With the Rest
The doors of the Great Hall swung open as if of their own accord—and perhaps it was their own accord, Hogwarts was a magical school after all. The cluster of first year students shuffled quickly after Professor McGonagall into the Hall.
Four long tables stretched the length of the room, all of them set with empty place settings. Students in pointy hats were crowded around each table. Some of them leaned around their friends and classmates to get a better glimpse of the first years.
Anna looked at the room in wonder. Never had she stepped foot in any place so magnificent. The walls of the Great Hall were lined with large torches that flickered with real fire, not the candle-shaped light bulbs one might expect. Along one wall sat a row of large stone fireplaces, flames crackling merrily inside each one.
But what truly took Anna’s breath away was the ceiling. Where there should have been beams of wood or stone there instead floated pale clouds against a deep blue sky. It was as if the room had no ceiling at all, but rather an opening to the sky beyond. A barely-there sliver of moonlight winked down at her. Any lingering doubt Anna had about magic being real or Hogwarts being an elaborate ruse dissolved and a warm, quiet realisation settled in her bones. Anna Alsaint was indeed not ordinary.
Professor McGonagall came to the front of the Hall, walked up three short steps to a raised platform where the professors’ table sat, and paused in front of a stool, on top of which sat a manky old hat. The greyish-brown hat (though Anna doubted that was its original colour) was heavily worn and tattered at every possible edge. Next to it lay a thick scroll of parchment, which Professor McGonagall picked up as she turned to face the nervous first-years.
“Now, before you are sorted, Headmaster Dumbledore has a few words for you,” she said.
The headmaster, a tall man with a long white beard and half-moon spectacles, stood from his seat. He spread his arms in a welcoming gesture.
“Welcome all, and welcome back,” he rasped in a quite voice that carried surprisingly well through the room. “I’m delighted to see you all for another boisterous year at Hogwarts. Before we sort our newest students,” he gestured to the gaggle of eleven-year-olds at the foot of the platform, “I shall remind you all that the Dark Forest is strictly forbidden—”
“Wicked!” two voices whispered somewhere in the group behind Anna. She peeked over her shoulder in curiosity. Clustered in the middle of the group stood two boys, identical grins on their faces. Anna recognised them immediately. She’d seen them once before, in the wand shop at Diagon Alley.
Suddenly, a new voice filled the Great Hall and Anna startled when the Sorting Hat sprang to life and began to sing. She stood transfixed on the hat and its song, but curiosity had her casting glances over her shoulder, at the two red-haired boys near the back of the group. One of them wasn’t wearing the pointed hats they all had on. She supposed he had been the one to chuck his hat at Peeves. That thought brought a smile to her lips. The twins seemed nice, perhaps in a meddlesome kind of way, and something deep inside of her ached to be their friend, ached for a bit of the mischief she’d had at home.
One of the boys whispered something to the other, who was looking around the room like he was searching for something. The one on the right caught Anna’s eye and a hint of recognition glinted on his face. He nudged his twin in the ribs and nodded at Anna.
Anna offered a smile, suddenly feeling awkward for having been caught staring. The twins readily grinned back at her. One of them gave her an easy wave, like they’d already been friends for ages.
Suddenly Professor McGonagall’s voice registered in Anna’s ears.
“Anna Alsaint.”
George Weasley stood amid the first years with his brother Fred. He could practically feel Fred vibrating with excitement. Meanwhile, George was surveying the walls of the Great Hall, looking for a hidden door or some other place where one might hide a troll.
Their older brother, Charlie, had told them that the sorting ceremony involved a physical task, like fighting a troll. But as George looked around the Hall he couldn’t find a single place where a troll might spring from. The headmaster had just mentioned the Dark Forest, which was regrettably forbidden, so there must be some place nearby that could hold a troll. That is, unless each class had to fight a different creature from the forest for their sorting ceremony. Nothing was out of the question in a magical school.
Or perhaps Charlie, who was in his sixth year and sitting behind them at the Gryffindor table, was full of it.
“Now, allow me to introduce the Sorting Hat,” said Professor McGonagall.
The grimy hat on the stool next to her quivered and sprang to life, signing a long note that reverberated in the silence of the Hall. A large rip in the middle of the hat served as a mouth.
Come closer now and gather round
As I sing this little song.
I am the Sorting Hat, you see,
And I know where you belong.
T'was many centuries now ago
When four great wizards built this school.
Stone by stone, hand in hand, our founders
Laid the floor where you now stand.
When each hall and door was built with care,
Young magic folk came seeking school and home,
And asked our founders where to go.
They had a fierce debate, our founders four,
Each one convinced that they knew best
Which values to uphold.
Bold Gryffindor, who valued courage
And daring above all.
Clever Ravenclaw,
Who prised learning more than anything.
Fair Hufflepuff, who cherished kindness
And hard work in everyone.
Sly Slytherin, who sought
Cunning and ambition in his own.
Back and forth, round and round,
They could not find recourse.
Their students dawdled,
Losing brains and brawn when
No clear route could be enforced.
Finally, one stormy autumn's night,
Gryffindor plucked me from his head
And cried "why not let the hat decide!"
Weary from their squabbles, the four great wizards
Set aside their pride.
They charmed me with their magic
And made me a thinking cap!
Now I can see into your head and heart
To find where you belong.
So put me on your noggin, don't be shy,
And let me walk around your mind.
I'll tell you where and with whom to stand,
But don’t ask me where your future lies…
After all, I know so much, but some things are
Still yours to find.
The Sorting Hat finished its song and collapsed onto the stool in a heap of dusty fabric. The Great Hall broke out in applause. George was clapping along with the rest when Fred jabbed him in the ribs. George swung his head around, ready to jab Fred back, but his brother’s attention wasn’t on him.
Fred nodded at something ahead of them and George looked where his brother’s attention was. A girl stood at the front of the first-years group, looking at them over her shoulder.
She watched them with gentle eyes and a quirked eyebrow. Wisps of golden brown hair fell from her ponytail to frame her face. She smiled at them. George’s brain registered something familiar in that smile.
A light blush coated the girl’s cheeks and her eyes flitted down to the floor then back up at them. He smiled back. The girl flushed a deeper shade of pink and squeezed the arm of a boy on her left.
“When I call your name, come forward,” Professor McGonagall spoke to the first years. “Put on the Sorting Hat and you will be sorted into your houses.” The professor unfurled a large roll of parchment and scanned the page.
The girl didn’t seem to notice that McGonagall had spoken but her smile grew when Fred gave her a wave. George remembered suddenly where they’d met before. She’d been in Ollivander’s when they’d gone to get their wands. He and Fred had raved about the paper dragon she’d conjured for the rest of the day after that.
“Anna Alsaint,” Professor McGonagall called the first name from the parchment.
The girl, who was still looking over her shoulder, suddenly whipped back around to face McGonagall. She had a wild look about her face at that moment.
The sandy-haired boy standing beside Anna gave her a slight shove forward. She seemed to come to herself then and put a tentative foot on the first step in front of her. When she made it to the top she paused in front of the Sorting Hat, looking to McGonagall for instructions.
George realised then that she hadn’t been listening to McGonagall's speech at all. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. It wasn’t all that funny, but her bewildered expression when McGonagall nodded down at the hat still made him want to laugh.
Anna—the dragon girl, as he and Fred had been calling her—picked up the grimy old hat and plopped it on her head. The back of the hat caught on her ponytail while the front rim slipped down and covered her eyes completely.
The Hall was silent. It felt like all the first-years were holding their breath, waiting to see where the first of them would be sorted. Anna twisted her hands in her robes. The curls of her hair bounced a bit as she turned her head back and forth, as if searching for a voice in the crowd.
The large rip near the rim of the hat opened up and the hat seemed to draw a deep breath.
“Hufflepuff!” it shouted.
Cheers erupted from one of the tables behind them. Anna started when McGonagall pulled the hat off her head but a toothy grin broke over her face when she realised the students were cheering for her.
She leaped down the steps and ran down to the centre aisle to the Hufflepuff table, where older students patted her back, bumped her shoulders, and yelled welcoming words until she settled into a seat. The girl—Anna—looked back at the group of unsorted first-years and shared a grin with the sandy-haired boy she’d been standing next to. George saw then that it was Cedric Diggory.
A bolt of disappointment shot through George’s stomach and his toes curled in his shoes. It would’ve been nice to have a familiar face in his house, besides his brothers of course. He and Fred were likely to be sorted into Gryffindor, just like their three older brothers and both of their parents. The Weasleys were Gryffindors through and through, at least that’s what their dad said.
George turned back to the front of the Hall, where McGonagall was reading off another name.
“Roger Davies—” was sorted into Ravenclaw house. He ran off happily and sat under the blue and bronze house banners.
Next was “Cedric Diggory.”
The Diggories lived near Ottery St Catchpole as well. Their parents had exchanged pleasantries over some holiday or another on a few occasions and Cedric’s dad worked at the Ministry of Magic just like George and Fred’s dad, only in a different department.
Cedric pulled the hat over his ears and it only took a moment to sort him—“Hufflepuff!”
The Hufflepuff table broke out in another round of whoops as Cedric ran down and sat next to Anna. The two of them grinned at each other and she looped her arm through his.
Fred bounced on his heels beside George.
“Reckon we’ll be Gryffindor,” Fred whispered matter-of-factly.
George hummed in agreement. They’d have to wait a while to find out though. McGonagall’s list was alphabetical, it seemed, and “Weasley” was bound to be at the end of the scroll.
Fred and George watched impatiently as other students were called and sorted.
Lee Jordan, who they had befriended on the train ride, was sorted into Gryffindor house (which cheered louder than any of the other houses) along with a tall girl named Angelina Johnson.
Adrian Pucey was promptly sorted into Slytherin, followed by Alicia Spinnet, who was placed in Gryffindor.
“Patricia Stimpton—” Ravenclaw.
“Kenneth Towler—” Gryffindor.
“Cassius Warrington—” Slytherin.
George lost track of all the names and faces who wore the Sorting Hat. They all blurred together in a haze of robes and cheers until finally McGonagall called a familiar name.
“Fred Weasley.”
Fred and George were among the last few students still unsorted. Fred all but knocked down the stool as he leapt up the steps and seized the hat. Fred bounced on his heels as the hat seemed to sway back and forth until it cried out—
“Gryffindor!”
The table under the red and gold banners once again erupted with noise as Fred yanked the hat off his head and ran to find a seat, gently bumping George’s shoulder as he went.
“George Weasley,” McGonagall called.
He made his way up the steps, slower than his brother but just as excited. George took the hat from McGonagall and pulled it onto his head. For a moment nothing happened, but then a quiet voice spoke inside his mind.
‘Didn’t I just sort you?’
George opened his mouth to answer but the voice of the Sorting Hat cut him off.
‘No…no. Similar. Another Weasley—how many of you are there—never mind that.’ The hat seemed to be speaking to itself more than it was to George. ‘Yes, very like your brother. Though, there’s something else in here…something different.’
A quiet fear struck George. What if he wasn’t a Gryffindor like the rest of his family? He reckoned they’d still be proud wherever he ended up, but he knew Mum and Dad wanted them all to be in Gryffindor—"a full set," as Dad said.
‘I see…’ the Hat mused inside George’s mind. ‘Tell me, are there more of you, more Weasleys to sort?’
George didn’t open his mouth to respond this time. Instead, he focused his thoughts into a distinct ‘Yes.’
‘Hm, very well.’ The hat hummed in his mind. ‘Best you go with the rest.’
“Gryffindor!”
George’s shoulders sagged in relief. He ripped the hat off his head, grinning madly as he dashed to the Gryffindor table, where Fred and Charlie were cheering wildly. Even their uptight brother Percy, who was a third year, clapped more vigorously than he had been previously.
George didn’t even register the last few names that were called for sorting. He was far too thrilled with his own sorting to care. He glanced over to Fred, who’d bumped their shoulders together to get his brother’s attention.
Fred had a cheek-splitting grin on his face and a spark of mischief in his eyes.