The Boy Who Lived I -- The Alchemist's Prize

Chapter Two: Welcome to Hogwarts!

"First years over 'ere!" a familiar voice shouted as children streamed out of the train and onto the platform. Harry narrowly dodged several elbows and one or two knees as he wove his way through the crowd towards a gigantic, shaggy man waving a lamp. "First years, over 'ere, gather 'round!" the mountainous man repeated.

"Is this a test?" Harry heard Ron asking behind him. "If we go over there, will he eat us?"

"Who, Hagrid?" Harry asked, stumbling back into Ron as a somewhat flabby girl bumped into him. Righting himself, he continued, "Hagrid wouldn't hurt a fly, 'less it insulted Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Very reassuring," Draco drawled from somewhere off to Harry's left. "I'll have to watch my tongue." Harry tried to glance at him, but rebounded off someone's chest and nearly fell over. Muttering an apology, he tried to get his bearings, but found himself in a press of students who were much taller than he was, their billowing black robes blocking out all view of the surrounding area. Another call from Hagrid at least gave Harry a direction to stumble in. Nonetheless, Harry found that the larger children paid no attention to his feeble attempts to get around them, seeming very much more preoccupied with getting to some destination that was the opposite direction from his own.

The more Harry experienced of the unfamiliar sensation of being in a crowd of people, the more confused he got. The constant jostling had already bewildered his eyes and body, but things only worsened as the kaleidoscopic whirl of fragmentary conversations confounded his ears. As he became more aware of the combined heat of so many bodies and the swirling mélange of odors, Harry's disorientation gave way to panic. He reeled through the forest of larger bodies, heart pounding as he tried to make his way among the other students. Panic had nearly ceded its place to utter terror when he suddenly found himself thrust into a small open space right in front of the shaggy man.

"Oh, 'ello 'Arry," Hagrid said, smiling jovially. "Make the trip all right, did ye?"

"Yes Hagrid, it was fine," Harry replied, managing a weak smile of his own as he struggled to keep from crying in relief at escaping the crowd to find the familiar face.

"Made any friends yet, 'ave ye?"

Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw the two boys he'd ridden on the train with standing nearly a foot away. Neither of them looked very convinced that Hagrid wouldn't change his mind and consume Harry for an evening snack. "I think so," Harry said, pointing them out. "That's Ron, and that's Draco."

"Draco, eh?" Hagrid asked. "'at's a fine name, 'at is; puts me in mind of dragons."

"You... you really think so?" Draco asked shyly, a tinge of pink appearing in his pale cheeks.

"Yep," Hagrid replied confidently, a grin threatening to split his shaggy face in two. As he continued to wave the first year students towards him, Harry heard him mutter, "I'd love ter get me a dragon." Harry grinned, relaxed now that the terror of the crowd had been brushed away by the giant man and his familiar, if bizarre, wish.

Finally, the platform had cleared of all students save for the youngest, most of whom had gathered around Hagrid while maintaining a respectable distance. "Now just leave yer bags by the train, chil'ren," Hagrid said patiently. "Yer things'll be carried up t'Hogwarts fer ye."

There was a rustle as the first-year students put their satchels in a tidy pile. Harry took some comfort from the fact that many of them had managed to put their robes on backwards, thus precluding the possibility that he would look like the biggest idiot of them all.

Hagrid waited patiently for the students to leave their things, and turned as they came back to him. "Uh oh," he said suddenly, and started searching through his pockets with the hand that wasn't holding the lantern. He unleashed another great shaggy grin, and muttered, "Thought I felt somethin' movin'." He pulled the hand out of a pocket, firmly gripping something green that glistened in the twilight, held it aloft and asked, "Anybody lost a toad?"

A round-faced boy who Harry presumed was Neville inched forward and tentatively accepted his toad from the giant man's massive hand. Hagrid smiled and turned around again, calling, "Foller me, chil'ren!" He led the group off the platform, the children feeling much more comfortable about following him after he had passed up a meal as juicy and tempting as the boy who'd lost his toad.

They left the platform via a long staircase that seemed to be carved out of the very earth and held together by the roots of the great oaks that towered over it. In the deepening twilight gloom, great lamps hanging from their branches lit the way, though the tangles of leaves and twigs that surrounded them made eerie shadows dance on the path with each passing breeze. Harry could hear other new students gasping in appreciative wonder at small magical creatures they saw in the branches, but he paid no attention to the trees at all. His eyes were firmly focused on the uneven ground, and his mind on the critical task of not tripping on the roots.

After five nerve-wracking minutes, the stairs ended and Harry could see a large, black lake, already glimmering with the reflected light from the gigantic castle on the other side. Harry had seen the school once before, as a very small child, but found himself gasping along with his classmates nonetheless. With the last traces of golden twilight fading out of the sky, its fifty towers blazing with the light of a thousand windows, Hogwarts castle looked like a beacon, primed to take over the job the sun had abandoned.

Harry had little opportunity to take in the grand sight, however, for the group of children pressed forward towards a sandy, crescent-shaped beach that glittered white in the fading light. Hagrid strode across the powder, each of his steps worth five from any of the new students, and stopped near the water, raising his lantern again. Harry and the other children followed, quickly realizing that a small flotilla of little boats had been pulled up on the shore.

"Into the boats, chil'ren," Hagrid instructed. "No more than four in each!"

Someone grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him into one of the little vessels, and Harry grinned in relief when he saw that it was Ron. Draco was already lounging in the rear of the skiff, his legs propped up on the side. As children settled into the boats around them, they got one last passenger; a lanky boy with chocolate-colored skin, who introduced himself as Dean Thomas, and only stared at Harry for about half a minute.

"A'right then," Hagrid called, glancing around the landing area. Though he had a boat all to himself, it seemed like this might not be enough, for he was practically spilling over its sides. He waved his lantern, and the little skiffs crunched forward over the sand and into the water without any apparent means of propulsion. Harry clutched convulsively at the side of the boat for a moment, calming when he realized that the boats were as stable as solid ground; they did not rock at all in their silent glide across the surface of the water. Had he not seen the ripples they made, Harry would have sworn the boats had left the water entirely and were moving forward on cushions of air.

The journey across the lake passed silently, most of the students overawed by the sight of the massive school. Dean seemed particularly impressed with the scale of it; Harry heard him muttering something about the number of towers and the style of the main hall.

Soon enough the ride came to an end, the boats scraping up on a rocky shore beneath the gates of the school. Hagrid clambered out of his miraculously uncapsized skiff and gathered the first years once again before leading them up a broad staircase to the castle's main entrance. The giant man hammered once on the large oak doors with his heavy fist, and they swung open without so much as a squeak.

The students followed Hagrid into a large antechamber, where they came face-to-face with an aging witch in emerald-green robes. Her black hair had already started fading to gray, and was tucked into the severest bun Harry could ever remember seeing. She smiled pleasantly at the children, though it seemed somewhat forced, then turned as Hagrid greeted her. "Professor McGonagall," he said, "I 'ave the new first year students here."

"Thank you Hagrid," McGonagall replied. "You may go."

Hagrid bowed, and with a wink in Harry's direction turned to leave. As he trundled away up one of the staircases, McGonagall said, "In a moment, children, you will go in and join your classmates for the start-of-year feast. Before that can begin, however, you must be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Your house will be your family here at Hogwarts, and no doubt you will want to make a good first impression." Her uncomfortable smile had slowly vanished during the speech, and now it became a stern frown as she peered at Ron's dirty nose, and the numerous students who'd got their robes on the wrong way.

"I'll leave you here for a few moments," McGonagall said. "I suggest you use the time to neaten up." She then turned on her heel and strode away up a large, marble staircase. Harry immediately glanced down at his robe to see if everything was in order. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Draco handing Ron a handkerchief to clean his nose.

"So it's true," an oily, aristocratic voice drawled from right in front of Harry.

Harry looked up, and found himself face-to-chest with a tall, solidly-built boy. He had to look up a little more in order to get a good glimpse of his face, which had a firm jaw, well-proportioned nose, and steely gray eyes, surmounted by short brown hair cut in a way Harry had only seen on movie stars in muggle magazines. The styling had an ill-proportioned look, as if it really belonged to somebody else's head. "Harry Potter has arrived at Hogwarts," the boy continued, one corner of his mouth twitching up in a mirthless smirk. Harry felt a sudden, intense desire to be invisible.

"I'm Aidan MacNair," the boy said, then tilted his head to indicate the two boys behind him and added, "That's Crabbe and Goyle." Both of the boys Aidan pointed out were his equals in height, though they strongly reminded Harry of cousin Dudley in that they were much rounder than they should have been, and looked quite mean and stupid.

Harry took his eyes off the two unpleasant-looking boys, remembering the lessons he'd had from Sirius. "Harry Potter," he said weakly, then added "pleased to meet you," without really meaning it. He wondered if this was what Sirius meant by "idle chitchat".

"Pity we didn't meet sooner," Aidan drawled, "I see you've already fallen in with the riff-raff."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked quietly, glancing over at Draco and Ron.

"Red hair, freckles, and secondhand robes," Aidan commented, one side of his nose twisting up in a sneer as he followed Harry's gaze. "That can only mean a Weasley—everyone knows they have more children than they can afford." Ron's ears went very pink, though he did nothing but finger his worn robes and glare. "And that blonde runt can only be Draco Malfoy. Bet his parents killed themselves in shame when they saw what they'd spawned." Aidan snorted, then grinned wickedly. "Some wizarding families are better than others, Potter," he added, sticking out a strong-looking, perfectly manicured hand. "You don't want to hang out with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

Sirius hadn't told Harry anything about dealing with people that seemed useful for a situation like this. Of course, Harry knew that the polite thing to do would be to shake MacNair's hand, but after that little soliloquy, he hardly wanted to touch it. He gave in to his instincts, keeping his hands twisted in his robes and saying, "Thanks all the same, but I think I'll figure things out for myself."

MacNair scowled, and his face started to turn a most interesting shade of purple. However, whatever he'd intended to say was pre-empted by a high-pitched shriek from one of the girls. Harry turned in that direction, and nearly screamed himself when he saw a score of ghosts advancing on the group of students. The ghosts paused in mid-stride, however, and one of them said, "Well, there's no need to get excited. You've seen us all before." He wore fine clothes that were about 500 years out of date, with an expansive ruffle around his rather wobbly neck.

"Oh, they're first-years!" another ghost suddenly squealed in unabashed delight. He was astonishingly fat, and wore the robes of a country friar. "About to be sorted, are you? Oh, I so look forward to seeing some of you in Hufflepuff! It's my old house, you know!"

"I'd rather kiss a banshee," Aidan muttered, and Harry repressed an urge to scowl at him. That seemed a terribly rude thing to say when the ghost was just trying to be friendly. Harry already felt better about rejecting Aidan's overtures.

Professor McGonagall chose that moment to return and instruct the children to follow her. She led them up a few flights of marble stairs and then into a vast hall. The floor of the hall was mostly taken up with four long tables, at which were seated throngs of students. Another table stood on a dais at the front of the room, and Harry presumed that the adults sitting there were the professors. Harry recognized Dumbledore immediately, and noted that the chair to the old man's right was empty. He also saw Hagrid sitting on a rather large seat at one end. On the steps in front of the professors' table stood a short, three-legged stool, and on it sat a torn, frayed, dirty, and generally beat-up looking gray sorcerer's hat.

"Do they leave it open to the sky, then?" Harry heard someone whisper behind him as he and the other students walked up the aisle between the two center tables.

"They bewitched the ceiling—it's just an illusion," someone replied, and Harry recognized the voice as Hermione's. "I read about it in Hogwarts, a History."

"Know-it-all," Ron muttered just behind Harry's ear. Harry suppressed a grin as he glanced upwards. Overhead was not an ordinary ceiling, but what looked like the night sky. No chandeliers illuminated the room, but thousands of candles were floating above the long tables without any apparent means of suspension. As Harry watched, a knot of about eight of them came together, circled in the air for a moment, then drifted off in different directions, two by two. It looked almost like a dance.

Professor McGonagall had the students gather in a small open space at the foot of the stairs up to the dais. She herself took a few steps up, turned to face the students, and announced, "It is time to sort the new first-years."

At this, the old sorcerer's hat twitched, then seemed to stretch. The bent tip straightened out, and for a moment it looked as if the brim had gotten wider. Then a rip near the base of the hat opened and it started to sing, describing the various houses and what they stood for. According to the hat, Gryffindors were brave, Hufflepuffs hard workers, Ravenclaws studious, and Slytherins ambitious. Harry felt his stomach sinking into his toes with the thought that none of these really seemed to apply to him.

When the song ended and the hat returned to its previous, quiescent state, Professor McGonagall removed a scroll from somewhere within her robes and opened it up. "Hannah Abbot!" she called, and a pudgy blonde girl with pigtails crept up the shallow steps. At McGonagall's indication, she took a seat on the three-legged stool, squirming slightly as the professor jammed the hat onto her head. For a moment, nothing happened, and Harry wondered whether the faded old thing had given up the ghost. Then the Sorting Hat straightened up, the rip near the bottom opened, and it shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!" The table second from the left stood up, cheering wildly as Hannah removed the hat and veritably skipped over to join them, greeted by friendly hugs and the waving ghost of the Fat Friar.

A tall girl named Susan Bones went to Hufflepuff as well, and then an almost skeletally thin boy called Terry Boot was sorted into Ravenclaw, prompting applause from the table on the middle right. Next, a pretty brunette named Lavender Brown got sorted into Gryffindor. On the announcement, the students at the leftmost table stood up in applause. Harry spotted Ron's three brothers already sitting at the table, the twins surreptitiously trying to swipe Percy's prefect badge from off his robes.

As the Gryffindors sat down again, a chunky girl with the face remarkably like that of Neville's toad trundled forward, responding to McGonagall's call of "Millicent Bulstrode!" The stool creaked under her, and the hat went on her head, though it's brim rippled as if it were squirming to get away. The hat mulled its decision for a few moments before loudly announcing, "SLYTHERIN!"

As the girl made her way over to the cheering table on the far right, Harry surveyed the people sitting at it. The Slytherins were, on the whole, no uglier or prettier than the other houses. Still, there was something about them that made Harry feel uncomfortable—a coldness in their eyes, and a wicked twist to their smiles. Their warm reception of Millicent seemed sincere enough, but somehow reminded Harry of the way Dudley acted when he'd just gotten a new present that he could somehow use to hurt people.

As McGonagall got deeper into the roll, Harry noticed that the hat seemed to have more trouble sorting some people than others. Crabbe, for instance, went into Slytherin after only a moment's consideration. A sandy-haired boy named Seamus Finnigan, however, spent nearly a minute on the stool before the hat decided he belonged in Gryffindor. Remembering how little he resembled any of the qualities that described the houses, Harry had a horrible thought that the hat might not be able to sort him at all... he'd be sent back home, or forced to live all by himself in a cupboard under one of the staircases.

He was distracted from this unhappy line of thought when McGonagall called on Hermione Granger. Much to Harry's annoyance, the frizzy-haired girl practically skipped up to the stool as if she had not a care in the world. The hat took only a moment to sort her into Gryffindor. With what struck Harry as a very smug smile on her face, Hermione curtseyed to the High Table and then strode confidently over to the Gryffindor table.

Harry decided to keep his focus on the stool and Professor McGonagall, hoping that by doing so he'd keep his mind from dwelling on less pleasant possibilities, but the repetitive nature of the ceremony made it difficult. Several sortings passed in a haze of apprehension. He'd just realized that Neville Longbottom, who couldn't seem to keep a firm grip on his toad, had been sorted into Hufflepuff when one name snapped him back to attention. McGonagall had announced, "Aidan MacNair!"

The handsome, muscular boy made his way to the stool and sat on it as if it were a throne. McGonagall perched the hat on his head, but it had barely touched his stylish tresses when it stiffened and shouted, "SLYTHERIN!"

"Figures," Ron whispered behind Harry's ear as MacNair swaggered off towards the cheering Slytherins. "There's not a witch or wizard who went bad that wasn't in Slytherin, and I bet MacNair's rotten to the core."

Harry wanted to reply in agreement, but held his tongue when he heard McGonagall call, "Draco Malfoy!"

The blonde boy walked up to the chair slowly, looking almost frightened as McGonagall placed the hat on his head. It seemed to rock around on his hair for a moment, then steadied itself. Harry almost thought he saw the rip near the brim tug down at the corners, as if it were frowning. Nothing more happened for almost a minute, and Draco started gnawing nervously at his lip. Finally, however, the hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" Draco looked like he might faint with relief as McGonagall lifted the hat off his head. Harry tried to smile at the blonde boy as he staggered towards the Gryffindor table, but the knot developing in his own stomach made it impossible for him to accomplish more than a sort of polite grimace.

The crowd of new students had thinned noticeably by this point, and Harry heard the names being called as if they were the notes of a death march. Moon was called and sorted into Hufflepuff, then Nott and Parkinson, who both got chosen for Slytherin. Twin Indian girls, Parvati and Padma Patil, went to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw respectively. Sally-Anne Perks was sent to Ravenclaw, and then the moment of truth arrived.

McGonagall called, "Harry Potter!" and he once again found himself wishing for invisibility. His head felt hot and light, his feet cold and heavy as he slowly ascended the steps towards the stool. Harry could hear people whispering in the crowd, saying things like "Potter, did she say?" and "The Harry Potter?" His head spun dizzily as he turned and dropped onto the stool, and he sensed McGonagall holding the hat over his head. Then she let go, and to Harry's horror, the hat did something it hadn't done for anyone else: it fell over his forehead, past his eyes and onto his nose, nearly taking his glasses off in its descent.

Harry immediately heard a tiny voice whispering in his ear. "Ahh... a challenge," it breathed, and Harry resisted his natural urge to glance towards its apparent source—the voice obviously belonged to the hat, and he didn't want to seem more of an idiot than he already looked. "Difficult," the voice continued, "More difficult than almost any I have ever seen. A good heart in you, plenty of fire to be had if the circumstances are right. Not a bad mind, either... Talent, oh yes, quite a lot of that... but where to put you?"

Not Slytherin, Harry thought, hoping the hat could read his mind. Not Slytherin.

"Are you sure?" the hat whispered. "You could be great, you know, and Slytherin could help you on the road to greatness, no doubt about that."

Harry suddenly remembered Mr. Ollivander, his hoarse voice echoing in the wand shop as he said, "Terrible, yes... but great..."

Not Slytherin, Harry thought again, more firmly this time.

"I see," the hat whispered. "Well, that makes the choice easier... Ravenclaw might be suitable, but I think I better put you in GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry heard the hat shout the name of his new home to the entire hall, and then the hat was lifted away from his eyes and he could see the whole Gryffindor table standing to cheer him. He staggered in that direction, barely noticing that the cheering was louder for him than anyone else yet sorted. Ron's brother Percy jumped up to shake his hand, and the twins were shouting, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

Harry fell into a seat next to Draco, and across from one of the ghosts he'd seen earlier—the one with the wobbly neck. The ghost shook his hand also, giving Harry a chill as if he'd just ducked his fingers into a bucket of ice water. The clamor finally died down, and Professor McGonagall, looking strangely like she was suppressing a smile, continued through her list of names. An Arabian girl named Latifa Rahim ended up in Gryffindor, as did the tall black boy Harry had met on the boat.

Eventually, when only a few students were left, McGonagall came to Ron Weasley. Harry crossed his fingers under the table as the red-headed boy made his way up the stairs to the stool. The professor perched the hat on his head, her face now returned to its stern expression, and Ron looked briefly like he was going to be sick. Then the hat shook, as if laughing with some private joke, and shouted "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry jumped up with the rest of the table, applauding as hard for Ron as anyone in the hall had clapped for him. Part of his happiness came from knowing that Ron would get to be with his brothers. More of it came from knowing that Ron would be with him and Draco. Ron practically ran over to the table, scowling momentarily at Fred and George. "Bloody hat threatened to sort me into Hufflepuff," Ron gasped as he clasped Harry's hands. "The twins put him up to it."

"All in good fun, Ronniekins," one of them said. Both twins were laughing, but Percy had a most unamused look on his face. Harry agreed with the prefect's sentiment, even though it would be nice to think that the hat's desire to place him in Slytherin had just been somebody's idea of a bad joke. Being Sorted was harrowing enough without the twins adding to the agony.

By the time Harry had managed to turn his attention back to the front of the room, a pale, sickly boy named Blaise Zabini had just been sorted into Slytherin. As he was the last of the new students, Professor McGonagall took the hat and stool and carried them off the steps.

Headmaster Dumbledore stood up, and the hall immediately went silent. "I should like to make a few announcements before the feast addles your brains," he said, his quiet voice somehow carrying across the entire hall. "First, I must inform the First Years, and remind some of our older children," he glanced pointedly at Fred and George Weasley, his lips quirking up in a smile visible even through his long white whiskers, "that the dark forest is strictly off-limits to all students. Mr. Filch has also asked me to remind you that use of magic in the halls between classes is forbidden." He started to sit down, but straightened up again, "Additionally, I would like to point out that this year, the right-hand corridor on the third dungeon level is out of bounds to all students who do not wish to experience a most painful death."

Harry giggled at the matter-of-fact way in which Dumbledore had said this, clapping his hands over his mouth in embarrassment when he noticed that very few of the other students shared his reaction. Dumbledore, however, seemed not to notice, and said, "Now that our business is out of the way, I invite you to stuff yourselves silly."

With that, a vast array of food appeared on the plates in front of them. Harry instantly forgot about his embarrassment, dropping his hands away from his face as his jaw fell open in amazement. He'd never seen so many foods he liked all in one place. Of course, he never really went hungry at home, but the sort of meals that a young boy could cook for himself were only rarely the kinds of meals he most enjoyed eating. Mother and Father, on the rare occasions when they were home for dinner, never cooked because they were horrible at it. Accordingly, his childhood had been mostly fortified with foods that came out of cans and boxes, and meats that were ground up or minced in some way.

Yet here before him were plates piled high with steaks, pork chops, hams, and whole roasted chickens. Great tureens of steaming stew leaned against huge bowls of salad, deep dishes of vegetables, big baskets of hot rolls, and plates of roast potatoes. The feast seemed to take every Christmas and Easter dinner he'd ever known and roll them all together into one mouth-watering meal.

Harry wanted to put a little bit of everything on his plate, but there wasn't nearly enough room. He settled for piling on a steak, a pork chop, a chicken leg, a heaping spoonful each of green beans, broccoli, and carrots, a fat slice of jellied cranberry sauce, and a hefty helping of potatoes. He topped the mound of food off with a pair of butter-slathered rolls, then dug in.

For a while, none of the students said a word, chewing through their meals with abandon. Eventually, though, conversations started to break out. Among the first years, most of the talk centered around their families.

"I'm half-Muggle," the sandy-haired Seamus said. "My mum's a witch, but my Dad's a lorry driver. He didn't find out 'till after they got married... bit of a shock for him."

"Well, you should have seen the look on my parent's faces," Dean interjected, swallowing the last bit of a very large, very buttery roll. "They're architects—never saw any real magic in their lives. Nearly fainted when the owl came by with a letter. They'd go mad if they saw this place; the number of towers alone would drive them nutters, never mind the buttresses."

Harry's mind started to wander as Hermione launched into an extended description of her parent's dentistry practice. Ron and Draco were particularly engrossed by her description of electric lights, but Harry's experiences in the muggle world made the subject less than interesting. He looked up at the table, wondering which of the teachers sitting there he'd have for classes this year.

Remembering that Professor Quirrell, who he'd met at the Leaky Cauldron at the beginning of August, would be teaching him Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry tried to spot the jittery young man. This proved easy, as Quirrell was wearing a large and faintly ridiculous purple turban. Harry briefly wondered whether Quirrell was balding; he'd been wearing a rather deep hood at the pub. He was jarred from this thought when the man next to Quirrell leaned forward just as Quirrell turned away from Harry. A spike of pain shot through Harry's head, as if someone had stabbed him through his scar. Harry sucked in a pained breath and involuntarily covered his forehead.

"Something wrong, Harry?" Percy asked.

"It's nothing," Harry replied, rubbing at his scar. He tentatively glanced back up at the High Table. The man sitting next to Quirrell had straight, greasy hair, and a long, hooked nose. His eyes were sunken, with irises so dark they seemed to be the same inky shade of black as his robes. "Who's that sitting next to Professor Quirrell?" he asked.

"That's Professor Snape," Percy said. "He teaches potions, but I'm told he knows loads about the Dark Arts. He's been after Quirrell's job for years."

Snape seemed to spot Harry at that moment, and his somewhat sour expression twisted into a scowl. Harry shuddered. "I'd be nervous all the time, too, if he wanted my job," he commented, quickly looking away.

"No doubt," Fred (or George) interjected, "but Quirrell was fine when we started here. He just got back from a year of field research, though. Dad tells me he had a nasty run-in with a hag, or a vampire in the Black Forest or something."

"Now George," Percy scolded, "you shouldn't go spreading rumors about teachers."

"I'm Fred," the twin replied calmly.

George then leaned over and said, "You'll do well to watch out around Snape. He can really make your life miserable in Potions."

"Yeah," Fred agreed, "he hates everyone, and takes off points at the least provocation. As long as you don't do anything to draw his attention, though, you'll be fine."

Harry nodded earnestly—he already knew he had no desire to experience Snape's attention again. At the same time, he doubted he could avoid standing out, what with the way everyone stared at him all the time. Snape would probably notice him the moment he walked in the door.

Suddenly, the dishes holding the main course vanished, as did the last scraps of food on the students' plates. For a moment the entire hall was silent, but conversation and eating resumed when new dishes appeared: great platters of cookies, scores of pans holding tarts and pies, and great bowls filled with blocks of ice cream. Harry had thought himself stuffed by the dinner, but miraculously found space in his belly for some ice cream and several slices of treacle tart.

Finally, right about the time Harry realized he'd explode if he ate so much as a mint, Dumbledore rose again and told the students to go to bed. Percy gathered the first years together and led them from the Great Hall, pointing out landmarks as they made their way through the school. "Don't trust the staircases," he admonished as they were stomping up one, his tone wavering uncertainly between pomposity and condescension. "They have a tendency to shift around at night while nobody's looking. The suits of armor sometimes move, too, and you shouldn't count on any door staying put unless you've personally walked through it. The only real way to navigate is by the statues. The paintings sometimes work too, but you should remember them by their frames, because the subjects tend to go out visiting one another."

At that moment, a wadded up ball of paper smacked into Percy's head. Ron snorted, and Harry found himself giggling again. "Ooh!" said a strange, whispery voice, "Ickle firsties have a brave prefect to lead them!"

"Peeves!" Percy shouted in annoyance, apparently quite upset that his lecture had been interrupted. "Am I going to have to set the Bloody Baron on you?"

Harry shuddered involuntarily, remembering the brief glimpse he'd caught of the Slytherin house ghost at the banquet. The sinister-looking spirit was covered in silvery blood, and seemed half-ready to go douse himself in some more. The name seemed to have a similar effect on Peeves, who stuck out his tongue, lobbed a couple more paper balls at Percy, and then floated off down the hall.

"That's Peeves," Percy explained as he started the first years moving again, his tone now firmly condescending, "He's a poltergeist. The Baron's the only one who can keep him in line." He gave an indignant sniff, then added, "He doesn't even listen to the prefects."

Eventually, they came to a hall that appeared to be a dead end. Unfazed, Percy walked right up to the picture on the far wall, which was a very large painting of a rather dowdy, fat woman in an excessively frilly pink dress. Seeing Percy, she said, "Password?"

"Caput draconis," Percy replied, and the painting swung to the side, revealing an arched doorway. Percy led the students through it into a large oval room filled with overstuffed furniture. A merry fire blazed away in the hearth to one side. "This is the common room," he explained. "Your dorms are upstairs: boys on the left, girls on the right. Your things are already there. Off you go now, breakfast will be at seven tomorrow morning, and you don't want to be late."

Harry and the other four boys quickly started mounting the spiral staircase Percy had indicated, passing several doors as they went. The first level had a sign indicating that it was for seventh-year students, but the second appeared to be for both fifth and sixth year students. When they finally reached the top floor, they found three doors opening off the landing. One was marked "WC", another "Second Years," and the third one was for them.

The dorm room was circular, with five four-poster beds and as many wardrobes and desks. Harry found that his trunk had been placed at the foot of a bed between Draco's and Dean's. A note on the trunk indicated that Hedwig had been given a roost in the school owlery, her cage put in storage for the year.

As he knelt in front of his trunk, Harry found himself stifling a yawn. The long trip and heavy meal made him very sleepy, and he decided that unpacking could wait until tomorrow. From the looks of things, his roommates agreed—Seamus was already pulling on his pajama shirt. Harry shrugged out of his robes, then opened his trunk and pulled out his own pajamas, holding them up for a moment to remind himself how they went on.

"What, never seen them before?" Draco suddenly asked, nearly making Harry jump in surprise. Harry blushed brightly and busied himself with undressing, studiously avoiding making eye contact with the blonde boy. He pulled on his nightshirt, which he'd bought extra-long so it reached almost to his knees, then quickly stripped out of his slacks and underwear and yanked on his pajama pants.

Draco had been right, of course. The pants and nightshirt were brand new, just bought at Madam Malkin's back in August. Before he'd gotten the letter from Hogwarts bearing the dress code, Harry had never realized people slept in anything but their underwear.

A few moments later, the embarrassment was banished as Harry slid between the sheets of his new bed and pulled its curtains closed. He drifted off almost instantly, hoping Draco didn't think him an idiot, and worrying that Ron might have witnessed the scene.

The novelty of wearing pajamas seemed to do something to Harry's sleep. All night long he dreamed that Quirrell's turban was whispering to him, insisting that he transfer to Slytherin immediately. The more he declined, the louder it got, until it suddenly transformed into Snape's glaring visage. The greasy-haired professor opened his mouth as if to speak, but all that Harry could hear was a strange ringing sound.

Harry jerked awake, his scar aching. The ringing was coming from his own alarm clock, and sun had just risen on his first full day at Hogwarts.