Sorting
Charles
As Charles was getting ready to go see Lyra, the compartment door slid open. This time, three boys entered. Charles recognized in middle one as Malfoy immediately. He was looking at Charles with a lot more interest this time 'round.
"Is it true?" he said. "They're saying all down the train that Charles Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"
"Yes," said Charles. He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale boy, they looked like bodyguards.
"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Charles was looking. "And you know my name already. I'm your cousin, Draco Malfoy."
Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Malfoy sneered over at him.
"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."
He turned back to Charles. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
He held out his hand to shake Charles', and after some contemplation, Charles shook it and coolly said, "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."
Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared on his pale cheeks. "I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your blood-traitor aunt. She didn't know what was good for her, either, and married that blood-traitor Black, denouncing her family in the process. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys, and it'll rub off on you."
Both Charles and Ron stood up.
"Say that again," Ron said, his face as red as his hair.
"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Malfoy sneered.
"Unless you get out now," Harry suddenly warned. Everyone inside jumped, spotting him leaning against the open door, smiling grimly. "You don't want a feud with the Potter and Black families, now, do you? Sirius is the Lord Black, after all, and your uncle."
Malfoy certainly paled at that. Charles sweetly smiled. "So, Heir Malfoy, I'd repeat my brother's request and ask you to kindly leave."
Malfoy scowled at all of them a last time before backing out, with Crabbe and Goyle trailing after him. Ron grinned at Harry. "That was cool!"
Then he turned to Charles. "And the way you sweetly talked to him at the end... bloody brilliant! Sure scared him off."
Harry chuckled. "Seen a lot like him before, don't worry. He gives you any trouble and you come to me, okay? Where's Nev, by the way?"
Charles answered. "To the toilet. Why are you here?"
"Oh, I was just helping Penny and Percy with their prefect duties. We're about to reach Hogwarts, so you better change into your uniforms. See you at the sorting, brother."
Ron nodded as Harry left. Charles peered out of the window. It was getting dark. He could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down.
He and Ron took off their jackets and pulled on their long black robes. Ron's were a bit short for him, you could see his sneakers underneath them.
A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."
Charles' stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, he saw, looked pale under his freckles. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor. The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out onto a tiny, dark platform. Charles shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Charles heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Charles?"
Rubeus Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads. He was the groundskeeper of Hogwarts, and while Charles had only met Hagrid three times in his entire life, he knew that the man was fine. Very loyal to Dumbledore, and friends with Harry and Jéricho.
"C'mon, follow me -- any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"
Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Charles thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, who had again lost his toad, sniffed once or twice.
"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."
There was a loud "Oooooh!"
The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black take. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.
"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Charles, Ron, and Neville were followed into their boat by a girl with bushy hair, who introduced herself briefly as Hermione Granger. She had just separated from Lyra's group, who took another boat.
"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then -- FORWARD!"
And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.
"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.
"Oy, Neville! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.
"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.
They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, Oak front door.
"Everyone here? Neville, still got yer toad?"
Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.
Lyra
The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face that told that this was not someone to cross.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid. "Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."
She pulled the door wide. She was a kind lady, who Lyra liked and respected. She was, after all, Monty's godmother, and joined them on Christmas dinners or birthdays occasionally.
The entrance hall was so big you could have fit half the Black Villa (Lyra's house) in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.
They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Lyra could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right - the rest of the school must already be here - but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, 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 free time in your house common room."
She pursed her lips a bit. "The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."
Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. Lyra watched as Charles nervously tried to flatten his untameable Potter hair.
"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."
She left the chamber. Lyra swallowed. "How exactly do they sort us into houses?" she heard Neville asking Ron.
"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."
Lyra snorted softly, earning a dirty look from Ron. But seriously, how much more idiotic could he get?
As if following her line of thought, Blaise grinned at her. "I know what it is; do you?"
"Uh, nope." Lyra shrugged. "How'd you?"
Balsie shrugged. "Hogwarts: A History."
Lyra scrunched up her face. "Who reads that horror?!"
"Apparently, Blaise does." Daphne smoothly said. "Ravenclaw, remember?"
Lyra just rolled her eyes. Then something happened that made most of them jump about a foot in the air - several people behind her even screamed.
"What the --?" Granger gasped. So did other people around her. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "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 really even a ghost -- I say, what are you all doing here?"
A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years. Nobody answered.
"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"
A few people nodded mutely.
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."
"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."
Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.
"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."
Feeling odd as though her legs had turned to lead, Lily got into line, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall. Usually, Lyra was quite confident, but the thrill of being in Hogwarts was finally getting to her.
The place was unimaginably splendid. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Lyra looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars.
From behind her, Hermione whispered, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History." It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open onto the heavens.
Lyra searched the tables quickly for her brother, who caught her eye and gave her a quick thumbs-up. She smiled and quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty.
For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim 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 Hufflepuffis 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 folk 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 as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again. Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause -
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.
The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. The ghost of the Fat Friar waved merrily at her.
"Black, Lyra!"
This was it. Lyra took a deep breath and steeled herself, walking up to the stool. As the hat was set on her head, her vision was obscured and a voice talked to her. It was the hat, in her mind.
"My, my... Ms. Black, you have a unique mind... Wise, yes, but not dedicated or very curious... not too thirsty for knowledge as you are for power... loyal to loved ones, yes, but not very selfless or sacrificing... quite brave, but not chivalrous or rash... and clever, oh yes... and so very ambitious... my dear, I know exactly where to put you..."
"SLYTHERIN!"
The green table exploded in cheers. After her dad had broken tradition, and then Jéricho had gotten into Ravenclaw, Lyra was once again in Slytherin, carrying on the family tradition. Lyra looked over at her brother, who was smiling politely. Harry was beaming and giving her a wave, while the twins for once showed some maturity and showed her silent support by not booing for her.
Then she saw Charles, who caught her eye and gave her a strained smile. Lyra knew that while he didn't outright hate Slytherin, and understood the prejudice, he was still quite cautious and reserved with them. Ron was glaring at her, seething. Neville was being... Neville. Beaming at her proudly.
Lyra went down to sit at the end of the table, not very far from her brother's friends, and she watched the sorting.
"Bones, Susan!"
Lyra had met Susan and her aunt Amelia on occasion. While Lyra and Susan may not be friends, they were casual acquaintances.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.
"Boot, Terry!"
"RAVENCLAW!
The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them, Jéricho included.
"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Lyra could see the twins and Harry catcalling.
"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin, and sat a bit further from Lyra.
"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!" went to Hufflepuff, and "Finnigan, Seamus" sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.
Granger almost ran to the stool as her name was called, and jammed the hat eagerly on her head. "GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Lyra shook her head with a tiny smile.
Daphne joined Lyra soon after, and shot her a wink. When Neville was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amidst gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag," who went to Ravenclaw.
Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"
Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself. He also sat a bit away from Lyra, shooting her a calculated frown.
There weren't many people left now. Moon, Theo, and Parkinson joined her in Slytherin, and then the Patil twins were called. Lyra knew them; their mother was friends with James, and they had come over once when she had been staying over there during holidays. "Perks, Sally-Anne" went to Hufflepuff, and then came... "Potter, Charles!"
Charles
As Charles stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.
"Potter, did she say?" "The Charles Potter?"
The last thing Charles 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 small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, A my goodness, yes -- and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting.... Despite being so famous, you feel shadowed sometimes by your brother... elder, popular, seeker... So where shall I put you?"
Charles gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.
"Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? 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 -- no? Well, if you're sure -- better be...
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Charles heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. He was so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Harry was jumping as he clapped, and patted Charles' back vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"
Charles sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff he'd seen earlier, beside Neville. The ghost patted his arm, giving Charles the sudden, horrible feeling he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water. But he couldn't stop grinning like a loon.
He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs up. Charles grinned back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. His silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Charles spotted Professor Snape, too. The man used to be friends with Mum, and Charles knew from all the stories that Dad and Sirius didn't like him, as did Harry. His nose was long and hooked, and his face was set in an unattractive scowl. Combined with his sallow skin and greasy black hair that clung to his shoulders, he wasn't the most appealing bloke.
And now there were only three people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a black boy even taller than Ron, joined Charles at the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. Charles crossed his fingers under the table and a second later the hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Charles clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to him.
"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy pompously as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.
Charles craned his head to see the Slytherin table, where Lyra seemed to be getting very comfortable. She had her own circle of friends sitting around her, which seemed to include Greengrass and Zabini, along with two others. At least, Malfoy was sitting seperately with his own friends.
Charles sighed. He didn't like this one bit. Lyra was his best friend, and while he didn't hate Slytherin, he had his reservations like his dad and Sirius. He looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.
Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.
"Welcome," he said. "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!"
He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered.
"Is he - a bit mad?" Hermione asked Percy uncertainly.
"Mad?" said Percy airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Charles?"
Charles' mouth watered. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. Roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.
As Charles tucked in, he joined in the conversations around him, and tried to ignore the fact that most were including him so enthusiastically that it was bordering on creepy. Harry was at a distance, and didn't really pay much attention.
He looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet, and Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Snape was talking to a teacher with an absurd purple turban.
It happened very suddenly. Professor Snape looked past the teacher's turban straight into Charles' eyes - and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Charles' forehead.
"Ouch!" Charles clapped a hand to his head.
"What is it?" asked Percy.
"N-nothing."
The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Charles tried to shake off the feeling he had gotten from the teacher's look - a feeling that he didn't like Charles at all. Of course, that was expected. And Harry had a few choice words for the greasy-haired teacher, too. But still...
"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Snape?" he quickly asked Percy in an attempt to distract himself.
"Oh, you know Snape already, do you? That's Professor Quirell. No wonder he's looking so nervous... Snape teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to -- everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."
Charles watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look at him again.
At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.
"Ahern - 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 Harry and the Weasley twins.
"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."
Charles laughed, but he was one of the few who did. "He's not serious?" he muttered to Percy.
"Must be," said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere -- the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Charles noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, 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," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!" And the school bellowed.
"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"
Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, 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 the loudest.
"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Charles' legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. 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 twice Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Charles was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.
A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as Percy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.
"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves - show yourself."
A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered. "Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"
There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.
"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!" He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.
"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy.
Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed.
"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."
At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.
"Password?" she said. "Caput Draconis," said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it -- Neville needed a leg up -- and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.
Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase - they were obviously in one of the towers - they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed.
"Great food, isn't it?" Ron muttered to Charles through the hangings. "Get off, Scabbers! He's chewing my sheets."
Charles was going to ask Ron if he'd had any of the treacle tarts, but he fell asleep almost at once.
Perhaps Charles had eaten a bit too much, because he had a very strange dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to him, telling him he must transfer to Slytherin at once, because it was his destiny. Charles told the turban he didn't want to be in Slytherin; it got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully - and there was Malfoy, laughing at him as he struggled with it - then Malfoy turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, whose laugh became high and cold - there was a burst of green light and Charles woke, sweating and shaking.
He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke the next day, he didn't remember the dream at all.