The Sorting
The train station was bustling with activity as students - both current and former - disembarked from the waggons, yelling to find each other, greeting each other when they hadn't yet seen each other... all the while the first years tried to cling together. Tom remarked on how the platform had been enlargened since his day while Harry handed Trevor - turned out he had caught the right toad after all - back to Neville, who thanked him profusely.
'Can't say I'm surprised they did, though', the old soulshard added as Harry gazed over the platform. 'Bloody hell, it looks like half the Empire's attending Hogwarts these days...'
'It's called the Commonwealth now, Tom', Harry corrected with a mental sigh.
Tom disagreed. 'Same shoe, different shoelaces', he argued. 'Oh, Morgana, they have Rubeus escorting the first years?'
Harry merely rolled his eyes as he followed Hagrid's booming voice, calling the first years towards him - his size made him easy to spot, fortunately. (Harry chose to ignore Toms comment on how Hagrid better not lead them through the forest.)
'What's this village over there, anyway?', he asked upon seeing a few lights in the distance, partly to distract his companion from his rants, while the first years walked down a narrow pathway. 'Is it part of Hogwarts?'
Tom snorted. 'Might as well be. Hogsmeade's the only purely magical settlement left in Britain proper, and most of its income comes from Hogwarts staff and students. Third years and higher are allowed to journey down here every second weekend with the permission of their guardians. Fun to go to if you want to get away from Hogwarts every now and then, but I recommend ordering what you need replaced via owl mail orders. Stuff they sell down there's second-hand at best, though the sweets weren't bad in my day.'
Harry was about to respond, but then they went around a bent -- and he gazed upon Hogwarts for the first time in his life.
Hogwarts Castle was grand, there was no other way to describe it, with countless towers and battlements and windows, the latter of which emitted shining golden light. The entire structure stood surrounded by mountains and gazed watchfully over a great dark lake, which mirrored its image, making the castle seem even grander and more imposing, while still giving off a welcoming feeling, as if it wanted to tell the students that everything would be good and well here, that they were safe.
'You know, I've been here before, but the place still manages to impress me', Tom observed, sounding somewhat melancholic. 'It feels like...'
'...like a home should', Harry completed.
'Yes.'
"Alrighty, everyone into the boats!", Hagrid instructed. "No more'en four per boat!"
Shuffling ensued as the first years debated on with whom they wanted to share their boat - Harry quickly reattached himself to Hermione, whom he had lost sight of at the station, and Neville soon joined, clutching Trevor tightly. Ron Weasley climbed in, too, and eventually, the boats set off, following the one occupied by Hagrid himself.
'Do we get to do this every time we get to Hogwarts?', Harry asked Tom excitedly as Hermione asked the same out aloud.
Tom laughed with excitement. 'Only twice', he answered. 'When you arrive at Hogwarts as a first year - and when you leave it after graduating, in your seventh year.'
'So, there's some other way to the castle, then?'
'The other students are transported to Hogwarts by carriages - supposedly enchanted to move on their own, like these boats, but I know for a fact they're pulled by Thestrals.'
'I wonder why we aren't going by carriage, then...'
'There's many kinds of magic, Harry. The carriages wouldn't allow for such a view, after all.... oh, better duck.'
Harry was about to ask why he should duck, but then he heard Hagrid bellow out the same instruction, and he soon saw why: the boats were approaching the cliffside on which Hogwarts stood, and entered a small cave entrance, half covered by hanging ivy. Once inside the cave, Hagrid and his lantern led them through a tunnel towards a large and long stone stairway - 'one of the few that do not move' - and finally to a massive oaken door.
"Everyone still 'ere?", he asked, and, after a chorus of "yes!", he raised his massive fist and knocked on the door three times.
'Part of the ritual', Tom observed as the door groaned open, revealing a tall woman with dark hair - black, mixed with gray - and a severe look about her face. 'Oh my, Minnie got old.'
"The first years, Professor McGonagall", Hagrid announced.
"Thank you, Hagrid, I'll take them from here", the woman - Professor McGonagall - replied before opening the doors further with a flick of her wand, revealing an entrance hall so big the Dursley house would've easily fit inside, lit by countless torches, with a ceiling so high Harry struggled to see the top, and a marble stairway which he could only describe as magnificent leading to the upper floors.
'Aye, still as I remember', Tom mused as the group now followed Professor McGonagall through the stonetiled hall into a relatively small, empty room. Huddled together, they whispered excitedly as they looked around.
'Huh, I guess the speech is also a sort of tradition', Tom commented as the professor explained what would happen next and how Hogwarts would work. 'Dumbledore used the exact same words right before my sorting, back in 1938.'
'Some things never change', Harry replied, amused. 'So, just so that I understand correctly, we get House Points for being good, and the house with the most good students gets a cup?'
'Pretty much, though sabotaging other houses is somewhat common - or at least was in my day. And depending on how good you are at hiding your crimes, you'll be rewarded by witnessing that other house in question lose points for supposedly being an idiot. Quite thrilling, truth be told.'
'Yeah, I don't want to know', Harry plainly stated as he did his best to fix his hair, ignoring Toms comment on how it was useless to try that. 'Huh, it doesn't sound like anyone else knows about that Sorting Hat.'
Tom cackled. 'Yes, it's supposed to be a bit of a surprise. I know from my time that older siblings would tell their younger brothers and sisters all sorts of things on how the Sorting goes. My favorite was that you had to face a dragon that would read your mind and judge your worth.'
'How does that hat judge me, anyway? Does it read my mind, or what?'
'Essentially, yes. It's incredibly complicated magic - developed by the Four Founders. It gave the Hat the ability to read students and judge their character on those traits - though it had some side effects I doubt they accounted for.'
'What side effects?', Harry asked concerned as Hermione nervously recited all the spells she had learned.
'Damned thing's been alive for over a thousand years now, with no pause that I know of. To call it sentient would be an understatement, and it's beyond barmy by now.'
Harry was about to respond on how that wasn't a bad thing from where he stood, but found himself interrupted when some twenty ghosts entered the room through the walls.
'Ah, yes, I forgot', Tom chimed in, sounding far too pleased with himself. 'Other than being a magic school, Hogwarts also happens to be home to the greatest number of ghosts in Britain.'
'Could've warned me', Harry grumbled. 'Stop snickering.'
'Hey, I already ruined the surprise of the Sorting Hat', Tom replied, still snickering. 'I had to get that one in. Wait, Peeves is still here? Oh boy, we're in for a ride... Poltergeist, steer clear of him.'
'Got it', Harry grumbled as Professor McGonagall returned and lead them into the Great Hall.
And great it certainly was; lit by thousands upon thousands of candles, all floating above four long table and a fifth high table at the far end of the room, they illuminated the massive hall with a warm, golden light, which was mirrored in golden table settings, while the countless ghosts - Harry had no idea how many there were - glowed faintly silvery in the light. The most impressive part, however, was the ceiling. Harry had read about it - as had Hermione, evidently - and he had known that it had been enchanted to resemble the sky beforehand. However, seeing it up close - relatively speaking - was wholly different, and far more impressive. Truth be told, Harry for a split second doubted the hall even had a ceiling and didn't just open up into the night sky.
'Magic is awesome', he thought, and he grinned as he heard Toms enthusiastic response.
Then, his eyes fell on what had to be the Sorting Hat; a patched, frayed, and dirty piece of apparel with a large tear along the brim - not unlike a mouth. 'Not just unlike', Tom explained. 'It functions as just that - observe.'
Right on cue, the tear opened, and the Hat began to sing - Harry blinked in surprise.
"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 hall errupted in applause as the hat finished, and as it mimicked a sort of bow at each of the four tables, while Harry asked if that was normal.
'Oh, it very much is', Tom lightheartedly stated. 'The song changes every year, though, and the bloody thing sometimes loves to sneak in some sort of warning or prophecy of coming nonsense. Bogus most of the time, but he did predict Grindelwalds downfall in '45, so...'
'Broken clocks, huh?', Harry joked. 'Oh, and you were right, Ron really does seem gullible.'
'Of course I was. I mean, a troll.... really, mate? Really? The bloody dragon story was far more believable.'
Harry did have some reservations - most notably, being put on the spot like that. That was, in his eyes, a prime source of embarrasement - as was proven by Neville, who, upon being declared Gryffindor, was so eager to get away from the Sorting Chair that he forgot to take off the Hat and had to return to the podium, much to the amusement of the other students. Truth be told, he felt like he was back in Sports class, where he was always the last to be picked - curtesy of Dudley being king bully - and always felt the embarrasement at that fact.
Still, it did seem like the Hat did not choose the houses at random. Some students like Draco Malfoy (Slytherin, much to his delight) were placed after a few seconds; others like Hermione (Gryffindor, much her and Harrys delight) took a few minutes. Tom snidely remarked on a few names he recognized - 'My,my, Bulstrodes strong bones really are shining with that one... Finch-Fletchley? Tell me you're posh without telling me you're posh... Merlin, that Parkinson girl looks like a pug, and an ugly one at that... Oh, you're up!'
Sure enough, Professor McGonagall - who had been reading off the names of the first years to be sorted - called out "Potter, Harry!", causing him to nervously step forward, doing his best to ignore the hushed whispers around him, while trying to keep his worries at bay. Tom had assured him that everyone was always placed, even if they were a hatstall - but what if he was the first? It would fit right in with his rotten luck, after all.
Before he knew it, he sat on the chair and had the hat placed on his head - it slipped down over his eyes, so that he only saw darkness.
'My, my, this is difficult', the hats voice resonated in his head. 'And most peculiar. You seem annoyingly familiar, Mr. Potter, I wonder... ah, yes. Good evening, Mr. Riddle! How fancy seeing you again, much less in this body.'
Tom sighed. 'Hello, Gryff', he greeted, sounding somewhat exasperated. 'It has been a while.'
'Gryff?', Harry wondered.
'A name the Lady Helga gave me - she and Lady Rowena loved to jest I was Sir Godrics oldest son, and they took to calling me Gryff after him.' The Hat chuckled. 'Now, what to do with you? Plenty of courage I see, and a good head on yer shoulders, too. Much talent, much talent indeed, and oh my, that is quite the drive to prove yourself, lad - no wonder Mr. Riddle likes you, no wonder indeed. No, where to, where to?'
'Slytherin', Tom suggested immediately.
'You're rather biased, I'm afraid, so forgive me for disregarding that comment, Mr. Riddle. Though you would do well in Slytherin, I agree... you could become great there, very great, greater than your companion ever was...', the Hat said with a chuckle.
Harry bit his lip. 'Err, Mr. Gryff? May I... may I voice a preference?'
The Hat chuckled again. 'Of course you may, lad, though I shan't promise to place you in your preferred house.'
'I was wondering... could I... would I do well in Gryffindor, too?', Harry asked.
Ignoring Tom's sigh, Gryff did the familiar equivalent of nodding. 'Gryffindor, eh? Aye, you'd do well there, too... though indulge an old hat and tell me why you're so keen on going there.'
Harry sighed. 'It's just that... I don't remember my parents. At all. I was kinda hoping that by going to Gryffindor... I'd at least have some connection to them, other than my name. Not that I don't trust your judgement, or anything.'
Gryff laughed. 'No need to worry, Mr. Potter, I am not easily insulted! And I understand your reasoning, lad, which is why your current mental situation is all the more hilarious to me.' The Hat laughed again. 'I do think you'd do great in Slytherin, but Gryffindor holds just as much potential, oh yes, it does indeed... And I am most curious on how things will play out with Mr. Riddle here being thrown into Sir Godrics house.'
'Hey, what does any of that mean?', Tom asked, sounding even more annoyed than before.
'Oh, you mean you don't know?' Gryff laughed again. 'Oh, this is too good! Still, I won't take anything away... Now then, better be.... GRYFFINDOR!"
The last word was yelled out loud, and the Gryffindor table errupted in the loudest cheers this evening as Harry took of the hat and moved down to the Gryffindor table, where he promptly shook the hand of another Weasley - this had to be the prefect brother Ron had mentioned earlier, Percy, if he remembered correctly.
He only listened to everything going on around him with one ear and part of his mind; he was too busy questioning Tom on what the hell Gryff had been going on about.
'Haven't got the foggiest', Tom grumbled. 'Like I said, though, Gryff's quite looney by now. Still, I hate that he refused to give out answers purely for his own bloody amusement. Shame I'm not in control, I'd love to give that hat a piece of my mind...'
Harry supressed an eyeroll as Tom listed all the things he'd like to do to the Sorting Hat as he gazed at the High Table - he recognized Quirell, now wearing a purple turban, and Hagrid, who gave a proud wave down to the Gryffindor table, and finally, seated on a golden thronelike chair, Albus Dumbledore himself, observing the Sorting, applauding at every student.
Just as Tom ended his rant ('I wonder what happens if I set the damned thing on fire...'), so did the Sorting Ceremony, and Dumbledore stood up from his chair with a large smile ('Wipe that grin of your face, you old goat, or I swear I will wipe it for you!') and raised his goblet.
"Welcome!", he bellowed. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Now, before we begin our banquet, I woud like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you."
Harry blinked in confusion as everyone applauded and cheered, not knowing whether or not it would be bad form to laugh.
'I never thought I'd miss Dippets senile ramblings', Tom groaned.
"Is he... a bit mad?", Harry asked Percy.
Percy laughed in good humour. "Mad? He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! Ahem. But yes, he is a bit mad. Potatoes, Harry?"
"Yes and thank you", Harry answered with a grin as the food appeared on the golden plates - once again proving his earlier statement true.
'Try the peppermint candy, it tastes amazing', Tom urged, his mood having improved with the food appearing.
Soon, Harry found himself merrily chatting away with the other students - primarily Hermione, Neville, Ron and Percy - and even the house ghost - Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, also rudely known as 'Nearly Headless Nick'. 'How does one become a ghost, anyway?', Harry asked as he munched on his roast chicken.
'You die and are unwilling to fully pass on', Tom explained. 'Thankless existence, though, from what I know.'
Harry was about to comment on how that sounded eerily similar to what Tom was now, when he felt a sharp pain in his scar and heard Tom curse violently.
'Oh no, you don't, you greasy git!', he roared, and for a split second, Harry saw Ripper jump in his mind, fangs showing and salivating.
'What was that?', he asked, somewhat shaken by the experience.
'That slimeball next to Quirell just tried to use Legilimency on you', Tom angrily explained. 'I made sure the bastard got an eyeful.'
Hary looked at whom Tom meant. It was easy to find the teacher in question, he was a tall man with greasy black hair, pale skin and a hooked nose, looking like the stereotypical vampire - and he stared directly at Harry.
He nudged Percy Weasley and asked him who the professor next to Quirell was - Professor Snape, head of Slytherin house and Potions Teacher.
'If he tries anything like that again, I will tear his mind into so many shreds, they'll have to look for the pieces with a magnifying glass', Tom threatened.
Still, eventually, Snape broke eye contact, and as the feast came to an end, Dumbledore rose again and went over some more do's and don'ts - not being allowed into the Forbidden Forest ('It's called the Forbidden Forest, that's just inviting dunderheads trying to sneak in'), no magic in the corridors during breaktime ('Oh, come on, no one ever follows that rule!'), when Quidditch try-outs were with the added reminder that first years were forbidden from participating ('Good!')- before making an additional announcement.
"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", he said, causing hushed whispers to break out.
"Is he serious?", Harry asked Percy.
"He ought to be", the prefect answered with a frown. "Odd, though, that he doesn't give a reason - he usually does that, or has it done by another member of the staff. He ought to have told us prefects the reason, at least, so that we can make sure no one treats this warning as a challenge." He glared down the table to his two younger brothers - the twins Fred and George, who both looked up and gave cheeky waves in his direction.
'Finally, someone sensible with authority', Tom grumbled.
'Yeah, I'm reserving judgement until I've seen more. Not in the mood for another snitchy type to tattle on my problems', Harry answered with the same tone.
'Well, at least in my day, the heads were careful when it came to picking prefects, and this Weasley here seems to be of the decent sort', Tom observed. 'Though I understand your caution.'
Eventually, after having gotten to sing the school song - Harry only hummed for the most part, and Tom didn't even do that - they were sent off to bed. Percy led them up the Grand Staircase, past the whispering portraits and through seemingly hidden doorways - 'Some things never change', Tom commented, just as they met the resident poltergeist, Peeves.
'Alright, Percy does seem helpful', Harry admitted after that encounter as they made towards a portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress.
'Much more bling here than at the entrance to Slytherin', Tom observed. 'Guess Gryffindor has to compensate.' Harry didn't comment, being more concerned with memorizing the password - Caput Draconis. Judging by Nevilles face, he wasn't the only one.
It was here that the group of first years split up; Percy led the boys to their dormitory, while the female prefect - Katherine Turner - led the girls to theirs. Both stressed that neither gender was supposed to be in the other ones dorm, though Tom cheekily added that girls could, to his knowledge, still enter the boys' dormitory. 'There are special wards around the way to the girls' dormitory, however, which make it impossible for boys to go there. You'd have to float or something to avoid being tripped and thrown back.'
'Why just around the girls' dorms?', Harry asked, finally feeling the fatigue setting in.
'Something about wanting to avoid boys being boys', Tom commented. 'Oh, joy, we get four roommates... I miss Slytherin already...'
Harry wasn't really listening anymore, though, he fell asleep right after picking his bed and changing for the night.