The Sorting Hat
The door swung open at once. A tall, blond-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Grian’s first thought was that this was not someone to cross.
‘The firs’-years, Professor Stress,’ said Keralis.
‘Thank you, Keralis. I will take them from here.’
She pushed the door wide open. The Entrance Hall was so big you could have fitted the whole of the Innit’s house and still have space. 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 Stress across the flagged stone floor. Grian 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 Stress showed the first-years into a small empty chamber off the hall. The students crowded in, standing closer together than they would feel comfortable, peering about nervously.
‘Welcome to Hogwarts,’ said Professor Stress, standing in front of the pack. ‘The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you get seated in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important traditional ceremony because while you are here, your house will be your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with you house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.
‘The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff (Solidarity made a scuff), Ravenclaw and Slytherin. At Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, and any sort of rule-breaking will lose your house points. The house with the most points at the end of the school year will be awarded the House Cup. " She said, ‘The Sorting Ceremony will take place now.’
Stress motioned them to line up, ‘Follow me.’
They marched out of the chamber, back across the hall and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.
The Hall was much more strange and splendid than Grian had ever imagined. It was lit by thousands of candle floating in mid-air 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 Stress led the first-years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students. In front of them was a small wooden stool, on top of it was a battered, old brown wizard hat, which seemed like it had a face.
Oh wait a minute, it does have a face. And it 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 Great Hall erupted into applause as the hat finished its song, then became still again.
‘So we just have to try on the hat!’ Scar whispered to Grian, ‘Skizz told me that we needed to wrestle a troll!’
Grian smiled weakly. Trying on the hat was much, much better than having to do a spell. But the hat did ask for a lot, what if he didn’t fit in any of them? What would happen if so?
Professor Stress stepped forward, holding a long roll of parchment.
‘When I call your name, you will come forth, put on the hat, and sit on the stool to be sorted’, she said. ‘Beans, Joel!’
Joel, the kid with a toad, walked forward.’
‘GRYFFINDOR!’
The table on the far left cheered.
‘BigB, Anthony!’
A large, strong boy stepped forward, and sat on the stool.
‘HUFFLEPUFF!’
The table on the right cheered and clapped as BigB went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table.
‘Dream!’
‘SLYTHERIN!’
‘All the bad wizards come from Slytherin.’ Grian remembered Scar saying on the train.
‘Clocker, Scar!’
Almost instantly, the Sorting Hat yelled, ‘Ah! Another Clocker! I know just what to do with you! GRYFFINDOR!’
The table on the far left cheered again. Grian gave Scar a thumbs up.
‘Dreamslayer, Grian!’
The Hall went silent, then everyone started to mutter, ‘That Grian Dreamslayer?’ ‘The one who defeated You-Know-Who?’
Grian saw the Hall full of people craning their necks to get a good look at him. The next second he was looking into the complete darkness 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, oh my goodness, yes - and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting… So where should I put you?’
Grian gripped the edges of the stool and thought, ‘Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.’
‘Not Slytherin, eh?’ said the small voice. ‘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!’
Grian heard the hat shout the last word to the whole Hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily towards the Gryffindor table. He was so relieved to have been chosen and not put into Slytherin, he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. The Clocker twins patted him on the back as he passed. Grian took a seat next to Scar (‘Good job, man!’) and opposite an old ghost holding an iron pickaxe. The ghost ruffled his hair, giving Grian a sudden horrible feeling that he’s just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.
‘Tay, Gemini!’
Gem rushed towards the stool and jammed it on her head eagerly.
The hat was still for a moment, then the hat yelled: ‘GRYFFINDOR!’
Scar groaned.
‘Shadow, Lizzie’ was made a Ravenclaw, and it was Solidarity’s turn.
Solidarity swaggered towards the stool slowly, and the hat screamed ‘SLYTHERIN!’ when it hardly touched his head. Solidarity had a smug smirk.
After the final names have been called, Professor Stress rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.
Grian looked down at his empty silver plate. He had only just realised how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.
Martyn Littlewood got 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 began. ‘Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our delicious feast, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!’
The Hall clapped and cheered.
‘Thank you!’
‘Is he… a bit mad?’ he asked Impulse uncertainly.
‘He’s a genius! Best wizard in the 20th century! But yes, he is a little mad. Ah! Potatoes, Grian?’
Grian’s mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: Roast chicken, lamb chops, sausages, steak, roasted potatoes, chips, peas, carrots, salads, everything!
The Innit’s had never exactly starved Grian, but he was never allowed to eat as much as he liked. Tommy had always taken anything that Grian really wanted, even if it made him sick. Grian piled his plate with a bit of everything and began to eat. They were all delicious.
‘That looks good.’ The ghost opposite to Grian watching him cut up his steak said sadly.
‘Can’t you-?’
‘I haven’t eaten for nearly five hundred years,’ said the ghost. ‘I don’t need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don’t think I’ve introduced myself? Sir TinFoil Chef at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.’
‘I know who you are!’ said Scar suddenly. ‘My brothers told me about you - you’re TFC!’
‘Well, I would prefer you to call me Sir TinFoil Chef.’
When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the puddings appeared. Blocks of ice-cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, jam doughnuts, trifles, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding…
As Grian piled his plate up with treacle tarts and apple pie, he looked up to the High Table. Keralis was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor Stress was talking to Professor Littlewood. A man with an enormous turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose and sallow skin.
Suddenly, the hook-nosed teacher looked past the turban straight into Grian’s eyes - and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Grian’s forehead.
‘Ouch!’ Grian clapped a hand to his head.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Impulse.
‘N-nothing.’
The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Grian had got from the teacher’s look - a feeling than he didn’t like Grian at all.
‘Who are those teachers?’ He pointed at the duo.
‘Oh, they are Professor Hills and Professor Crafted. They teach Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions. Crafted, however, is after DADA. Knows a lot about the Dark Arts, Crafted does.’
Grian glanced at Crafted again and found out that he wasn’t looking at him anymore.
At last, the puddings too disappeared and Professor Littlewood got to his feet again. The Hall fell silent.
‘Ahem - just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.
‘First-years should note that the Forbidden Forest is, like its name suggests, forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.’
Littlewood’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Clocker twins.
‘Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Symmetry.’
‘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.’
Grian laughed, but he was one of the few who did.
‘He-He isn’t serious right?’ he muttered to Skizz.
‘Must be,’ said Skizz, frowning at Littlewood. ‘It’s odd, because he usually gives a reason. Much as we like trouble, I don’t think even me and Impulse should go there.’
‘And now, before we go the bed, let us sing the school song!’ cried Littlewood.
Littlewood gave his wand a little flick as if he was trying to get a flu off the end and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself snake-like into words.
‘Everyone pick their favourite tune!’ said Littlewood, ‘1! 2! 3!’
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.
Everyone finished the song at a different time. At last, only the Clocker twins were left marching to a funeral march. Littlewood conducted their last few lines with his wand. When they finished, the Hall erupted into clapping.
‘And now, bedtime! Off you trot!’
The Gryffindor students followed the prefects out of the Hall and up the marble staircase. He yawned, having ate too much.
Then he looked up.
Was it just him too tired, or were the stairs moving?
‘Hey there! Welcome to Hogwarts!’ He jumped, that was definitely real. He looked to his left, and saw a painting waving at him.
‘Do all paintings move?’ Grian asked Scar, who was next to him.
‘Of course they do!’
‘Well… Our-The Muggle ones don’t.’
‘Really?’ Scar’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘Creepy!’
They reached the end of the corridor, where a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink dress was hung.
‘Password?’ she said.
‘Caput Draconis,’ said one of the Prefects, and the portrait swung open to reveal an archway behind it. They clambered through, and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a crimson, cosy round room full of armchairs, the fire in the fireplace burning brightly, illuminating the room with a warm, orange glow.
The boys went through a spiral staircase, they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep–red velvet curtains. Their trunks had magically been brought up. Too tired to talk, the boys pulled on their PJs and collapsed onto the bed.
‘Delicious food, eh?’ Scar muttered to Grian through the hangings.
Grian tried to respond, but fell asleep instantly.