The Sorting Ceremony
The Great Hall was abuzz with energy, students chattering excitedly before the Sorting Ceremony. Most of the older students knew just how fun the Ceremony could be, but this year felt different. Many claimed it was because Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, would begin his schooling this year. Others dismissed the idea, claiming that Harry Potter had disappeared from the wizarding world years ago and wasn’t coming back. Still, every student in the Great Hall could feel that, in one way or another, this year marked the start of something different.
The students fell silent when Professor Minerva McGonagall entered, first years in tow. Some of the older students chuckled at the terrified looks most of the new students wore, remembering their own anticipation before their Sorting Ceremonies. Every person in the Great Hall looked at a hat sitting on a stool. It twitched, and a rip near the brim opened like a wide mouth. Suddenly, the hat started 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 of 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 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!”
Everybody burst into applause as the hat finished its song and bowed to each of the four tables before turning silent once again. Once the applause had quieted, McGonagall turned to the first years, holding a long roll of parchment. She told the students to approach the stool when their name was called and put on the Sorting Hat.
“Abbott, Hannah!”
A small blond girl stumbled out of the crowd, sitting hastily on the stool and putting the Sorting Hat atop her head. “HUFFLEPUFF!” came the Hat’s shout a moment later.
A table erupted in applause, and the girl practically ran to sit around the older students of Hufflepuff house.
“Bones, Susan!”
“HUFFLEPUFF!”
Susan sat next to Hannah, the two looking relieved.
More and more students were sorted into their houses. “Boot, Terry” became the first new Ravenclaw; “Brown, Lavender” became the first new Gryffindor; and “Bulstrode, Millicent” became the first new Slytherin.
After a few more names were called, McGonagall looked at her list and paused. “Hamato Donatello!” she called after a moment. A tall, gangly boy of Asian descent stepped out of the thinning crowd and made his way over to the stool. He had a slight gap between his teeth and deep brown eyes that were partially covered by the Sorting Hat when he put it on his head. He tapped his finger against his leg nervously as the Hat pondered for a moment. “RAVENCLAW!” the Hat finally boomed, and the Ravenclaw table clapped. Donatello walked over to the far end of the table and sat down gracefully, looking back at the crowd of first years with a nervous expression.
“Hamato Leonardo!”
Leonardo stepped forward as his brother had, but wore a steely expression on his face. His blue eyes scanned the room expertly, as if looking for a threat. He sat down on the stool and placed the Sorting Hat atop his head, waiting for its decision.
“SLYTHERIN!”
Leonardo shot a distressed look at Donatello as he joined the Slytherin table. He, too, found a seat at the far end of the table, away from the other students.
“Hamato Michelangelo!”
The crowd’s attention was focused on the third Hamato sibling. Michelangelo in question bounded out of the crowd, seeming perfectly at ease. His baby blue eyes were enhanced by the freckles scattered over his face, and his wide beam showed dimples in his cheeks. The Sorting Hat took less time with Michelangelo as it had with his brothers, promptly shouting “HUFFLEPUFF!” as soon as it was placed on the youngest Hamato’s head.
After Michelangelo had joined the Hufflepuff table—and despite his cheerful manner, he too had taken a seat apart from the crowd—the older students quieted and waited for the next student to be called.
“Hamato Raphael!”
Raphael stepped out of the crowd, the most tense of his brothers. He glared at the older students before making his way to the stool and placing it on his head. There was a moment’s pause, and then—
“GRYFFINDOR!”
The Gryffindor table clapped politely for the boy, but Raphael ignored them all and, as his brothers had done, took a seat at the far end of the table.
Some of the students exchanged confused looks, wondering about the oddity of the brother’s behaviors, but it was soon forgotten as McGonagall continued her role.
A little while later another boy sauntered over to the stool, his slick blonde hair glinting in the lighting of the Great Hall. He, too, became a Slytherin, and he wore a smug grin as he breezed over to the Slytherin table and sat down in the dead center, as though he owned it. He shook hands with those around him, and one student at the end of that table rolled his eyes—discreetly, of course.
It was at that point when the older students began to tune out the names of the first years, focusing instead on the Houses they were sorted into. But a hush fell over the crowd when McGonagall called, “Potter, Harry!”
The stunned silence was broken as soon as Harry Potter stepped forward. Whispers traveled around the Great Hall, each student craning their neck to get a better look at the Boy Who Lived.
The crowd fell silent once again as Harry put the Hat atop his head. It was a tense few moments, the seconds dragging on as the Hat considered its choices. And then, when it seemed as though the Hat would never reach a decision, it bellowed, “GRYFFINDOR!”
The Gryffindor table erupted into applause and cheers. Two students with bright red hair were changing, “We got Potter! We got Potter!” while an older student with the same colored hair shook Harry’s hand vigorously. The boy sat down with them, a wide grin on his face.
The Ceremony continued, with the few last stragglers being sorted into their Houses.
When the last of the first years—Blaise Zabini, a Slytherin—was settled, Professor Dumbledore stood up and addressed the crowd. He said only a few words, and yet every student—both old and new—listened to his speech with rapt attention. “Welcome!” he said cheerfully. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And there they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!” He paused, a smile on his aging face. “Thank you!”
He sat back down as the students all clapped and cheered, the first years a bit bewildered. A moment later, piles of food appeared on the empty plates that had been placed across the tables. All of the students erupted with chatter, talking to those around them—well, all but four, that is. The Hamato brothers sat tense, eating little and talking none. Only Michelangelo seemed pleased with the food choices, as an assortment of foods had been stacked onto his plate.
After a while, the main meals disappeared and were replaced by dessert. At this Michelangelo practically squealed in excitement, exercising restraint only because his brothers were doing the same. Still, he lunged to grab pastries and pies, tarts and chocolates, donuts and strawberries, Jell-O and pudding, earning glares from those around him but not particularly caring. Out of all of the brothers, he seemed to be the most animated, but he still remained silent. His only complaint—if he had to have one, he supposed—was that there was no pizza.
The students enjoyed their desserts while they could, for the tables were soon cleared off. The hall fell silent once again as Dumbledore stood up once again, clearing his throat.
“Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.” The Headmaster felt each and every pair of eyes that fell upon him, but continued with ease.
“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.”
At the Gryffindor table, a pair of red-headed twins grinned mischievously.
“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.”
A few of the students laughed, but four brothers exchanged curious looks.
Dumbledore finished his speech by conducting the school song, and the Great Hall was filled with the sound of a very out-of-sync tune that students finished at different times. Soon, only two students were left singing at the Gryffindor table, the school song having been placed in the tune of a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted the last of the lines before dismissing the students to their dormitories.
The four brothers jumped up when students began to rise. They tried to make it to one another, but were unable to push through the crowd of students. Prefects for each House began calling first years over, and they had no choice but to look to the Prefects.
Michelangelo followed the rest of the first year Hufflepuffs over to where a girl and a boy stood proudly, golden Prefect badges on their chests. They introduced themselves and beckoned for the students to follow them. Yawning and muttering, the first years trailed after the Prefects into the basement of Hogwarts. Mikey bounced in anticipation, making note to try to memorize where his common room was. He hung by the back of the group of first years, looking around as they passed a large painting of fruit. A little ways down the corridor was a pile of barrels on the right-hand side. The Prefects stopped them by the barrels and turned to the first years.
“In order to get into the common room, you must tap the barrel two from the right in the middle of the second row. The tap must be to the tune of ‘Helga Hufflepuff’ and nothing else.”
A boy raised his hand. “What happens if we don’t tap the right barrel?”
“Or tap too many times?” another girl chimed in.
The Prefects exchanged mischievous smirks. “Just make sure to tap the right barrel the right number of times,” the girl—Mikey hadn’t been paying attention when they said their names—said. “It won’t harm you if you don’t, but it will be incredibly annoying.”
A slow grin spread across Mikey’s face as the other Prefect tapped the barrel. The wall opened to reveal a sloping earthy passage, emitting warm light. Some of the first years gasped as they were led in, but Mikey tensed when the wall behind them shut. He gripped the knife he’d stuck into the pocket of his robes. They were trapped, and if the older students decided to attack—
A small voice in the back of Mikey’s head told him he was being ridiculous, but Mikey had been fooled by kind faces before, and it put both him and his brothers in danger. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes again.
“Welcome to the Hufflepuff common room,” one of the Prefects said when they finally exited the passageway. Despite himself, Mikey looked around in awe. The round, cozy room was decorated with cheerful yellow-and-black furniture. Pots of plants and flowers seemed to wave as the students passed them. On the wall was a large portrait of Helga Hufflepuff, and Mikey almost jumped when he saw the woman smile at him. The pictures move? he thought incredulously. The Prefects led them through round, white-maple doors, directing the first years to their dormitories.
Mikey smiled when he stepped into his room, waving to his new roommates before collapsing on his bed. Maybe, just maybe, Hogwarts wasn’t that bad.
When Dumbledore dismissed the students for the night, Donatello stood from the table and joined the group of first years huddling around two Prefects on the West side of the Great Hall. He hung in the back of the group as they followed the Prefects up a spiral staircase on the fifth floor. They paused outside a door, and Donnie, being one of the tallest first years, could clearly see that the dark oak door had no knob and no keyhole. The only thing on the door was a silver knocker in the shape of an eagle. The Prefects gently knocked the eagle, and Donnie’s brows furrowed when the knocker seemed to move.
“What am I?” an elegant voice asked suddenly, and at the sound the genius grabbed the knife he’d stashed under his cloak. When no one else reacted, it took him a moment to realize that the knocker itself had asked—
“A question,” he said quietly, just as the Prefect said the same thing. The door swung open, and the Prefects led the stunned first years inside.
“The knocker will ask you a riddle each time you try to enter the common room,” one of the Prefects explained as the first years looked around. “If you get it wrong, you need to wait for somebody else to come along and get it right. There is a new riddle each time you wish to enter the common room.”
Only some of the younger students were paying attention, most too enamored with the airy room to fully pay attention. Donatello himself was only half-listening, taking in his surroundings. The main part of the common room was wide and circular, with arched windows that showed the grounds of the school. On the floor was a midnight-blue carpet adorned with stars, and on top of the carpet sat blue arm chairs and an abundance of tables that were perfect for studying. A white marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw stood off to the side, near a library.
“The Ravenclaw library is nowhere near as big as the regular library,” one of the Prefects said, and every first year’s attention turned to the towering bookshelves. “But it has nearly as many books.”
A smaller, more personal library niche was tucked into a corner, and as the Prefects showed the students to their dormitories, Donnie allowed himself a small smile.
Leonardo was not having a good time. He’d managed to avoid his fellow Slytherin first years, true, but everything else had gone terribly. For one, each of his brothers had been sorted into a separate House—when would they be able to see each other again? Were they in danger? Not knowing was killing him, and he clenched his hands in the pockets of his robes to keep them from shaking.
The Slytherin common room itself was unpleasant, too. He had to pass a portrait of a serpent in order to reach the stone steps that led to the dungeons, and at a bare stretch of stone wall he had to say a ridiculous password just to get into the common room. The room itself was adorned with several shades of green, with green-tinted lights and lamps. To make matters worse, the common room was part way under the lake, giving everything a suffocating feel despite the grand atmosphere.
But worst of all, it was cold.
Leo’s heart pounded in his chest with every breath he took, and despite himself, he grabbed the two knives he’d grabbed from the table in the Great Hall. His eyes scanned every corner of the room for a threat, and he was ready to fight at the first sign of trouble. He ignored the Prefect’s explanations of the common room and rushed to his dormitory as soon as they were dismissed. Leo said nothing to anybody, laying completely under the blankets to chase the cold away and wishing this nightmare would end.
At the headmaster’s dismissal of the students, Raphael had grabbed two forks from the table and stuffed them in the pockets of his robes. He followed the Gryffindor Prefects out of the Great Hall and up a marble staircase, taking note of how the Prefects led them twice through hidden doorways behind sliding panels and hidden tapestries.
“You’re one of those brothers,” a voice behind him said, and he turned to find someone looking at him curiously. “Must have been something, growing up in a house with four wizards.”
The question caught the attention of a few other students around them. Raph stayed silent, arms crossed and glaring at the kid, who shuffled uncomfortably.
“Muggle-born, then?” the kid asked.
“Don’t be daft,” another student chimed in. “His brother’s a Slytherin. Of course they’re not Muggle-born.”
The first kid turned back to Raph. “Are you?”
Raph sighed and shook his head dismissively, turning back to the group and ignoring the kid. Thankfully, nobody else seemed to want to talk to Raph.
They made their way up more stairs, Raph getting more on-edge until they came to a sudden stop.
He tensed at the bundle of walking sticks floating midair ahead of them. His grip tightened around the forks as he scanned the ceiling and the hallway. One of the Prefects—a tall boy with red hair who’d introduced himself as Percy—took a step forward, dodging the sticks as they began hurtling toward him. He turned back to the first years and whispered, “Peeves. A poltergeist.” Raising his voice, he demanded, “Peeves—show yourself.”
Raph rolled his eyes when a rude sound answered.
“Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?”
Percy’s threat caught Raph’s attention. There was someone called the Bloody Baron?
This school just got interesting, Raph thought.
In response to Percy’s question, there was a pop, and a little man appeared, eyes dark and just a little too wide for Raph’s liking. He was floating cross-legged in the air, and in his arms were the walking sticks.
He cackled evilly, and Raph clenched the forks. “Ickle Firsties! What fun!”
Raph ducked when the poltergeist dove at them. Percy, annoyed with the petulant ghost, snapped, “Go away, Peeves, or the Baron’ll hear about this, I mean it!”
Peeves stuck out his tongue before he dropped the walking sticks on a poor student’s head and vanished.
“You want to watch out for Peeves,” Percy warned as they continued on. “The Bloody Baron’s the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us Prefects. Here were are.”
Raph looked up at the portrait of an obese lady in a pink dress.
“Password?” she said, and Raph jumped at the sudden noise.
“Caput Draconis.” At Percy’s answer, the portrait swung forward. They scrambled through the hole in the wall and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room.
Raph scanned the room, taking in the circular room with squashy armchairs, multiple tables, and bookcases placed neatly around the room. Everything was a different shade of dark red, and on one wall was a large fireplace. On the mantle of the fireplace was the portrait of a lion; books surrounded the portrait, and the wall itself was adorned with scarlet tapestries.
Percy pointed the way to the dormitories, and Raph entered his with two other boys. They smiled at him, but he ignored them and went straight for the bed, trying—and failing—to tune out the others.
“Great food, isn’t it?” one of the boys—a redhead with a striking resemblance to Percy—said quietly to the other boy. “Get off, Scabbers! He’s chewing my sheets.”
Thankfully, the boys fell asleep relatively quickly, leaving Raph to his own thoughts. He didn’t know how this school year would play out—didn’t even know why he and his brothers had agreed to attend this school in the first place. He just hoped they’d made the right decision.
Still, he couldn’t shake the small feeling of dread in his stomach, even as he drifted off to sleep.