The Sorting Hat – Dudley's Sorting Surprise
The door swung open at once. Professor McGonagall, a black-haired witch in emerald-green robes, stood there. Harry immediately recognized Professor McGonagall, as she had been the one to take him and Dudley to Diagon Alley and lead to the changes at the Dursley residence. However, Harry was still unsure how long that newfound understanding would last.
Trailing closely behind Harry's group, Dudley noticed that it was Professor McGonagall When the doors swung open. After they visited Diagon Alley, Dudley wasn't fond of Professor McGonagall, but Dudley couldn't help but feel a sense of relief at the sight of at least one familiar face. Dudley knew no one in the Wizarding World except his freak of cousin, and the only adult he had become acquainted with was the professor who had ushered Harry and him through Diagon Alley to purchase school supplies. While Dudley and Harry had reached a truce of sorts, the unspoken agreement was clear – but his cousin Harry was supposed to have hand-me-downs, not him. Dudley hesitated to break their truce, recognizing the value of having at least one acquaintance in the strange Wizarding World.
“The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.
“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.” She pulled the door wide.
The Entrance Hall was so big you could have fitted the whole of the Dursleys’ house in it. 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 McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry 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 McGonagall showed the first-years into a small empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing somewhat closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “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 your house will be like your family in Hogwarts while you are here. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your dormitory, and spend free time in your common room. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes before the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as possible while waiting.”
Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville’s cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron’s smudged nose. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair.
“I shall return when we are ready for you,” said Professor McGonagall. “Please wait quietly.”
She left the chamber. Harry swallowed. “How exactly do they sort us into houses?” he asked Ron.
“Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking,” Ron answered.
Dudley, still trailing behind Harry's group, looked at the redhead, hoping that the redhead was out of his mind and that Wizards were not using something painful or barbaric to sort them into their houses.
Harry’s heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But he didn’t know any magic yet – what on earth would he have to do? He hadn’t expected something like this the moment they arrived. He looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. No one talked much except Hermione Granger, who was whispering quickly about all the spells she’d learnt and wondering which one she’d need. Harry tried hard not to listen to her. He’d never been more nervous, never, not even when he’d had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he’d somehow turned his teacher’s wig blue. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would return and lead him to his doom.
Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air – several people behind him screamed.
“What the –?” He gasped.
So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just 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. They seemed to be arguing.
Dudley’s head began to swim. His vision blurred slightly.
Ghosts?
Ghosts?!
GHOSTS?!?!?!
Dudley was hyperventilating and immediately lost his color after witnessing the presence of twenty ghosts. "Ghosts at Hogwarts?" raced through his panicked thoughts. Forced into the Wizarding World against his will, Dudley felt an overwhelming sense of anxiety. The unfamiliar surroundings and magical beings left him questioning what other mythical creatures might exist in the Wizarding World.
What looked like a fat little monk was saying, “Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance –”
“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?” A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first-years.
Nobody answered.
“New students!” said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. “About to be sorted, I suppose?”
A few people nodded mutely.
“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!” said the Friar. “My old house, you know.”
“Move along now,” said a sharp voice. “The Sorting Ceremony’s about to start.”
Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.
“Now, form a line,” Professor McGonagall told the first-years, “and follow me.”
Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron behind him, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall. Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands of candles 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 sat. Professor McGonagall led the first-years up here so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. To avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upwards and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars.
A reluctant Dudley followed Harry and the redhead he thought his name was Ron into the Great Hall. He had been dreading going to Hogwarts ever since he heard about it, but now he was concerned about all the magical creatures he had thought were just old fairy tales.
Harry heard Hermione whisper, “It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside; I read about it in Hogwarts: A History.”
It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all and that the Great Hall didn’t simply open onto the heavens.
Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first-years. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard’s hat. This hat was patched, frayed, and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn’t have let it in the house.
Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, Harry thought wildly; that seemed the sort of thing – noticing that everyone in the Hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth – and the hat 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 whole Hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.
The Sorting Hat was filthy, dusty, ragged, patched, and singing. If Mum had been there, there was no chance in hell that Mum would've allowed Dudley to put it on his head. She’d probably think it had some magical form of lice. Despite that, Dudley sighed in relief; even though he was a little uncomfortable about the talking hat being in the Wizarding World, it was much better than all the alternatives he had been coming up with.
Dudley quiked, praying to anything that the words were just an expression. Having a hat that sings was weird, but he knew he'd get used to it. Having a Hat that ate things, and everything that implied, was terrifying.
“So we’ve just got to try on the hat!” Ron whispered to Harry. “I’ll kill Fred; he was going on about wrestling a troll.”
Harry smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was much better than having to do a spell, but he wished they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Harry didn’t feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.
Professor McGonagall now stepped forward, holding a long roll of parchment.
“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment’s pause –
“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat.
The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.
“Bones, Susan!”
“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.
“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.
“Brocklehurst, Mandy” went to Ravenclaw too, but “Brown, Lavender” became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron’s twin brothers catcalling.
“Bulstrode, Millicent,” then became a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Harry’s imagination; after all he’d heard about Slytherin, he thought they looked unpleasant.
“Dursley, Dudley,” said McGonagall. Dudley reluctantly walked up towards the stool and sat down on it. Maybe it would say this is all a big mistake, and he'd return home and go to smelting.
Harry perked up, curious as to which house Dudley would be sorted into. Dudley had none of the qualities that the Sorting Hat described about the houses, like being smart, brave, hardworking, or cunning. Harry thought this would be interesting.
Some students sniggered at Dudley's alliterative nickname, but most didn't react. Dudley ignored them; growing up with "double D" as his initials had taught him that retaliating wasn't worth the trouble it caused. Instead, he focused on the Sorting Hat.
Dudley felt he could make out every frayed thread in every patch, see every speckled stain of dirt. How does a Hat get this filthy? He wondered. They must use it for all kinds of things at the school.
He lifted the Hat by the tip of its pointed top, Gingerly, he perched on the stool and set the Hat on his head.
The hat barely fit. From his spot, Dudley heard a few snickering and calling him a fat Pig, along with other nasty things about his weight. He even heard one joke about how they barely made robes big enough for him. Dudley wanted to tell them to stop laughing and snickering and that he was a healthy weight when he started hearing.
“Hmm,” said a small voice in his ear. “Difficult. Very difficult. Not very courageous, I see. Not one for intellect.”
Dudley gulped, angry that the hat implied he was stupid.
“Hmm,” The Hat spoke again. “Got a temper on you. Not cunning, I see. One for hard work, I see not. Hmm – where should I put you? Well, Hufflepuff, would you do some good? Hmm, Difficult. Very difficult – Well, perhaps this is the best house for you. It will give you what you need to grow, so it's better to be a HUFFLEPUFF!”
Professor McGonagall plucked the hat from his head and, with a tight smile, pointed him toward the table that a few cheered for him to join them. Dudley got up from the stool, he then ambled over to his new House table, sat down, and heard a couple of Snickers.
With Dudley's sorting over with Harry, he had nothing to distract him. He was definitely starting to feel sick now. Harry remembered being picked for teams during sports lessons at his old school. He had always been last to be chosen, not because he was no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked him.
“Finch-Fletchley, Justin!”
“HUFFLEPUFF!”
Sometimes, Harry noticed that the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others, it took a little while to decide. “Finnigan, Seamus,” the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.
“Granger, Hermione!”
Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.
“GRYFFINDOR!” shouted the hat. Ron groaned.
A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you’re very nervous. What if he wasn’t chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he’d better get back on the train?
When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. It took Neville a long time to decide on the hat. When it finally shouted “GRYFFINDOR,” Neville ran off, still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to “MacDougal, Morag.”
Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish immediately: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, “SLYTHERIN!”
Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.
There weren’t many people left now. “Moon” ... “Nott” ... “Parkinson” ... then a pair of twin girls, “Patil” and “Patil” ... then “Perks, Sally-Anne” ... and then, at last – “Potter, Harry!”
As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.
“Potter, did she say?”
“The Harry Potter?”
The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the Hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. The next second, he was looking at the black 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 shall I put you?”
Harry 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!”
Harry 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 in Slytherin that he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously while the Weasley twins yelled, “We got Potter! We got Potter!” Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff he’d seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling he’d just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.
He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs-up. Harry grinned back. And in the centre of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry immediately recognized him from the card he’d got out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore’s silver hair was the only thing in the whole Hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.
And now there were only three people left to be sorted. “Turpin, Lisa” became a Ravenclaw, and it was Ron’s turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers under the table, and a second later, the hat shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”
Harry clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to him.
“Well done, Ron, excellent,” said Percy Weasley pompously across Harry as “Zabini, Blaise” was made a Slytherin.
Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.
Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.
Dudley stared at his empty gold plate, wondering where the food was.
Albus Dumbledore had 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 said. “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 clapped and cheered. Harry didn’t know whether to laugh or not.
“Is he – a bit mad?” he asked Percy uncertainly.
“Mad?” said Percy airily. ‘He’s a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?”
Harry’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 beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup and, for some strange reason, mint humbugs.
The Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry, but he’d never been allowed to eat as much as he liked. Dudley had always taken anything that Harry really wanted, even if it made him sick. Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything except the humbugs and began to eat. It was all delicious.
Now, however, Dudley was simply goggling at the meal laid before him.
It had appeared suddenly, with a small pop. And there was so much of it! Dudley was sure there was at least one item from each of his top fifteen favorite meals, and they all smelled incredible.
Dudley was awestruck as he surveyed the dishes piled high with food. He had never seen such a spread on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, mint humbugs. Without hesitation, Dudley began to dig in. Initially reluctant to come to the Wizarding World, Dudley now thought that if this was what they had each night, he could definitely get used to it.
“That does look good,” said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Harry cut up his steak.
“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 Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.”
“I know who you are!” said Ron suddenly. “My brothers told me about you – you’re Nearly Headless, Nick!”
“I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy –” the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.
“Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?”
Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn’t going at all the way he wanted.
“Like this,” he said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said, “So – new Gryffindors! I hope you’re going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindor have never gone so long without winning. Slytherin have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron’s becoming almost unbearable – he’s the Slytherin ghost.”
Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who, Harry was pleased to see, didn’t look too pleased with the seating arrangements.
“How did he get covered in blood?” asked Seamus with great interest.
“I’ve never asked,” said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.
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, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding …
As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.
“I’m half and half,” said Seamus. “Me dad’s a Muggle. Mam didn’t tell him she was a witch ’til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him.”
The others laughed.
“What about you, Neville?” said Ron.
“Well, my gran brought me up, and she’s a witch,” said Neville, “but the family thought I was all Muggle for ages. My great-uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me – he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned – but nothing happened until I was eight. Great-uncle Algie came round for tea, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my great-auntie Enid offered him a meringue, and he accidentally let go. But I bounced – all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased. Gran was crying; she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here – they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great-uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad.”
On Harry’s other side, Percy Weasley and Hermione were talking about lessons (“I do hope they start straight away; there’s so much to learn; I’m particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it’s supposed to be very difficult –’; ‘You’ll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing –”).
Harry, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.
It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell’s turban straight into Harry’s eyes – and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry’s forehead. ‘
“Ouch!” Harry clapped a hand to his head.
“What is it?” asked Percy.
“N-nothing.”
The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had got from the teacher’s look – a feeling that he didn’t like Harry at all.
“Who’s that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?” he asked Percy.
“Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he’s looking so nervous; that’s Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn’t want to – everyone knows he’s after Quirrell’s job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape.”
Harry watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn’t look at him again.
At last, the puddings disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet once more. The Hall fell silent.
Dudley, feeling drained from the feast, had eaten enough to make him sleepy. He propped his cheek on his fist, watching as the Headmaster—Dumbledore—prepared to address the students.
At the beginning of the feast, Dumbledore had spoken some strange, random words that Dudley had wondered might be a spell. Now, however, it seemed he was about to give a proper speech.
Dudley stifled a yawn.
As the hall settled, Dumbledore began his address. The speech turned out to be mostly a list of warnings about things and places students needed to avoid.
“Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered,” Dumbledore began, his voice carrying across the hall. “I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.”
“First-years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.”
Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.
“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 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.”
Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.
“He’s not serious?” he muttered to Percy.
“Must be,” said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. “It’s odd because he usually gives us a reason why we’re not allowed to go somewhere – the forest’s full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us Prefects, at least.”
“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers’ smiles had become rather fixed.
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick as if he was trying to get a fly 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 Dumbledore, “and off we go!”
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.’
Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand, and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped the loudest.
“Ah, music,” he said, wiping his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”
Dudley supposed the strange words Dumbledore had spoken were the lyrics to some kind of song, though he’d never heard a more absurd collection of words in his life.
What is my favorite tune? How am I supposed to follow along? What on world is this nonsense?
Dudley thought the Headmaster must be a lunatic if he thought that was remotely good music. His attention was soon diverted as he noticed an older Hufflepuff student stand up and tell all the first-years to follow him. Reluctantly, Dudley joined the group as the older student introduced himself as Gabriel Truman, a prefect.
The first-years followed Gabriel out of the Great Hall and towards the stairs. Dudley heard Gabriel explaining things, but he wasn’t paying much attention, too busy huffing and wheezing from the climb. When they finally reached the bottom of the stairs, Gabriel continued walking, and Dudley glanced around. It seemed they were in the castle's dungeon. They trudged on for what felt like an eternity to Dudley before finally stopping in front of a stack of barrels.
Breathing heavily and still puzzled, Dudley looked at Gabriel with bewilderment. Why were they stopping in front of a stack of barrels?
His questioning gaze shifted downward as he watched Gabriel tap on the barrels in a specific rhythm. “The trick is to tap with the syllables of Helga Hufflepuff’s name,” Gabriel explained. As he spoke, the barrels shifted, revealing an entrance.
Dudley’s eyes widened as he stepped into the Hufflepuff common room. The circular windows set into the ground outside were black, but the room was brightly lit by a bubbly fire that crackled behind the pale brick hearth. Rich greenery trailed off the windowsills, hung in terracotta bowls from the ceiling, and sprawled across the floor, contrasting with the wood paneling and pale stone that shaped the circular room. The warm aroma and comforting crackle of the firewood filled the space, which was furnished with armchairs that had pale wooden frames and plush copper seats. First-years eagerly leaped into these chairs, bouncing slightly before sinking into them. Dudley managed to snag one of the quickly dwindling seats and sank nearly an inch into its softness.
As soon as Gabriel pointed out the boys' dormitory area for first-years, Dudley headed there. He found his luggage waiting in front of a bed but decided he was too tired to unpack. Laying down on the bed, Dudley quickly passed out from the exhaustion of all those stairs.
The Gryffindor first-years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Harry’s legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed or that twice Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry was just wondering how much further they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.
A bundle of walking sticks was floating in mid-air ahead of them, and as Percy took a step towards them, they started throwing themselves at him.
“Peeves,” Percy whispered to the first-years. “A poltergeist.” He raised his voice, “Peeves – show yourself.”
A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.
“Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?”
There was a pop, and a little man with wicked dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.
“Oooooooh!” he said with an evil cackle. “Ickle firsties! What fun!”
He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.
“Go away, Peeves or the Baron’ll hear about this; I mean it!” barked Percy.
Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville’s head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armour as he passed.
“You want to watch out for Peeves,” said Percy, as they set off again. “The Bloody Baron’s the only one who can control him; he won’t even listen to us Prefects. Here we are.”
At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.
“Password?’ she said.
“Caput Draconis,” said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it – Neville needed a leg up – and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cosy, round room full of squashy armchairs.
Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase – they were obviously in one of the towers – they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep red velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pyjamas and fell into bed.
“Great food, isn’t it?” Ron muttered to Harry through the hangings. “Get off, Scabbers! He’s chewing my sheets.”
Harry was going to ask Ron if he’d had any of the treacle tart, but he fell asleep almost at once.
Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much because he had a very strange dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrell’s turban, which kept talking to him, telling him he must transfer to Slytherin immediately because it was his destiny. Harry told the turban he didn’t want to be in Slytherin; it got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off, but it tightened painfully – and there was Malfoy, laughing at him as he struggled with it – then Malfoy turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, whose laugh became high and cold – there was a burst of green light, and Harry woke, sweating and shaking.
He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke the next day, he didn’t remember the dream at all.