The Sorting Hat
The door immediately swung inward, revealing a tall, stern-looking witch with midnight black hair tied in a tight bun, clad in robes of emerald green. The first thought in Cheyenne's mind when she saw her was that this was one teacher that shouldn't be crossed.
Hagrid stepped aside, waving one great hand over the heads of the group, "The firs' years, Professor McGonagall."
"Thank you, Hagrid, I will take it from here." The witch nodded to Hagrid as she pulled the doors wide open. The entrance hall they walked into was huge, large enough that it would have been able to fit either the Dursleys' or Arabella's houses inside. Like Gringotts, the interior of the castle was lit by nothing more than a group of flaming torches, which cast a bright golden glow across the stone walls and high ceiling. Across from them was a beautiful marble staircase leading to the upper floors.
As they followed Professor McGonagall across the flagstone floor, the drone of hundreds of voices could be heard coming through a pair of large oak doors on their right – no doubt the rest of the school was already seated just beyond those doors – but the first years were led into a small, empty chamber just off the hall. Everyone crowded inside, where they were forced to have to stand closer together than usual while they peered around nervously.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall said from the doorway, folding her hands behind her, "Our annual start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before any of you can take your seats in the Great Hall, you will each be sorted nto one of our four houses. The Sorting is one of our most important ceremonies because, while you are here, your house will become like your family within Hogwarts. You will attend classes with the rest of your year, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend your free time in your house common room.
"The four houses the school hosts are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, named for each of its' founding witches and wizards. Each house has its own rich, noble history, and has each produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are here, your triumphs will earn your house points, while rule breaking loses your house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will be awarded the greatest honor of the house cup. I hope each and every one of you will be a great asset to whichever house you are placed into.
"The Sorting Ceremony will begin in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school, your future classmates and professors, I suggest each of you tries to smarten yourselves up as much as you are able while you wait."
Her eyes swept the group, lingering on where Neville had fastened his cloak under his left ear and the smudge still on Ron's nose. Out of the corner of her eye, Cheyenne noticed Harry trying to tame his messy hair as she checked to make sure hers' wasn't out of place.
"Please wait here quietly," Professor McGonagall told them as she stepped back out of the chamber, "I shall return when we're ready for you."
Cheyenne could feel her heartbeat quicken as Professor McGonagall left, her hand instinctively searching for Harry's once more. The tremble in his grip was obvious.
"How exactly are we to be sorted into our houses?" Harry asked Ron, who was standing on his other side; Cheyenne leaned around him to look up at the gangly ginger.
"Some sort of test, I think," Much of the color had left Ron's cheeks, leaving him looking rather sickly, "Fred told me it hurts a lot, but I think he was just joking..."
Cheyenne felt her stomach twist into knots, her mind racing with the information she'd garnered from their schoolbooks over the last month. Knowing Fred and his twin, he couldn't have been serious...there was no way they'd be expecting a group of first years to arrive knowing magic already, right? And even if they did, what exactly would they have to do in order to be placed in the proper house? Glancing around the room, she noticed the terrified looks on each of the other first years' faces; no one spoke much, expect for Hermione Granger, who was whispering all the spells she'd learned very quickly under her breath, trying to figure out which one she would need. Cheyenne worried her bottom lip, trying to sort through the spells in her mind herself and doing her best to drown out the other girl's voice so she could concentrate; would they need offensive or defensive spells? Would they need to stun or paralyze someone? Disarm them? She suddenly wished she'd had the presence of mind to practice more defensive spells...she didn't think she'd have it in her to harm anyone or anything they pit her against.
(I think I'm going to be ill...) Cheyenne couldn't help thinking as her stomach flipped and churned, leaving her feeling queasy all of the sudden as she stared at the door, (Well, wouldn't that be just fantastic, walking into the Great Hall and throwing up all over the floor in front of the rest of the school...great first impression...)
The sound of several people screaming behind them made Cheyenne nearly jump out of her skin; she and Harry whipped around.
"What the -?"
Cheyenne's mouth fell open while Harry and the people around them gasped at the twenty ghosts that had drifted in through the back wall. Each was pearly-white and slightly transparent, so invested in an argument among themselves as they glided across the room that they barely seemed to notice the first years.
"Forgive and forget is what I say, we ought to give him a second chance -" A stout monk was saying when another ghost in a ruff and tights interrupted him.
"My dear Friar, I'm quite sure we've given Peeves all the chances he deserves. He really gives us all a bad name and, you know, he isn't really even a ghost -" He paused, suddenly taking notice of their audience, "I say, what are you all doing here?"
The group just stared with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"New students!" The Fat Friar interjected, beaming, "About to be Sorted, aren't you?"
A few people gave wordless nods.
"Ah, I hope to see a few of you in Hufflepuff!" The Friar said happily, "My old house, you know."
"Move along now." A sharp voice said from the door; Professor McGonagall had returned and was scowling at the apparitions, "The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin."
One by one the ghosts disappeared through the opposite wall.
"Now, everyone form a line," Professor McGonagall returned her attention to the first years, "and follow me."
Feeling as though her legs had turned to jelly, Cheyenne got in line behind a sandy-haired boy with Harry and Ron behind her, and the group followed Professor McGonagall out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through the double oak doors into the Great Hall.
Cheyenne's breath caught in her throat and she almost stopped dead in her tracks at the magnificent sight before her; the hall was a long, rectangular room, the walls decorated with sweeping banners of alternating scarlet and gold, yellow and black, blue and bronze, and green and silver, the four long tables, where the rest of the students sat, laden with beautifully glittering golden plates and goblets. Floating in midair above the four house tables and the one long staff table at the head of the hall were thousands of candles, casting a warm, mesmerizing glow over the room; the other students turned to watch the first years walk into the hall, their pallor pale in the flickering candlelight. Professor McGonagall led the way to the top of the hall and had them line up before the staff table, facing the seat of the students; through the mass of black robes, Cheyenne spotted the misty silver of the ghosts they'd seen in the holding chamber before she allowed her gaze to trail upward. Instead of the old, dusty beams of an ordinary ceiling, a velvet blanket of star strewn sky peered down at them, reminding her of what she'd read about in her Hogwarts, A History book. The school founders had enchanted the hall's ceiling to reflect the sky outside. An effective enough spell that one would often wonder if the hall didn't simply open to the heavens above.
The thunk of wood on the flagstones drew the first years' attention as Professor McGonagall placed a short, four-legged stool before them. Upon the stool, she put an old, pointed wizard's hat, which looked badly frayed and filthy. Cheyenne suddenly had the urge to clean it and fix up some of the patches around the top.
(What're we supposed to do with this?) She furrowed her brows, (Are we expected to do party tricks, like those magicians at birthday parties? Seems rather silly...) Peering around the hall, she was startled to see everyone was now focused intently on the hat and quickly returned her attention back on it as well. Silence descended upon the hall as they waited. Suddenly, the hat twitched and a long, thin rip near the brim appeared, growing wider until it resembled a mouth, and the hat started to sing:
'Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge by what you see,
For I will eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
I cannot see,
So, try me on and I shall tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in brave ol' Gryffindor,
Where their daring nerve, and chivalry
Sets them quite apart;
You might be a just and loyal Hufflepuff,
True and patient and unafraid of toil;
Or if you've a ready mind, it might be wise old Ravenclaw,
Full of wit and learning,
Where you will always find your own kind;
Or perhaps you'll find your real friends in Slytherin,
Whose cunning folks will use any means
To achieve their ends.
So, put me on, be not afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!'
The entire hall burst into applause as the hat finished its' song. It bowed to each of the four tables in front of it, then became still once more.
"So, we only have to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Harry and Cheyenne, scrunching his nose, "Oh, I'm going to kill Fred, he kept going on about how we would need to wrestle a troll."
A breath of relief left Cheyenne's lips; okay...trying on the hat was a great deal better than having to do a spell, even if it was...in front of...the entire school...the nausea returned, and she could feel her heartbeat in her throat. She had a hard enough time at her old school getting up in front of a classroom to do an oral report, so how was she going to be able to do this? The thought of stuttering and embarrassing herself in front of the entire school on her very first day made her clutch Harry's hand tight in hers' and he peered at her out of the corner of his eye, furrowing his brows.
(All right, Cheyenne, try and calm down...if you get all out of sorts, it's only going to make Harry feel worse.) She took a slow, shaky breath, trying to compose herself. (Try and think about what house you could be sorted into...you're not quite so cunning, so it won't be Slytherin...Gryffindor? Hm, no, you're not quite as daring as one should be for that house...Ravenclaw, perhaps? You're always willing to learn and you're studious...and Nan always commented about your wit being like your mother's. But it might be Hufflepuff, too...)
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, shaking Cheyenne from her thoughts as the teacher unrolled a long roll of parchment.
"When I call your name, you are to put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," She told the first years briskly, taking one long look down the line before her gaze lowered to the parchment, "Abbott, Hannah!"
A blushing girl with long blond pigtails stumbled out of line, put the hat on and sat down; the hat slipped down over her eyes and there was a moment of deliberation, then -
"HUFFLEPUFF!" The hat shouted.
A cheer came from the table to their right and the Hufflepuffs clapped as Hannah scurried to take her seat. Cheyenne spotted the Fat Friar near the end of the table, smiling brilliantly at her.
Susan Bones followed Hannah to the Hufflepuff table not moments later.
"Boot, Terry!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
The second to the left table applauded this time; several Ravenclaws rose to shake Terry's hand as he joined them. He was followed shortly by Mandy Brocklehurst, while Lavender Brown was named the first new Gryffindor. The table on their far left exploded with cheers, far more boisterous than either Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. Cheyenne spotted Ron's older twin brothers near the middle of the table, whooping and catcalling; she caught Fred's eye and he grinned at her, winking. Warmth rushed to her cheeks.
Millicent Bulstrode was one of the first new Slytherins. Harry leaned over to whisper to Cheyenne about how unpleasant they seemed. She glanced at their table, frowning...they did seem rather, erm, stoic, reminding her, uneasily, of the Dursleys as they watched the Sorting with blank, emotionless faces.
"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Cheyenne looked at the hat once more, quick to pick up on the differences in each Sorting; where some were put into a house straight away, others took a little longer to be Sorted. The sandy-haired boy on Cheyenne's right, Seamus Finnigan, was sitting on the stool for almost a full minute before he was declared a Gryffindor.
"Granger, Hermione!"
Hermione practically ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.
"GRYFFINDOR!" The hat shouted after a brief pause. Ron groaned.
Harry's hand suddenly tightened around Cheyenne's, and she glanced at her best friend, frowning. Much of the color had drained from his face, though there was a green tinge to his cheeks now, like he was ready to be sick himself.
"Harry...?" Cheyenne whispered under her breath, her heart twisting at seeing him so anxious.
"Chey...what if the hat doesn't put me in a house?" He whispered back in a strangled voice, "What if I just sit there for ages until Professor McGonagall takes the hat back and says I don't belong here...what if...what if I have to go back to the Dursleys?"
Cheyenne gave him a reassuring look, knowing his nerves were just getting to him, "You won't, Harry, I know it. If you didn't belong, you wouldn't be here at all. We both belong here, and we're going to have so many adventures. Together."
Harry looked at Cheyenne then, deep into her eyes; she smiled, her gaze open and sincere, bringing with it a familiar sense of calm and reassurance. Harry relaxed a little, feeling some of his fear dissipate, knowing his best friend was right. There was still a part of him that was nervous, thinking about when it would be his turn to be Sorted, but knowing she was there by his side always put him at ease, knowing he wasn't alone in this, even now.
Another thought suddenly struck him as Neville Longbottom was called to try on the hat; he and Cheyenne had always been together...even if neither of them was sent home, would they have to be separated here? Would they still be as close as they were now if they were Sorted into different houses?
The sound of laughter had drawn Cheyenne's attention away again and she smiled quietly, watching Neville jog back from the Gryffindor table to hand the hat to Morag MacDougal. Harry reluctantly returned his attention to the front too, his grip still tight on her hand.
When Malfoy's name was called, he swaggered forward like he owned the place and got his wish almost immediately; the hat was barely on his head before he was pronounced a Slytherin. He was smirking as he joined his friends Crabbe and Goyle at their table, looking rather pleased with himself.
There weren't many people left to be Sorted now; Harry and Cheyenne watched together as, one by one, their fellow first years were placed into their houses, including a pair of twin girls, before it was finally their turn.
"Potter, Harry!"
Whispers erupted throughout the hall as Harry stepped forward; Cheyenne gave his hand a quick squeeze before letting him go, catching snippets of conversation as she tried to ignore the feeling of hundreds of eyes on her, her attention solely on her best friend.
"Did she say Potter?"
"The Harry Potter? Is Cheyenne Power with him?"
Cheyenne clenched her hands in front of her to maintain what she hoped was a calm, collected composure as she watched the hat drop down in front of Harry's eyes. In that moment, she did not care in the slightest what happened to her, only what would happen to him, that he would be placed in a good house where he would be accepted, where he could flourish and grow. She could be put into a completely different house or even told she didn't belong here, so long as Harry was better off at this school than he had been in Little Whinging. He deserved it more than anyone else she had ever known, after everything he had had to endure in his young life.
(Please let Harry have a good life here...let it be better than the one he had with the Dursleys...) She prayed, feeling her anxiety grow with each passing second.
"GRYFFINDOR!" The hat shouted; Cheyenne breathed a sigh of relief as there was an uproar of cheers from the Gryffindor table, beaming at Harry as he shakily took off the hat and stumbled over to join his new housemates. Ron's brother, Percy, stood to shake his hand vigorously while Fred and George were yelling, "We got Potter!" At the top of their lungs. When Harry took a seat, the ghost in the ruff they'd seen earlier was sitting opposite him; he gave a friendly smile and leaned over to pat his arm in congratulations.
"Power, Cheyenne!"
Taking a deep breath, Cheyenne straightened her shoulders and marched toward the stool with as much confidence as she could muster while the hall was filled with whispers once more.
"Cheyenne Power is here! The P-team is at Hogwarts!"
"I wonder what house she'll be in?"
"Wouldn't be surprised if she was put in the same house as Potter."
Taking the hat in her hands, Cheyenne took a seat on the stood, sat up as straight as she possibly could, and placed the hat on her head. Just like it had with Harry, it slipped down over her eyes, the dark interior better to endure than the curious stare of the other students.
"Hmmm, another difficult one we have here." A quiet voice whispered in her ear, "Yet a different kind of difficult than the others...you have quite the personality: an eager mind, ready to learn, full of untapped potential and talent, yet loyal and selfless when it comes to those you care about..."
An image of her best friend's face filled her mind and Cheyenne clenched her robes tight in her hands. The hat hummed, obviously intrigued.
"Where do you believe you belong?"
Cheyenne was surprised by the question, having not expected it. She paused to think, considering her options.
"The obvious choice is Hufflepuff, isn't it? I'm just and loyal, unafraid of toil if it means looking out for my friends...I wish I could stay with Harry, but...I do not carry the traits of a Gryffindor...I try to be brave for my loved ones, but it isn't enough to put me in that house. It is ultimately your choice, thought, you are the Sorting Hat, after all."
The hat chuckled lowly, "Clever and modest. Hufflepuff is the ideal and Ravenclaw would do just as well to serve you, you fit either of their criteria...but there's more there, another side that needs a chance to grow...and I believe the correct house to help with that is...GRYFFINDOR!"
Cheyenne's heart leapt in her chest as the hat shouted out her chosen house for all to hear. Another explosion of cheers came from the direction of the Gryffindor table as she got to her feet, placed the hat back upon the stool, and practically ran into Harry's arms as he stood to meet her. Percy put a hand on her back and smiled warmly as the twins crooned on about Gryffindor's good fortune. Flushing in embarrassment, Cheyenne quickly took the seat next to Harry, hoping to get out of the limelight now that she had been Sorted. The ghost with the ruff smiled at her, reaching over to pat her hand as well; gooseflesh immediately rose on her arm, making her feel as though she'd just plunged her hand into a bucket of ice water.
From this vantage point, she could now get a proper view of the High Table. At the end nearest their table sat Hagrid, who gave Harry and Cheyenne a thumbs-up when they caught his eye. They smiled back before Cheyenne allowed her gaze to sweep along the table. Sitting at the very center, in a large golden chair, was Albus Dumbledore, who she immediately recognized from the Chocolate Frog card they'd gotten on the train. Dumbledore's long, silver hair was the only thing in the entire hall that could rival the ghosts in brightness and color. Professor Quirrell, the nervous young man she and Harry had met in the Leaky Cauldron, sat on the other end of the table, his head wrapped in a large purple turban.
There were only four people left to be Sorted now. Dean Thomas, a young man taller than Ron, joined Harry and Cheyenne at the Gryffindor table; Lisa Turpin was dubbed a Ravenclaw and then, finally, it was Ron's turn. He was looking a little green around the gills now and seemed either on the verge of fainting or being sick. Harry took Cheyenne's hand under the table, and they watched with bated breath, praying together until the hat proclaimed him a Gryffindor as well.
The pair clapped loudly along with the rest of their house as Ron collapsed into the seat on Cheyenne's other side.
"Well done, Ron." Percy leaned across the table to pat his younger brother's arm as Blaise Zabini was made a Slytherin. As soon as he took his seat, Professor McGonagall rolled up the scroll and carried the Sorting Hat and its stool out of the hall.
Dumbledore got to his feet, beaming around at the students with his arms outstretched, as though nothing pleased him more than to see all of them here. Cheyenne was once again reminded of a grandfather figure, especially as the look in their headmaster's eyes made her think of an old man looking upon his grandchildren with pride.
"Welcome to a brand-new year at Hogwarts!" His voice was soft, but carried throughout the hall in a kind, respectable way, carrying with it an underlying sense of authority, "Before we begin our banquet, I have just a few words to say: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" His eyes twinkled in amusement, "Thank you!" He resumed his seat as the rest of the hall burst into applause and cheers. Cheyenne blinked and looked at Harry, who looked about as lost as she felt, torn between being concerned and wanting to laugh.
"Erm...is...is he a bit mad?" he asked Percy uncertainly.
"Mad?" Percy sniffed, "Why, the man's a genius! One of the best wizards in the entire world! But I suppose he is a tad mad, yes. Would either of you like some potatoes?"
Harry and Cheyenne looked down at the table, their eyes widening when they saw the food piled atop the dishes and platters before them. Neither of them had seen so many of their favorite foods laid out on the same table; roast beef and chicken, pork and lamb chops, medium rare steak, bacon, sausages, roast and mashed potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, broccoli with melted cheese, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.
While it was true the Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry, he'd never been able to eat as much food as he wanted unless he ate over at the Figg household. Dudley would always take anything that Harry really wanted, even to the point of making himself sick. Cheyenne smiled as she watched Harry pile his plate with a little of everything aside from the peppermints and dig in enthusiastically, glad to see things already taking a better turn for her best friend as she helped herself to some food as well. It was delicious.
"Ah, that does look good," the ghost in the riff said wistfully as he watched Harry cut up his steak. Harry glanced at Cheyenne, who cocked her head emphatically while Harry turned back to the ghost.
"You can't -?"
"I haven't eaten in nearly five hundred years," the ghost sighed, "I don't really need to anymore, but one does miss it after a while. I don't believe I've introduced myself?" He gave a small smile, "Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. I am the resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."
"I know who you are!" Ron piped up suddenly, looking at the ghost with wide eyes, "My brothers've told me all about you – you're Nearly Headless Nick!"
"I would prefer it if you called me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy -" the ghost began stiffly, only to be interrupted by young Seamus Finnigan.
"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"
Sir Nicholas wrinkled his nose, looking extremely displeased with the turn the conversation had taken.
"Like this," he sniffed irritably, taking a hold of his left ear and giving it a light pull. His whole head swung off his neck and rolled onto his shoulder, the thin bit of skin and muscle keeping it attached to his body acting as something of a hinge. It was obvious someone had once tried to behead him but hadn't been able to properly follow through with it.
Pleased by the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick swung his head back onto his neck, coughed, then said, "So, new Gryffindors! I do hope you're all going to help us win the house championship this year. Gryffindor has never gone so long without winning it...unfortunately, Slytherin has been the victor of the house cup six years in a row now! The Bloody Baron has become almost unbearable...he's the Slytherin ghost."
Harry and Cheyenne glanced over their shoulders for a peek at the Slytherin table, where they spotted the ghost sitting beside Draco Malfoy, who looked quite displeased with the sitting arrangements. The Bloody Baron was a larger ghost, with a gaunt face and blank eyes adorned in robes covered in silver blood.
"How'd he get covered in blood like that?" Seamus asked, turning his attention back to Nearly Headless Nick with wide, curious eyes.
"I never asked," Nearly Headless Nick replied delicately, as though that was a sensitive matter and left it at that.
Once everyone had had their fill of the main course, the remains of their food faded from the plates and platters, leaving them as sparkling clean as before. Not a moment later, the desserts appeared, comprised of blocks of ice cream in every flavor imaginable, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs, and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries and melted chocolate, Jell-O, rice pudding...
While Harry helped himself to a bit of treacle tart and Cheyenne some chocolate ice cream, the talk about the table turned to everyone's families.
"I'm half-and-half," Seamus said with a chuckle, "Me dad's a Muggle. Mum didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they got married. Bit of a nasty shock for him when he found out."
A few people laughed.
"What about you, Neville?" Ron asked, turning to the round-faced boy.
"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," Neville said, playing with his food, "but my family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. Any time my Great Uncle Algie came over, he would try to catch me off guard and force some magic out of me – I nearly drowned when he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once – but nothing really happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner and hung me out of an upstairs window by the ankles...Great Aunt Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced all the way down the garden and into the road, ended up without a scratch. Everyone was really pleased, and Gran was crying, she was so happy. You should've seen their faces when I got my letter – they thought I might not have enough magic in me to come here. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased about it, he bought me Trevor."
Cheyenne tuned into a conversation Percy and Hermione were having on the other side of the table about their lessons, interjecting her opinion and thoughts now and again. Hermione gushed about how she hoped their lessons started straight away since they had so much to learn and expressed her interest in Transfiguration, one of their more difficult subjects. Percy reassured her they would be starting small, turning matches into needles and such. Cheyenne asked about their other classes and Percy, seeming more than delighted to pass this knowledge onto younger students, eagerly divulged details about each class and what the first years could expect going in.
As Percy told them about their teachers, a brief, hot pain flashed across Cheyenne's right cheek, suddenly blurring her vision. She squeezed her eyes tight and pressed a hand to her face, hissing in a breath through her teeth.
"Are you two all right?" Percy asked as Cheyenne blinked her eyes open again and glanced at Harry, who had his own hand pressed to the scar on his forehead.
"Y-yeah, we're okay." Harry looked at Cheyenne with furrowed brows, as though to make double sure and she smiled reassuringly in return. The pain had gone as quickly as it had come, but she could see something else was bothering him aside from that, something he had seen she hadn't while she'd been distracted. Harry turned away from her, looking back up toward the High Table.
"Hey Percy, who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" He asked, pointing to the rather intimidating man seated beside his timid colleague; this man looked a tad taller than Quirrell and held himself in a very confident, disciplined way despite the long greasy curtain of hair that framed his pale, shallow face and the strange crook to his long nose. When he met Cheyenne's gaze, she was quite surprised at how black his eyes were.
"Ah, you two have met Quirrell already, have you?" Percy sat up to look at well, "That's Professor Snape he's speaking with...no wonder the poor man's nervous. Snape teaches Potions, but that wasn't his first choice when he was hired here – everyone knows he's always been after Quirrell's job. He knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape does."
Cheyenne cocked her head, curious, but Snape had turned away from her now and didn't spare either her or Harry another glance.
Finally, the desserts disappeared as well, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet once more. The hall immediately fell silent.
"Ahem - I have a few more words to say now that we have been fed and watered. Just a few start-of-term notices you all need to be aware of.
"First years should take note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." His twinkling eyes flashed in the Weasley twins' direction. "And, at the request of our caretaker, Mr. Filch, I have been asked to remind you all that no magic is to be used between classes in the corridors.
"Quidditch trials will not begin until the second week of term. Anyone who might be interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch for more information. And finally, I must tell you all that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is off limits to anyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
A few people laughed, including Harry, but Cheyenne couldn't quite bring herself to find anything funny in this situation. If Dumbledore had to warn them not to enter a certain place in the castle, there had to be a very good reason for it. Likely the forest he'd mentioned was full of dangers students wouldn't be able to handle on their own...but what could be in the third-floor corridor that would be so concerning?
"And now, before we retire to bed, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore cried excitedly. Harry and Cheyenne noticed a few of the teachers' smiles became a tad strained, like they would rather do anything else but that.
Taking his wand from his robes, Dumbledore gave it a little flick, like he was shaking some dust off, and a long golden ribbon flew from the end; it rose high above the tables and began to twist itself, snakelike, into words.
"Now, everyone pick their favorite tune," Dumbledore beamed down at all the students, "and off we go!"
As one, the school began to bellow:
'Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling
With some interesting stuff,
For now, they are bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So, teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot.'
One by one everyone finished the song at different times until only the Weasley twins, singing along to a very slow funeral march, were left. Dumbledore calmly conducted their last few lines with his wand and was one of the ones who clapped the loudest when they'd finished.
"Ah music," He sighed, wiping at his eyes, "A magic that is beyond all we do here! And now, it is time for bed. Off you trot!"
Percy gathered all the Gryffindor first years from the table and, after making sure he had everyone, led the way through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the grand marble staircase. Cheyenne's legs were feeling rather heavy now and she had to blink several times in order to keep herself awake under the warm weight of a full and satisfied stomach; Harry, feeling rather sleepy and full himself, kept leaning tiredly into her until she took his hand to direct him through the corridors and keep him from running into the other students. She was so focused on directing her best friend through the castle that she failed to notice the moving portraits that lined the walls, of people whispering and pointing after them or the two hidden doorways Percy led them through.
"I'm sure we're almost there, Harry." Cheyenne whispered when Percy stopped the first years, frowning at something just ahead. The group leaned around him to look, curious.
Floating in midair several meters ahead of them was a bundle of walking sticks, which began to throw themselves at Percy when he took a cautious step toward them.
"Peeves," Percy whispered to them, holding his arms up to shield his face, "He's the school poltergeist." When the walking sticks stopped their assault, he raised his head and spoke in a loud clear voice, "Peeves, show yourself!"
A very loud raspberry was the only reply.
"Do you want me to fetch the Bloody Baron?"
With a loud pop, a little man with wicked black eyes and a wide, jeering mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in midair and clutching the walking sticks.
"Ooooh!" He cackled evilly, "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"
Without warning, he swooped down on the group, and they all ducked.
"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron will hear about this, I mean it!" Percy barked.
Peeves stuck his tongue out at them and vanished, dropping the walking sticks in the process; Neville yelped as they landed on his head and they could hear Peeves zoom away down the corridor, rattling coats of armor along the way.
"You'll want to watch out for Peeves," Percy sighed as they set off again. "The only one in this entire castle who can control him is the Bloody Baron...he won't even listen to us prefects or the teachers. Ah, here we are."
The corridor ended at the portrait of an oversized woman in a pretty silk dress.
"Password?" Was all she asked.
"Caput Draconis," Percy said promptly; the portrait immediately swung forward to reveal a large round hole in the wall behind it. Percy stepped aside to allow the first years through before him, giving a few, like Neville, a leg up. Once through the hole, they found themselves in the large tower designated as the Gryffindor common room; it was a nice room, cozy, filled with squashy armchairs and heated by a large fireplace off to one side.
Once everyone was through, Percy directed the girls through a door to the left and the boys through a door to the right to find their dormitories. Cheyenne squeezed Harry's hand and muttered a quick goodnight before she followed the other girls through the door and up a narrow spiral staircase, which ended at a large wooden door marked 'first years' by a small plaque alongside it. Inside were five four-poster beds decorated with deep red, velvet curtains, their trunks waiting for them at the foot of each.
Stretching and yawning, the girls got themselves ready for bed, talking idly among themselves as the call of sleep became harder to resist. Cheyenne struck up a brief conversation with Hermione about what this school year would hold for them, the things they would learn and experience.
"Oh, I just can't wait for lessons tomorrow!" Hermione chirped as she clambered into bed, "I wonder which classes we'll have first?"
"I'm sure we'll find out in the morning." Cheyenne yawned, pulling one side of the curtains closed before she sat back and stretched, "Hmm, but we'll need our sleep if we want to be ready."
"Hm mm, especially after such a wonderful feast." Hermione laid back in her four poster, "I just hope I'm able to sleep...Goodnight, Cheyenne."
"Goodnight, Hermione." Cheyenne smiled sleepily as she pulled the curtains closed and rolled over to get comfortable. She was out almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Perhaps it was the nerves, perhaps she'd eaten a little too much at the feast, but Cheyenne's dreams that night were anything but peaceful. She dreamed about Harry, who, for some reason, was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban; Harry was screaming at it that he didn't want to be in Slytherin and stumbling about as thought something was weighing down on him. He grabbed at the turban but couldn't wretch it off his head. She opened her mouth to call out to him but...there was nothing. Her voice was gone. Harry's screaming echoed in her head, followed by an orchestra of laughter nearby, although she couldn't quite pinpoint the source. A sudden pain throbbed in her temples and her vision blurred again as the pitch of the laughter went higher, bringing with it a cold shiver that caused gooseflesh to rise on her arms. Gritting her teeth again the pain, she reached out for her best friend, trying to call out to him again when her vision was filled with a burst of green light – Cheyenne gasped as she jerked upright in bed, panting and shaking.
Blinking, she glanced around at the shadows, still half asleep, before rolling over and drifting off back into unconsciousness.