We probably waited outside the Great Hall for only a few minutes.
It was long enough for me to start adjusting everything that could be adjusted.
Sleeves.
Collar.
Bag strap.
Eventually, I put my hands behind my back.
Professor McGonagall was explaining the Sorting.
Four houses, points, shared dormitories and responsibility for our behaviour.
I listened, though part of my attention stayed on the doors.
The whole school was waiting on the other side.
Somehow, I hadn’t thought about that when I’d imagined arriving.
In the book, the ceremony took a few pages.
Here, I had to walk through a hall full of people, sit in front of them and let an old hat look inside my head.
That last part appealed to me least.
“When I return, you will form a line,” McGonagall finished.
She left us for a moment.
Whispering broke out immediately.
Someone asked how the houses were chosen.
Someone else claimed you had to perform a spell.
Neville looked as though he’d rather get back in the boat.
I glanced towards Harry and Ron.
Ron was saying something.
I hoped he hadn’t returned to the troll.
***
When the doors opened, I forgot about my collar.
Candles floated above the tables.
Hundreds of them.
Their flames flickered high above the students’ heads, and above them lay the night sky.
For a moment, I genuinely had to remind myself that we were inside a building.
The stars looked so clear that there might have been no ceiling between us and them.
“It’s enchanted,” I heard someone say nearby.
I didn’t turn.
I believed it.
But knowing about an enchanted ceiling and standing beneath it were two different things.
I followed the others, trying to look ahead and up at the same time.
Students sat at four long tables.
Some watched us with interest; others were still talking among themselves.
A stool stood before the staff table.
The Hat lay on it.
Up close, it looked as though someone should have done something about its seams a long time ago.
The magic told a different story.
Layers of fine strands overlapped so densely that I couldn’t follow a single weave to its end.
Around the brim, I could make out only fragments.
Deeper in, everything merged into a trembling pattern.
I blinked.
I didn’t want to start school with a headache.
A tear opened in the fabric.
The Hat began to sing.
Several people flinched.
Someone behind me gave a nervous giggle, then fell silent.
I stood and listened.
I’d learnt quite a lot about spells over the past year.
No book had prepared me for an old hat publicly singing about the personalities of the school’s founders.
Despite my nerves, I smiled.
***
The names began, one after another.
A girl ahead of us approached the stool, sat down and almost disappeared beneath the Hat.
A moment later, one of the tables burst into applause.
Then another child.
And another.
Some got an answer immediately.
Others sat still for longer while the hall waited.
I knew the Hat was talking to them then.
I didn’t know what it would do with me.
I tried to think of nothing.
Immediately, I remembered the rug.
Excellent.
Hermione went to Gryffindor.
So did Neville, though when the Hat came off, he mostly looked surprised that it was over.
Malfoy had barely sat down before he heard Slytherin’s name.
He stepped off the stool looking very pleased.
The group in front of the staff table grew steadily smaller.
“Peverell, Oliver.”
I moved before I could think about it.
At one of the tables, someone repeated my surname.
A few heads lifted, but most of the students were simply waiting for the next Sorting.
I sat down.
McGonagall placed the Hat on my head.
The brim slipped over my eyes.
Everything went dark.
*Well, then.
Let’s see.*
I gripped the edge of the stool.
The voice was so close that, for a moment, I wanted to turn my head.
*No need.
I’m exactly where I was put.*
So it could hear my thoughts.
Of course it could hear my thoughts.
I’d known that.
The knowledge suddenly offered very little comfort.
*You’re more nervous about the conversation than the Sorting itself.*
*A bit.*
*This isn’t an examination, Oliver.*
Easy for it to say.
It wasn’t sitting in front of the entire school with someone else’s consciousness attached to its head.
Something like quiet amusement answered me.
*A great deal of curiosity.
I’d be happy to put you in Ravenclaw.
You could ask questions until the day you left and still find new ones.*
I thought of the shelves in the library I hadn’t seen yet.
*Sounds good.*
*Indeed.
But knowing the answers wouldn’t be enough for you.*
For a moment, I didn’t understand.
*You want to do the things you read about.
Test them, change them, find uses of your own.
You want knowledge to give you possibilities.*
I remembered the first spark.
The banknote I’d spent hours working on.
A wand in my hand and light that didn’t go out after a second.
*That’s why I wanted to come here.*
*Among other reasons.*
The Hat fell silent for a moment.
A muffled murmur drifted in from the hall.
*There’s ambition too.
Far more than you admit when you’re afraid of sounding ridiculous.*
I didn’t answer.
I hadn’t been afraid to ask the old man for it.
I didn’t think I was afraid to admit it to myself either.
I wanted to learn magic.
A great deal of magic.
I wanted to do things that, not so long ago, I’d only been able to imagine.
*And you dislike other people deciding what you’re allowed to do,* the Hat added.
*I couldn’t even practise making light for a year.*
*But you kept your promise.*
*I wasn’t particularly happy about it.*
*You didn’t have to be.*
I relaxed a little.
There was no accusation in its voice, nor any awe at some hidden greatness.
It was simply talking about things I’d actually done.
*I think I know.*
My heart beat faster.
*Slytherin?*
*Any objection?*
I thought of Malfoy in the boat.
Of what I knew about the house from the books.
Of Snape becoming my Head of House.
It wasn’t a choice without drawbacks.
But none of them were.
*No.
I don’t think so.*
*Very well.*
“SLYTHERIN!”
This time, the whole hall heard it.
***
I took off the Hat and handed it to McGonagall.
Only as I got off the stool did I realise how tightly I’d been gripping its edge.
I stretched my fingers.
The Slytherin table was applauding.
Not as noisily as the Gryffindors earlier, but several people moved to make room.
Malfoy raised a hand.
“Here.”
I sat near him and Goyle.
“Kept you there a while,” he remarked.
“It had something to say.”
“What?”
“That I ask a lot of questions.”
Malfoy glanced at the Hat.
“Sent me off almost straight away.”
“Maybe it already knew the answers.”
He smiled briefly and turned towards the stool.
The next name caused considerably more of a stir.
Harry Potter.
The conversations around us quietened.
Harry sat beneath the Hat, and for the first time, I could watch what I’d just been through myself.
From the outside, it looked peaceful.
It wasn’t.
He waited longer than most.
When “Gryffindor” finally rang out, it was met with an eruption of applause and cheers.
Harry almost immediately disappeared among the students welcoming him.
Someone at our table muttered something.
I didn’t catch it.
I busied myself freeing the part of my robe I’d sat on.
Ron joined Gryffindor towards the end of the ceremony.
A few final names, more applause, and at last McGonagall rolled up the parchment.
Dumbledore stood.
I recognised the smile before he began to speak.
***
The food appeared so suddenly that I pulled my hand back from a serving dish that had been empty a moment before.
Goyle was already reaching for potatoes.
I stared for a moment.
Meat, vegetables, bread, sauces.
Further along were dishes I couldn’t name.
The smell reminded me how long it had been since my last proper meal.
The sweets on the train hadn’t quite done the job.
I helped myself to roast potatoes and a piece of chicken.
Then a little more.
For a moment after the first bite, nothing interested me except my plate.
“Pass the gravy?” asked the boy opposite.
I pushed it towards him.
“Thanks. Blaise Zabini.”
“Oliver.”
“I heard.”
I smiled to myself.
Of course.
The whole hall had heard.
The conversations around us were ordinary.
Someone complained about the journey.
A girl a few seats away wanted to know whether she could send an owl that evening.
Laughter rose from the next table.
I turned and saw a ghost floating through the end of a bench.
I froze with my fork in my hand.
It was bright, clearly defined and talking to a student.
I focused my eyes.
Faint wisps surrounded it, but with so much magic in the hall, the details were difficult to distinguish.
At least from this distance, it didn’t resemble the figure from the cemetery.
I wanted a longer look.
But it floated on and soon disappeared behind some older students.
I made a mental note to come back to that later.
For now, my dinner was still warm.
***
I recognised more faces at the staff table.
McGonagall was talking to the tiny professor beside her.
Further along, Hagrid leaned towards someone so far that he almost blocked two people from view.
Snape sat upright.
He didn’t look like a man delighted at the prospect of another year with children.
As my gaze passed over him, he raised his head.
Our eyes met for a moment.
I looked back at my plate.
Nothing in particular happened.
Even so, I remembered every description of Potions lessons I’d read in my previous life.
I would be measuring my ingredients very carefully.
It was only a moment later that I noticed the turban.
Quirrell sat nearby, listening to one of the teachers.
I tightened my grip on my fork.
Voldemort.
Here.
The same room.
A few dozen paces away.
For a moment, the taste of the food ceased to matter.
I knew what was supposed to happen this year.
I’d thought about it many times, usually from the safe distance of a book or my room at the orphanage.
Now I was looking at the man who was supposed to be carrying him around.
I tried to examine the magic.
A bright thread ran near Quirrell’s shoulder.
Deeper in, something lay differently, more densely.
Outlines overlapped in a way I couldn’t immediately understand.
He moved his head, and the image changed.
I didn’t see a second face.
I wasn’t given some convenient piece of proof I could show anyone.
My eyes began to sting.
I lowered my gaze.
“Finished with that?” Goyle asked, looking at the dish in front of me.
“Yes. Go ahead.”
I passed it to him.
For the next few minutes, I tried to concentrate on the conversations at the table.
I wasn’t going to approach Quirrell, inspect his turban or do anything else that might attract his attention.
On my first evening at school, finding where I belonged was quite enough to be getting on with.
***
After dessert, I grew sleepy.
It was rather disappointing.
I wanted to see everything, hear everything and preferably explore the whole castle immediately.
Instead, I sat there with a full stomach, trying not to yawn through the announcements.
The ban on entering the forest sounded sensible.
The warning about the third-floor corridor made me look at the staff table again.
Of course.
That was waiting too.
When we were finally told to stand, I followed the prefect with relief.
The dungeons were colder than upstairs.
I tried to memorise the route, but after a few turns, I began to doubt I’d be able to retrace it in the morning.
The prefect pointed out landmarks to watch for.
A statue.
A staircase.
A portrait of a man who claimed not to understand why so many noisy children were brought past him every year.
I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to listen to the prefect or answer the portrait more.
I chose the prefect.
At least he was going to get me to bed.
We stopped before a stretch of stone wall.
A password was spoken.
The wall slid aside.
I followed the others in.
***
First, I saw the fire.
Then the armchairs, long sofas and greenish light coming from the windows.
I went closer to one of them.
There was water beyond the glass.
We really were under the lake.
A few small shapes darted beyond the reach of the light.
Further out, there was only darkness.
I rested my hand on the stone sill.
“Told you,” Malfoy said beside me.
“About the squid too?”
He peered into the water.
“It’s not here now.”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
The prefect called us back to the group.
He explained the dormitories, quiet hours and the rules for leaving the common room.
I memorised the password.
Repeated it to myself several times.
I didn’t want to spend my first morning outside my own front door.
Snape arrived just as we were beginning to head for the bedrooms.
The conversations stopped.
He surveyed the first years.
“Timetables.”
He handed the prefect a stack of parchment and waited for us to receive ours.
Herbology.
Magical Theory.
I ran my finger down the times.
“I expect punctuality,” Snape said.
“Unfamiliarity with the castle will not remain an adequate excuse for the entire week.”
I looked up.
“If you don’t know where a classroom is, ask a prefect before the lesson begins. Not afterwards.”
That sounded useful enough.
His gaze settled on me.
“Peverell?”
“Yes, Professor.”
He studied me more closely for a moment.
Then he nodded and moved on.
I waited for something else.
Nothing came.
I put the timetable in my bag.
***
My trunk stood beside my bed.
Hedwig’s cage was on top.
I went straight over.
“There you are.”
She looked at me as though I was the one who’d kept her waiting all evening.
I checked her food and water.
The prefect had explained that she would go to the Owlery the next day.
For now, I opened my bag and took out my pyjamas.
The bed was big.
Much bigger than the one at the orphanage.
I sat cautiously on the edge.
Nothing jabbed me.
I pressed my hand into the mattress.
Still nothing.
“What are you doing?” Zabini asked, passing with a towel.
“Checking the bed.”
He looked at the mattress.
“And?”
“It’s good.”
Apparently, he decided he needed no further explanation.
When I finally drew the curtains, I could still hear the other boys talking.
Someone was looking for something.
Someone else claimed he’d left it in his trunk.
Malfoy was reminding Crabbe not to put his shoes on the bedspread.
I rested my head on the pillow.
I meant to think about the Hat.
About Quirrell.
About my first lessons.
I didn’t manage to put even the first thought in order.
***
In the morning, I woke before anyone else began to stir.
For a moment, I didn’t know where I was.
Then I saw the dark curtains around the bed.
I smiled into my pillow.
Hogwarts.
Really.
I lay there a little longer, listening to quiet snores from the next bed.
Then I sat up.
I was used to exercising before breakfast.
But I didn’t know the castle well enough to go running along its corridors on my first morning.
I remembered Snape’s words about lateness.
I decided I’d rather not become his first example.
In the empty common room, I found some space away from the sofas.
I stretched my legs, did a few sets of exercises and soon felt much more awake.
Someone came in during another set of press-ups.
An older student paused by the door.
He looked at me, then at the clock.
“First year?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll get over it.”
He walked on, yawning.
I chuckled and finished the set.
***
After my shower, the dormitory was considerably louder.
Malfoy stood beside his trunk with his timetable in his hand.
“Do you know where the greenhouses are?” he asked.
“Outside.”
He looked at me.
“I know that much.”
“Then we know the same amount.”
Zabini was fastening his bag beside another bed.
“The prefect said he’d show us at breakfast.”
Malfoy put the parchment away.
We headed upstairs with several other students.
This time, I made a real effort to remember the route.
Especially the turn where I’d previously been convinced we should go the other way.
The Great Hall was brighter in the morning and much less formal.
Someone was laughing over a plate.
Someone else was practically asleep in their porridge.
At one table, an older girl was frantically searching her bag.
I sat and helped myself to eggs.
Then toast.
Then another slice.
After a whole year of ordinary breakfasts, it was hard not to take advantage of the choice.
Owls arrived at the table.
I looked up so quickly that I nearly spilled my juice.
One flew just over our heads and dropped a letter in front of an older student.
Another landed among the dishes, unceremoniously pushing someone’s hand aside with its wing.
For a moment, I watched the commotion with a broad smile.
Hedwig would enjoy an entrance like that.
Afterwards, the prefect showed us the way to the greenhouses.
I wrote down the most important turn on the back of my timetable.
Less impressive than a perfect memory. Find the original chapter at g.com.
But it ought to work.
***
The Ravenclaws were already gathering outside the greenhouse.
A few were looking through their textbooks.
Others talked or looked around the gardens.
I stood near the door.
Through the glass, I could see a plant slowly turning its leaves towards us.
I stepped sideways.
The leaves followed.
“Do you see that?” I asked Zabini.
He looked.
Then moved the other way.
The plant hesitated before turning some of its leaves towards him.
“Can’t make up its mind.”
The door opened before we could try again.
Professor Sprout had soil on her apron and the expression of someone who’d spent several hours doing something she enjoyed.
“Good morning! Come in. Bags under the benches; leave your gloves for now. And please don’t touch anything until I say you may.”
I glanced at the turning leaves.
A sensible rule.
Inside, it was warm and damp.
It smelled of earth, water and plants.
Things grew everywhere.
On tables, against walls, overhead.
Some shoots moved so slowly that I had to watch for several seconds to be sure I wasn’t imagining it.
The professor stood beside a wide pot.
“Today, among other things, we’ll discuss why a plant’s appearance doesn’t tell us everything about its behaviour.”
She moved the cover aside.
Dark, thick vines lay inside.
Devil’s Snare.
I recognised it before she gave us the name.
This time, I didn’t feel triumphant.
More interested, with a touch of caution.
Up close, the vines looked fleshy and unpleasant.
When the professor passed a wooden rod above them, one slowly lifted its tip.
Then wound around the wood.
Someone at the back drew a sharp breath.
“The specimen is contained,” Sprout explained.
“You won’t be working with it independently today.”
A visible ripple of relief passed along the bench.
The professor showed us how the plant reacted to light.
Its coils loosened.
The rod returned to her hand.
“Why is struggling against a grip like that a bad idea?”
I raised my hand.
Sprout pointed to me.
“The vines tighten when something tries to pull free?”
“Exactly. Your name?”
“Peverell.”
“Five points to Slytherin, Mr Peverell.”
I lowered my hand.
Five points.
My first lesson, and I’d already earned points.
I tried to look casual.
It didn’t work particularly well.
Malfoy glanced at me, then wrote something on his parchment.
***
For the rest of the lesson, we learnt to inspect plants before doing anything with them.
Spots on the leaves.
The condition of the soil.
Damage to the stem.
Apparently, being magical didn’t stop a plant from needing water.
At one of the workstations, a boy instinctively reached towards a tendril curling around a pot.
I noticed the movement before he did.
“Careful,” I said.
He pulled his fingers back.
Sprout was beside us at once.
She moved the plant away from the edge and reminded us not to approach the demonstration bench without permission.
I didn’t know whether my eyes had helped me notice the tendril or whether I’d simply happened to be looking that way.
I preferred not to find out by letting it catch someone.
Towards the end, we were given small pots of seedlings whose name I didn’t know.
“Florementals,” the professor explained.
“They respond to touch, temperature and the condition of the person holding them. For now, we’re observing. Don’t try to force any particular response.”
I cupped the pot in both hands.
Two small leaves trembled.
I waited.
Nothing else.
Beside me, someone else’s seedling spread wider.
I looked at mine.
“Come on,” I muttered.
The professor was passing behind me.
“Give it a moment. Your hands are cold.”
“I thought they’d have warmed up in here.”
“You may think so. The plant has its own opinion.”
I left the pot alone.
After a few minutes, one of the leaves shifted slightly outwards.
I felt a satisfaction entirely out of proportion to the event.
I was beginning to understand why people could talk about their plants for hours.
***
We returned for lunch with soil on our sleeves and a list of things to read.
We didn’t get lost.
Not completely, at least.
We went down the wrong corridor once, but noticed before it took us too far.
I counted that as a success.
After lunch, we had Magical Theory.
Zabini stopped beside the stairs and checked the classroom number against his timetable.
“This way.”
Malfoy looked back.
“We’ve already been there.”
“That’s how I know.”
We followed him.
He was right.
Professor Babbling stood at the blackboard when we entered.
Her silver hair was woven into a thick braid, and several books lay on her desk.
I took out my notebook.
The one containing a year’s worth of questions.
For the first time since arriving, I felt I’d actually prepared something useful.
Three words appeared on the board.
**Intent.
Direction.
Form.**
I moved closer to the desk.
I knew this.
Or at least I’d read about it for long enough to want to hear it explained at last.
“If two people speak the same incantation and make the same movement, will they always produce an identical result?” the professor asked.
Several hands rose.
Someone said it depended on the wizard’s power.
Someone else mentioned the wand.
Babbling wrote down the answers.
“What else?”
I raised my hand.
“They might understand what they’re trying to do differently.”
She looked at me.
“Explain.”
For a moment, I regretted volunteering.
The answer made sense in my head.
Putting it into words was harder.
“One might be thinking about moving the object, while the other is thinking about where they want it to stop. Even if they’re both using a Levitation Charm.”
Babbling nodded.
“A good example of a difference in focus. It does not mean, however, that any thought can turn a spell into any effect you please.”
She underlined the final word on the board.
Form.
“The incantation and wand movement help give the magic a particular form. Intent is no substitute for knowing the spell.”
I began to write.
The textbook had explained it in a much more complicated way.
Here, I could suddenly connect the words to something concrete.
Later, the professor demonstrated with two wooden discs.
The same movement, a similar spell, a different ending.
I watched the trails of magic running from the tip of her wand.
One broke off sooner.
The other lasted a moment longer before the disc fell.
I looked at my notes.
Then back at the professor’s hand.
“Mr Peverell?”
I straightened.
“Yes?”
“I asked what you noticed in the second example.”
For a moment, I tried to separate what everyone could see from what I could see.
“The disc fell more slowly.”
“Precisely. Observe how a spell ends as well as how it is cast.”
I nodded.
I added a note of my own in small letters beside the margin.
I didn’t want to lose it.
***
When the lesson ended, I had more questions than before.
Strangely, that didn’t discourage me at all.
Some things were finally beginning to fit together.
Zabini closed his bag.
“You’ve written a lot.”
I looked at the pages.
He was right.
“I had a few questions already.”
“A few?”
“They didn’t all fit on one page.”
He gave a small smile.
In the corridor, Malfoy caught up with us by the stairs.
“Do you remember the way down?”
Zabini pointed towards a turn.
“Through that corridor.”
I looked the other way.
I was almost certain it should be the opposite direction.
After a moment’s thought, I decided not to trust my certainty this time.
We got back without any trouble.
***
Several people were already sitting by the common-room fire.
I took an empty armchair with my notebook on my knees.
Greenish water filled the window.
Something small swam close to the glass and disappeared behind the stone frame.
I looked up from my notes.
Then returned to the sentence I was correcting.
The first day.
I’d earned points, made it to every class without getting lost, and managed not to touch a plant that had apparently been very keen to touch me.
I’d also discovered that some of last year’s notes needed rewriting.
Not everything that had seemed obvious at my desk in the orphanage was quite so obvious now.
I took a second notebook from my bag.
The one describing the figures in Diagon Alley and the cemetery.
For a moment, I studied both entries.
At least I now knew that the school ghosts looked different.
The rest remained a question.
I closed the notebook and set it beside me as a reminder to speak to the Headmaster.
Several students’ voices drifted in from the corridor.
Someone asked about the Herbology homework.
I reached for my timetable.
Tomorrow, there would be more lessons.
I’d spent the past year waiting to begin.
Now I just had to keep up.