The Sorting
A woman, who had introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, had left the first years in a chamber behind the great oak doors. A ripple of chatter erupted between them as soon as they were alone, questions and excitement emerging from all the first years’ mouths.
Gwen found herself admiring the chamber. The room was beautiful. The stone walls were shaped in beams arching toward the ceiling and meeting right above their heads at a point.
Ron leaned over to her. ‘We have to get sorted in front of the whole school?’ He seemed nervous.
‘That’s what the lady said,’ she said. The two exchanged a look. ‘I’m sure it will be fine. Everyone does it. It’s a school tradition.’
‘That’s right,’ Hermione piped from behind her. ‘I’ve read about it. All first years do the Sorting Ceremony in front of the whole school.’
Harry, who had been quiet up until this point, gave her a look. ‘I’m not sure I like that.’
Gwen smiled. ‘It will be fine. You’ll get sorted and sit down. It’s quite fun, I’ve been told.’
A group of students from the back of the chamber screamed. Gwen jumped, spinning to face them, noticing the pearly white, transparent ghosts streaming through the back wall. They seemed to be arguing over something. One ghost, wearing a long medieval style dress, was talking to a monk about second chances.
‘We’ve given Peeves enough chances, don’t you think…’
She trailed off as silence fell over the room. The ghosts had suddenly noticed the first years staring at them.
‘First years!’ The monk ghost cried, his transparent face beaming. ‘About to be sorted, yes? Let’s hope we get a good few Hufflepuffs, my old house, you know.’
A sharp voice rang through the chamber. ‘Move along now.’ Professor McGonagall had returned. Gwen noticed her green robes and black hair, pulled back into a bun. She appeared slightly intimidating, but there was something about her that was quite likeable. ‘The Sorting Ceremony is about to start.’ The ghosts began to float away, through the opposite wall.
‘Form a line,’ McGonagall said, ‘and follow me.’
Clumsily, the first years assembled themselves into a line. Gwen followed Hermione, Ron and Harry having already found themselves a space in the line, and the two girls fell into place.
They followed McGonagall back through the chamber toward the great oak doors. They opened, and before them, was the Great Hall.
It was even more beautiful than Gwen had imagined it. Four long tables filled with students, lined with gold plates and goblets and cutlery. Thousands of candles floated above the tables, bathing the hall in a warm glow. Gwen craned her neck, scanning all the students on the tables. Green, she thought. Look for the green robes.
There. Across the hall, smiling like proud parents, Eddy and Felix caught her eye, waving at her as she walked with the other students.
She waved back, subtly, feeling a grin of her own tugging at her lips. It was as she finally pulled her eyes away that she noticed her hair had faded from ice blonde into a pale pink. She shook her head, changing it back quickly.
McGonagall led the students to the front of the hall, lining them up again in front of the long table where all the older witches and wizards sat; the teachers.
Above them, the ceiling mirrored the night sky, velvety black dotted with a million glimmering stars.
‘It’s not really the sky,’ Hermione whispered to her. ‘It’s bewitched to look like that. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History.’
In front of them on a wooden stool was the Sorting Hat. It was as old and dirty as Gwen’s brothers had told her, and a part of her didn’t want it on her head. It was completely silent.
Then, a rip at the brim of the hat opened wide, 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 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!’
The hall burst into applause, startling Gwen. She joined in, clapping. The other first years hesitantly followed suit.
When the applause died down, Professor McGonagall spoke up. ‘When I call your name, put on the hat and you will be sorted.’ She unrolled some parchment that Gwen hadn’t noticed she was holding. ‘Abott, Hannah!’
A small blonde girl with pigtails stumbled forward. She put on the hat and it fell down, almost covering her whole face. After a moment--
‘HUFFLEPUFF!’
The hall erupted into cheers again, except this time from just one table, the one with all the students wearing yellow embroidered robes. The monk ghost was waving and beaming.
‘Bones, Susan!’
‘HUFFLEPUFF!’
The same table cheered again as Susan took her place next to Hannah. Gwen suddenly realised they were going alphabetically. She will be soon. Her hair began to change into a pale blue, but she felt too sick to change it back.
‘Boot, Terry!’
‘RAVENCLAW!’
Two other students went, ‘Brocklehurst, Mandy’, went to Ravenclaw too, but ‘Brown, Lavender’ became the first Gryffindor. ‘Bulstrode, Milicent’ was Slytherin.
‘Culpeper, Clara!’
The girl on Gwen’s left swallowed thickly. She was tan with a dark ponytail and a long white streak threading through the length of her hair.
‘Good luck,’ she whispered, and the girl, Clara, turned back to face her, sending her a grateful smile. She stumbled forwards, looking terrified and shakily put the hat on her head. It deliberated for a long moment, then--
‘GRYFFINDOR!’
Gwen clapped, catching the girl’s eye again.
‘Everill, Gwenevere.’
Her stomach dropped. A short ripple of whispers came from the Slytherin table. Eddy whooped. Gwen could feel her hair beginning to change again. She clenched her fists.
Her hands were cold as she shuffled toward the hat, trembling slightly as she put it on. It fell right down to her nose. It was silent for a brief second, then a voice whispered in her ear, surprising her.
‘Interesting,’ it murmured. ‘Yes, Everill. I remember your family. Generations of brilliant witches and wizards.’
Gwen’s hands started to sweat.
‘Yes, many fantastic traits, intelligence, wisdom, cunning, loyalty. Brotherhood. You are quite an extraordinary witch.’
Gwen remembered her brothers. She could feel the eyes of the whole school on her.
‘A reluctance to follow in their footsteps, I see,’ the Hat continued. ‘You do not want to be like them… you could be great you know, and the right house will help you on your way to greatness… if you’re sure, it better be…
‘GRYFFINDOR!’
The Gryffindor table started applauding and cheering. Gwen’s hair had turned crimson while the hat had been on her head, and she pulled it off quickly, rushing toward their table. Ron’s twin brothers were catcalling and some of the older students had stood up. She took her place next to Clara.
‘Thank you for up there,’ the girl whispered when ‘Finch-Fletchley, Justin’ was called. ‘I was so nervous.’
Gwen smiled. ‘No problem. I’m Gwen.’
‘Clara.’
The girls shook hands as the Hat shouted ‘HUFFLEPUFF!’
The Ceremony continued, and before long, Hermione had taken a seat opposite Gwen, and Harry and Ron had joined them. Draco Malfoy was Slytherin. The Hat continued to shout out the houses until the last student, ‘Zabini, Blaze’ became Slytherin.
Gwen felt sick. She was Gryffindor. Across the hall, she caught eyes with Edward, who smiled and winked. It made her feel slightly better; she exhaled heavily.
‘Are you alright?’ Clara said.
‘Yes, yes I’m fine.’ Gwen took another deep breath. ‘Thank you.’