The door opened immediately. Light flooded out of the hall behind it so that Hermione couldn't see anything but a figure standing in the mid of all the light. It was a tall witch (though she looked tiny standing in the huge doorway) wearing emerald-green robes. Her black hair was drawn in a tight knot and her face radiated calm. One look told Hermione that this woman was stern but fair.
“The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall,” the giant said.
“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”
Her voice was crisp and her pronunciation exact, fitting her appearance. She opened the door completely and Hermione finally got a look into the castle. What she saw made her hold her breath. The entrance hall was enormous, at least as big as her own house. Flaming torches lined the stone walls, filling the hall with light and illuminating the flagged floor, but not the ceiling, which was so high up that Hermione couldn't see it. A marble staircase, more beautiful than any similar object Hermione had ever heard of, led from the opposite end of the hall to the upper floors.
From a doorway to the right came hundreds of voices, but Professor McGonagall led them to the left into a small room, where they gathered in a crowd, keeping close together in an attempt to reduce their nervousness.
“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 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 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 swept over the assembled children, lingering for a moment on some, to let the speech sink in. A few students fingered their clothes or hair nervously.
“I shall return when we are ready for you,” she continued. “Please wait quietly.”
She turned around and left.
Whispers immediately started up all around Hermione. For her part, Hermione resolved not to lose as much as a single point for her house, whatever it might be. Then Harry's voice caught her ear.
“How exactly do they sort us into houses?” he asked his friend.
“Some sort of test, I think,” Ron answered. “Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.”
Everyone had heard it. Complete, stunned silence settled upon the children. Hermione screw her eyes shut in an effort to ignore the horrified looks all around her. If there was a test, she'd have to revise. She started to go over all the spells she had learned, repeating the exact pronunciation of the incantations, mentally performing wand movements, recalling every bit of knowledge from Magical Theory, dismissing spells she thought she wouldn't need.
Screams interrupted her. She opened her eyes and let out a gasp. About twenty pearly-white and slightly transparent figures were floating through the room, seemingly oblivious to the students in the room. With a start Hermione realized that they must have been ghosts. They were arguing. The ghost of a fat little monk was saying, “Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance...”
“My dear Friar,” a ghost wearing medieval clothes, complete with a ruff around his neck, interrupted him, “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?” The ghost had noticed them.
Nobody dared to answer the question.
“New students!” the monk said, giving them a knowing smile. “About to be sorted, I suppose?”
Hermione gave a little nod, noticing other people doing the same.
“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff. My old house, you know.”
“Move along now,” came the sharp voice of Professor McGonagall. “The Sorting Ceremony's about to start.”
Hermione was grateful when the ghosts gave them another smile and disappeared through the wall.
“Now, form a line and follow me.”
Slowly the students started to move. Everyone of them looked just as nervous as Hermione was, if not more. They marched across the entrance hall towards the voices. The double doors that must have been the entrance to the Great Hall stood tall and menacing, as if Hermione's worst fear was hiding behind them. Then they opened.
All nervousness was forgotten when Hermione saw the hall. She had read a description in Hogwarts: A History, but the real hall by far surpassed even her wildest imagination. Four long tables took up most of the space, stretching nearly the entire length of the hall, plates and goblets glittering golden on them and students of all ages sitting on the benches. At the other end of the hall on an elevated platform stood another table for the school staff. They were all sitting on the far side of the table, facing the hall. Hermione recognized Professor Wright on the far right. Then her eyes darted upwards to where she knew she would find...
Even though she knew what to expect, nothing could have prepared her for this. Thousands of candles – over seven thousand, she recalled – were floating in the air, spreading their warm and bright light over the hall. And beyond those the Great Hall's ceiling, bewitched to look like the sky outside. Stars were twinkling in the dark, looking so realistically that Hermione wondered if there really was a ceiling there. Could magic really do this?
A gentle push from behind made her aware that she had stopped walking. She quickly caught up with the line, which now had reached the space in front of the teacher's table. There they stopped, facing the hall, terribly conscious of the hundreds of eyes resting on them.
“What was that about?” asked the girl behind her.
“Look up,” Hermione whispered back, not daring to take her eyes off the hall. A sharp intake of breath told her that the girl had followed her advice anyway.
“There's no ceiling there!” the girl whispered in panic.
“It's bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in Hogwarts: A History,” Hermione whispered back. It felt good to be able to calm someone else, it made herself feel calmer too. She watched as Professor McGonagall placed first a four-legged stool in front of them and then a wizard's hat on top of the stool. She had never seen such a shabby hat before. High and pointed like the hat she herself had bought for school, it was not black and shiny like hers. Instead it seemed to be a faded grey, but it was hard to tell as most of the hat was covered with patches and the rest very dirty. She wondered what they were supposed to do with such a thing.
Just touching it would be test enough, she heard her father's voice whispering.
Hermione suppressed a grin. Everyone in the hall was staring at the hat, the first-years like it would bite them, the older students expectantly. Then the hat twitched. The girl next to Hermione flinched. A rip near the brim of the hat sprang open and the hat started to sing:
Thundering applause burst out, nearly drowning out the relieved breaths and whispers of the first-years as they realized that they would merely have to put on the hat. The hat bowed to each table and then became still again.
Professor McGonagall came forward again, carrying a thick roll of parchment.
“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said as she unrolled the parchment. “Abbott, Hannah!”
Hannah Abbott was a pink-faced, blonde girl. She ducked a little as she walked towards the hat as if to hide from the people who were all looking at her. She took the hat, sat down and put in on her head, where it covered half her face.
“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat after a moment.
The table on the right clapped and cheered as Hannah took her place.
“Bones, Susan!”
Susan got her wish. The hat had sat on her head for less than a second before it proclaimed her a Hufflepuff. She hurried to the table with a smile on her face.
“Boot, Terry!”
“RAVENCLAW!”
The boy went towards the table second from the left, which was clapping just as hard as the Hufflepuffs had before.
“Brocklehurst, Mandy,” the girl next to Hermione, went to Ravenclaw too. “Brown, Lavender” was first to be sorted into Gryffindor. Then...
“Bulstrode, Millicent!” Hermione recognized the unpleasant girl from Madam Malkin's.
“SLYTHERIN!”
The names came close to G and Hermione's excitement grew. “Finch-Fletchley, Justin” was sorted into Hufflepuff, “Finnigan, Seamus” into Gryffindor. The hat took very long with Seamus, sitting on his head for nearly a minute.
“Goyle, Gregory!” The large boy who had been holding his hand in the train came forward. The hat took his time. Hermione knew she would be next and the thought nearly made her explode.
“SLYTHERIN!” the hat finally shouted. And so, finally...
“Granger, Hermione!”
Unable to contain her excitement any longer, she nearly ran to the stool and jammed the hat on her had. Her hair prevented it from falling over her head completely, but it still covered her eyes and everything went dark. Time seemed to stretch out.
“Oh, interesting,” a voice finally said. Hermione wasn't sure if she heard the voice through her ears or if it simply was in her head. “Yes, interesting. Not easy. A lot of ambition, indeed. But not a drop of magical blood that's not your own, that won't do. Hmm... Loyal, indeed, and a hard worker. And talent! And what a mind, yes, yes. Ravenclaw? But there's a lot of courage there, too. Which is stronger? Hum, hum...”
The hat mumbled and grumbled to himself, pondering her fate. After what seemed like an eternity it finally said coherent words again.
“Well, you fit just about everywhere. But I have to decide after all, even if I don't want to. You seem to favour Gryffindor yourself. Why though? Because of Dumbledore? Strange reason for a house wish. Fitting for a Slytherin maybe, but not... Well, a choice is a choice. It might be for the best. So...
“GRYFFINDOR!” He had shouted the last word out loud. Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she had been holding, took off the hat and joined the cheering Gryffindor table on the far left. She sat down opposite of Lavender Brown, next to the red-haired prefect.
“Congratulations,” he said as he clapped her on the shoulder. “I'm Percy Weasley, Gryffindor Prefect.” Hermione nodded. There was no use in repeating her name.
The Sorting went on. “Greengrass” ... “Idle” ...
Then Neville Longbottom was called. He tripped on the way to the stool. Giggles rose from the Slytherin table. Going very red, Neville sat down and put the hat on his head. It didn't cover his eyes. Hermione watched as time went by and Neville still sat on the stool, his face slowly taking on the colour of ash. When it finally declared him a Gryffindor he jumped up and ran towards the table – still wearing the hat. Laughter rang through the hall as he went back and handed the hat over to “MacDougal, Morag”. Hermione felt sorry for him.
Morag was followed by Draco Malfoy. His stance, his way of sitting down and his way of setting the hat on his head clearly showed that he alone was the master of his fate and this all really beneath him. All in all, Hermione thought, he looked like a complete jerk. The hat touched his head only for a moment before sorting him into Slytherin. Looking extremely pleased with himself he walked to his table and joined his big friends Crabbe and Goyle.
Hermione noticed that only few people were sorted into Gryffindor. “Moon”, “Nott”, “Parkinson” and “Patil, Padma” all went to different houses before “Patil, Parvati” became a Gryffindor. She didn't look happy when she joined the table, but that might have been because her twin sister was in Ravenclaw.
“Perks, Sally-Anne!”
“Potter, Harry!”
A moment of silence, then:
“Potter? Did she say Potter?”
“The Harry Potter?”
Heads rose all over the hall to get a better look as Harry's head disappeared in the hat. Everything went silent, except for the occasional struggle between students who were blocking each other's sight. Even the teachers leaned forward. And nothing happened. Time went by. Half a minute, one minute. Hermione could see Harry's lips moving soundlessly. Even a whisper would have been heard in the entire hall. No one dared make a noise any more. Harry clenched his fists, lips moving even faster than before. And then, like thunder:
“GRYFFINDOR!”
The hall went from total silence to deafening shouts in a heartbeat. Some people at the Gryffindor table even jumped up. The red-haired twins, probably Weasleys too, had started a chant: “We got Potter! We got Potter!” A few other people joined in.
Hermione shouted and clapped with the rest. She was in the same house as the hero of the wizarding world. She noticed that the non-Gryffindors looked disappointed.
Harry came to the table like in a trance, obviously not noticing any of the shouts. He sat down near Hermione, opposite the ghost with the ruff they had seen earlier. Percy stood up and shook his hand and the ghost leaned into the table to pat Harry's arm. Harry's face went from relief to shock in an instant as the ghost touched him. It probably wasn't pleasant to be touched by a ghost.
Hermione only looked back to the unsorted first-years when the hat yelled again, making Dean Thomas, a tall black boy, another Gryffindor. Some people clapped and shouted, but most were still too occupied to notice the boy sitting down opposite Seamus Finnigan.
Three people were still standing in the line. “Turpin, Lisa” became a Ravenclaw. “Weasley, Ronald”, slightly green by that time, joined Gryffindor. He fell rather than walked to the table and slumped into a chair next to Harry. Percy nodded to him and said, “Well done, Ron, excellent.”
“Yes, well done Ronniekins,” chimed one of the twins in.
“Shut up, Fred,” Ron muttered.
“Oh, mum will be so proud,” the other twin said, clapping his hands together and sighing.
“You too, George.”
“Zabini, Blaise” had been sorted into Slytherin by that time and Professor McGonagall had rolled up her scroll and taken the Sorting Hat away. The ceremony was over and the feast was about to begin. Hermione noticed that she was very hungry by now. But there was no sign of food yet.
At the centre of the staff table an old man stood up. Hermione recognized him from a drawing in one of her books: Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts. He silver beard and hair were so long that he had tucked both into his belt. Behind his half-moon spectacles, which rested upon a long and crooked nose, were piercing, light blue eyes. His robes were of a deeper blue, red and yellow butterflies fluttering around on them. He raised his wrinkled hands for silence.
“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 as cheers and applause once more sounded through the hall, mostly from older students.
“Is he... a bit mad?” Harry asked Percy, voicing Hermione's own thoughts.
Percy laughed.
“Mad? He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?”
It looked as if he had conjured a large bowl of potatoes out of nowhere, but then Hermione noticed that the entire table was laden with food.
Reflecting on the marvels of magic, she helped herself to a little bit of everything. It was the most delicious meal she had ever had in her life, and that was saying something. For a while she concentrated on eating and didn't notice anything around her. Ron's sudden shout changed that: “I know who you are! My brothers told me about you – you're Nearly Headless Nick!”
It was addressed at the ghost with the ruff, who looked indignant. “I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy...” he started, but was interrupted by sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan.
“Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?”
The ghost looked even more upset than before. He reached for his left ear.
“Like this,” he said and pulled. Hermione nearly choked as his head came loose and fell off his neck – or nearly so. A small bit of skin still connected the head, which was lying on the ghost's shoulder now, to the rest of the body. After a moment Sir Nicholas put his head right and gave a small cough.
“So... new Gryffindors!” he said. “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.”
There was indeed a horrible and very bloody ghost sitting at the Slytherin table, next to Draco Malfoy who clearly didn't enjoy the company.
“How did he get covered in blood?” Seamus asked.
“I've never asked.” Nick's tone made it plain that he didn't intend to either.
After the main course the plates magically wiped themselves clean and the puddings appeared. The table resembled the counter of a sweet shop and confectioner's shop combined. Cakes, ice cream, doughnuts, fruits and more desserts, some of which Hermione didn't recognize. Again she took a bit of everything.
“My parents wouldn't like this,” she said. Incredulous looks turned to her.
“Why not? It's wonderful!” Dean Thomas objected.
“It's the sweets, my parents are dentists, they don't approve of that much sugar, though I think that they might make an exception,” she added with a smile. “It's a special occasion after all.”
“You're Muggle-born?” Parvati Patil, an Indian girl with long, plaited, black hair asked. Hermione nodded.
“Me too,” Dean said. “But we've been expecting something like this for quite some time, after all the things I did. Still, to actually have it come true...” He trailed off, a blissful smile on his face. The others smiled too.
“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.” He got a good deal of laughter for his story.
“What about you, Neville?” asked Ron.
Hermione's attention was fading. Neville had told her on the train how he had been brought up by his grandmother and how his family had thought he wasn't magic, despite being of a wizarding family. How his great-uncle had tried to force some magic out of him, nearly killing him. How this great-uncle had held him out of the window and then accidentally let him go. How Neville had bounced all the way down the garden path like a ball. His great-uncle had been so happy that he had bought Neville the toad Trevor, which was how the subject had come up in the first place.
Instead Hermione turned to Percy, who was just helping himself to more vanilla ice cream.
“Want some more too?” he asked her.
“No, thanks, I've had enough.”
“So, do you like it here?”
“Oh, yes!” She nodded fervently. “Everything here is so great, I can't wait for classes. 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, but I'm sure I can do it.”
Percy gave her a reassuring smile.
“Don't worry. You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing. And if you have any difficulties you can always come to me or another prefect. We can arrange for someone to help you.”
“Thanks.”
“You're welcome. It's the Prefects' job to help the young students adjust, among other things. Especially the Muggle-borns. Father always tells me how important you are for us, even if some people don't believe it. Well, none of that in Gryffindor, we're...” He cut off as Harry let out a small yelp and clapped a hand to his forehead.
“What is it?” the prefect asked.
“N... Nothing.” Harry looked confused. “Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?” he asked.
“Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you?” Percy said. “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.”
Following Harry's glance, Hermione saw two teachers in conversation. One had his back turned to them. He was wearing yellow robes and a weird purple turban. Hermione could see no more of him, except that he was nervously rubbing his hands against each other. The other was facing them. He looked very unpleasant with his greasy, black hair, sallow skin and a hooked nose. He didn't seem nervous at all, so Hermione supposed that he was Professor Snape, the Potions master, which made the other Professor Quirrell.
“What do they all teach?” Hermione asked Percy.
“Professor Quirrell teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts. He's the one with the turban. To his right is Professor Kettleburn, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher. Then Hagrid, you probably know him already. He's the gamekeeper. Next to him, Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher and Professor Wright of Muggle Studies. On Professor Dumbledore's other side there's Professor McGonagall, she teaches Transfiguration. Then Professor Sprout, Herbology. The tiny wizard is Professor Flitwick, he teaches Charms. Amazing wizard. Professor Vector, Arithmancy, Madam Hooch, the Flying instructor, Madam Pomfrey, the hospital matron and our teaching ghost, Professor Binns. He teaches History of Magic. Professor Dowsing, he teaches Ancient Runes. And of course Mr Filch, the caretaker. Don't get on his bad side.”
Hermione went over the faces again, memorizing their names. Then the dishes in front of them cleared and the headmaster stood up once again. The hall fell silent.
“Ahem... Just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. 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 eyes rested on a spot at the Gryffindor table for a moment. The Weasley twins put on very innocent faces at once.
“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.”
A few people laughed, but Hermione furrowed her brows. Die?
“He's not serious?” she heard Harry mutter to Percy.
“Must be,” Percy muttered back. “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,” cried Dumbledore enthusiastically, “let us sing the school song!” He flicked his wand, oblivious of the poorly hidden pained expressions on many faces in the hall. A long golden ribbon emerged from the tip of the wand and rose high into the air, where it started to form words.
“Everyone pick their favourite tune and off we go!”
It was total chaos. Not a single tune could be recognized and not a single tune fitted the words either. Although, Hermione thought as she sang to the melody of “Singing in the Rain”, there probably was no tune that fitted these lyrics.
It was, despite everything else, an inspiring song. The Weasley twins finished last by a good deal, having picked a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore was the only one who was happy about this and he conducted their last few lines with his wand. Modest applause followed.
“Ah, music,” Dumbledore said, wiping tears from his face. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”
Percy jumped up immediately.
“First-years, follow me!” he called and walked towards the doors. Hermione followed him on his heels.
They went out of the Great Hall and up the marble staircase, through doors hidden behind tapestries and walls that weren't really there, up more staircases, down other staircases, past portraits that waved and pointed and through long corridors lit by torches. Hermione tried to memorize their path, but she wasn't sure if she would be able to remember it in the morning, it was so long and twisted and she was very tired by now. Her eyes began to droop as she went over all the crossways they had passed again. Then they snapped open. A bundle of walking sticks was floating in the air ahead of them. Percy held out a hand to stop Hermione and took a step forward. The sticks suddenly wriggled and threw themselves at him one by one.
“Peeves,” Percy whispered. “A poltergeist.” Louder, he said, “Peeves! Show yourself.”
He only got a loud, rude sound as an answer, probably the ghost blowing a raspberry.
“Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?”
Peeves appeared with a pop. He looked like a small man, not pale and transparent like the other ghosts, but far more opaque and dressed in coloured robes. His face was still white though, except for the dark, wicked eyes. He was floating cross-legged in mid-air, holding tightly to the sticks.
“Ooooooooh!” he cackled, a malicious glint in his eyes. “Ickle firsties! What fun!”
He dive-bombed at the students, who were ducking out of the path of danger quickly.
“Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!”
Peeves stuck out his tongue at him, but at least he obeyed and vanished. The walking sticks fell on Neville's head and the invisible ghost speeded away, kicking the coats of armour in passing.
“You want to watch out for Peeves,” Percy said resignedly as he led them further into the castle. “The Bloody Baron is the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us Prefects. Here we are.”
He had stopped at the end of the corridor, in front of a portrait of a very fat lady in a pink silk dress. She smiled as he approached and asked, “Password?”
“Caput Draconis,” answered Percy. The lady gave a nod and the portrait swung open to reveal a hole in the wall. Hermione went in right after him and saw for the first time the Gryffindor common room, her home for the next seven years. She immediately knew that she would love it. The room was round and cosy, a fire crackling in the fireplace and lots of squashy armchairs standing everywhere. Percy directed her and the other girls through one of the doors, where a spiral staircase led them to their dormitory, another round room, this one much smaller than the common room, with three large four-posters in it. Their trunks already stood at the ends of the beds. Looking out of the only window, Hermione could see that they were in a tower, with another similar tower nearby probably holding the boy's dormitories. A huge wave of tiredness suddenly came over her. She put on her night gown and fell down on her bed, barely remembering to shut the deep-red velvet curtains before plunging into a deep, dreamless sleep.