first-year students, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid, beaming through his bushy beard.
“Thank you, Hagrid. From here, I’ll take them,” she replied.
Harry’s heart thudded louder as he followed the imposing figure of Professor McGonagall with his eyes. She wasn’t a stranger to him; Sirius had spoken of her many times, telling him about her impeccable lessons and her strict character. “She doesn’t accept nonsense,” Sirius had said with a mischievous smile, “but if you work hard, she’s also one of the fairest and most loyal people you’ll ever meet.”
The door opened wide, and Harry held his breath. The entrance hall was immense, large enough to fit the entire Dursley house—garden included, probably. Flaming torches lit the stone walls, and the ceiling was so high it seemed to dissolve into darkness. Ahead of them, a grand marble staircase led to the upper floors.
Harry followed the professor with the others, stepping on the cold stone floor. From the corridor to the right came the murmur of hundreds of voices—the other students were already in the Great Hall. But instead of taking them there, Professor McGonagall led them into a small side chamber. The students crowded inside, visibly nervous, and Harry felt a slight sense of oppression in the cramped space.
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” began Professor McGonagall in the firm tone Sirius had described so well. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your dormitories. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, for the time you spend at Hogwarts, your dormitory will be like your family. You will attend classes with your dormitory mates, sleep in the dormitories assigned to your house, and spend your free time in your house common room.”
Family. The word startled Harry. All his life, that word had never truly meant anything to him. Sure, Sirius was the closest thing to a father he’d ever had, and the last few weeks at Privet Drive number 6 had been incredible. But the thought of a place, of a group of people to share his time with, to live his days with... that was something he had never known. A spark of warmth flickered at the thought that his house might really be a place he could call home.
“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each has a noble history and has produced many fine witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will cost your house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will be awarded the House Cup, which is a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house you are sorted into,” Professor McGonagall concluded, her tone firm and solemn.
Ron leaned slightly toward Harry, whispering, “Let’s just hope we don’t end up in Slytherin. The worst of the worst, don’t you think? Even You-Know-Who was there!”
Already nervous, Harry felt his heart quicken. Sirius had also mentioned that Slytherin wasn’t the most beloved house, but he hadn’t gone into details. The idea of being sorted into that house unsettled him, but he decided not to respond and tried to focus on what Professor McGonagall had just said.
Dean, who had overheard them, leaned toward them curiously and whispered, “What’s so bad about Slytherin?”
Ron looked at him as though it was obvious. “Well, it’s not like they’re famous for being kind and honest, are they? Most dark wizards come from there.”
Neville gulped audibly beside them, while Harry tried to shake off the thought, staring at the door and hoping the ceremony would start soon.
“The Sorting Ceremony will begin in a few minutes,” McGonagall continued. “You will be called one by one and sorted in front of all the other students. I suggest you tidy yourselves up as much as possible.” Her gaze lingered briefly on Neville’s robe, buttoned under his ear, and Ron’s nose, still smudged with chocolate.
Harry instinctively raised a hand to his hair, trying to smooth it down, but it was a futile effort: his unruly hair refused to stay in place, as always. Lowering his hand with a sigh, he began observing the other students in the room, trying to distract himself from his growing tension.
One of the two Indian girls Harry had noticed on the train was using a window’s reflection as a mirror, carefully fixing her sleek black hair into a tight, neat braid. Her twin sister beside her seemed less concerned with her appearance but cast quick glances toward the hall, probably trying to hide her own nervousness. Nearby, a girl with long wavy blonde hair Harry hadn’t seen before was running her fingers through her locks uncertainly, quietly asking a companion if she should leave it loose or tie it back in a ponytail. The companion, a plump girl with a sweet face and kind eyes, smiled reassuringly, “Loose, definitely.”
Hermione, meanwhile, seemed to be the only one unconcerned with her appearance. She was muttering softly under her breath, reciting simple spells as if reviewing for an exam. Occasionally, she bit her lower lip, and Harry realized she was nervous too, despite trying to mask it with her studious attitude.
Neville, on the other hand, seemed more worried about not losing his toad again. He was rummaging through the pockets of his robe, casting quick, anxious glances around as if fearing Trevor might escape at the very moment of the Sorting.
Harry looked away, trying to calm himself. The thought of being the center of attention in front of the entire school unnerved him more than he cared to admit. He forced himself to focus on the low hum of voices in the room, which grew louder as the minutes passed.
“I’ll return as soon as we’re ready for the ceremony,” said the professor, concluding. “Please wait quietly.” Then she left the room, leaving them alone with their thoughts.
Harry turned to Ron, whispering, “Do you know exactly how they sort us?”
Ron shrugged, but his expression wasn’t reassuring. “Fred said it’s some sort of test. Maybe something with magic... or duels. He said it hurts, but I think he was joking.”
Harry swallowed nervously. A test? In front of everyone? That couldn’t be true. Sirius had mentioned something about a hat that would decide his house, but he hadn’t explained how it worked to avoid spoiling the surprise. Now Harry wondered if his godfather hadn’t told him everything. Around him, the others seemed just as nervous. Hermione Granger, however, showed no signs of wavering. With her unstoppable chatter, she listed spells she had learned over the summer. Harry tried not to listen: the thought of an audience of older students watching his every move terrified him.
Suddenly, a movement in the room caught their attention. Behind him, someone shouted. Harry spun around, his heart in his throat.
Gliding through the stone wall, about twenty ghosts entered the room. They were whitish and translucent, floating lightly as if the air itself carried them. They seemed engaged in an animated discussion.
“I say we must forgive and forget,” said a rotund monk. “We should give them another chance!”
Harry stared, wide-eyed, his nervousness momentarily forgotten. The ghosts floated across the room without paying the new students any attention, engrossed in their debate. But their mere presence was enough to captivate everyone’s attention.
Neville stepped back, nearly tripping over Seamus. “Are they... are they real?”
“Looks like it,” Dean replied, his eyes wide. Harry couldn’t help but smile. Hogwarts was already more extraordinary than he had ever imagined.
The door swung open again. Professor McGonagall entered, her imposing figure and usual decisive manner filling the room.
“The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin,” she announced firmly. “Line up and follow me.”
The ghosts, who had continued floating around the room, exchanged their final goodbyes before vanishing through a nearby wall. The first-year students began to line up with hesitant and nervous movements. Harry found himself behind a boy with sandy-colored hair, while Ron took his place behind him, shooting him a glance full of encouragement.
They crossed the entrance hall, which now seemed even larger and more imposing with the echo of their footsteps bouncing off the stone walls. The hum of voices from the Great Hall grew louder as they approached. They passed through a pair of double doors and finally entered the Great Hall.
Harry was breathless. The place was stunning. Thousands of candles floated above four long tables set with golden plates and goblets. Everything shimmered in the candlelight, creating a warm, magical atmosphere. At the far end of the hall, a smaller table hosted the teachers, all watching the arrival of the new students with interest.
Professor McGonagall led the group to a stop in front of the students’ tables, where they arranged themselves with their backs to the staff table. Harry felt the curious, intent gazes of hundreds of students fixed on them, as if trying to decipher who these new faces were. To avoid being overwhelmed by anxiety, Harry looked up and saw the ceiling. It was enchanting: it looked like a perfectly starry night sky, an immense expanse of black velvet studded with tiny lights.
“It’s enchanted to look like the sky outside,” whispered a voice beside him. Hermione, evidently excited, still had her nose in her books. “I read about it in Hogwarts: A History.”
Harry lowered his gaze and refocused ahead, just as Professor McGonagall placed a four-legged wooden stool at the center of the space. On top of it, she set an old, pointed hat—worn, patched, and frayed. Harry stared at it with slight bewilderment. Sirius had mentioned something about the “Sorting Hat,” but he hadn’t wanted to go into detail, leaving it as a surprise. And now Harry understood why.
An uncanny silence fell over the Great Hall. All eyes were on that strange hat. For a few seconds, it remained still, but then it twitched. A rip near its brim opened like a mouth, and with a deep, melodic voice, 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 folks 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!"
When the song ended, the hall burst into thunderous applause. Harry watched the hat bow to the four tables before going still again.
“So we just have to try on the hat!” Ron whispered to Harry, visibly relieved. “I swear I’m going to kill Fred—he wouldn’t stop going on about a wrestling match!”
Harry managed a weak smile. Wearing a hat was definitely better than facing a physical or magical test. But the idea of being the center of attention, under the gaze of the entire school, didn’t calm him at all. He felt inadequate. He tried to push the thought away, but doubt hammered in his mind: What if the hat decides I don’t belong in any house? Then another thought hit him hard: What if the hat decides I belong in Slytherin? That possibility was even worse.
Despite Sirius always assuring him that the Hat would understand him and place him where he would feel most at home, the thought of ending up in Slytherin made him shudder. He remembered how much Sirius despised that house and how he had reassured him it wouldn’t happen. “Don’t worry,” he repeated to himself. But the knot in his stomach refused to go away.
At that moment, Professor McGonagall stepped forward, unrolling a long scroll of parchment. Harry held his breath, preparing for the decisive moment. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, drawing everyone’s attention.
“When I call your name, you will come forward, put on the hat, and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she announced in her firm tone.
She unrolled the scroll of parchment and began to read:
“Abbot, Hannah!”
A blonde girl with braided hair stepped forward timidly. The Sorting Hat didn’t take long. “Hufflepuff!” shouted the Hat, and one of the tables erupted in applause. Hannah beamed and ran to sit with her new housemates.
“Bones, Susan!”
A girl with wavy brown hair and a confident air stepped forward. The Hat was slightly more thoughtful this time, but after a few seconds, it shouted, “Hufflepuff!”
Susan also joined the Hufflepuff table, warmly welcomed.
“Boot, Terry!”
A dark-haired boy with a scholarly appearance sat on the stool.
“Ravenclaw!” the Hat shouted almost immediately, and the Ravenclaw table applauded.
“Brown, Lavender!”
The blonde girl Harry had seen meticulously fixing her appearance in the antechamber approached nervously, smoothing her hair one last time. “Gryffindor!” the Hat proclaimed, and Lavender rushed to the Gryffindor table, greeted with loud applause.
“Bulstrode, Millicent!”
A sturdy girl with a surly face stepped forward, looking at the Hat with an almost defiant expression. “Slytherin!” the Hat shouted after a few seconds.
“Corner, Michael!”
Harry watched the dark-haired boy he had glimpsed on the train as he confidently walked to the stool.
“Ravenclaw!” announced the Hat, and Michael headed to the right table.
“Crabbe, Vincent!”
One of Malfoy’s henchmen stepped forward. The Hat barely thought before sending him to Slytherin.
Next, it was the turn of another boy: “Finch-Fletchley, Justin!”
He was instantly sorted into “Hufflepuff!”
Harry noticed that sometimes the Hat shouted the name of the house instantly, while other times, it took a little longer to decide.
“Finnigan, Seamus” was the first of the boys Harry had traveled with to be called. He sat for nearly a minute before being declared a Gryffindor.
“Granger, Hermione!”
Hermione practically ran to the stool and impatiently jammed the hat onto her head. The Hat remained silent for nearly five minutes before shouting:
“Gryffindor!”
Ron groaned while Dean chuckled, glancing at Ron.
Next was “Goyle, Gregory!” Malfoy’s other bodyguard, and again, the Hat took less than a second.
“Slytherin!”
“Longbottom, Neville!”
Neville seemed almost to trip as he stepped forward, visibly nervous, clutching his hands so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. He paused for a moment, staring at the stool as if it were a gallows.
Harry leaned slightly forward and, with an encouraging smile, whispered, “You can do it, Neville. You’re much stronger than you think.”
Neville turned to Harry, his eyes filled with gratitude, and nodded weakly before climbing onto the stool. The Hat slipped onto his head, covering almost his eyes. Several long moments of silence passed, and Harry held his breath, hoping everything would go well for him. Finally, the Hat shouted:
“Gryffindor!”
Neville leapt up, his face glowing with a radiant smile. He rushed to the Gryffindor table, forgetting to remove the Hat, which Professor McGonagall had to call back with a gesture. Before sitting, Neville glanced back at Harry and gave him a small nod of thanks. Harry smiled back at him.
“Malfoy, Draco!”
Malfoy strutted forward arrogantly when his name was called, and it was decided immediately: the Hat had barely touched his head when it shouted:
“Slytherin!”
Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking very pleased with himself.
Harry felt his heart pound faster as his turn drew closer. They had reached the two Indian twins:
“Patil, Padma!”
She was sorted into Ravenclaw.
“Patil, Parvati!”
She became the fifth person to join the Gryffindor table.
Next was “Parkinson, Pansy!”
She was sent to Slytherin.
"Potter, Harry!"
At the sound of his name, Harry stood up slowly. His heart was hammering in his chest, but before he could take a step toward the stool, he felt a pat on his shoulder from Ron and another from Dean.
“Don’t worry, Harry,” Ron said with a smile. “Gryffindor’s waiting for you.”
“We’ll be joining you at the table soon,” added Dean confidently.
Harry nodded, reassured, and approached the stool. The hall filled with whispers that seemed to explode like tiny sparks of fireworks.
“Did they say Potter?”
“Surely not that Harry Potter…”
The last thing he saw before the hat slipped over his eyes was the hall packed with students craning to get a better look at him. An instant later, he was enveloped in darkness. He settled on the stool and waited.
“Ah, here you are,” whispered a small voice in his head. “Interesting, very interesting. I see courage, determination… and an extraordinary strength of character. There’s also intelligence, cunning… and a willingness to prove yourself. Truly fascinating. So, where shall I put you?”
“Not Slytherin,” Harry thought firmly.
“Not Slytherin, eh?” replied the hat, considering. “And why not? You have all the qualities to excel there. Cunning, ambition… You could be great, you know. Greatness assured.”
“I already have everything I need to become great,” Harry responded in his mind. “Slytherin isn’t the right place for me.”
“Very decisive—or very arrogant,” the hat observed with a note of admiration. “You have a noble heart, but also a boldness that burns like a living fire. Yes… yes… you are perfect for... GRYFFINDOR!”
Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the entire hall. He removed it from his head and walked decisively toward the Gryffindor table. The joy of being chosen for the house of his parents and Sirius was so overwhelming that he barely noticed the thunderous applause.
Prefect Percy stood up and vigorously shook his hand while the Weasley twins shouted at the top of their lungs, “Potter’s one of us! Potter’s one of us!”
Harry sat down opposite the ghost with the ruff he had seen earlier. The ghost gave him a light tap on the arm, suddenly giving him the horrible sensation of plunging his arm into a basin of icy water.
Now he could see the staff table more clearly. At the nearest end sat Hagrid, who caught Harry’s eye and gave him a victory sign. Harry returned the gesture with a smile. And there, at the center, on a grand golden chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him immediately from the card he had found in the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore’s silver hair was the only thing in the entire hall that glittered as much as the ghosts.
Harry also spotted Professor Quirrell, the nervous young man he had met at the Leaky Cauldron. He looked very peculiar, wearing an enormous purple turban.
Only a few students remained to be sorted. “Turpin, Lisa” was assigned to Ravenclaw, followed by applause from that table. Then Dean Thomas was called.
Harry tensed slightly, watching his friend walk confidently toward the stool. Dean glanced at Harry and Seamus before sitting down. The Sorting Hat didn’t take long to decide:
“GRYFFINDOR!”
Dean got up, smiling, and as he headed to the table, Seamus greeted him with a shout, “I knew you’d be with us!” Harry also applauded enthusiastically, and Dean took a seat next to them, giving him a knowing nod.
“Hey, almost all of us are here,” Dean said with a triumphant smile. “In just a few minutes, we’ll be complete!”
Then it was Ron’s turn. The boy rose slowly, his face pale as a sheet. Harry crossed his fingers under the table, holding his breath. Ron sat on the stool, and the Sorting Hat was silent for a few seconds before shouting loudly:
“GRYFFINDOR!”
Harry burst into applause, clapping along with the others, as the Gryffindor table welcomed Ron with cheers of joy. Ron joined Harry hesitantly, his face still flushed with emotion, and dropped into the seat next to him.
“Well done, Ron, excellent!” Percy Weasley congratulated him pompously from over Harry’s head, as “Zabini, Blaise” was sent to Slytherin. At that point, Professor McGonagall rolled up her parchment and took the Sorting Hat away.
As Harry watched the others excitedly talk about the upcoming feast, a thought crossed his mind, making him smile to himself. Sirius was right; he never could have been a Slytherin. Not that there was anything wrong with it, he quickly thought, but he knew it wouldn’t have been the right place for him. He had realized this during his conversation with the Sorting Hat: courage, loyalty, and a desire to build genuine bonds defined him more than anything else.
Slytherin could be the home of great wizards—Sirius had said so once—but Harry knew his heart belonged elsewhere. He looked at Ron, who sat beside him, still a little shaken but visibly happy, and at Dean, who was laughing at one of Seamus’s jokes. He saw Neville, who now seemed relaxed, a slight smile on his face.
Then his gaze shifted to the far side of the table, where Hermione was already animatedly discussing something with Parvati, seemingly about the enchanted ceiling. Parvati laughed occasionally but appeared fascinated by Hermione’s chatter. A little farther down, Lavender watched them with a curious smile, glancing around the hall and commenting on something Harry couldn’t catch.
I’d like to get to know them better, Harry thought. Hermione had made a strong impression on him from the train, and while her precision could be a bit much, it was clear she was brilliant. Parvati and Lavender seemed calmer but no less interesting. He wondered what they liked, what kind of stories they had to share.
The realization that all these people would share life at Hogwarts with him thrilled him. There was so much to discover—not just about the magical world, but also about the companions who would make it special. Yes, this truly was his place. Sirius will be proud, he thought, feeling a familiar pang in his chest. He couldn’t wait to write to him that evening to share how his first day at Hogwarts had made him feel at home.
Then he looked down at his golden plate and noticed it was empty. Only now did he realize how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties felt like they belonged to ages ago.
Albus Dumbledore had stood up. He smiled at the students with a radiant look, his arms spread wide, as if nothing pleased him more than seeing them all gathered there.
“Welcome!” he said. “Welcome to another school year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And they are: Pineapple, pinch, sleeve, tiger! Thank you!” And he sat back down.
Everyone clapped and cheered enthusiastically. Harry wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not.
“But… is he a bit mad?” he asked Percy uncertainly.
“Mad?” Percy said nonchalantly. “A genius! The best wizard in the world! But yes, a bit mad. Potatoes, Harry?”
Harry’s jaw dropped. Suddenly, the plates in front of him were piled high with food. He had never seen so much good food all together on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, bacon, steaks, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.
It wasn’t that the Dursleys let him starve, but they certainly never let him eat his fill. Dudley always grabbed anything Harry wanted, even to the point of making himself sick.
Even though he’d dined nearly every evening at Sirius’s house, he had to admit his godfather wasn’t exactly a wizard in the kitchen. Dinners were often improvised, simple, and not very elaborate. Only on weekends did things improve, when Sirius decided to order takeout from local restaurants, turning those days into little celebrations.
That evening, however, at Hogwarts, Harry found himself in front of a feast fit for a king. He filled his plate with a bit of everything, except for the peppermint humbugs, and began eating. Everything was delicious.
“It looks very good,” said the ghost with the ruff in a mournful tone, watching Harry cut into his steak.
“But why, can’t you…?”
“It’s been about four hundred years since I last ate,” said the ghost. “Of course, I don’t need to, but one does end up missing it. Perhaps I haven’t introduced myself. Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service, the official ghost of Gryffindor.”
“I know who you are!” Ron suddenly said. “My brothers told me about you… You’re Nearly Headless Nick.”
“I would prefer you call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy…” the ghost began, puffing himself up, but Seamus Finnigan interrupted him.
“Nearly headless? How can you be nearly headless?”
Sir Nicholas seemed extremely irritated, as though the conversation wasn’t going the way he had hoped.
“Like this,” he said crossly. He grabbed his right ear and pulled. His entire head came off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it were hinged. Someone had clearly attempted to decapitate him but hadn’t done the job properly. Pleased with the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick snapped his head back into place with a decisive movement, coughed, and said, “Now then, new Gryffindors! I hope you’ll help us win the championship this year. Gryffindor hasn’t won the cup in far too long—Slytherin has taken it six years in a row! The Bloody Baron is becoming quite unbearable… ahem… he’s the ghost of Slytherin.”
Harry glanced at the Slytherin table and saw an awful ghost with vacant, staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silvery blood. He was sitting near Malfoy, who—Harry noticed with satisfaction—didn’t look very happy with the seating arrangements.
“How did he get all covered in blood?” Seamus asked, clearly interested.
“I’ve never asked him,” said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.
When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the leftovers vanished from the plates, leaving them spotless and gleaming. A moment later, desserts appeared. Mountains of ice cream in every imaginable flavor, apple pies, honey cakes, chocolate éclairs, jam doughnuts, trifles, strawberries, jellies, rice puddings—Harry thought gleefully of Dudley and resolved to eat as much as he could just for spite.
As Harry helped himself to a honey cake, the voices around him blended into a cheerful, varied hum. Dean and Neville, sitting nearby, were talking about their families. Neville recounted stories of his grandmother, a strict but affectionate witch, who had always told him he would become a great wizard like his father, though Neville didn’t seem very convinced. Dean, on the other hand, explained how surprised his Muggle family had been when they discovered he was a wizard. His story was lively, and his smile made it clear how close he was to his family, despite their initial shock.
Parvati and Hermione, a little further down the table, were discussing lessons. Or rather, Hermione was enthusiastically talking about the subjects they would study, citing books she had already read, while Parvati listened with a visibly bored expression. Parvati nodded now and then but couldn’t suppress a yawn. Finally, with a playful smile, she turned to Lavender, sitting next to her, and changed the subject. The two began whispering about something entirely different, likely clothes or divination, given the glances they were throwing around the Hall. Hermione, initially annoyed by the interruption, seemed to decide not to let it bother her. She continued speaking but in a more relaxed tone, eventually addressing both Parvati and Lavender directly. Unexpectedly, the two responded with interest, and soon the trio found themselves chatting without any trouble.
Watching them, Harry realized that, despite their obvious differences, they seemed to find common ground. Around him, the atmosphere was lighthearted and pleasant, but he was beginning to feel warm and sleepy.
He glanced again toward the staff table. Hagrid was engrossed in drinking from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was deep in conversation with Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, with his absurd turban, was speaking with another teacher—one with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.
It happened suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked straight into Harry’s eyes, over the top of Quirrell’s turban, and a sharp pain shot through the scar on Harry’s forehead.
“Ah!” Harry exclaimed, pressing a hand to his scar.
“Something wrong?” Percy asked.
“N-no, nothing.”
The pain vanished as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling that the teacher didn’t like him at all.
“Who’s that professor talking to Professor Quirrell?” Harry asked Percy.
“Oh, you already know Quirrell! It’s no wonder he’s so nervous; that’s Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, though he doesn’t like it. Everyone knows he’d rather teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Snape knows a lot about the Dark Arts.”
Harry watched Snape for a moment longer, but the professor didn’t look at him again.
Finally, the desserts disappeared as well, and Professor Dumbledore stood up again. The hall fell silent.
“Ahem… just a few more words now that we’re all full and content,” Dumbledore said. “I have some start-of-term announcements. First-years should note that the forest on the grounds is strictly forbidden to all students. And some of our older students would do well to remember that too.”
His twinkling eyes glanced in the direction of the Weasley twins.
“Also, Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to remind you all that magic is not to be used in the corridors between classes.
“Quidditch trials will be held during the second week of the school year. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.
“And finally, I must tell you that 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.”
Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.
“He can’t be serious?” he whispered to Percy.
“Maybe,” Percy said, frowning in Dumbledore’s direction. “It’s odd because he usually explains why something is off-limits… like the forest being full of dangerous beasts—that’s common knowledge. No, I think he should’ve told us prefects at least.”
“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” Dumbledore cried.
Harry noticed that the other teachers’ smiles seemed to freeze.
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as though trying to shoo a fly from its tip, and a long golden ribbon flowed out of it, rising high above the tables and twisting to form words.
“Everyone pick their favorite tune,” said Dumbledore. “And… off you go!”
The entire school began to sing:
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.
Everyone finished the song at different times. In the end, only the Weasley twins were still singing, drawing out the tune like a slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their final notes with his wand and was among the loudest to applaud.
“Ah, music,” he said, wiping his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you go!”
Making their way through the crowd still chatting in the Hall, the first-year Gryffindors followed Percy, climbing the marble staircase to the upper floors.
Harry felt full and tired as he followed Percy and the other Gryffindors out of the Great Hall. Despite his legs feeling like lead, he couldn’t stop smiling. It had been an incredible evening: delicious food, new friends, and a home he could finally call his own.
As they climbed the marble stairs, Harry noticed the portraits along the corridors watching them with curiosity. Some whispered and pointed, while others gave small waves.
“They’re already talking about us,” Parvati murmured with a small smile, glancing at a knight in armor whispering to his squire.
Percy led them confidently, stopping only to move tapestries that hid secret passages or open doors that seemed like solid walls. Harry wondered how long it would take to remember all the routes.
“How will I avoid getting lost?” he thought, but quickly reassured himself: with his friends, he was sure they’d find their way, no matter what.
When they encountered Peeves the poltergeist, Harry realized Sirius hadn’t exaggerated in his stories. The mischievous spirit floated before them, throwing sticks and mocking Percy.
Ron leaned toward Harry and whispered, “If everything here is this strange, I don’t think I want to meet the Bloody Baron.”
Harry’s laugh was interrupted by the chaos Peeves was causing. Neville was hit by one of the falling sticks but didn’t seem too upset, though he muttered to Harry, “Maybe Peeves has it in for me. I’ve never been good at avoiding trouble.”
Finally, they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. Neville stumbled on a step, and Seamus grabbed his arm, laughing. Dean quipped with a smile, “I think Hogwarts is more dangerous than it looks.”
Then Percy turned to the portrait and said decisively, “Caput Draconis.”
The Fat Lady nodded haughtily, and the portrait swung open, revealing a round opening.
“Inside, everyone,” Percy invited.
They entered the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room lit by the warm glow of a fireplace. Soft armchairs and deep red velvet cushions were scattered everywhere, and the ceiling seemed so high it disappeared into darkness. Harry looked around, savoring the idea that this would be his home for the next several years. It was exactly as Sirius had described it.
“Boys, your dormitories are this way,” said Percy, pointing to a spiral staircase. “Girls, that way,” he added, addressing Hermione, Parvati, and Lavender.
Harry, Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville climbed the stairs together, commenting on the beauty of the common room. At the top, they found a spacious room with five four-poster beds draped in red and gold velvet. Their trunks had already been placed next to the beds.
“Well, I think we’re going to settle in just fine here,” Seamus said, throwing himself onto his bed and bouncing slightly.
Dean nodded. “Much better than the train, I’d say.”
Neville paused, staring in awe at the velvet curtains as if afraid to touch them. “I’ve never slept in a bed this big,” he confessed softly.
Harry smiled, feeling at home in a way he never had before. “It’s perfect,” he said quietly, more to himself than the others. He sat on his bed and began taking off his shoes but stopped to say, “Guys, we’re all Gryffindors. Sirius used to say that your house becomes like a second family. I think we’re off to a good start.”
Ron flopped onto his bed nearby. “I hope this family doesn’t have anyone who snores. Neville, I’m looking at you.”
Neville blushed. “I don’t snore!”
Dean grabbed a pillow from his bed and expertly tossed it at Seamus, who was talking about what their first day of classes might be like. The pillow hit him square in the chest, making him stumble. Seamus feigned an offended expression, then raised his hands in mock challenge. “Oh, so you want to play rough, Thomas? Fine, bring it on!”
With a quick movement, Seamus grabbed his pillow and hurled it at Dean. The pillow hit its target but bounced off and landed on Neville, who was trying to place Trevor on his nightstand. Neville jumped back with a yelp. “Hey! What was that?” he stammered, trying to protect the toad, which hopped onto the bed in confusion.
Ron, watching the scene, burst out laughing. “Looks like Neville’s already out of the game!” he said, grabbing a pillow from his bed and hurling it at Seamus. The pillow narrowly missed Seamus and instead struck Ron’s pet rat, Scabbers, who scurried away indignantly and burrowed under the covers.
Harry stood up from his bed, grabbed the nearest pillow, and shouted, “All right, then: war!” Without a second thought, he threw the pillow at Ron, who bent forward to dodge it, sending it straight into Dean’s face.
“Oh, so you want war, Potter?” said Dean with a laugh, charging at Harry with a pillow raised over his head.
Seamus, not wanting to be left out, seized the opportunity to throw his pillow at both of them, while Neville desperately tried to rescue Trevor, who was hopping around the bed in confusion. “Please! Leave me out of this!” Neville cried, dodging as best he could. But a pillow thrown by Seamus hit him on the shoulder, causing him to fall back with a thud.
“This is for Trevor!” Neville finally shouted, tossing his pillow weakly at Ron, who caught it mid-air with a laugh.
“Big mistake, Neville!” Ron said with a mischievous grin, flinging the pillow back at him.
The room turned into a battlefield of feathers and laughter, with pillows flying from all directions. Harry, now doubled over with laughter, found himself face to face with Ron. Both raised their pillows like swords.
“Prepare to be defeated, Weasley!” Harry challenged.
“Oh, Potter, you don’t know who you’re up against!” Ron replied, pretending to be serious.
Just as Harry was about to launch his pillow, Neville shouted, “Enough, enough! I surrender!” He raised his hands in defeat, but Seamus, still laughing, threw one last pillow at him for good measure.
Eventually, exhausted and covered in feathers, the boys collapsed onto their beds. “I think Peeves would congratulate us for making such a mess,” said Seamus, brushing feathers off his bed.
Dean burst out laughing. “This was definitely a worthy way to end the first night.”
Harry smiled, looking at his new friends. “If the rest of the year is even half as fun as this, I think I’m going to love Hogwarts.”
With that thought, they finally climbed under their covers, ready for the first day of classes. Before closing his eyes, Harry thought of Sirius. He couldn’t wait to write to him and tell him about his first day at Hogwarts. Sirius had been right; he never could have been a Slytherin. With that, he fell asleep.
That night, Harry had a strange and restless dream. In the dream, he was wearing a turban that was too tight and whispered eerily in his ear. “Slytherin is your true home,” it said, squeezing tighter around his head. Harry protested, trying to pull it off, but the turban was choking him. Malfoy laughed, then turned into Professor Snape, who stared at him with cold eyes and a piercing, high-pitched laugh. Then there was a flash of green light, and Harry woke up with a start, his heart pounding in his chest.
He turned over, trying to calm himself, and soon fell back asleep. In the morning, he remembered nothing of the dream, only a vague sense of unease.