The sorting hat
The door swung open immediately. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald green robes stood in the way of the light. She looked incredibly stern, and she reminded Harry of Petunia when there were visitors. She was always making him do this, or get out of this room, and being so... well, stern. He was already beginning to feel unsure.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall." Hagrid said.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." She said, pulling the door wide open for all the students. The entrance hall was large enough to fit all of the Dursleys house in it and maybe part of the front yard. The ceiling was too high to see properly, the stone walls were lined with torches, and a marble staircase faced them, leading them to the upper floors, but they only saw it for a moment. Everyone followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor, and Harry could hear hundreds, if not atleast half a thousand voices from a door just ahead, but Professor McGonagall pointed them off to the side of the room. They all squished together, a little closer than many would have liked.
"Welcome to Hogwarts." Professor McGonagall started, standing in the doorway. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly; But before you take your seats at any table, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend your free time in your House common room.
"The houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has it's own noble history, and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, any triumphs you make here will contribute to your House gaining points, and any rule-breaking will lead to house points lost. At the end of the year, the House with the most points will be clarified winner of the Hogwarts House Cup, and I expect to see all of your contributions. Positive, contributions that is." McGonagall explained, keeping a stern face as she overlooked all the children. Harry could've sworn she looked right at him, with something in her eyes. Pity, almost-- he'd seen it enough times from the teachers at school whenever he'd been waiting a little bit too long for Aunt Petunia to pick him up-- but it was gone before he could be too sure, because Professor McGonagall was now grimacing at the sight of dirt on Ron's nose, and Neville's cloak clasped beneath his ear.
"There will only be a few minutes to the ceremony. I suggest you smarten yourselves up during your waiting. I'll return when we are ready for you lot. Please wait here, quietly." She finished off, leaving the chamber.
"How do they sort us?" Harry asked quietly.
"I'unno." Ron shrugged. "Some sort of test. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."
"You... think?" Harry's heart skipped a beat, and not the positive way it usually did whenever he had a test. He was always excited for tests in school because he always did good on them because normal school was easy. Tests at school didn't include wand-waving, spell-casting, potion-making-- school tests were something he could study for, something he didn't have to worry about. But here, if it was a test, it was probably magic. Had he known he'd have to go through something like this, he'd have stayed with the Dursleys and went to Stonewall High.
No book could prepare him for this, he knew that, but he wished he had one anyway, or something to tear apart and break. Breaking things helped, but he didn't do that very often-- he didn't have things he could allow to break. But some sort of comfort was granted when he noticed, all around him, everyone else was terrified too. Nobody was talking at all except Hermione Granger, who was whispering rampantly about all the spells she'd practiced, wondering which she'd need. Harry was trying very hard to not listen to her-- or the voices, because he knew he hadn't done the same and they'd both been reminding him of that simultaneously. He hadn't ever been this nervous, not even when he had to take a note home that he had got into a fight with some kid on the playground or the call about him somehow turning his teacher's wig blue. He kept his stare tight on the door, ready to see Professor McGonagall come through the door. He hadn't even realised anything happened until he felt someone tapping his shoulder multiple times.
"What?" He said, before he had heard several people scream.
"What?" He said again, trying to keep his focus. He suddenly heard gasps.
"Forgive and forget, I say. We ought to give him a second chance--"
"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not even a ghost! I say, what are you all doing here?" He heard. Someone was tapping on his shoulder again.
"What!" Harry asked again, finally turning around. He saw a group of ghosts. Pearly-white, translucent and kind of transparent, gliding and hovering in the air as if they were on solid ground.
"New students!" One of them said. She looked a bit like a fat little monk Harry thought he saw in an old picture book one time. She was smiling at them. "About to be sorted, I suppose?"
A few students nodded mutely.
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old House, you know." She told them.
"Move along now. The Sorting Ceremony is about to start." said a sharp voice Harry could tell was McGonagall's. The ghosts hummed and floated through the opposite wall, one by one.
"Now, form a line, and follow me." McGonagall told the first years. Ron was behind a boy with sandy hair, Harry was behind him, and behind him was a blonde girl with an enthusiastic face and long, thin ears. She was skipping as they all walked out the chamber, and to the doors of the Great Hall.
Harry couldn't have imagined in his life that he'd see such a place, even had he been told beforehand. Even had he seen pictures, he wouldn't believed it to be real. Thousands of candles floated high up in the air as they illuminated the room, and four long tables were glimmering with golden plates and goblets, and Harry was internally glad Sly wasn't there. At the top of the hall, a little more elevated than the rest, was another long table where all the teachers sat. Professor McGonagall led the first years here so that they came to a halt in a line, facing the other students in the hall with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candle light. Dotted here and there among the students, ghosts shone a misty silver. Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling, dotted with glowing stars; It didn't look like there was a ceiling at all, as if the Great Hall simply opened up for the sky to be seen. He had always liked stars-- shining in the dark, some sort of contrast that were sparkly whenever you looked at them. They meant something to him, but he didn't know what that something was supposed to be.
He heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History..."
He didn't care enough to listen-- and he already knew, anyway. He, instead, watched as McGonagall placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years, and as she then placed a ragged wizard's hat on it. Harry could've bet that Aunt Petunia wouldn't even let it on the doorstep.
He looked around, and saw everyone staring at the hat. So, he stared at it too. For a few seconds, it was pure silence. Until, that is, the hat twitched. Then, a rip suddenly opened wide like a mouth, and 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!"
The whole hall burst into applause when the hat finished its song. Harry joined in slightly uncertainly. They just had to try on the hat, apparently, but it didn't calm his nerves one bit. People would probably want him to be in a certain House. Being a disappointment was just as bad as being the center of attention, and he'd been a disappointment enough times to know that for sure. But then Ron caught his attention, and Harry made a weak smile as he spoke.
"I'll kill Fred! He was going on about wresting some blasted troll! That ponce! But it's a good thing we're not-- I'd be expelled faster than they could even say my name,"
Even though he couldn't really hear Ron's words, Harry smiled back. He couldn't hear anything but a very loud ringing noise, not even the voices, and he felt a bit faint. But, no, atleast it wasn't anything bad. He'd much rather put on a talking hat, but he wasn't even sure he'd make it into a house; For a talking hat, it seemed to be asking for a whole lot. Harry wasn't feeling any of what it sang about. If only the hat mentioned a house for people who weren't nearly as talented-- that would've been the one for him; That was what he was best at; Nothing. But he was absolutely not complaining about not having to listen to the voices.
McGonagall stepped forward, holding a long roll of parchment.
"When I call your name," she said, and Harry strained his ears to listen, trying his best to ignore the ringing, "you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.
"Abbott, Hannah!"
He watched as a pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails protruding from bright-coloured scrunchies walked up to the stool, and the hat was placed on her head.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" The hat shouted. The table second-furthest to the left cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at their table-- must've been Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.
"Bones, Susan!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!" The hat shouted again, and Susan hurried off to sit beside Hannah.
Harry suddenly became vividly aware of just how he took off his glasses and wiped them furiously with his sleeve. He felt like he was overreacting, but he didn't care. He placed his glasses back on his face just as "Boot, Terry" was sorted into Ravenclaw and rushed over to the table to the left of Hufflepuff's. A few of the older students stood up to shake hands with him as he sat.
Then "Brocklehurst, Mandy," went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender," was a Gryffindor. The second tables to the left exploded with cheers-- Harry could see Fred and George catcalling.
And "Bulstrode, Millicent," was a Slytherin. Perhaps he was too imaginative like Vernon always said, because he wasn't very sure the Slytherin's looked very happy to have another student in their House, not like the other Houses were. Quiet, polite clapping was all that Millicent had gotten.
Harry was beginning to feel queasy. It was like he was back in school waiting to be picked in gym. He was always the last picked because, even had Dudley not been the biggest and the meanest in their year, nobody wanted the kid with dark skin on their team if it could be helped. The voices always suggested nasty things he ought to do, but Harry had enough sense even then to not listen. Though sometimes it was tempting--
"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Sometimes, the hat shouted out the House at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Ron in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor. So some people were hard to sort.
"Granger, Hermione!" Hermione almost ran to the stool and smiled largely as the hat fell on her head.
"GRYFFINDOR!" The hat shouted proudly. Ron groaned.
What if, Harry thought, he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for hours, until McGonagall sent him back to the train, saying it must've been a mistake he was even chosen? No, that couldn't happen. He was always considered a prodigy, there must've been somewhere for him. He'd have to be in a House. He couldn't go back to the Dursleys-- they wouldn't take him, and he didn't want to go. And anyway, the train had probably already left by now, right?
When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville; About three whole minutes, if Harry had kept count right. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville almost ran off still wearing it, and had to jog to give it back to "Lovegood, Luna," who was the enthusiastic blonde girl that stood beside Harry. She was made a Ravenclaw. She skipped all the way to the table, just as she had when they walked in.
Draco went forward confidently, when his name was called, and at once, he'd gotten his wish; The hat hadn't even sat on his head when it screamed-- "SLYTHERIN!"
He went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.
Harry counted down the names until his own. "Malone", "MacMillan", "Moon", "Nott", "Parkinson", then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil", then "Perks, Sally-Anne," and then, finally..
"Potter, Harley!"
Oh, he thought. Just how unlucky did he have to get? Of course, the name that was on the stupid paper just had to be the one he didn't like. He was officially convinced that he hated the name Harley. He was absolutely not ever going to be Harley. Not again, atleast. He couldn't even imagine how bad the bullying would've been if his aunt and uncle weren't so determined he was a boy, for whatever reason. He saw other boys being particularly mean to the girls all the time. Hair-pulling, messing with their skirts, all sorts of things.
As he stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.
"Potter, did she say?"
"Wasn't his name Harry Potter?"
Harry huffed and blocked them out. More little voices he wouldn't be listening to. The last thing he saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. The next second, he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.
"Hmm," said a sudden voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very Difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. A great Gryffindor... oh, my, but quite a fine mind too. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes-- and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting. Desire to be loved, I see, but not nearly just or patient enough.... Cunning and ambitious... but witty and intelligent... you could do very well in both.... So where shall I put you?"
It paused, and Harry was holding his own hand so tightly his knuckles made a quiet pop and had begun to hurt.
"To Slytherin or to Ravenclaw..." The voice said, almost sounding as though it were asking. And after a moment of silence, Harry knew, it was asking, because he had clearly been left the choice.
Slytherin or Ravenclaw.
Harry thought, for a long time; Which house would he be okay in? Of course, there was the tempting offer of Slytherin-- earning true friends, and whatever else. But maybe he'd be better in Ravenclaw-- to be honest, it sounded better; Wit and learning and a ready mind. That kind of matched him, right? That was obviously the case, because it was one of his choices. He was very smart, he'd like to think.
But then he remembered watching them greet their new members before him-- Ravenclaw was much more welcoming than Slytherin, but he could appreciate a calm silence when it came to it. He would've liked both of them-- welcoming, but quiet. Was there really a House just like that-- where he wouldn't have to worry about anything, but could just sit down and have some time alone, and do what he liked without bothering anyone? Maybe it shouldn't be what he wanted-- which one would be better?
Slytherin-- that was Voldemort's house; He'd be a disappointment then for sure. He'd been lucky enough that no one called him the terrible things the Dursleys did when he did wrong, or the mean kids at school with their pale skin that didn't have to wear glasses, but that wouldn't last for long if he went to Slytherin, he was sure. It didn't seem anyone really thought it was a very good house unless they were taught that it was the best.
But Ravenclaw... he was definitely smart. His marks from primary school would absolutely agree, and teachers weren't nearly as mean when he did good in their classes, most of the time. People wouldn't get as mad at him as they would if he were Slytherin, would they? And who needed friends anyway? He'd done just alright on his own for years, he could go a while longer. He was hoping that he'd made the correct choice.
"Not Slytherin." Harry muttered quietly. "Ravenclaw, I think."
"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the voice. "You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that."
Some part of him-- the stupid voices, but at the same time, his own-- it urged him to say Slytherin. To change his mind, atleast. Think on it a bit more. But he said, "No- not Slytherin."
"Very well, if you're sure-- Better be RAVENCLAW!" The hat shouted the last word to the whole hall. He hesitantly took the hat off his head and walked to the Ravenclaw table. He was so unsure of how to feel, that he hadn't gotten Slytherin, because he felt some sort of annoyance yet relief at the same time, he hardly noticed that he was not imagining the very loud cheers he was getting. Half the table must've stood up and shook his hand, and a few older students had been standing in their seats, shouting, "We got Potter! We - got - Potter!"
Harry felt the heat rise up his face, and he was sure he was very red. His ears were burning and felt weird. He sat beside the blonde girl, Luna Lovegood, and smiled weakly at her. She beamed at him.
"Hello," she said, her voice sounding very dreamy. Her eyes seemed too large for her, because they gave her a permanently surprised look, her hair was almost as light as Draco's, but it was much more unkempt than his, looking straggly and frizzy. She was, Harry noticed, wearing a necklace of, oddly, corks.
"Hi," Harry replied, trying his best to smile.
"I'm Luna." She said.
"Harry. Not, er, Harley."
"I'm glad the sorting Hat put you in Ravenclaw. I think we could be good friends." said Luna quietly.
"Thanks." Harry said. He still felt a bit faint.
"Luna," said the girl across from them, Padma Patil. She was smiling profusely and giggling. "You think everyone could be your friend." She then saw Harry looking at her and her smile seemed to grow. "Hi. Padma. Um, Patil." She introduced herself and extended her hand across the table.
"Hi. I'm... well, I don't like Harley-- just call me Harry." Harry told her, just as "Rivers, Oliver " and "Turpin, Lisa," came to sit across from them.
Then Ron was the next person he paid any attention to; He was a pale green as he stumbled up to the chair, but the hat was only on his head for a second before it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" Harry must've been clapping the loudest at the Ravenclaw table, but that was alright.
McGonagall rolled up the parchment and took the Sorting Hat away while "Zabini, Blaise," went to Slytherin table. Albus Dumbledore got to his feet the moment the boy was sat. He smiled brightly at the students with his arms opened wide, as if this were the best place in the world to be. And truly, it may have been.
"Welcome!" He said, not losing his smile. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
Many clapped and cheered as he sat back down, albeit a few more confusedly than others, before they were quiet again. Harry didn't know if he wanted to laugh or not; Or if he ought to.
"He's a little mad for a great wizard," He absentmindedly mumbled.
"Maybe the wrackspurts have gotten to him. Potatoes, Harry?" Luna asked, carefully placing food around her plate.
Harry's mouth fell open, but he quickly shut it. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he would've liked to eat on one table; roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, turkey and ham, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.
The Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry, as far as starving went-- perhaps they tried to, but he would never let his stash get too low. But they would definitely have let him starve if they were entirely heartless. Dudley-- Dudley had always taken anything that Harry really wanted, even if it made him sick to the stomach, and he wasn't allowed to eat when he got in trouble. Harry piled his plate with a small bit of everything except the peppermint humbugs and began to eat. It was all delicious.
Lisa Turpin was still sitting across from them, and she stared at him. She looked anything but any Muggle Harry had ever seen-- she was paler than any other child Harry had seen, her hair was the brightest blonde he'd ever seen- other than Draco's, but Harry didn't really think he counted-- and eyes were not normally a bright purple kind of colour, were they? He knew she wasn't a Muggle, anyway, because her ears had a bit of a point to them. He figured it was just a magic thing-- he'd never seen it on Muggles.
"Excuse me?" said Harry, and she jumped.
"Oh-- sorry, I didn't mean to stare. I just think you're very pretty. Well, handsome, I mean." She said, smiling immensely. "I don't think I've ever seen a child with skin like that in Britain before today-- well, Scotland is where we are now, isn't it? But I mean, it's fascinating. I'm not from here, I mean-- I was staying over in America up until a month ago, 'cos my mom said it wasn't safe in my old school with all those silly kids and that I ought to be here. Am I talking too much?" Her face went very pink.
"Not really. Well, my aunt always called my father an immigrant, and she's quite pale, so I think my mother was the British one. Apparently, I look a lot like my dad." Harry said.
"I went to America once, it's sort of messy," Padma pointed out, drinking from her goblet. Her plate was very empty-- Harry had noticed she was staring at the food with a bit of discontent. "How could you live over there?"
Lisa shrugged, stuffing her mouth full of mashed potatoes. "We'be been staying wit' m' Gramma. She gotta big house in- er, iunno, but i's a big-big house- I don' thin' she likes me a lot, but I don' r'ly like 'er either, so i's alrigh'--"
"Would you not talk with your mouth full? It's a bit hard to tell what you're saying,"
"Sor'wy," Lisa mumbled, using a hand to hide her mouth, though it couldn't hide the furious pink flooding her face again. This time, her ears fell a bit.
Harry managed to finish off half his plate, before pushing it away. He'd obviously overestimated how much he could eat.
"You're already full?" asked Mandy Brocklehurst.
"No, I just... have a hard time sleeping on a full stomach." Harry shrugged. He wasn't quite full; But the idea of eating more wasn't too appeasing to him and his stomach protested every time he picked up his fork.
"Well, you're going to have to eat more at breakfast. That's barely going to hold you over the whole night." Oliver Rivers said.
"I'll wake up early for breakfast, then," Harry forced a smile. He suddenly felt quite tired- maybe he shouldn't have had any turkey, but to his surprise, the remains of food disappeared from their plates, but not for the end of dinner, but rather the beginning of dessert. Blocks of ice cream of every flavour imaginable, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, chocolate strawberries(which Harry would be sure to steer clear of), jell-o, rice pudding...
"We get dessert too?" He muttered, and he was too tired to hide the sadness in his voice.
Padma chuckled. "Tired, huh?"
"Yes," He grumbled. Yet he found himself reaching for the delicious-looking treacle tart anyways(surely just a bit would be alright), as the talk somehow turned to their families.
"I'm half-and-half, I guess," shrugged Lisa. "My mom's from a full family of witches, but my dad's as much of a no-maj as they come. Wait, er, not no-maj-- I mean Muggle. It's Muggle, right? But, really! You wouldn't believe his shock when mom said we'd better move here, and don't get me started on when I got my letter."
"I got family down in America," said one boy, Anthony Goldstein, "We been all half-blood for almost a century, but mum swears I'm pure. She and my da' are both magic-- she's as pure as she thinks I am, but I don't think she really gets it. Da's got pureblood and half-blood somewhere in him, but I don't know. It's far back, right, and his parents were pure... but I'm not really convinced."
"Your mum's trying to convince you you're pure? That's downright silly." scoffed Padma. "But at least your parents aren't like mine, I suppose. They don't get anything at all, so they just try to keep me under control. They didn't let me leave my room for a week when they caught me trying to fly one of their brooms. I got one eventually, right, but it was old and broken and didn't fly right and I broke my leg. They say I'm too pure to be misbehaving like I have been, and that I'm not allowed to fly, but it's ridiculous, it's like they think I've forgotten. But at least they didn't take my wand."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Lisa mumbled. "I couldn't imagine--"
"You barged into my compartment on the train, but you're not sorry for that?"
"What? That's not even related to what we're talking about! And, anyway, you two weren't even in there when I got there, and I didn't know that luggage was yours! I thought people just put luggage wherever it would fit! And I said sorry--"
"I never heard you say sorry,"
"Of course you didn't, because you wouldn't stop being mean to me!"
Harry looked up at the High Table, letting their argument go silent on his ears. Hagrid was drinking rather deeply from his goblet. McGonagall was talking to Dumbledore. Quirrell, still wearing the absurd turban he was when Harry first met him, was speaking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.
It happened so suddenly that Harry had to think back to be sure it happened. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban and straight into Harry's eyes-- a sharp, hot pain shot across his scar, and he clasped a hand over it. "Ow!"
Lisa and Padma had stopped their arguing, and everyone nearby paused to look at him.
"What is it?"
"N-nothing. Tired."
The pain had gone as quickly as it had come and left a headache in its wake. But he hadn't cared enough to do anything for it-- he couldn't shake off the feeling he'd gotten from the teacher's look. Just in that once glance, as though he already didn't like Harry at all. It wasn't anything new, but every now and then, it still shocked him.
"Who's that teacher talking to Quirrell?" He asked an older student a few seats down.
"Oh, you know Quirrell already?" the student laughed, but looked up at the High Table. "Tch, no wonder he's so nervous. That's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, and between you and me, only Slytherins like him. And everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job-- he knows a load about Dark Arts, would've thought he'd be straying far from the position. Might give him away as some Death Eater scum,"
Whatever else they were saying faded into obscurity. Harry watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look at him again; He wasn't sure if he liked the fact or not, because he wasn't exactly fond of headaches, but he was curious.
The desserts eventually disappeared, and Dumbledore stood once again. The entire hall fell silent.
"Ahem- just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.
"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins, who just laughed quietly. "I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.
"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, 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 heard few laugh. He'd been thinking exactly what they were-- Dumbledore couldn't have been serious, right?
"He's kidding, isn't he?" asked Lisa, and a dark-haired upper year shrugged.
"Can't be. He's got a sense of humor, yeah, but he doesn't crack jokes this early, I don't think. And he usually tells us why we can't go somewhere, like the forest, it's full of murderous and dangerous beasts, but the third-floor corridor is questionable. Really questionable."
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore said happily. He gave his wand a little flick, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words. "Everyone pick their favorite tune, and off we go!"
"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 flied 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."
Everybody finished the song at different times. Soon, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.
"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
The first years followed their Prefects through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors went up marble staircase. Harry didn't see where the Slytherins and the Hufflepuffs had gone, but he didn't care very much.
His legs were like lead again, but for a different reason. He thought he was tired before, but he could barely hold himself up now. Why were there so many stairs? He was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that Padma and Luna had been shaking him awake every few seconds as they kept him steady from falling over. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.
"Tee-hee! Ickle firsties! What fun!" He heard someone say, and Padma pulled him down to duck from something, but his knees gave out and he toppled onto his stomach.
"Sorry, Harry," Padma apologised, and Lisa and Luna helped her get him to his feet.
"My, you're light. Ugh, I'm tired too. Does a school really need to have this many stairs?" whined Lisa. "Haven't you magic people heard of elevators? You've got wands and all that mess, but you can't find a quicker way to move around?"
"Elevator? You know what, I don't want to know. I'm too tired to care for your Muggle things." Padma answered, pulling Harry's arm around her shoulder. She huffed after a moment. "I bet Harry had some turkey. I don't know how anyone managed to get any meat off that bird without hurting themselves."
"Oh, whatever. You're so skinny I'm surprised you got any food at all." said Lisa. He thought they began arguing at some point, but he was too tired to be entirely sure they were. Though he wouldn't put it against them. They didn't seem to get along very well.
"I didn't think Ravenclaw Tower was this high up." Terry Boot groaned, just a bit ahead. Harry barely kept conscious as they went up a straight flight of stairs, and then up a spiralling one, before two other people held him up.
"Open your eyes, Potter, we can't watch your step for you," He heard. He forced his eyes open, keeping them at a squint.
"There he is! Hey." Anthony nodded at him as he and Terry helped him down a flight of stairs, while another boy was walking just infront of them.
To Harry, the entire world was spinning and turning every direction. He had never been so tired in his life. They turned into a room with four beds placed in the way of twin beds stacked on eachother-- as Harry had seen them advertised on the telly, bunk beds-- and he was rolled over one of the bottom bunks his trunk was beside. Luckily, Hydrus and Sly's cages sat right beside them. Harry moved off his arm, and nodded his head when Anthony asked if he was going to stay in his robes. And then after that, he couldn't remember even having been conscious prior.
But during his sleep, maybe, he thought, just maybe he should've gone with Slytherin, because his dream was weird-- even weirder than the flying motorcycle dream. He was wearing Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to him, working together with the voices to tell him he had to transfer to Slytherin at once, because it was his destiny and who he was meant to be. And every time Harry told the turban he couldn't transfer or that he didn't want to, it got heavier and heavier, and the voices got louder; He tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully, and there was Ron and Lisa and Padma even his roommates, laughing and watching him as he struggled to rip it off. Then Ron and Padma turned into Draco and Luna, and neither of them laughed, but they didn't make any move to help, a horrible smirk on Draco's face and Luna smiling. Then everyone disappeared, and it looked as though he himself had just appeared before his eyes.
But that wasn't his voice-- or his laugh-- or even his face, he thought, but he couldn't be sure, because suddenly, there was a burst of red light, just out the corner of his eye, and then a green one aimed for him, and Harry woke, sweating and shaking. He groaned- he had a massive headache, but made himself get up and switch into his pyjamas.
He rolled back into his bed, and fell asleep again. The next time he woke, he didn't remember the dream at all.