Ch 7. continue of 7th chapter

"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 Quirtell, 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 four hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't

need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've in troduced

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 inge. 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.

"Ahern -- 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!"

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