SORTING CEREMONY
Under my feet, the grass was cold and damp from rainfall.
I could feel it even through my new school shoes, which had been sculpted to my foot by the most expensive wizard shoemaker in the country.
I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself as we descended onto the platform. Through the darkness, a dim lamp was being held high above the crowd of students.
"Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!" boomed a deep voice, echoing across the train station and into the quiet line of thick trees.
Hagrid was like Malfoy Manor surrounded by tiny little shacks. His big hairy face stuck out over the sea of heads. I could even admit he looked quite friendly, "C'mon, follow me - any more firs'-years? Mind yer step, now!"
Slipping and stumbling, we all followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep narrow path.
"For such a prestigious school, you'd think they'd have at least some carriages," I heard Pansy murmur at my side. A few times I almost tripped on twigs and shrubbery. It was so dark here that I felt the urge to grab onto her arm.
All around us was thick forestry. Through a gap in the trees above, a large full moon adorned a sky full of twinkling stars.
No one was speaking much, other than the occasional yelp of a misplaced foot or the harsh breathing of Crabbe and Goyle behind.
"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," said the silhouette of Hagrid far in front. I could only just see his messy hair bobbing in the candlelight, "Jus' round this bend 'ere."
From the students further ahead, there was a loud, collective "Oooooh!". Moments later, my jaw, too, fell open at the sight.
I'd read about Hogwarts in numerous textbooks.
Yet even then, the castle was so much bigger than I ever could've anticipated.
The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great lake, the water so still it looked like a satin black ice rink. 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. Its palatial spires stuck up, almost tickling the few clouds that remained overhead.
I felt the wind, for the second time today, be knocked straight out of my lungs.
Abruptly, everything felt so minuscule in comparison. Irrelevant.
My world had revolved around me for as long as I could remember. Now, standing before this fortress, I felt as tiny as the grains of sand beneath my feet.
"No more'n four to a boat!"
The lake glistened in the moonlight. Upon its shore was a cluster of small boats, bobbing gently in the windless water. I began to board one of them, and Pansy squeezed herself next to me, eager to not sit in a boat full of muggle-borns. Behind us, Hagrid stomped his way over, and grabbed Goyle by the arm, stopping him from his attempt to follow after us.
"Yeh'll overturn the boat," He said.
"Speak for yourself," I heard Pansy mumble. I suppressed a laugh, masking it with an out-of-place cough.
Hagrid didn't notice, "One of yer, come with me."
They exchanged looks, and then Goyle jabbed Crabbe in the chest and he sauntered off, looking downtrodden. With space now available, Blaise hurried eagerly towards us.
"Thank god, I was about to step into a boat with a Williams. What the heck is a Williams?"
"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who'd somehow managed to turn a four-seater into a single-seater. There were no replies, but from the silence, Hagrid took it as an opportunity to "Right then — FORWARD."
All of a sudden, the fleet of little boats moved gently forward all at once.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Blaise remarked, "Supposedly, there's a Giant Squid that lives in it, although not everyone has seen it. I read about it in —"
"Hogwarts: A History?" Pansy cut him off from behind.
"Yeah."
We docked in a boathouse, mulling eagerly as Hagrid tried to help those who looked particularly nervous onto the wooden platform. I attempted to turn my nose up at him when he extended his abnormally large hand to me.
"I'm fine, thank—" No apologies, Draco. Why would you apologise to that oaf? My sentence hung awkwardly in the air. The half-giant looked confused. I muttered a small apology under my breath and leapt clumsily from the boat.
We filed in twos and threes. Those stairs climbed so high that my little, eleven-year-old legs could barely keep up.
Ever so often, Blaise would point something out about the castle. We'd all read the books before - maybe two or three times out of boredom, but I listened to him with intrigue. The way he explained it was a lot more eloquent.
"Muggles can't even see this place."
"Really?" I replied airily, staring up at the structure with wide eyes.
"It's enchanted so it only looks like an old set of ruins with a big "KEEP OUT" sign."
"Good, I don't think the mudbloods should be able to see it either," replied Pansy loudly, who was tagging along behind us.
None of the muggle-borns understood us yet. Not even a curious head snapped in our direction, or a whisper asked what we meant. They'd grown up in a world where muggles were just people, plain and simple. Their discrimination was based on other factors — I learned much later on. Ones that didn't even make sense, like ethnicity and gender.
That word didn't hold the same weight as it did now, all these years after the war.
We pooled outside of a huge, oak front door. I found Theo and Crabbe again, who were making light discussion with a boy I didn't recognise. I wasn't sure if they knew him either, seeing as Theo spaced out every few moments, his eyes fishing for Blaise through the pool of people.
"Ev'ryone here?"
Hagrid was back at the front of the group again, poking above the children like an unfortunate mountain. His big, soft eyes scanned the group with caution. It briefly crossed my mind whether he'd lost a student or two before.
There was a murmur of quiet yes' and he turned around, raising a gigantic fist and knocking one — two — three times on the door. After a few quiet moments, it opened with a gentle creak.
Through the gap came a tall, grey-haired witch wearing an emerald green robe. She looked down at the students through small circular glasses, with a stern expression that somewhat reminded me of my father.
"The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall." Hagrid introduced.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."
She pulled the door wide open. Upon the walls sat flaming torches, that filled the entire space with a yellow-tinted glow. The Entrance Hall was so large it reminded me of my dining hall back home.
It had a similar vaulted ceiling and thick stone walls, although the walls were a much warmer shade of beige instead of a dull marble grey. From a door on the right came the chatter of hundreds of voices, but Professor McGonagall led us instead into a small empty chamber on the opposite side.
We crowded into the space, standing rather closer together than we would've by choice. I felt pinned from all sides, at one, a female student I didn't know. Crabbe was directly behind me, breathing heavily in my ear as I attempted to get a glimpse of McGonagall above the heads of those in front.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she began. I could barely see the brim of her black, pointed hat, "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."
A few murmurs rippled through the crowd. I felt Pansy breathe in, somewhat shakily, at my side.
We'd discussed it briefly on the train. Although the conversation could only linger before we all felt too nervous to continue.
Our families had been Slytherins for as long as the house existed. To not join would be a dishonour — an immediate disowning.
"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 at Hogwarts —"
"I think I'd off myself if I ended up in Hufflepuff," Theo whispered.
I fought back a chuckle, "Straight off the Astronomy Tower."
"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," Professor McGonagall's eyes seemed to linger on two boys. One, the Weasley boy, who had a considerable amount of dirt on his face, and another, who seemed to have fastened his robe incorrectly.
"I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly."
She left the chamber, leaving the gaggle of eleven-year-olds on their own, stunned into silence. Even for me, it was a lot to take in even after I'd read the books forward, backwards, upside down and inside out.
I couldn't have imagined — if I'd have wanted to — how the muggle-borns felt.
"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot but I think he was joking," I overheard the Weasley boy murmur to Potter. I assume he'd asked how they were sorted. I scoffed. Is Weasley sure he's a real pure blood? Perhaps the wimpiest one I'd ever known.
Father did say being a blood traitor weakens you, but I hadn't been sure how metaphorical that was.
Blaise seemed to be on the same wavelength, he leaned over. Under his breath, I heard, "Let them be scared. It's entertaining."
A bushy-haired girl near Pansy began whispering frantically about all the spells she knew. Even though I was more than aware we didn't need spells, I couldn't help but let my mind wander over everything I'd ever been taught.
Magic wasn't typically allowed at my age, but after digging around at the Ministry, father found out they actually wouldn't even be able to tell who in the house had done the magic. It was only a problem for muggle-borns, or homes only inhabited by one wizard.
So, father tried to get me ahead, and by the time I'd come to Hogwarts, I knew a few nasty hexes and a few basic defensive spells.
The essentials.
"What the—?"
"What is that!"
"Merlin!"
My head jolted in the direction of the screams. I lurched towards Crabbe, shielding myself behind his abnormally muscular back.
Suddenly, about twenty ghosts streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent. They glided across the room talking to each other and hardly glancing at the first years. Crabbe gave me a confused glance.
A fat little ghost, resembling a monk, floated through the wall side-by-side with a ghost wearing a ruff and tights, "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance —"
He looked awfully old-fashioned, with a sword sheath tethered to his belt, "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?"
Nobody answered. In fact, the students had never been so silent.
"New students," replied the Friar, "About to be sorted, I suppose?"
I found myself nodding mutely.
I'd never seen a ghost before — but I'd read about them. My head hung low, breathing a little heavy. Of all things, I didn't like those.
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar, "My old house, you know."
"Move along now," quipped a sharp voice, "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start." Professor McGonagall had returned. Although they looked saddened, obediently, the ghosts floated away out of sight, "Now form a line and follow me."
"Are you alright?" Pansy was looking squarely at me. Everyone had begun to move around us, "You look awfully pale."
"What—" My voice had gone squeaky, "Oh, yes. Ghosts."
"Surely you've seen a ghost before?"
I shook my head. I dragged myself towards the queue, despite my legs feeling like jelly, "I don't think any of the Malfoys ever died with unfinished business. And if they did — well, they're not at the Manor."
"Lucky," She sniffed, "My parents are clingy. Said they can't bare to part with dear old nan! — Foul old cow, she is. Likes to make empty threats..."
They trailed us back out of the chamber, across the hall and through a pair of much grander-looking ancient doors. Every door frame had to be at least two stories tall, making us appear like goblins.
Even the Manor couldn't hold a matchstick to the brilliance of the Great Hall. It could only ever be compared to a grand cathedral. Over our heads were thousands of lit candles, floating over four long tables, crowded with students.
All their heads were turned to us. Eyes curiously bore into our faces as we passed. In front of them sat glittering golden plates and goblets, much reminiscent of the silverware I was used to — although entirely the wrong colour.
There was some sort of unexplained energy in the room. It was like magnets drew my head upwards, and my eyes immediately found the ceiling — which was hard to believe was actually a ceiling at all. The arched plafond had been masked by an enchanted night sky. The velvety black mist looked infinite, dotted with thousands of white stars, moons and satellites.
At the front of the room, atop a platform, was another table. It faced the room horizontally and was packed full of - what I'd presumed - teachers. Each professor was entirely different in their characteristics.
One wore a purple turban; another looked very short and looked to be sitting on some kind of booster seat; a stout, friendly-looking one with curly hair; one with extremely greasy black hair who snarled at us as we approached; a few more who seemed quite normal-looking; and none other than Albus Dumbledore himself.
He sat, like a beacon of light, upon a golden throne in the centre of the teacher's table. If I'd have had a grandparent left alive to compare to, I would've said he reminded me somewhat of a friendly grandfather. One that'd bake you cookies, or read you story books before bed.
His beard was ghostly silver. Half-moon spectacles framing his twinkling eyes, he smiled warmly at the new students.
In front of a golden owl lectern, McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool. Sat on top of it was a filthy, old wizards hat that was seemingly sewn together from random patchwork fabric.
"We have to put that thing on our heads?" Theo murmured. He'd somehow appeared at my side. I grimaced. It was weirdly familiar to the old potato sacks my house elves would wear.
All eyes, including my own, seemed to be staring at the lifeless pointed hat. Within moments, all whispering voices had extinguished like blown-out candles, leaving nothing but quiet breaths of anticipation as we all waited for what was to come.
Then, all of a sudden, the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth — and then the hat began to sing a song.
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 entire Hall burst into a round of applause. Through the cheers, Pansy rolled her eyes. The hat bowed to each of the four tables and then keeled over and went still once more.
I hadn't realised how nervous I'd become.
Back home, my parents were raring to receive the news of my sorting. Anything but Slytherin would have me undoubtedly etched from the family tree quicker than Sirius Black from the Black Family Tapestry.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," At the front, Professor McGonagall had stepped forward, in her hands a long roll of parchment, "Abbott, Hannah!"
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled from somewhere amongst the crowd.
I immediately recognised her surname. It had been inscribed upon the original Sacred Twenty-Eight scroll framed in my father's office. But, as far as I was aware, they'd lost their pure-blood status more recently.
She sat down on the stool, and the hat was slipped right down over her eyes. For a moment, it felt like everyone was holding their breath —
"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat shouted.
The table on the right burst into cheers and applause. Abbott looked pleased as she stood up. McGonagall approached her, retrieving the hat and then waving her wand.
And if by — well, really by, — magic, her robes were accented in a warm yellow, a crest sewing itself onto her cloak. She made her way across the hall and sat down. The Fat Friar seemed to be cheerful, as he waved merrily at her from across the table.
"Bones, Susan!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Bones scuttled off to join Abbott.
"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.
I was beginning to lose interest. No one had joined Slytherin yet, which I'd deduced - from the accented uniform - was the table on the furthest right.
There was a Ravenclaw and then a Gryffindor, before McGonagall called "Bulstrode, Millicent" up to the platform. My ears perked up, my attention caught as I watched a pale, brown-haired girl nervously approach the stool.
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Don't get too excited about it. She's a half-blood," Pansy remarked. I hadn't realised she was staring at me as I suppressed my urge to clap — nor that she seemed to have knowledge of most wizard families.
We really had all lived the same childhoods.
"But, father said —"
"Slytherin doesn't accept mudbloods, but I think half-bloods are an exception."
"Well..." I spluttered quietly, "Well — that's not very good then is it."
"Crabbe, Vincent!"
Behind me, there was a grunt of surprise, as if he hadn't even been paying attention. I stepped to the side, letting him saunter to the front with heavy, slow footsteps. He sat on the stool and I held my breath.
There was barely a pause before the hat yelled out, "SLYTHERIN!"
Crabbe smirked to himself, before stumbling off the platform and over to the table. Bulstrode offered him a handshake, but he sort of awkwardly stared at the hand until she dropped her hand to her side.
"Finch-Fletchley, Justin."
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Finnigan, Seamus."
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Goyle, Greggory."
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Granger, Hermione."
"GRYFFINDOR!"
When Neville Longbottom's name was read out, I was a little taken aback. I'd learned all about what'd happened to his parents. My parents had revealed the truth about my aunt's imprisonment when they thought I was old enough to understand it.
Understand it was an overstatement. Nine was too young to know the gravity of the unforgivable curses, or the pain they'd brought to hundreds of wizarding families throughout history.
The boy looked nervous as he ran up. He was round-faced, somewhat bucktoothed, and fairly short for his age - although I wasn't one to talk. I watched as he moved with caution, snickering when he fell over on his way to the stool.
It took a little while of deciding before the hat yelled, "GRYFFINDOR!"
"Aren't Gryffindors supposed to be brave?" I asked Pansy quietly.
She giggled. Longbottom somehow forgot that he was wearing the hat and ran off with it, "He looks like he's afraid of his own shadow."
After a short pause, he jogged back to the front, giving it back to McGonagall, who only shook her head and smiled.
"MacGougal, Morag."
"Malfoy, Draco."
I felt like I might throw up.
Doubtlessly, if I ended up in another house - god forbid Hufflepuff - my life as I knew it would be entirely over.
I could see the disappointed face of my mother every time I blinked. Her eyes welling with tears as she mulled over the letter I sent her, my father slamming his cane onto the floor, chipping a tile in the process.
Suddenly, the room fell into silence and I felt like a lion in an exhibit.
Every eye had found me. I attempted to look cool as I stepped forward. Despite the fact this had happened for everyone thus far — it felt infinitely more terrifying when it was yourself, stumbling through a crowd of people, attempting to not trip on the step, and then trying to sit upon a flimsy stool without making a fool of yourself.
McGonagall's eyes were on me, hat in her hand as I took my place on the stool. And then I felt the fabric come lower, and closer and —
It tickled my gelled hair and that was enough. It didn't even sit on my head before it roared:
"SLYTHERIN!"
I hopped off the chair, breathing a sigh of relief. McGonagall lifted the hat without even needing to let go of it. She, as she'd done for all, flicked her wand at me, and my previously plain black robes transformed into sleek-looking, green ones.
The room had burst into applause, a few Slytherins were on their feet. From somewhere - I assumed Crabbe or Goyle - there was a wolf whistle.
I glanced towards Pansy, Theo and Blaise as I sauntered across the hall towards my table. They, too, were cheering carelessly, attracting some weird stares from those around them.
I sat down next to Goyle, whose large hand clobbered me on the back.
"Good job, mate."
I shrugged, "Didn't have a doubt."
And then the sorting ceremony continued as it had before, and I settled into my chair, feeling proud of myself for arguably being the quickest to have been sorted.
"Moon, Lily."
Theo and Pansy were next to be sorted. Theo looked infinitely calmer as he swaggered towards the stool. Within moments, the hat yelled 'SLYTHERIN!' and he was strolling over towards us, a smirk on his face.
Pansy followed. She looked a little more distressed. Yet, as we all had, her nervousness evaporated when the hat, too, bellowed 'SLYTHERIN!'
"I knew we had nothing to worry about!" She remarked, a bit too loudly, when she sat next to Theo at the table.
"Speak for yourself, I'm still terrified for Blaise!" Theo replied dramatically.
"We all agree to never speak to him again if he's a Hufflepuff?" I joked.
"Deal." He nodded.
Perhaps there was some bitter irony there. Although we both jested, deep down it was obvious that would be the case. There was no realm of possibility where the children of Death Eaters would be seen with a Hufflepuff.
Two twin girls had been sorted by the time I looked back to the front. They'd somehow been split up - one going to Gryffindor and the other, to Ravenclaw. Then "Perks, Sally-Anne", and then, at last —
"Potter, Harry!"
"Is it really him?"
"The Boy Who Lived?"
The room had burst into a thousand whispers.
They were muttering all sorts of nonsense, even the Slytherins. I averted my gaze, huffing quietly to myself as I tried to act careless. All those memories of rejection were swirling in my head again. The way his green eyes almost turned red the moment I stepped foot in his compartment.
From across the table, Pansy snorted loudly.
"Saint Potter, my hero!" Theo was whispering to her, he placed the back of his hand on his forehead and swooned dramatically.
Potter moved forward, looking like a deer in headlights. When he sat on the stool, the entire room fell into a loud silence.
I side-eyed the front, not being able to help my curiosity.
Suddenly it was just him, the sorting hat and a room full of hundreds of students craning to get a good look at their idol.
For some reason, the hat hesitated. Unlike many of the other students, it instead took a moment of deliberation.
In that moment, I wondered which houses the hat was torn between. Was Slytherin an option for such a righteous child? Was he a genius like a Ravenclaw? Or loyal like a Hufflepuff? Or was there a grain of malice to him? A fiery anger that loomed in the depths of his subconscious?
Was he the next coming of —
My father's voice rang in my head again.
And at the same time, the hat yelled out,
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The Gryffindor table roared like lions - fittingly.
He practically shot up, hands trembling as he removed the hat from his head.
Multiple students were on their feet, cheering and clambering to get the opportunity to shake his hand. Two red-haired twins were chanting "We got Potter!" at the top of their lungs.
The black-haired boy sat down across from one of the ghosts. The one with the ruff, curly and the fancy silver tights that we'd seen in the chamber earlier.
"It's a tad over the top," Theo remarked. We were all doing the same, pretending to not care about the ordeal as we side-eyed their table. I found myself becoming unreasonably annoyed.
"They'll see," I shrugged, "He'll disappoint them in no time."
Little did I know Harry would never disappoint anyone. Not even me.
. . .
Without a moment of hesitation, the hat sorted Blaise into Slytherin, signalling the end of the Sorting Ceremony.
He strutted over to our table, bowing dramatically to the table which were all applauding him.
"Thought you were gonna be in Hufflepuff for a minute," Theo grinned playfully. Blaise ruffled his hair, shooting him a half-hearted glare as he settled into a space between him and Pansy.
"That was gross. The hat smells foul," Blaise sniffed as if he could still detect the scent of the old, frayed hat on his head.
"It probably heard you think that. Which is why you're here," Pansy replied, eyebrow raised.
I replied, "That's the secret then, I had the same thought."
"Oh come on, it didn't even touch your head!" She argued.
I crumpled my nose, "Doesn't mean I couldn't smell it."
"Well, personally I think —" Suddenly she looked very pale, her eyes widening into saucers as she stared past my left shoulder.
For a moment, I stared at her, my eyebrows furrowing as I followed her gaze...
And almost fell off the bench when I, too, saw what she saw.
Sat next to me, frighteningly close, was a ghost. If the ones from earlier were scary, this one was mortifying.
The translucent figure somewhat resembled a male from the eighth century.
He was wearing a wig of white ringlets. His gaunt face and blank eyes had a grim resemblance to a faceless skull. His robes were a strange set of frilly attire and covered with silver-turned blood stains.
I suddenly felt very queasy and thanked my empty stomach for providing me with no contents to throw up. The spectre was looking forwards, not even bothering to acknowledge my adverse reaction.
Perhaps he was used to it by this point.
"I think he's the Bloody Baron, I read about —"
She didn't get to finish her sentence. From the front of the room came a quiet clunking of cutlery against a goblet, and the room fell into another obedient silence.
Albus Dumbledore had stood up. He was beaming at the Gryffindor table directly, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.
"Welcome!" He began, a gloriously pleasant smile on his face. My stomach turned with discomfort. Something so happy seemed so unrealistic to me at that age.
"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 was clapping and cheering as if he'd said something admirable or witty.
"Is he — a bit mad?" I asked.
The older Slytherin, sat next to Crabbe, looked directly at me.
"He's bonkers," He affirmed, speaking for the first time the entire evening in some form of an Irish accent.
Before I could come up with a response, the dishes in front of me had suddenly become piled with food.
I'd never seen so many things I wanted to eat before. Which was a statement, seeing as I'd grown up in a house full of house elves who cooked only the most lavish dishes.
Roast chicken, roast beef, roast turkey, lamb chops, pork chops, duck, pheasant, gammon, sausages, bacon and steak, any form of potato you could ask for including jacket, roasted, boiled and chips, Yorkshire puddings, stuffing, peas, carrots, Brussels sprouts, broccoli, sweet corn, gravy, pickled onions and — mint humbugs? sat in a little pewter pot near Blaise.
I'd never once known real hunger, and yet I felt overwhelmed by the choices.
"I think everyone knows Dumbledore is a nutter," The Slytherin continued, beginning to scoop some roast potatoes onto his plate, "They ridicule us when we say it. Not that they'd do it to our faces — the load of puffskeins, the lot — those Red Collars. He's been biased towards them since he's been here."
"Red Collars?" Pansy raised an eyebrow. She'd already tucked into the pork chops. As they spoke I directed my attention to gathering as much food as physically possible.
"Anyone who has a Gryffindor robe, obviously," He stated, "I'm Eoin, by the way. Eoin MacMillan. Prefect."
"Pleasure..." She replied, although it sounded slightly sarcastic.
"What is your..." I began, but he cut me off.
"Pure. But I wouldn't be having those discussions so publicly. The professors may start looking at you a little closer," He tilted his head towards the teacher's table. They - too - were all eating and chatting happily.
I immediately closed my mouth. Somehow, I'd failed at the first hurdle.
Father had told me this. And yet here I was, being a blabbermouth to someone I didn't even know.
"It's a shame, isn't it," Goyle said, through a stuffed mouth of Brussels sprouts and turkey.
I simply nodded and tucked into my meal.