Highlands, Hogwarts
31-08-1969
Perteus Graymort
The ceiling of the hall was fantasy, the rich clouds touched by lightning and thunder reflected upon the vaulted expanse of the room in a quiet and capturing layout. It had candles too, the stick lanterns scattered throughout like the spread of the star valley now hidden by the coming shower.
Yet the illumination present here eclipsed that of mere candle lights, the charm work bright and blatant.
Miraculous.
We followed behind the stern professor, guided once more. The hall was full but quiet, with several hundred eyes upon us as we approached the elevated stairway. There stood a single, unseated stool, and beside it, a pedestal holding the Sorting Hat—withered and ugly.
I was much surprised by its silence, yet this was not much a significant experience to lament over.
In the films…the pictures, adaptations filtered twice by different visions, the school was, while extraordinary, still generic in its representation. Much was missed—with the focus solely upon the preteens saddled with destiny. Here it was greater, the potent number of students and the exaggeration of age amongst them.
It was a great number than that which had disembarked from the train, and I was once more reminded that the older years were not required to journey upon the Express.
My head swivelled from left to right, my modelled bearing forgotten as I sought to take in and categorise as much as I could before I could make a fool of myself come my sorting’s conclusion. The others were much the same in their awe, though I doubted their thoughts went past the initial wonderment.
To the right of the hall, entering from the large doors situated to the east, was the house of the lions, their banners hung close to the stairs. Many of the students sat at those tables, their seating arrangements seemingly organized by year.
There was little in the way of defining features in how the Gryffindors presented themselves, save for the uniformity of their attire—a trait shared by all the houses.
Perhaps it was foolish of me to cling to the absolutes portrayed in the books, but such is the nature of man.
'Ah, philosophy. How I ever dream of shrugging off your cling.'
Behind the lions was the badgers, one of the two houses with less students in its midst. I remembered in the books, the house was presented with not much enthusiasm, despite its traits being more…profound and reliable than all the other houses.
It was a favourite for the muggle born-wizards and witches, the others’ cold treatment and belittlement breeding into them those traits so desired and untwisted.
I had the beginning of a plan in my head to harness their isolation and bind unto me their nurtured loyalty and fierce appreciation come the beginning of my renown…
The chatter began a bit after we were halfway through the hall, McGonagall already ascending the stairs with a command for us to not follow her past that point.
Still, it remained low, whispers in all fairness.
…opposite the badgers, to the left near the doors, was the collection of the snakes, their banners of green and silver flattered by the semi-present breeze of the illusioned storm. By my eyes and estimation both, I concluded the house boasted the second lowest number of students in its ranks.
Predictable.
Still, there fashion was much better than those of the other houses, and that alone was enough for me to desire a placement in the Slytherin. The students—these snakes with no regal— were perhaps the most clearly defined with their presentation. Pretension was their colouring, the teens trying to project sophistication in their bearing.
The younger years were funny enough, though the older ones did wear that pomp like a third coat.
I wanted that.
And lastly, seated before the serpents, were the bookworms—the ravens of Rowena. Again, I must express a sense of genericism, for these ravens neither held books in their hands nor wore spectacles upon their faces to emphasize the studious nature their house was famed for.
Them, I held little favour for, not to say my regard was anywhere near malicious or indifferent.
"Good," McGonagall exclaimed, and silence once more settled upon the hall. She now stood between the empty seat and the Sorting Hat, her posture stiff and straight. "Now begins the sorting ceremony, yet before its commencement, I shall explain the procedure and traits of the houses."
Though her words carried unimpeded, her sole focus was upon us who knew little and were denied a melodic exposition.
"This hat you see," she said, gesturing toward the item, "is a bewitched artifact that shall be placed upon your heads. It will assess the traits of your character and align them with the house in which you are most likely to flourish, find comfort, and be accepted."
A wave of anxiety settled upon my year mates, though they were mindful not to make a ruckus. I too was uneased, as was the norm with such moments of anticipation and randomness.
The deputy headmistress continued her explanation. "You will end up in one of four houses. The first is Ravenclaw, a house that values wisdom, creativity, and intelligence. It is a place for those who seek knowledge and possess a desire to learn and broaden their horizons. Incidentally, Ravenclaw is also the winner of this year’s House Cup."
There was a small echo of applause—measured and fleeting.
"Second is Slytherin. This is the house for the ambitious and determined. Their traits are shrewdness, resourcefulness, and caution. If you nurture in yourself a sense of assurity and pride, then you will no doubt be a resident of this house."
I half expected her tone to be coloured by some apprehension or disdain, yet there was none of that. Her voice carried the same cadence she had when presenting the ravens.
Not to say I would mind the bias, the house boasted more infamy than any other.
"Third is Gryffindors. The house of the brave and bold, rumoured to have produced more knights and heroes in days of old. Chivalry, courage, and bravery are required traits for this house. Be determined and true, then you’ll no doubt find yourself with kindred spirits."
There was a bit of a bleed in that one, and some cheers from the tables of the lions. It was certainly a fantasy house, the dream of boys stuffed full with tales of heroic fables and girls ever wanting to escape the shackles of society’s belittlement.
Take away the ingrained desire for Slytherin, and the snake house would likely be the least sorted house in the school.
McGonagall went on to list the final house, but by then, I was no longer listening, too preoccupied with my own thoughts. I ascribed titles to the residents of each house, based on how I understood them.
Slytherin was the house of leaders—those who lusted for control and power.
Ravenclaw belonged to the makers—the innovators and inspired minds of society.
Gryffindor was where the fighters were born, the swords sharpened and prepared for glory.
And Hufflepuff housed the toilers—the loyal souls who served even the servants.
I was not blind to how demeaning this categorization might sound, yet I found no pragmatic flaw in my grouping. Of course, outliers existed—would always exist—but the overall pattern held true.
My gaze shifted to the professors’ desks, situated on an elevated platform beside the ravens. They observed us, chatting and laughing, though their words did not carry—a charm at work, no doubt. I noticed the bloated professor seated between two others whose names and faces I could not place in memory. He looked content, smiling and conversing as his companions mirrored his joy.
Then there was Flitwick, the dwarf—for he truly was a dwarf made flesh—appearing younger and more cheerful than I had expected. Beside him was Dumbledore, the ancient man such a classic representation of wizard. He was all grey and jolly, with fantastic robes for his attire. A long beard too, groomed and styled…
I wondered, given the man’s whimsical nature, if he had ever donned full robes of grey and a towering hat of the same shade. If he had ever wielded a staff and ridden a horse of pure white to the hills.
He best have—for there was little reason not to.
…next to the professors’ section, there was another group of people seated, their numbers noticeably larger. The occupants of this section appeared young—perhaps in their early twenties. Like the students, they wore robes of uniformity, though theirs bore subtle differences in markings and adornments.
An additional detail excluded from the adaptations. The filters had left many of the nuances of this reality behind.
I took a steadying breath and refocused on McGonagall, who was finishing her speech. "…I call your name—surname before given name—you will ascend the stairs, sit on the stool, and have the hat placed upon you. Understood?" She raised a single, sharp brow. We nodded, some even voicing their acknowledgment.
The woman then, in a rare display of theatrics and flair, raised her right hand and gave it a subtle shake. A scroll materialized in her grasp, appearing amidst a shower of golden sparks that faded as quickly as they had come.
There was also a pair of small glasses upon her nose bridge, an addition I was sure was not there for mere clearance in eyesight.
…
"Black, Narcissa!" The words, spoken beyond mundane vocalisation, did demand from me a feeling of attention and instil in me a fleeting sense of comprehension.
Incantation was ever an interesting feature despite its inherent nature.
…the dual-haired girl startled a bit beside me, clearly not anticipating to be first. Nerves still frayed, her initial steps were a bit clumsy, though the noble training took effect once she began her ascent.
I watched her, joining in the foreboding tension that seemed to have gripped everyone. She reached the chair, her nervousness touching upon her exterior. McGonagall accommodated her a fair bit, gesturing her to sit.
As she did so, the artifact was placed upon her head, sliding down to cover her face up to her nose. Then, suddenly, the hat transformed, taking on a crude semblance of a visage.
It twitched this way and that, the mouth-like feature shifting as though murmuring thoughts undetermined.
…And then:
"Slytherin!"
Applause erupted, though not all of it came from the snakes. I marveled as her uniform transformed, its appearance shifting in a ripple that mirrored the emergence of a figure from the surface of a lake.
I knew our uniforms were choked with enchantments—their singularity was reason enough—though this part of change, I had thought was the work of the Headmaster, not some command-activated enchantment tethered to the decision of the hat.
The eleven-year-old, now clad in green and silver, rushed down to join the snakes, where she was greeted with enthusiastic congratulations and warm welcomes.
Another name was called. "Crabbe, Adella!"
It was a much shorter girl, one who made no attempt at graceful effort in her gait. Unsurprisingly—mainly because the so-called requirements for sorting were a bunch of hogwash—the girl received:
"Slytherin!"
And so the sorting continued, three more students being sorted before someone of note—mainly because of his last name—was called.
"Davis, Mathias!"
I had expected another snake, as per my enslavement to the tales…
"Gryffindor!"
…then again, there was little to nothing known about the Davises. They might not even be a noble family, just locals to the society—like the majority of the population.
The girl I had shared a compartment with was next.
"Fawcett, Emma!"
"Ravenclaw!"
I had predicted such, though my expectations were for her to end up in Hufflepuff.
Another wave of students was sorted, with the badgers surprisingly gaining the majority of the first years. Our group was rather large—nearly fifty new students, if my eyes did not deceive me. Most of the kids already had friends or relatives among the student body, bonds forged long before this moment.
I saw them true, and it made me wonder if my situation was truly such an uncommon occurrence.
Then…
"Graymort, Perteus!"
I did not startle or fret, though a fortifying breath did escape my lungs. My walk began, deliberate and composed. The shroud I commanded had taken the form of wispy tendrils, unseen and unfelt by others—save for me, their master.
The hall was not completely silent—I was not that important. Yet, I could hear my pulse and the sound of my own steps, as the festering doubt in my chest narrowed my awareness almost entirely to myself.
McGonagall, as she had for all those before me, gestured toward the stool. I sat, the hard surface pressing uncomfortably against me. Moments later, the hat touched upon my head.
…now, as was predictable for anyone in my situation, I was rather apprehensive about this part. I did not fully understand the capabilities of this artifact, beyond the fact that it could somehow assess a person’s nature—or at least some aspect of it.
How it managed to do this, I did not know—could not know, really.
My mind held secrets—and darker intentions besides. Not even Riddle was this twisted at this age; his character had still been malleable, susceptible to grooming and molding. I, on the other hand, was fixed in my development, my identity formed and resolute.
As such, I was guarded, cautious. My shroud coiled tightly around my thoughts, a futile barrier against mind reading.
…except it was not mind reading.
"Slytherin!"
Much like Draco’s sorting in the books, the dumb artifact had barely settled upon my head before it made its decision. I had felt its ethereal tendrils probing at my heart—less graceful but more present than those of the castle.
And, although I felt no significant impact from the process. I instinctively knew the artifact knew more about my person than I was comfortable with.
The new uniform blossomed around me, the true comfort of the attire coming to life. The scarf around my neck, now a vibrant green and white, thickened until it nearly concealed my mouth. The robes lengthened to my ankles, smooth as silk, while the short trousers I had worn stretched into full-length pants, taking on a faint greenish hue.
What surprised me most, however, was the holster I had purchased. It transformed and relocated, emerging on my right hip as a sleek, silver pin-like strap that left my wand exposed, dangling securely at my side.
'Not bad.'
Though I noticed the holster could reappear on my wrist, I decided against reverting to that choice. This was style and originality—far better than intimidation or surprise, at least in my opinion.
I spared a bright-eyed glance toward the professors’ section, unsurprised to find Slughorn smiling warmly. What did surprise me, however, was the interest of a few other professors directed my way. I suspected the bloated professor might have shared my profile with them, planting seeds of expectation in their minds.
Turning back, I began my descent, my robes fluttering theatrically with the aid of my shroud. The Slytherins greeted me with an adequate welcome—pats on the back, nods, and other small gestures of approval. I sat next to the sole boy there, Reid Quilt.
He was ever happy to have me there.
"I was half fearful I’d be the sole boy in house Slytherin this year." He had said after an uncertain greeting.
"Yes," my agreement was more tailored than honest. "Not many students seem to possess the wit and ambition needed to be sorted into Slytherin."
It took him a few seconds to fully grasp the compliment, but once he did, he became open and friendly. Reid was no dull boy, though it was clear he lacked friends and was subconsciously eager to make some.
He shared his hobbies, and I crafted mine in response. Then he revealed bits of his history, and once more, I adjusted mine.
He was not a noble—being a son of a wedding planner and herbalist assistant.
It was…nice, though my guard did not relax.
The sorting continued, another snake following after me. It was the boy who suffered with me the boat ride—Godric Greengrass was his name. He settled next to me, a nervous smile on his face.
It seemed all the first years were somewhat nervous to some extent. Even Black was anxious, despite the assurances of her sisters’ presence.
I did not mind it, this was a good opportunity for me.
Two more boys were sorted into our house, bringing our total to nine—five boys and four girls—with Briar Zabini unsurprisingly among the Slytherins.
"…you think they’ll hold another ceremony?"
We were now into some bit of familiarity, the conversation not as stilted. Ieuan was the one who asked, a rather hefty boy from Wale with eyes like cerulean.
"Growing hungry, are you, Primrose." Reid snickered next to me. The boy had some harshness in him, I had come to notice.
"No need for that meanness, Quilt." There was a dynamic taking shape in our small group, and I felt a need for leadership. It also helped that the kids had diverse personalities. My lips pulled into a slight frown, "We’ll probably suffer a few more minutes before the food is brought out. The headmaster’s speech, some cautionary instructions, and introductions to new staff—it’s the standard prelude."
"Oh, so you’ve had some family that came to Hogwarts?"
I also came to understand that the kids were not stupid, especially the Greengrass heir and Adella—a true shocker that.
"I’m an orphan, Ms. Crabbe" I admitted freely. "But something remain the same no matter what." I gestured to the Headmaster, who was standing up with a goblet in hand as McGonagall was packing up the ceremony items—which were just the hat and stool.
"Welcome, new students, to these ancient and venerable halls. As we commence another school year, I hope it proves as splendid as the last. While I see your eagerness to feast, I ask for a few moments to offer some introductions."
He gestured toward the professors. "This year brings both welcomes and farewells. Professor Ironstaff will assume the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, while Professor Salpher will take up the study of Runes. Additionally, she has asked me to inform the sixth years that she is open to accepting two apprenticeships for those interested."
Here, he clapped, the sound carrying far, though it lacked both the loudness and sharpness typically expected of such a gesture.
"I’ll also remind you, as I do every year, not to wander into the forest grounds. Temper your impulses and stick to brighter places—I find that to be the best way to enjoy this lovely school. And thus, my speech concludes." He did a short bow that was accompanied by applause.
Then, the hall erupted into chatter.
"So, that was Dumbledore?" Trevor asked, eyes halfway wide. The food started to appear, items blooming out of thin air.
"Odd fellow, yeah? My father says he’s the greatest wizard to ever come out of this century," Godric remarked. "Though personally, I think he’s a bit…queer."
I was only half-listening, my attention stolen by the feast before us. Ieuan and Reid were already piling their plates high, the aroma of the food nearly overwhelming my restraint. Still, I held back, donning a frown to mask my desire.
"Old folks are an odd bunch by rule," I said, sparing a glance at the headmaster. Dumbledore sat watching the students with a contented smile. Personally, I held no strong feelings toward him, nor did I harbor suspicions about his conduct. He appeared exactly as he presented himself—a kind, elderly man burdened with regrets and responsibilities.
Finally, I reached out and stabbed at a roasted drumstick, pulling it onto my plate.
"Yet I must agree with Greengrass—he’s a bit strange, even for an old folk. No person with that much renown and influence would settle for such an obscure position, regardless of Hogwarts’ fame."
Godric and Trevor nodded, then a silence followed. We filled it with feasting.
…the chicken proved to be tasty, even if my pretension stopped me from fully indulging. I added some meat pie and roasted greens on the side, and stuffed myself to satisfaction with a cup of pumpkin juice.
There was much more food left—hearty and exotic and all manner of delicious.
I held myself, the full stomach helping me in that process. With the half filled cup nestled in my hands, I let the ambiance wash over me, deep in my thoughts. Some time was needed for me to work through my feelings and emotions and joys all the same.
The dessert ultimately came, and I helped myself to a slice of chocolate cake. I also kept some sweets, this body’s love for sugary treats so potent.
"You think we’ll eat like this every day?" Ieuan asked, his face stained something childish. Funnily enough, his uniform suffered from no such dirtying.
"We could—the castle certainly has enough elves to muster this kind of feast without effort—but we’d all likely grow heavy," I said, my gaze drifting toward the elder years. "I believe meals like this will be reserved for celebratory occasions."
It was impossible not to notice the boy’s disappointment.
"Don’t worry, Primrose; I doubt the regular meals will be any less delicious."
Soon, Dumbledore was up again, magicking up golden words in the air and encouraging a rather horrid song to be sung. It lasted for a while, but its ending was followed by curfew.
The feeling of drowse came, heavy and potent. I saw it in my housemates, and felt it more still in myself.
That feeling, however, vanished the moment a certain individual approached our midst. Long white hair and pale green eyes adorned a sharp yet undeniably handsome face. He was tall, his Slytherin robes draped stylishly and gracefully over his well-proportioned frame.
Lucius Malfoy.
The teen had an aura about him, a measured bearing that slightly unnerved me to no end. Unlike in the films, he lacked any external evidence of malice or purposeful pomp. He was…mannered, for a lack of better a word. His mere countenance had a demand to it…
"First years," the boy said, his voice smooth and calm. "My name is Lucius Malfoy, the Head Boy of House Slytherin. And this is Dewey Prost, the Head Girl. The two of us will be guiding you to the Slytherin common room and filling you in on the school rules and other important information."
A/N: I will probably not be describing the common room in one fell swoop but instead sprinkle its layout throughout the story. I’m sorry about the lack of dialogue in this one, I might rework the latter parts a fair bit.
Next chapter will be the schools and magical expositions.