Amber Dreams

The doorway revealed a large entrance hall; not quite as magnificent as the lobby of Gringotts, felt Albus, but nevertheless the first years felt dwarfed by the hallway as they trooped inside. Standing at the base of the marble stairway was a tall man, stiff, upright, with a thin black moustache, dressed in dark and sombre robes.

"The new first years, Professor Crouch," said Melkin, and the tall man smiled broadly, which took away some of his intimidating air.

"Thank you, Melkin," said the Professor, and the Groundsman shut the oak doors behind them. "Come closer, children. I don't want to raise my voice too loud. My name is Professor Crouch. I'd like to welcome you to Hogwarts. We have a fine tradition as a school for witchcraft and wizardry, and in your time here we expect you to be a credit to your school and your nation. Now, I'm sure many of you will be feeling famished. Before the banquet, though, you will need to be sorted in to your Houses. These will be your family during your time here at Hogwarts, and you will do them proud." There was a tone in his voice that suggested that failure to do so was not at all an option.

"You will sleep in dormitories with your House, take classes with your house, eat with your House. Each has a noble history, with many prominent alumni from the ranks of each. While you toil at Hogwarts, you will have the opportunity to win points and prestige for your House, and, if you are anything like the years of students before you, you will have equal opportunity to lose points for your House. The House with the most points at the end of the year receives the House Cup, a source of no little honour. The Sorting Ceremony will take place shortly, in front of the gathered school. If you would like to come this way, please."

Professor Crouch led them off to a little room. They could hear the chatter of people on the other side, and then there was a sudden bang, and the noises stopped. Professor Crouch opened a little door, and beckoned them out.

"Line up alongside the wall, please."

As they stepped into the Great Hall, they couldn't help but gasp. If the entrance hall had been impressive, this was extravagantly so. The roof soared high into the air, and, they realised, seemed to reach into the heavens, for the stars sparkled brightly above, and a pale moon shone down past the candles that floated in mid-air above the hall. Four long tables stretched down from one end of the Great Hall to the other, each lined on each side by children of all ages, though all were decidedly bigger than any of the first years, Geoffrey felt, and despite his ancestry he felt a little tremor of fear.

At the head of the Great Hall, on a raised platform, was a smaller table and, facing the gathered students, sat an array of wizards. Albus recognised one of them, Professor Scrubb, from the station. In the centre of the teachers at the High Table was what could not be described as anything else but a throne, with an arched back that towered over its occupant. The man seated there was tall, lean, with a thin black beard. His eyes were a deep black, and he wore robes of a dark and rich green, edged with silver threads. Albus had never seen anybody so remarkably and theatrically sinister.

One of the first years near the end of the line screamed, a piercing yell of fright that Albus couldn't really blame her for, as at that moment a dozen or so pearly-white figures floated through the wall opposite them. The man in the tall seat lazily raised a hand in welcome to them; and the ghosts, for that is what Albus realised they were, made their way to the heads of the different tables. The commotion died down after a few moments, and the attention of the hall reverted to the High Table once more.

Before the raised stage and the head of the House tables, there was a little wooden stool. Professor Crouch locked the door they had entered the hall in, and walked up to the stool, holding a rather frayed and ragged wizard's hat, which he placed on the stool with a degree of reverence strange for such a dismal piece of millinery. The younger students sitting at the tables looked on interestedly, as did most of the older children, though a few had an air of boredom around them, whispering to each other and grinning. They hushed, though, as the brim of the hat twitched, and a rip opened wide, like a mouth, and the hat, with a distinct, though rather reedy tenor, began to sing.

O'er all the years of Hogwarts' story,

I have been a visionary,

Since the days of wizards wary

Of losing to others their own glory

They demanded their protégés

Be evidence of their strengths

And so they went to strange lengths

To ensure that in future days

Their skills wizards would admire.

Gryffindor loved courageous will,

Ravenclaw wanted brains to fill,

With logic that would not tire;

Slytherin demanded fierce purity

Of purpose and of guile;

For Hufflepuff only trial

By hard work and good loyalty.

And so they chose me to decide,

Whose House young minds be sorted

And 'tis widely reported

From my gaze no thought can hide.

So place me on young careless brows

And let me seek deep inside

The virtue that they deeply pride

And so bless them to their House.

A burst of applause filled the Great Hall as the hat finished its song, before the man in green raised his hand, and every one silenced themselves instantly. The man smiled a thin smile, and nodded to Professor Crouch, who had summoned himself a long roll of parchment.

"When I read your name out," he addressed the line of first years, "you will pick up the hat, very carefully, by the brim, sit down on the stool, and place the hat on your head."

There was a pause, and the Professor grinned, obviously revelling in the nervousness of the first years. Albus noticed that quite a few people were rather pale. Lizzie was excavating her nose with quiet determination.

"Stop it," Albus hissed at her, and she looked at him blankly, shrugged, and wiped a grubby finger on her robes. The first name had already been called out. A dark-haired girl sat down, and there was a little sigh from the hat in the silent hall, before it shouted out, "RAVENCLAW!". One of the tables, presumably Ravenclaw, erupted with cheers and shouts. Obviously it was a good omen to get the first sorting. The girl took off the hat and, with a big grin on her face, walked over to the Ravenclaw table, which made room for her.

"Bode, Belinda" called out Professor Crouch, and a lanky girl with sallow skin walked up and put on the hat, which fell over her eyes. The hat screwed up as if it was thinking hard, and then yelled out, "SLYTHERIN!". There was a cheer from one of the tables.

"Bragge, Hillary," became another Ravenclaw, and then "Catchlove, Gwendolyn" became Hufflepuff's first catch. Albus realised he would be called up soon, and tried to think of which House he wanted to be in, but the words of the Sorting Hat's song jumbled about in his head. Geoffrey knew that he would be in Ravenclaw, for all his family had been, and there was no dishonour in that. As for Lizzie, her only thought was of the terrible and threatening grandeur. She didn't belong here, she knew she didn't.

Another name, a "Dearborn, Cadog" went to Gryffindor, and then the words "Dumbledore, Albus" came to Albus's ears, and he walked over to the hat.

It was funny, Albus would reflect much later, how strange and unsettling it must have been to step up to a hat that would decide his future, but he had no skill at divination, and the sheer weight of judgment that lurked within the Sorting Hat made no impression on his young mind. He placed the tattered hat on his head, and it slipped over his auburn crown.

"Interesting. There's bravery here, and greatness. Yet you do not wish to be great. Your ambitions lie elsewhere, child, and I admit I cannot tell how far you would go to in order to fulfil it. Loyalty will be precious to you, perhaps you should belong in Hufflepuff, and compassion will drive you, but it'll always be tempered by what you think is best for all. There's a desire for knowledge too... ah, a predicament. I do prefer those to the easier children, who wear their minds on their robes, and not under a good thinking hat as they should. Very well. If you've no wish to be defined, and I cannot push you, I'll place you in GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat at last, and before Albus took the hat off his head, he heard it whisper, "Just for safe-keeping."

There was a table cheering in front of him; he felt rather giddy, and he couldn't see Geoffrey or even Lizzie, but he grinned as he somebody shook his hand and sat him down.

Back in the slowly thinning line, Geoffrey had made up his mind. If Ravenclaw wouldn't have him, then he'd hope for Gryffindor. He'd heard they were all brave, foolhardy or in the Wizengamot, but that didn't matter.

Names were called and students sorted. "Micklegraw, Elizabeth" was called out, and nobody responded. The name was repeated. Geoffrey noticed that Lizzie was trying to keep a choke of tears in, her eyes clenched shut, her lower lip trembling.

"Lizzie, is that you?" he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off.

"He's not me dad, he can't be!" she whispered, but Professor Crouch had noticed them, and had walked over.

"Is that you, child?" he asked. She wouldn't answer. "I'm afraid you'll have to be Sorted, child, whether your name is Micklegraw or not."

"What ever is the trouble, Professor Crouch?" called the man in the throne.

"Elizabeth Micklegraw doesn't wish to be called that, and she refuses to be sorted."

"I never said that. Just 'e's not me father!" interrupted Lizzie, and she pushed past Professor Crouch and walked up to the hat, seizing it firmly by the brim. Geoffrey was struck my how well the hat suited her, two patched and filthy creatures together. They didn't stay together long, though; a declaration of "GRYFFINDOR!", and Lizzie was walking off to sit down nearby Albus. Nobody shook her hand, though, and there were a few happy faces at the other tables.

Professor Crouch had returned to calling out names. A "Malory, Alice " was Sorted in to Ravenclaw, and a "Nonsuch, Eustace" into Hufflepuff. There were now more gaps in the line than students, and then "Ollivander, Geoffrey" was called out, and Geoffrey stepped forward to the chair.

"An Ollivander, are you not? And Ollivanders are always Ravenclaws, because they need to research, they tell me. I suppose that is what you want?"

"I... I don't mind," thought Geoffrey to the hat, "I don't want to just make wands."

"Well, if you're willing to tell your parents that one day, then I suppose you'd be best off in GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the Sorting Hat, and Geoffrey really didn't mind, as he walked across to the Gryffindor table and sat down next to Albus.

"Parkinson, Edith" was sorted into Slytherin, and then the blonde-haired boy they had encountered on the train, Pellinore, was sorted into Gryffindor. He swaggered over to the table, and sat down opposite Geoffrey and Albus.

"No hard feelings, eh?" he said. Geoffrey didn't say anything to him, looking at the last girl to be sorted, but Albus smiled politely. Professor Crouch took the stool and the hat away, and then went and sat at the high table. They were all feeling a little hungry now; the train's sweets and sandwiches had been quite some time ago. In front of each of them was a gold plate and a silver goblet and cutlery, which simply encouraged them to think about food. Up at the high table, the man in the throne had lit a long pipe, which belched a cloud of thick purple smoke from the bowl, cascading over the table to the ground. He seemed to be thinking about something, but nobody knew what.

"He always does this, you know," explained an older girl, who was wearing a little badge with the word 'Prefect' on it. "It smells awfully foul. His office is thick with it, and even the portraits complain, apparently. I'm Nancy, by the way, one of the Gryffindor prefects."

Up at the High Table, the base of which was now wreathed with a dark purple smog, the man in the throne seemed to have finished smoking. He raised a hand and the chatter of welcomes died out across the hall.

"Greetings, Hogwarts. Greetings to those who have just joined us, and greetings to those who have returned. I'm sure you would all prefer me to keep my speech short, so that you might eat. Nevertheless, I would wish to talk a little of the coming year. Your appetites will not grow the worse for a mere few minutes of talking. Now, I do believe that the first thing I'd like to say is that I was most disappointed at the results of the Ordinary Wizarding Levels last year. Those of you who still remain in the Sixth Year, will be serving detention next week to make up for your dismal performance. I expect you Fifth Years to do better."

He took another slow drag from his pipe.

"Hmm. A particularly good batch from the West Indies this year."

There was another pause, and another drag from the pipe. More purple smoke billowed to the floor. He looked impassively at the Hall.

"This year we are proud to say that we are hosting a Duelling Club. All those taking Theory for the Dark Arts will be expected to attend. I hope there will not be too many fatalities."

Another pause. Another drag at the pipe.

"Oh, very well. Eat, if you must." He waved his wand, and suddenly each and every table was piled high with food; potatoes and bread, thick slabs of carved meat, fruit, boiled cabbage, sausages and steaming pies, syllabubs and jellied eel, fishes, lobster, sauces and gravy. Each student piled their plates high, and then bowed their heads in prayer.

"Dear Lord," began the man in the throne, "Who hath provided us with the skills and the blessings to deal with that the Muggles may not, we thank Thee for blessing us further with the nourishment we require. Amen."

It was a strange prayer, felt Albus, but the people around him seemed to have heard it many times before. They began to eat, Nancy explaining about the castle and the teachers as they did so. She didn't seem to eat much.

"The man in the middle is the Headmaster, Professor Nigellus. One of the Black family. They rule half of London, they say. And you've met Professor Crouch. He's the head of Ravenclaw House. They've won the Quidditch Cup for the past two years. I say, are any of you good fliers?" she asked the first years surrounding here. Pellinore nodded. "Of course. I have the whole of Dartmoor to play across."

Lizzie had piled her plate high with food and, scorning cutlery, was digging messily in to it all. "You can't fly," she grunted through a mouthful of chicken.

"Of course I can. Though you can't expect a Muggle like you to know that," replied Pellinore, and he returned to his own meal. Lizzie looked at him suspiciously, before tearing in to another leg of chicken doused in gravy.

"That's good, Pellinore. First years can't play Quidditch, but Montefiore - that's our captain, the burly person sitting at the end - " she pointed out a severe-looking young adult at the far end of the table - "is leaving at the end of this year, so we'll be needing some fresh blood on the team."

"I beg your pardon, Nancy, but what's this Quidditch you speak of?" asked Albus, looking up from his steak.

"Forgive me. I forget sometimes what it's like to be new to our world. Quidditch, well, it's rather hard to describe, but effectively there are two teams, and they attempt to score goals with a ball called the Quaffle. That's the job of the Chasers, and the Keeper has to keep them from scoring. Then there's a Bludger, which is a heavy ball charmed to knock people off their brooms; it's a dreadfully vicious game, but awfully good fun. The Beaters have to try and stop the Bludger from hitting the other players on their team." She paused her monologue, and spooned some of blancmange into her bowl. The savouries had disappeared and been replaced with desserts. "Finally, there's the Snitch, which is a lot smaller than the other balls, and the Seeker has to try and catch it in order to win the game. Of course, you'll find it much easier to understand when you actually see the teams in action."

"It sounds awfully exciting, Nancy," said Albus.

"It is, rather. The whole school goes mad over it when there's a match on."

Talk turned to the Houses.

"I've shown you Professor Crouch, who's the Head of Ravenclaw. Then next to him, on his right hand side, with the blonde hair, is Professor Barnacle. He's our Head of House, so you will undoubtedly meet him later." She finished off the blancmange, and dabbed her lips with a napkin. "On the other side, there's Professor Spenser, who teaches Arithmancy, and she's the Head of Hufflepuff. And then, of course, there's Professor Trelawney, who's Slytherin to the bone, and a Seer at that."

"I do believe I've heard of her," said another first year, "Didn't she predict the latest Minister of Magic?"

Nancy nodded. Quite a few of the first years looked very impressed at that.

By now everyone had finished their puddings, and the Headmaster in the throne had relit his pipe. Tendrils of purple wended their way through the hall, and quite a few students coughed and spluttered as it met their nostrils.

"Now that I have your attention, children, I would like to make a few further announcements," he began, rising to his feet. "As usual, I am forced to remind you all that the Forbidden Forest is so named for a reason, as is the Corridor of Inexplicable Death near the Hufflepuff common room. Mister Knobbet, our caretaker, has requested that no magic is used in the corridor, and is, I believe, already eagerly polishing the manacles in his bedroom in preparation for any infringements of the rule. Such pessimistic pragmatism is a lesson to us all. Quidditch trials for those in the second year and above will take place next Tuesday on the pitch. I do believe that is all. Go, please, quickly," he finished, sitting down and taking a long suck at his pipe. The prefects stood up the moment he had finished, and began herding the first years quickly out of the room, which was slowly filling with an odious purple haze. Through the smoke, Geoffrey could see the other teachers making equally hasty departures.

Nancy and a boy with bright red hair with a prefect badge led the gathered first years up to the Gryffindor Tower, up on the seventh floor. There was a portrait of a remarkably plump woman, dressed in a wimple, who, to Albus's astonishment, greeted the prefects, and asked for a password.

"Gorsemoor," replied Nancy, and the portrait swung open, revealing a wide round hole in the wall behind it. The red-haired boy stepped up through it and led the way into the Common Room beyond. A large fire burned in the hearth, and there were armchairs and foot rests around it; bookshelves lined one wall, whilst portraits had settled down to sleep along another. Study tables with little inkwells filled the centre of the room. At the far side of the room were a pair of staircases, to which Nancy gestured. "The boys dormitory is up the left hand stairs, and the girls dormitories are on the right. Come on, it's late, and you've had a long day."

They followed the red-headed boy up the left hand staircase, and entered a round room, with six four-poster beds, draped in red velvet, with the Gryffindor lion embroidered upon them. The red-headed boy had lit the chandelier with his wand, and drawn the curtains. Their luggage was already at the foot of their beds.

"Lights will go out in ten minutes, first years. I would hurry up rather, if I were you, " and he shut the door behind him as he left.

They got changed quickly. At home, Albus had always had the maid to help him, but he managed fine enough on his own.

"Awfully exciting!" he yawned to Geoffrey, sleepily, and then got into his bed. Pellinore occupied another bed, and a three other boys seemed to know each other. The lights went out of their own accord, and soon each of them were firmly and soundly asleep. Albus dreamt of a bee that night, and Geoffrey of a lion, but what they would dream of in future nights, they could never have guessed in the light of day or the peace of night.