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The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there.
She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.
"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 fit 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
rather 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, 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.
"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 you are at Hogwarts,
your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points.
At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great
honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.
"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."
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." 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 was talking
much except Hermione Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned
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 come back 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 one
another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. 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 and thousands of candles that were floating
in midair 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 were sitting. 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. Mainly
to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted
with stars. He heard Hermione whisper, "Its 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 on to 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 and 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.
"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 a lot better than having to do a spell, but he did wish 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 moments
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, but he thought
they looked like an unpleasant lot. He was starting to feel definitely sick now.
He remembered being picked for teams during gym 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, 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. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. 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 at once: 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. 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, A 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 toward the Gryffindor table. He was
so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, 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 there, in the center of
the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at
once from the card he'd gotten 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. "Thomas, Dean," a Black boy
even taller than Ron, joined Harry at the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a
Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers
under the table and a second later the hat had 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.
Albus Dumbledore had gotten 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, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and,
for some strange reason, peppermint 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 peppermints and began to eat. It was all delicious.
"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? Gryffindors have never gone so long without
winning. Slytherins 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 desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think
of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O,
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. Mom 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 dinner, 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 right 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 gotten 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 desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again.
The hall fell silent. "Ahem — just a few more words now that we
are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.
"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."
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 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." 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,
snakelike, into words. "Everyone pick their favorite 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 loudest.
"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime.
Off you trot!" 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 farther they had to go when they came
to a sudden halt. A bundle of walking sticks was floating in
midair ahead of them, and as Percy took a step toward 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 armor 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 cozy, 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 pajamas 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
at once, 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 next day, he didn't remember the dream at all.