The Phoenix and the Serpent

Chapter Three - The Sorting Hat

The door swung open at once. In the entryway was a severe-looking man with black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. His eyes swept the crowd of students, and when he met Tom's gaze, he stiffened visibly.

"The firs' years, Professor Snape," said Hagrid.

"Thank you," Professor Snape said curtly. "I will take them from here." He pushed the door open wide, and the throng of students surged ahead to follow him into the castle. Tom trailed behind, trying to decide if Professor Snape seemed better or worse than he'd imagined him. He certainly looked unpleasant, and he clearly disliked Tom already. Though - Tom frowned - how had Professor Snape recognized him? Of all his siblings, Tom looked the least like his parents.

"Wow!" Adam whispered as they entered the castle.

The entrance hall was certainly impressive. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

Professor Snape led them across the flagged stone floor. Tom 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 Snape 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.

"The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly," Professor Snape said, his cold eyes surveying the room. "Before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. I presume that you are all aware of the significance of the Sorting Ceremony, so I am sure I need not tell you that you are all expected to remain perfectly silent throughout. For those of you arriving with preconceived notions about any of the four houses - Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff - I will remind you that each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. You are all expected to be a credit to whichever house becomes yours; remember that your successes and refractions will result in house points earned or lost. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the honor of the house cup. Students who damage their house's chances to receive the cup will find themselves shunned by their peers. You have been warned.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. Many of look inexcusably disheveled; I suggest you all make yourselves as presentable as possible while you are waiting."

His eyes lingered for a moment on a small boy whose robes were smudged, and Tom resisted the temptation to check his own robes.

"I shall return when we are ready for you. I expect you all to remain silent."

Professor Snape left the chamber. Tom let out the breath he'd been holding - he'd half expected Professor Snape to single him out about something - and looked around the room. Most of the first years looked more apprehensive now than ever, and several groups of huddled students looked positively terrified.

"What subject does he teach?" Adam whispered to Tom. "And why was he staring at you before?"

"He teaches Potions - and he's head of Slytherin House," Tom whispered back. "He hated my father, and my grandfather - I suppose it's just the tradition, by now."

"You'd better hope you don't get sorted into Slytherin, then."

"Yeah, I know." Tom was determined not to think about this, but despite himself, his apprehension grew as he waited. What if he really was sorted into Slytherin?

Professor Snape returned at last, appearing so suddenly and silently that Tom would have been certain that he had Apparated if he had not known that this was impossible.

"Form a line and follow me," Professor Snape said brusquely, and the first-years scrambled to obey. Tom got into line behind Adam and Jennifer, his stomach feeling even queasier than it did when riding a broomstick. Professor Snape led them out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Even as anxious as Tom was, he could not help but be impressed by the Great Hall; he had never 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 Snape 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. Dotted here and there among the staring faces of the students were the ghosts, shining misty silver.

Professor Snape silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool he put a pointed wizard's hat. The hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty, and Tom, who had been expecting something much grander, was disappointed.

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:

For years untold I've sorted

First-year students into houses,

A tradition started long ago

By independent Founders.

Intelligence and thought

Were valued by Rowena;

Loyalty and Diligence

Were prized by gentle Helga.

The chosen ones of Gryffindor

Had courage and great valor;

Slytherin's favored students

Were ambitious, quick, and clever.

The houses still remain,

The students still are sorted,

But the vision of the founders

Has for many years been thwarted.

Together the four houses

Were meant to be one whole,

The noble school of Hogwarts

United towards one goal.

Instead the castle halls

Are now sullied by discord,

And despite my many warnings,

Still this message is ignored.

Again I give my counsel,

Listen closely to my song:

Though condemned I am to split you,

Still I worry that it's wrong.

Though I must fulfill my duty

And must quarter every year,

Still I wonder whether sorting

May not bring the end I fear.

The Dark Lord has been vanquished,

But his legacy lives on;

The once noble house of Slytherin

With suspicion looked upon.

No society can last

Without cleverness, ambition

Yet when warped, these same traits

Herald mass devastation.

I've listened and I've pondered

As the damages accrue,

And at last I have decided

That a change is overdue.

The students' own desires

Will no longer be considered;

Each student will be judged

And to their rightful house delivered.

Purity of blood

Will also cease to matter;

Family traditions will

Entirely be shattered.

Yet my efforts will mean nothing

If the students don't assist

Hogwarts must be rid

Of the fighting in her midst

We must unite inside her

Or we'll crumble from within;

I have told you, I have warned you

Let the sorting now begin.

For several moments there was absolute silence, and then the Great Hall erupted in shocked conversation. Tom caught snatches of protests from the older students:

"Purity of blood won't matter? Does that mean there'll be Muggle-borns in Slytherin?"

"Family traditions will be shattered? If my sister doesn't get sorted into Ravenclaw, Mum will be furious!"

"Noble house of Slytherin? Yeah, right!"

With a glowering Professor Snape hovering just beside them, none of the first years dared talk, but they looked at each other in apprehension. Tom was particularly anxious; would this change mean that he'd be sorted into Slytherin?

Tom turned his head to look at the Professors. Many looked just as agitated as the students, whispering among themselves and gesturing forcefully. Professor McGonagall, sitting in her high-backed golden chair at the center of the table, seemed unperturbed, but she surveyed the room with disapproval - presumably because of the chaos - and after several moments, she stood up from her chair. "Silence!" she called, rapping her goblet with a spoon.

Slowly the noise died away.

"The Sorting Hat has been Sorting students for millennia," Professor McGonagall said sharply. "In all those years, it has been the highest authority in all matters pertaining to the Sorting. None of you-" the Headmistress surveyed the room sternly - "are qualified to protest one of its decisions. If you wish to discuss the matter with your fellow students, you must refrain from doing so until after the Sorting is concluded. Professor Snape, if we may continue with the Sorting?"

Professor McGonagall sat down, and Professor Snape 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," he said, fixing the first-years with his piercing gaze. "Once your house has been decided upon, you immediately join the appropriate table. Ashfield, Sophia!"

A tall, dark-haired girl walked quickly out of the line, looking pale. She put on the hat and sat down. A moment's pause -

"SLYTHERIN!" shouted the hat.

The second table from the right clapped as Sophia walked towards them, and the black-haired boy in front of Tom in the line whispered,

"Well, she's not a Muggle-born, at least."

"Anderson, Erik!"

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat.

The table second from left applauded this time; Tom caught a glimpse of Adrian clapping enthusiastically together with the other Ravenclaws.

"Bidwell, Edward!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Edward went to sit down with them.

"Blackwood, Jill" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers. The queasiness in Tom's stomach grew worse. Would he be joining the Gryffindors as well, or would he be forced into Slytherin? He wasn't a coward or anything, but he knew that he really was ambitious. It wasn't that he liked telling people what to do, but he hated it when other people told him what to do. Well, not everyone; he didn't mind when it was his father or mother, at least not usually. But some people just made no sense; why should he have to listen to them? Dad was always telling him that sometimes you had to listen to people even if you disagreed with them, but being Head of something would mean that at least he'd get to do some things his own way. Did that mean he'd be put in Slytherin?

There was no use worrying about it; there was nothing he could do now. Tom turned his attention back to the Sorting.

"Hammond, Sarah!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Kincaid, Shannon!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Tom noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "LeNoir, Ryan," the boy who had been in front of Tom, sat on the stool for almost a full minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

A LeNoir in Gryffindor? Tom wasn't the only one shocked by this; a startled murmur swept the room and there was only a smattering of clapping from the Gryffindor table. Ryan swept the hat from off his head, looking deeply affronted at the Sorting Hat's decision, and walked with his head held high towards the Gryffindor table.

"What's wrong?" Adam asked Tom in a whisper.

"His family's been in Slytherin for generations," Tom whispered back. "He's a real pure-blood, a branch of the Black family that's originally from France. I suppose the Sorting Hat meant what it said, that it won't be listening to what we want...." Tom trailed off, starting to feel definitely sick now. If a LeNoir could be put in Gryffindor, then he could definitely be put in Slytherin. What would Mum say? And Fred and George - and what about Uncle Ron? He hated Slytherins. Would Uncle Ron treat him differently if he were Sorted into Slytherin?

The line was half as short now as it had been at the start.

"Leroy" ..., "Meadows" ..., "Mitchell"..., "Nott" ..., "Osborn" ..., "Phelps" ..., and then at last -

"Potter, Tom!"

As Tom stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out all over the hall.

"Potter, did he say?"

"Harry Potter's son?"

The last thing Tom saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. The next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. You have quite a bit of talent, oh yes, and you certainly are not lacking in courage or intelligence...." The voice suddenly became much sharper. "Just a moment. Haven't I sorted you before?"

Tom was taken aback. "Er... no," he said silently.

"Are you certain?"

"Of course! This is the first time I've ever been to Hogwarts; I've never even seen you before!" Tom was utterly mystified; why did the Hat think that he'd already been Sorted?

"You are clearly telling the truth," the Hat said after a moment. "And yet your mind feels extraordinarily familiar.... On the other hand, your personality is unique; perhaps I am mistaken. Very well, then. Intelligence, courage, extraordinary talent, but above all else, ambition. And you are a Parseltongue as well, oh my."

Tom's apprehension was becoming panic. "Not Slytherin, not Slytherin!" he whispered. "I'll be miserable there, oh please, I don't belong there, I know I'm ambitious, but I'm not - I'm not ruthless or anything!"

"What has Slytherin done to earn it such prejudice?" the voice said, sounding aggrieved. "I can see very well that you aren't ruthless, but that is not an intrinsic part of the Slytherin character, it is merely an all-too frequent addition. And didn't you hear my song? I stated very clearly that the students' own desires would no longer be considered. No, you're a perfect fit, and just the person to help reform Slytherin from the inside. In fact, why not make that one of your ambitions? Yes, you'll do well indeed in SLYTHERIN!"

Even though Tom had been dreading this, the words still hit him with the strength of their irrevocability. He desperately forced his face to remain expressionless - he wouldn't give the Slytherins the satisfaction of knowing how upset he was - and lifted the hat from his head.

He was greeted by a sea of stunned faces, and audible whispers were breaking out all over the Great Hall.

"The son of Harry Potter in Slytherin?"

"Poor kid. Do you think he'll last?"

"What in Merlin's name was the Sorting Hat thinking?"

Tom turned to look at the Professors, but they looked just as shocked as everyone else. In fact, Professor McGonagall looked positively alarmed, and Professor Snape looked... frightened? The expression was a fleeting one, lasting only seconds, and Tom decided he must have made a mistake; now Professor Snape just looked furious.

Trying not to think about what it would be like to have a head of house who hated him, Tom walked toward the Slytherin table. He tried - with little success - to ignore the stares directed his way; the pitying glances from the Hufflepuffs were bad enough, but outright hostility from most of the Slytherins was even worse. Tom sat down at near end of the Slytherin table, not far from the other first-years, and forced himself to concentrate on the Sorting.

The next two first-years on line, "Romano, Julian" and "Rosier, Janet" became Slytherins as well, and Tom clapped halfheartedly along with his new house-mates. Julian Romano sat down beside Tom and even said a polite "hello," but Janet Rosier shot him such a look of pure hatred that Tom was sure she was related to the Rosier who'd knocked Adam down on the train. Still, he tried to reassure himself, she was a girl; at least they wouldn't be sharing a dormitory.

"Stewert, Alex" became a Ravenclaw, and then it was Adam's turn. He walked up to the stool and put the hat on his head, and almost immediately, the hat shouted "HUFFLEPUFF!"

But - hadn't Jennifer been sure that Adam would end up in Gryffindor? Tom watched as Adam joined the Hufflepuff table and sat down; would the two of them ever speak to each other again? But then Adam looked up and caught Tom's eye, and he grinned and waved. "See you tomorrow!" he mouthed, and Tom smiled back, some of his gloom lifting.

"Sutherland, Jennifer!"

Adam's sister walked confidently up to the hat and put it on her head. Again, the decision was almost immediate. "SLYTHERIN!" the hat shouted.

Slytherin?! Tom sat up in his seat, shocked. .Jennifer would have it even worse than he would; she was a Muggle-born! Jennifer herself obviously didn't realize what a disaster this was; she walked towards the Slytherin table, sat down in the seat across from Tom, and smiled at him.

"So much for Ravenclaw," she said cheerfully. "I still can't believe that Adam's in Hufflepuff, though - but I suppose he really is loyal and hard-working and all that."

Tom was too worried to smile in return. As soon as he found a chance to talk to Jennifer where no one would be able to overhear them, he'd have to warn her not to let the Slytherins find out that she was a Muggle-born. But there was no way he could warn her during the feast; what if she gave it away when she introduced herself to the girls sitting near her?

The last few students were sorted: "Taylor" ..., "Travers" ..., "Viridian" ..., "Whitaker" ..., and then at last, "Wu."

Professor Snape rolled up his scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Tom looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was. Chocolate Frogs and Pumpkin Pasties were delicious, but they weren't very filling, and besides, that had been ages ago.

Professor McGonagall had gotten to her feet, smiling at the students.

"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts," she said, "and a special welcome to all our first-years. You must all be hungry, so I will save my announcements for after the feast. Enjoy!"

She sat back down, and the platters were suddenly heaped with an overwhelming array of meats and trimmings. The students cheered and dug into their food, their animated chatter set against the clinking of plates and silverware and the scraping of chairs.

At first Tom ignored the conversations around him, concentrating on his food, but then he heard Jennifer starting up a conversation with the Rosier girl, and he looked up in apprehension.

"Your name is Janet, right?" Jennifer said, smiling.

"Yes," Janet said, not smiling in return. "And you're Jennifer Sutherland. What kind of name is Sutherland? Your father wasn't a Muggle-born, was he?"

Tom stabbed his fork into his steak; it was too late to salvage the situation now, the damage was already done. It figured that it would be the Rosier girl who would ruin everything.

Jennifer merely looked taken aback at the girl's question. "What's it to you?" she said. "If you must know, my father's a Muggle himself - neither of my parents are wizards."

Janet looked aghast. "You're a Muggle-born?" she said. "I'm expected to share a dormitory with a Mudblood?" Her voice was rising, and heads all down the table were turning to watch.

"Watch your language!" Tom said. Janet shot him a glare, stood up, and swept off to a seat farther down the table.

"What was that all about?" Janet asked, looking around in bewilderment at the hostile looks she was getting from students all down the table.

"I would've warned you, but I didn't have a chance," Tom said apologetically. "Some wizards think that Muggle-borns shouldn't be allowed at Hogwarts or treated like regular wizards. The founder of Slytherin house believed this as well, so Muggle-borns have never been Sorted into Slytherin. You - and any other Muggle-borns who've been Sorted into Slytherin this year, if there are any others - are the first Muggle-born Slytherins since Hogwarts was founded."

Janet looked alarmed. "All Slytherins hate Muggle-borns?"

"Well, definitely not all of them. For one thing, not all Slytherins are pureblood, and it's mostly purebloods who hate Muggle-borns. Of course, not all pure-bloods are like that; my mother's a pure-blood, and one of her best friends is my Aunt Hermione, who's a Muggle-born herself."

Jennifer didn't look much reassured by this; she turned back to her plate of food and was silent.

When they 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 éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding....

As Tom helped himself to some of the steaming apple pie, the talk turned to famous Quidditch players. Tom tried to keep his face expressionless, but it was hard not to laugh; at home, between his father, mother, and Jamie, discussion of these same players more often involved critique than awe.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor McGonagall got to her feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Before we head upstairs, I have a few start-of-term announcements to make," she said, her gaze sweeping the room. "First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to remind you that no magic should be used in the corridors and that the full list of banned objects comprises four hundred and seventy three items; it can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it." Her stern expression gave way to a brief flicker of a smile.

"Finally, Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone in second year or above who is interested in playing for their house team should contact Madam Hooch.

"On a more serious note, I realize that many of you are confused and even upset about this year's Sorting. Again, I expect you all to accept the decision of the Sorting Hat as final, and I expect each House to welcome all its newest members warmly. Now all of you, off to bed! You will all want to be awake for your first day of classes."

"First years, follow me!" A tall boy stood up from his seat at the Slytherin table, his silver Prefect's badge glinting, and strode off towards the double doors that led back to the entrance hall. The Slytherin first years stood up and followed him through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and down a steep flight of stone steps into darkness.

"This leads to the dungeons," the Prefect explained. "The corridors down in the dungeons are complicated and can get confusing, so pay attention to where we're going."

The group of first-years kept close together as they followed their guide through the dimly lit, echoing passageways. The labyrinthine corridors sloped ever-downwards, the chill of the underground stone growing more pervasive as they walked deeper and deeper under the school.

The prefect paused at last by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.

"Runespoor," he said, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. Inside was the Slytherin common room, a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish laps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and several high-backed chairs were scattered in front of it.

The prefect directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the end of a long stone passageway they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with dark green, velvet curtains that were interwoven with silver threads. Their trunks had already been brought up. They all pulled on their pajamas in silence and fell into bed.

Despite his exhaustion, Tom lay awake in bed for quite awhile, listening to the slow breathing of the others as they fell asleep one by one. What would it be like, being in Slytherin? Would any of his roommates be friendly? And what about Jennifer? Was Janet giving her a hard time already? Would she be bullied?

Tom wished he could talk to Medusa - he hadn't spoken to her since the train ride - but he knew that she was asleep, and anyway, speaking Parseltongue would definitely wake everyone up. It was a good thing that none of his room-mates had cats... but he'd have to tell his room-mates about Medusa tomorrow anyway, warn them not to bother her.

Tom rolled over and eventually fell asleep.