But We'll Never See Them Again
The woman was, of course, Professor Minerva McGonagall – Peter had heard plenty about her from his older brother, mostly in warnings against getting on her bad side. That hardly needed to be said now. The first-years were so cowed and the professor so severe that not one whisper could be heard as they were led through the hallways, all ears attentive to the brief overview she gave to the four Houses: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, each of whom received house points for good behavior and lost for bad, with the House Cup awarded at the end of the year to the House with the most points. The students nodded along, tension settling over the group in the face of the impending trial.
Peter was so lost in thought that he almost missed the sound of a second pair of massive wooden doors being pushed open. Almost. The dull roar of hundreds of students laughing and chatting amidst the grandest place Peter had ever seen was more than enough to catch his attention. He stared around in shock.
The walls looked to be made of worn stone, a bit medieval, but they arched up, up, up – until he was craning his neck to drink in the sight of thousands of stars sprinkled across the ceiling to glisten overhead. It looked so real. He could see all the constellations… when he finally managed to tear his eyes away and focus instead on the mass of silenced older years, he noted the four long, wooden tables stretching across the room, laden with place settings- one for each house. Suspended in midair above the tables were candles, bobbing up and down lazily as their light glinted off the plates and cutlery set before each student. Peter did his best to melt into the crowd, shying away from the rest of the hall’s curious eyes.
“Welcome, first years!”
The room’s volume lessened, but only slightly, the man having surely placed an Voice Amplification charm upon himself to be heard. He was dressed in vividly violet robes who spoke then, stood at the head of the room with wide-open arms and a glorious smile. It was too far to see properly, but Peter figured that beard must have stretched halfway down his chest, auburn shot through with silver. He wore a golden cap over similarly colored hair that almost reached as long as the beard. Below the raised platform for him and the other professors – McGonagall having taken her place in the seat beside his, on her other side a man twice her size with an overgrown bush of a mustache.
No names, no haircuts, Peter thought to himself. Got it.
“My name is Albus Dumbledore, current Hogwarts headmaster. It is simply delightful to see you all. Professor McGonagall will be so kind as to call your names in alphabetical order, and you will approach the Sorting Hat.” He gestured to a stool smack in the middle of the hall, stereotypical witch hat perched atop. “Ah, Hat – if you will?”
A few titters ran through the crowd of eleven-year-olds. Peter knew better; he watched one of the creases in the hat open, and then in a raspy voice and chanting tune, the Sorting Hat was singing.
“Welcome here to school, my friends
Both the old and new,
First years, you don’t know me yet
You will when we are through.
Yes, of course I’m very old
I know how I appear
But without a doubt
I think you’ll find
I’m the wisest hat that’s here.
So put me on your little heads
And I will soon decide
Which house I ought to place you in
Don’t fear, I’ve never lied.
Perhaps Slytherin
Respect tradition
Always working smarter;
Or Hufflepuff
Hardworking, tough
And loyal with their power
Maybe Ravenclaw, accepting lot
Value each’s intelligence
Or Gryffindor, our honored core
Valiant in righteousness.
Each house, all four
Instated by
A founder of my school
So to this day
I shall remain
Their ever-faithful tool.
Slip me on and I’ll reveal
What you have inside
The makings of a true magician
In me you can confide!”
Thunderous applause drowned out the echo of the last line, several first-years joining in. Peter’s eyes found James a few bodies away. Valiant and righteous? He mouthed, raising his eyebrows. James shot him a grin and a shrug, eagerly clapping along. I have no idea what you just said.
Peter raised a hand to cover his face, giving a long-suffering sigh.
“Ailsmith, Claudia!”
The applause faded to quiet discussion once more; a small girl with loose brown hair past her waist stumbled forward. It took what felt like forever for her to make it to the stool and sit down, but when she tentatively put on the Sorting Hat, it didn’t hesitate.
“RAVENCLAW!”
The second table from the left clapped and cheered wildly. Above their heads, a massive purple banner unfurled, emblazoned with a massive silver raven beating its wings and putting out the surrounding candles. Face flushed, Claudia took off the hat and placed him carefully back on the stool, then hurried over to the end of her new house table. Several students clapped her on the back as she sat. Peter began to breathe a bit better.
“Avery, Ottilie!”
Long black plaits, pale skin, almost running to sit down.
“SLYTHERIN!” A forest-green banner, its animal silver as well – one massive resplendent snake, coiling and uncoiling, flicking its tongue coyly.
“Beller, Aurelius!”
A boy this time, sleep-mussed and with his robes inside out.
“RAVENCLAW!” The bird opened its beak in a soundless victory call.
“Black, Sirius!”
Instant silence ripped like wildfire through the hall. From their group – Peter hadn’t noticed him before, but he sure did now, and was berating himself for not remembering James’s announcement the day before – Sirius Black strode forward, head high, expression void of all emotion save imperiousness. He spared no glance to the watching tables as the others had, but Peter saw him peek quickly at McGonagall before snapping his head back to the Sorting Hat and lifting it to sit down. He donned it carefully, as though afraid of being bitten, and then snatched his hands away. It was approximately half a second before the Hat shouted “GRYFFINDOR!”
If the hall had been quiet before, now it wasn’t breathing.
The drop of a pin would have been deafening.
The boy didn’t move to take the hat off his head, and his face had gone chalk white, all trace of the aloof expression gone. His eyes were squeezed shut as if that could stop what was happening, fix the world somehow.
Because everybody knew Blacks didn’t get sorted into anything other than Slytherin, and certainly not Gryffindor, the rival house. Because Peter was pretty sure no Black had been sorted anywhere but Slytherin in more than ten generations.
The silence stretched on, until with noticeably shaking hands, Sirius Black removed the Sorting Hat and returned it with the utmost delicacy to the stool. He cut an uncertain path to the Gryffindor table, the clack of his footsteps on the polished floors providing the only sound in the entire hall. Peter was pretty sure even some teachers had their mouths open, watching. When Sirius sat down with his back to the hall, brushing a lock of jet black hair from his face to fall just above his ear, no one cheered. No one clapped. They just stared at him, like the rest of the room, like the massive golden lion silent and impassive against maroon fabric overhead. An eleven-year-old on a wooden bench breaking the century-old tradition of the most terrifying and most powerful pureblood family in the entire wizarding world.
“Oh, FUCK this, you bloody drama queens.”
Someone pushed through the crowd of first-years, making several actually topple over. Shaking his curls out of his scarred face, back straight and head tall, Gangster strode with purpose for the stool, and quickly jammed the hat on his head. He didn’t sit down, instead glared around at all of them, and then looked up at McGonagall with the same hard gaze.
“Lupin, Remus,” he told her, and then the hat spoke–
“GRYFFINDOR!”
Gangster visibly let out a breath. Then the hat was returned to its place and Gangster was back across the hall, each step fast and purposeful as he strode around the table to put his back to the wall, swinging his legs one after the other over the bench across from Sirius Black. He held out a hand, eyes flashing. Sirius’s face was not visible to the vast majority of the hall, but everyone saw him reach out in return, and the two boys shook firmly before turning to watch the rest of the Sorting. McGonagall, who had apparently had found time to regain her composure, called out the next name in only a slightly higher pitch than she had the previous.
“Derratia, Sebastian!”
“HUFFLEPUFF!” The fourth and final banner, golden-yellow and emblazoned with a glittering badger snarling at the hall, dropped down above the last table.
And so it went. The chatter returned and soon they got into the swing of it. While there couldn’t have been more than thirty of them as a whole, it still felt like an eternity before “Pettigrew, Peter!” was shouted to the hall and James was shoving him forward, only a few of them left in the crowd, whispering, “go mate, I’ll be right behind you!”
It occurred to Peter as he dropped the hat over his head – and then his ears, oops – that he hadn’t had time to consider which house he thought he really fit in, based on the Hat’s song. He knew he wanted to be in Gryffindor with James, but-
“Gryffindor, eh?”
He nearly fell off the seat, but it hadn’t been a shout. The Hat was talking… to him.
Val never mentioned that the bloody hat speaks to you!!!!!
“Oh, calm down. I remember your brother. But you, hmm… you want Gryffindor because of your friend, yes? His father was in that house… but children are not their parents… still I see in you bravery, and well-meaning intentions… plug your ears, child, this will be loud.”
Peter barely had time to stuff his fingers in before the shout crashed against his ears, shaking him even with its volume muffled. “GRYFFINDOR!”
“Thank you,” he whispered, and dropped it in place before making for the edge of the cheering table, only to notice at the last second that the other students who had joined the house had chosen to take the middle space, a gap emptied the moment Sirius Black sat down. As such, he had two options: the heir to the most powerful family in the wizarding world, or a real-life gangster.
Shaking, Peter chose the gangster. He said nothing to Peter as he sat; Sirius Black gave him a nod and looked back to the Hat. There were three students left.
“Potter, James!”
The brown-skinned boy bounced forward, visibly grinning. With a quick wave to McGonagall – Peter covered his eyes with an internal groan – James plopped down on the seat and donned the hat.
It had barely touched his head before announcing, “GRYFFINDOR!”
James cheered along with the table, replacing the hat and either forgetting or not daring to risk another wave towards the teachers as he moved away. He headed directly for the seat across from Peter and reached over the wide table for a high-five as he sat down. Cheeks flushing, Peter slapped it quickly and ducked his head.
“Snape, Severus!”
The boy who’d made fun of Pete earlier was sorted into Slytherin; twins were sorted into Hufflepuff and Slytherin; a girl was sent to Ravenclaw, and then Dumbledore stood to take McGonagall’s place, clapping his hands and looking absolutely delighted.
“So glad to have everyone settled. And now, a phrase taken directly from the ancient dodo legends themselves – let us eat some glorious food!”
He clapped his hands together: once, twice, and then the tables were groaning under the weight of the feast laid before them. For a moment they all just stared, even Gangster, but the older students were whooping and digging in, so with some suspicion they followed suit. Peter had only half-filled his plate by the time James began talking.
“Sirius, right? I’m James. Remus was in our compartment on the train.”
“Oh.” Black frowned. “I was towards the b-back, I think.”
“You must have been even earlier than us!” James exclaimed. “Who did you sit with? Any Gryffindors?”
“I-I-I don’t think so. They were mostly o-older years, though.”
“Ooh. We met some older kids too.” He grinned at Peter, who rolled his eyes and pointed to the food.
“Let him eat, James, Merlin.”
James shrugged. His eyes scanned the food before them. “Oi, Remus, pass the potatoes?”
Gangster did so, the apathy never leaving his face. All three of them were sneaking him glances. He seemed to be purposefully ignoring it.
A fifth plate thunked down beside them. Peter started, fork halfway to his mouth to surreptitiously cover another sneaky glance, and promptly dropped his broccoli. It was the red-haired kid from the lake.
“Alright if I join you guys? I’m Benjy Fenwick, I was on the boat earlier – well, with two of you.”
Peter waved, and Benjy sent him a brief smile before looking to Sirius Black and Gangster. “Who’s everyone else?”
The black-haired boy arched one eyebrow, back stiff. “Sirius Black.” It was not in any way plausible that Benjy didn’t already know Sirius’s name. Still, Peter found the skeptical assumption fairly arrogant. He didn’t like the boy very much, he decided. Then again, he supposed the Black family had never seemed to place much stock in being likable.
There was a pause. Then Benjy, earning up to his new Gryffindor title, addressed Gangster. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Lupin,” he grunted through a mouthful of food. Peter exchanged a glance with James. Sirius leaned back nervously. Benjy cleared his throat.
“Well! That's cool. So, uh, James – what have you heard about classes?” He chanced a quick glance at Sirius, who was still watching, then looked away quickly and said, “I-I’m a half-blood, so I’ve heard s-some stuff. From my mum.”
“A half-blood!” Sirius gasped before James could respond. Everyone at the table flinched, not just their group – every single student within earshot. Sirius threw his head back and cackled, drawing even more attention, and shook his head. “You lot. So bloody jumpy.”
He stood from the bench with more grace than he should’ve been able to, considering he had to swing his legs over just to get out from the table, and strode away towards what Peter assumed to be the public lavatory. After a moment, Benjy begged off and returned to his original seat, where the heads of other students clustered around him like seagulls to a sandwich, eager to hear what had set off Sirius Black and if he really was a crazy blood purist like his family. Peter scoffed to himself; as if Sirius wouldn’t be. He had the air of someone who’d grown up being told they were greater, smarter, more talented than the entire rest of the wizarding world. Maybe it was true. Regardless, it had made a very clear mark.
He thought snidely that no one could grow up in Black Manor and claim to maintain any shred of personability.
Once Sirius had made his exit, their conversation died down, James seeming to have given up. Gangster remained fixated on his plate. Peter eventually lost appetite for his own, although he hoped there would be enough good food in future meals – he was looking forward to choosing his own food here. Actual, good food. Eventually dessert replaced the meal, and Peter figured he might have room for treacle tart, which he realized after one bite was painfully incorrect and instead sat back, staring at the ceiling so as to not catch a glimpse of a single piece of food again and literally combust.
“Hogwarts students, old and new, if I may have your attention!”
With two resounding claps, the food disappeared. Peter snuck around a nervous glance; Sirius had yet to return. “Welcome, welcome. I trust you are now all properly satiated? I myself am feeling quite fattened up,” he patted his stomach good-naturedly, “I must beware of hatchets. Now. Announcements. A new truce has been struck up with the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest, please do the staff a favor and do not enter, else we return to negotiations for the twenty-fifth time in twelve years. Any pets you have will be found in your rooms, barring owls, who will be found in the Owlery, I expect. The post arrives at breakfast, so I warn you not to skip meals, and you are reminded not to smuggle in muggle drugs, if only for the sake of our kneazles population who respond to the scent as one would a highly effective aphrodisiac.”
Scattered laughter rose from around the hall. Peter couldn’t tell if it had been a joke or not. He also wasn’t sure what an aphrodisiac was supposed to be, or a kneazle.
“Be polite and respectful, else you rack up detentions, thank you to our wonderful prefects–” several whoops, and he inclined his head, eyes sparkling behind what looked to be thin glasses, although it was a bit too far to tell. “Note that no magic is permitted in the hallways. There is a midnight curfew for all students, and if prefects do not catch you out of bed, our lovely gameskeeper Peeves will be happy to – how do you say it, Peeves? ‘Bust a funky move’?”
Gangster let out a snort, then looked annoyed at himself. Peeves grinned and called back his response. “Quite hip of you, Headmaster, I must say.”
“Why thank you.” Peter wondered if Dumbledore knew he’d been made fun of. He didn’t seem like the kind of bloke who would mind very much. This was the most powerful magician of their generation? He’d expected… well, more of an ego. Someone more like Sirius Black.
“Here at Hogwarts we play a wizarding sport called Quidditch. Some of you may know of it, some not; by the end of this year you will all be quite familiar. Madame Hooch will, I’m sure, take delight in teaching you all.” He indicated a shrew-faced, golden-eyed witch, who waved at the crowd to tremendous cheering. “Tryouts are scheduled for the beginning of our third week. Only second-years and above are permitted to try their brooms, although the rest of you may of course fill up the stands to watch. And now, the most treasured portion of our evening–”
He seemed to shake off a weight from his shoulders – if Peter had thought he looked carefree before, now he was positively giddy, having finished with boring rules and gotten on to the part he enjoyed. Both heavily-ringed hands were raised, and a scroll burst to life in the air above his head, candles rapidly swaying out of the way so as to not catch it on fire. It unrolled, parchment emblazoned with glowing purple letters. Peter squinted. It looked like… a song?
“Claudia Ailsmith!” A shriek sounded from the far end of the Ravenclaw table. “Our first incoming student, and thus our most honored musician of the night. If you will pick a tune for us, please? Something most would know.”
It was too far for anyone at Gryffindor table to be able to spot her. When she answered, it was passed down through the other Ravenclaws, until someone who fancied themselves loud enough shouted, “she said Happy Birthday!”
“Thank you, but last time I checked I do believe that was in August, my dear.” Then he raised his hands again with his wand in the right as a conductor, and the room began to sing, older students kicking it off with the first-years and a few seconds belatedly scrambling to join in.
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 we bid you truly welcome,
You are a funny lot.
But any guest of Hoggy Warty Hogwarts
Cannot be all rot.
The scrape of wood on marble filled the room. A tall, blonde-haired prefect was waving from by the doors, calling, “first years! First year Gryffindors, oi you lot! Over here!”
James headed straight over, still bouncing with adrenaline, and Peter scrambled after him, hands fisting when Gangster shoved past them both and sent James careening towards the floor upon impact. The boy never landed, though. Peter’s eyes drifted to a girl with brilliant red hair in plaits down her back, each tied in red ribbon, holding James’s arm to prevent him from falling. He stumbled upright, and she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Peter didn’t have to be there to see that James was giving her a blinding grin, but he caught up to them anyway, and smiled politely at the girl, who he could now see had piercing green eyes to match the whole colorful ensemble.
“...can’t believe he’d be so rude,” she was saying to James. “I mean, he swore in front of McGonagall! Isn’t he worried about detention?”
“Haven’t started term yet, bit early for detentions innit?” James reasoned. Peter elbowed him in the side when he didn’t seem to be overly eager to take his eyes off the girl anytime soon. “Oi, Pete, ow!”
“Just saying hello,” Peter hummed. He turned to the girl. “Lupin’s not the only one. Black’s a right nightmare too. At least the meal’s over with now, we’ll barely ever have to see either of them again.”
“Cheers, Pettigrew,” came the mutter from behind. Peter whirled to see that Sirius Black had emerged from the bathroom, skin slightly irritated around his eyes, eyes slightly irritated as they beheld the cringing boy. Black pushed past him, and Peter fishmouthed, looking to James and trying to convey his newfound desire to crawl into a hole in the ground and die. His best friend shot him a lopsided smile that, for him, usually meant something like “it is what it is” and slipped into conversation with the still-unnamed girl. Peter let himself fall behind and glared at her back.
At least Sirius was another kid here who understood the importance of names. Learning them. Meeting people. Interacting like a human being, although with Sirius Black that might have been stretching it through an overly-rose-colored perspective. Still, it didn’t matter in the end, because what he’d said to James remained true. They’d basically never have to see them again.