Chapter 11 - The Sorting

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Severus Snape, potion professor at Hogwarts, was in a bad mood. Considering the fact that it was September 1st, this wasn't very surprising. He had never liked the beginning of term, neither as a pupil nor when he had returned to the school as a professor.

However, this year was even worse.

Earlier this day, he and Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration-teacher and deputy headmistress, had tried one last time to convince Dumbledore that keeping the stone in a school full of children wasn't a very smart idea. Predictably, though, their efforts had been futile. It was almost impossible to make Dumbledore reconsider plans once he had made them. But keeping the Philosopher's Stone in (well, under) Hogwarts... this was pure madness, even for Dumbledore himself.

And then the old fool had even decided to actually tell the pupils that the third-floor corridor was out of bounds... either the headmaster had no knowledge whatsoever about the working of teenage-minds, which would be worrisome, too, considering he was responsible for a whole school full of these brats, or he wanted to lure them to Fluffy purposefully.
Not that it was really his concern, being head of Slytherin. His house was unlikely to be stupid enough to ran into half-cooked adventures. Minerva's brats, on the other hand... well, he couldn't think of anything that would prevent these miscreants to find out what was going on, even if it meant being eaten by a giant, three-headed dog, once they had learned that something dangerous was kept inside the school.

It wasn't as if Severus didn't understand the reasons for Dumbledore's decision. He was well aware that it was of utmost importance to safeguard the stone, even more so after the latest attempt to rob Gringotts. But using the pupils as some kind of human shield?
Because this was exactly what the old man was about to do, as far as Severus was concerned. The headmaster might think that no one, not even the Dark Lord himself, would dare to attack a school full of magical children, but he wasn't that trusting. He knew that, while some of the Dark Lord's followers wouldn't risk the life of their heirs, even if it was for the purpose to resurrect their master, the majority of them either didn't care about the children in the least or were prepared to make a few... sacrifices if it meant HE would return.

But this wasn't the only reason Severus was more grumpy than usual on a September 1st. Today wasn't any September 1st, but September 1st 1991. Which meant that today Harry bloody Potter would start his education at Hogwarts, and therefore would be a constant reminder of his own horrible wrongdoings for the next seven years. Well, at least if he didn't manage to get himself expelled before he had finished school. And while under normal circumstances, this might have been a very likely possibility, considering he was the son of James Potter, it was more than unlikely as long as the current headmaster was in charge.

The stone, a three-headed dog, a DADA-teacher that acted more than suspicious, Potter, and if he wasn't very much mistaken there would be another Weasley starting Hogwarts this year, no, it wasn't really surprising that, when he walked through the corridors towards the Great Hall where the students would arrive any minute now, Severus Snape's expression was already as sour as it normally only became after school was in session for at least two weeks and the first cauldron had been melted.

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Minerva McGonagall was excited. Not that she would admit it to everyone besides herself, though, after all, she had a reputation to loose. But the thought that the son of two of her all-time favourite Gryffindor's would start Hogwarts this very evening and very likely being placed in her house made it difficult for the normally stern and strict witch to uphold her usual conduct. It even served to dampen the feeling of annoyance towards the twinkling old wizard who just refused to listen to anyone who questioned whether it was... wise to keep a very valuable and very dangerous item in a school. Well, she supposed he had his reasons for such actions... he was, after all, not only headmaster of this very school but also the greatest and wisest wizard currently alive. And he was very fond of all of the students, he wouldn't risk their safety, wouldn't he?

Perhaps she was worrying for nothing... the stone was highly protected, and she and the other teachers knew to keep eyes and ears open to anything unusual. But she couldn't suppress all her doubts completely.
She had to focus now, though. The students would arrive in just a few minutes and she had to keep the first-years in line. She knew how excited they normally were, seeing the castle for the first time and being giddy with being away from their parents (homesickness wasn't usually a problem until the night), not to mention thrilled (or sometimes even terrified) about the sorting.

It would be a rather... lively group of new pupils this year, too. Another Weasley, though fortunately not twins again (she didn't think she - or any teacher for that matter - would survive another pair of Weasley-twins), the son of Lucius Malfoy (which screamed trouble), another few children with parentage that could be considered...questionable at best, the accident-prone Neville Longbottom, who refused to speak with anyone about his parents and looked like a deer in the spotlight every time someone even came close to the subject (his grandmother, an acquaintance of Minerva, had briefed her about her grandchild), not to mention quite a few muggle-borns. You could never tell how muggle-born witches and wizards reacted to being in a magical castle for the first time, even if they all had visited Diagon Alley at least once. Minerva McGonagall herself had introduced some of them to the wizarding world during the summer, and while most of them seemed to be a mixture between awed, bemused and doubtful, one little witch had apparently decided to learn absolutely everything about the wizarding world during a few short weeks. She had given Minerva quite a headache, and after they had visited Flourish&Blotts for the fifth time she had told her that she really, really had enough books now and that even the self-expanding trunk they had purchased while being in the Alley for the first time wasn't made for carrying a whole library.

And then there was, of course, little Harry Potter. Hagrid had told her everything he had learned on their shopping-trip about him, but Hagrid, well, he was... Hagrid,and therefore Minerva was very keen on seeing the boy for herself. She was excited, yes, but also a little bit worried. The muggles had treated him well, hadn't they? He would be just like all the other first-years, a happy, curious, self-confident little boy, wouldn't he? Sure, she hadn't liked the Dursley's all these years ago, but they were his family, after all. And Albus had been right, it wouldn't have been good for the boy-who-lived to grow up being either spoiled rotten and admired for something he couldn't even remember or hated and threatened for the very same thing.

'Well', she thought, just as the first carriages with the upper-year students came to a halt, 'at least it is sure that every house will get at least one first-year.' Because there wasn't any doubt that the muggle-born witch would being sorted into Ravenclaw, Neville to Hufflepuff, young Mr Malfoy to Slytherin and Harry, together with the second-to-last Weasley, to Gryffindor.

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Dumbledore, already sitting on the staff-table in the Great Hall, twinkling at the incoming students, felt contentedly.

He had done everything in his might to ensure that Voldemort couldn't get his hands on the stone. There simply was no way he could enter the school grounds, not with the wards and the additional protection he and Nicolas had set up after deciding (well, Dumbledore convincing Flamel) where to put the stone. And no one of the Death Eaters would dare to raid the school, not with all the children being there. Sure, they were follower's of Lord Voldemort, but not even they could possibly want to slaughter a whole generation of witches and wizards, couldn't they?

And, of course, he looked forward to seeing young Harry again.
He wasn't exactly worried about the boy... he had been with his family, after all, and while he knew that Petunia didn't like magic very much, surely she had treated him well enough. He had never expected her to actually love Harry just as she loved her own son... but she had taken him in and cared for him, and this meant that she must at least tolerate the boy.

Albus Dumbledore wasn't really happy with Harry having to live with people like the Dursley's, but it wasn't as if there had been a choice. While he was responsible for the well-being of Harry, the same was true for the well-being of the wizarding world as a whole. Harry simply must survive, there was no other option. And staying with his relatives had been the best prospect of him surviving at least until he was old enough to attend Hogwarts, until now...

That said, Dumbledore was somehow relieved that in just a few minutes he would see the boy for himself and could make sure he was ok. Perhaps he should make Severus give the boy a check-up, only to be sure that there was no ill-effect of the killing curse? The potion master was the most knowledgeable staff member as far as dark arts were concerned. He even surpassed Dumbledore himself, who, after his youthful carelessness, had done everything to avoid the dark arts altogether. Well, nearly altogether. He had done...research, after he had seen the cut on little Harry's forehead. He hadn't been sure what it meant, had hoped that perhaps it might just be an ordinary wound, but, after what he had found out about Tom and his attempts to make himself immortal, this wasn't a very likely option... And even if his worst fears about the possible meaning of the scar weren't confirmed, it couldn't hurt to make sure the boy was all right, couldn't it? After all, there might be certain... measures he would have to take if the scar was more than it appeared to be.

When Harry entered the Great Hall he was beyond terrified.

Not only was he likely to lose his very first friend in just a few minutes if he didn't manage to fight the troll in a manner that would secure him a place in Gryffindor, but also had the old witch - Professor McGonagall - looked at him with an expression that he could only describe as completely furious when she had come to get the first-years from the chamber they had waited in. And had had their first encounter with real, living (well, perhaps living wasn't the right word... being ) ghosts.

He didn't know what he had done to already enrage the teacher, but it didn't matter, did it? He had enraged her, no matter how, and he would have to bear the consequences. He just hoped she wouldn't lock him up right away. Perhaps she would send him back to the Dursley's?

Harry didn't know whether he should be worried about this prospect or not... on the one hand, he had made a friend and didn't want to lose him, and his Aunt wouldn't be delighted to have him back, too. Not to mention his Uncle... no, Harry didn't want to think about his reaction if he came back after only one day. But on the other hand... this place - and the people! - were simply crazy! Far more crazy than everything Harry had seen or experienced on the closed ward! Perhaps it would be better to leave this place as quickly as possible? Surely Dr Green wouldn't want him to stay at a place like this? But then, if all of this was real - and Harry didn't really believe there was any other option, since he might have heard this voice and continuously being hurt by an unknown force and sometimes even seen strange people, but he never, never had experienced something even remotely similar to all the stuff that had happened today! - then perhaps it wasn't him that was mentally ill but Dr Green that just didn't know enough about different lifestyles? But this meant... this meant that everything they - Dr Green, all the nurses and the other doctors, his relatives - had done to him had been pointless and unfair and wrong... no. It couldn't be.

Just when Harry had come to the conclusion that it would have been much easier just to stay in his cupboard, a dirty rag, lying on a stool in front of the line of first-years, started to sing. Sing! He had to keep himself from running. Apparently, though, nobody else suffered from the same discomfort Harry did, since once the rag had finished, the hall burst into applause.

The stern Professor told them to try on the hat - apparently the rag wasn't a rag after all - in order to be sorted, and Harry felt Ron, who was standing next to him, sigh with relieve. No troll, then.

"Abbott, Hannah!" Professor McGonagall called, and a girl dashed forward, sat on the stool and Professor McGonagall placed the hat on her head. Or rather, over her head, since the hat was far to big. After only a few moments, the hat called - called! - "HUFFLEPUFF!", and Hannah ran to the cheering table on the right side of the Great Hall.

After a while, Harry, too bewildered to actually pay attention to his surroundings, became aware of someone -Ron- poking him in the ribs.

"It's your turn, mate!" Ron hissed. Numbly, Harry stepped forward. Professor McGonagall looked furious. Again. Apparently, he had been day-dreaming and hadn't heard her calling his name.

Sitting on the stool Harry flinched when the large, old hat slit over his eyes, down to his nose.

"Hm, where to put you...?" Harry heard someone saying. What was this? Who was talking? This wasn't the demon that normally kept talking in his head. It didn't sound like it at all, and additionally the demon had never spoken to Harry in a friendly manner.

"No fear, Mr Potter, it's just me... the hat" the voice added, sensing the boy's growing panic. Honestly, he couldn't understand why nowadays they had to frighten the children by not telling them beforehand how they would be sorted. It would make his job much more easier if he didn't have to soothe half of the children down before he was able to delve into their minds. However, this child was even worse than the average first-year. The hat sensed that the boy's panic didn't recede like it normally would after the child had been made aware of who was talking (and that the hat didn't have any intention of spilling out the its most-guarded secrets in front of the entire student body), but on the contrary, kept growing.

It was only a few seconds later that something happened that had never happened before, or at least not in living memory.

Harry started to scream, tore the hat from his head and ran towards the doors that led into the Entrance Hall, obviously trying to escape. For a moment, everyone, including the teachers, was too stunned to do anything. What was the matter with this child? What was the matter with Harry Potter ? Just when the boy reached the doors, a beam of light hit him, he stumbled and almost fell. At the staff-table, Severus Snape was putting his wand away.

"Eh, Mr Potter!" Professor McGonagall called, "what... no, eh, you can't just run, you have to wait until the Sorting Hat has made his decision!"

"NO!" Harry shouted, "I WON'T! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Mr Potter, this is not the time for arguing, you WILL be sorted! Now!" Professor Snape had risen from the staff-table and approached Harry, who was, apparently, still unable to move. "No matter how overindulgent your relatives might have treated you, you will behave, and you won't receive any special treatment just because you are the 'boy-who-lived'"! The last bit was said with a sneer.

"NO! NO! YOU CAN'T! LET ME GO! Harry kept screaming. He had long since stopped thinking clearly, the only thing that mattered to him now was to run, to get away.

But the potion master had other ideas. "Mr Potter," he spoke in a low, threatening whisper, while he grabbed the boy by his arm and pulled him towards the stool, where a flabbergasted Professor McGonagall was holding the hat in one and her wand in the other hand. "I won't have you act like your damned father. It doesn't matter whether you are famous or used to being treated like a prince, to me, you are just a pathetic little first year with a head much too big for my liking. So if you don't want to get detention before you have even been sorted, I suggest you behave and let the hat do its work! No argument!"

He positioned Harry, who was still unable to move on his own, on the stool and motioned the transfiguration-professor to put the hat back on his head. But even after she had done so, Snape didn't return to the staff-table but kept staying next to Harry, holding his wand loosely, but nevertheless ready to strike should the child decide to disobey in any way.

"Ah, child, it wasn't my intention to frighten you... no, don't panic again, just... no, just keep calm, nothing will happen, I just have to decide which House suits you best. It will only take a moment... yes, I think there isn't a question... oh no, what's this? Strange... very strange, I haven't seen anything like this before... oh, this is dark, very dark, yes, I'm afraid... But-"

"You are to put me in one of these houses?" Harry demanded.

"Eh, yes, if course, little one. I'm the Sorting Hat, didn't you listen to my song?! I have spent a whole year creating it, and I must say I'm rather proud of it, it was one of the best songs I have ever invented! You must see, it isn't very easy to think up new songs each year, not with all the requirements it has to meet! No, it's quite a lot of work, you know, I'm forbidden to be too explicit at what the founders wanted their pupils to be, but at the same time I have to cover every important aspect. And I'm most certainly not allowed to favour any house, so it's very difficult, you know, for me, being the hat of Godric. And then-" But the hat was interrupted again. Well, he might have rambled a bit, but it wasn't an easy life for a hat which had the ability to think and speak but could only use those skills once a year!

"You... you aren't in my head?"

"Of course not, what are you thinking, boy, I'm on your head! And now I really have to decide where to put you... oh no, this isn't good, no, not at all... I see, the muggles have invented a new means to fight magic? Or perhaps just the dark one? But no, it affects light and dark equally, yes... no accidental magic since you were five, hu? Yes, I think it's obvious, then... there isn't really much of a choice, Slytherin being the only house where children like you can possibly flourish..."

"SLYTHERIN?!" Harry called out (even later he wasn't sure whether he had called it out loud, however, nobody commented on it), again almost panicking, though for different reasons than a few minutes earlier, "but I can't go to Slytherin, all the evil people are in Slytherin, they have told me- no, please not Slytherin, I do everything, but please, I can't go to this house, everyone will hate me and Ron, Ron will never talk to me again - please, I know I'm a worthless freak but please don't put me in Slytherin! I keep working very hard to be good, I will, I promise, I won't hurt anyone or do anything freakish any more but don't put me with the slimy evil snakes please..." Harry was almost in tears.

"Hu? Who told you all this rubbish about Slytherin being evil? Complete codswallop! No, you will do well in Slytherin... - hm, you might not be a typical snake but they will help you to overcome the difficulties of your past... yes, I can't see any other house that could help you with... but wait. No. No, this can't be. No, stop, this is completely impossible! How could THIS possibly be in your head?! This is madness! No... what happened to you, child?"

The hat was at a loss. He had never seen anything similar. Two souls - well, one and a little piece of another one - in one body? Yes, the hat knew that some wizards experimented with magic that affected the soul... he knew it was possible to break a soul, either by accident or purposefully. Only powerful wizards could break their soul purposefully, though under certain circumstances the accidental splitting of a soul was quite common. Well, more common than the purposeful splitting of it at least. Oh yes, the hat had seen its fair share of such splintered souls... especially during the time of the great inquisition. There had been so many children that had escaped these muggle-brutes only by an inch of their life.. children who had already gone to the stake, who had been rescued by their parents - or any witch or wizard - while the stake was already burning... some children had been more lucky, had been rescued after only a little bit of torture that usually had preceded the burning. The hat supposed there were many wizarding children he had never gotten to know in the first place, because there wasn't anyone who had been there in time... A terrible time it hat been, yes... so many life lost... adult witches and wizards might have been able to defend themselves, at least most of the time, but children who had yet to learn magic? Sure, some of them got away on their own, thanks to their accidental magic, but many... well, the hat had seen things he dearly wished to forget.

'But back to the child at hand', it admonished himself. It could dwell on old times later. Yes, on the one hand, this child was similar to those children centuries ago, but on the other hand, it was totally different. This wasn't a split soul. These two pieces... they didn't belong together! And he could clearly see that the soul of the child was whole! Damaged, maybe, due to his rough childhood and all this strange, disgusting stuff the child's head was flooded with... honestly, what was this stuff? And how had it managed to come into the child's head? This was more revolting than the damage inflicted by an Imperius! -, yes, the soul was clearly disturbed, but not broken! So how had a foreign piece of a soul entered the child's mind? And apparently stayed there for a very long time?

The head wasn't stupid. He knew about Horcruxes. But it had never known that a living being could become one. It was considered impossible! It also knew to whom that piece of a soul belonged to. As if it could ever forget the young orphaned boy- so much like this one, incidentally (or not?). There had only been one option to which house Tom Riddle could go, and the hat hasn't hesitated to sort him accordingly. But during the last twenty, thirty years it had often asked himself whether this had been a wise decision. Whether it might have been better, this one time, to ignore everything the founders had asked it to do and just to put him into a house where he could do as few damage as possible. Maybe it was only the close proximity to the current headmaster that let it think so, this old coot with all his greater good, but who knows...

Well, it couldn't change the past. But it would most certainly not make the same mistake twice. There was no way it what sort Tom Riddle - even if it where only a tiny part of him - into Slytherin again. It might be at the expense of the boy he had been supposed to sort originally, but no, he couldn't do this. The risk would be far too big. But perhaps it could pass a few hints to the headmaster? Something had to be done about this boy. Not only because of the Horcrux but also because of all this goo and sludge in the boy's head. It would prevent him from doing magic, after all, it had already prevented him from doing magic accidentally!

The hat became aware of the mounting worry and restlessness of the child on whose head it was currently positioned, and a few moments later it noticed that the Great Hall, instead of being completely silent like it normally was when the hat did its job, was humming with the whispers of hundreds of students. Well yes, it had taken some time to sort this out, but it wasn't everyday you had to sort such a confusing head, the hat thought grumpily.

"OK, child, not Slytherin then... Ravenclaw? I don't know, I don't know... you certainly are eager to learn... but brave, too, yes... hm, well, any preferences...?"

"Uh, I like Gryffindor. Like my parents. And Ron and Hagrid say that Gryffindor is good. Ron thinks he'll go to Gryffindor, and I really would like to stay with him... he's my very first friend - well, apart from Hedwig, my owl- , you know, I never had friends before..."

"Hm, all right... I would have said Hufflepuff, but well, perhaps Gryffindor is indeed the best option for you... good luck, child you'll need it, oh yes... good luck - GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry felt the hat being lifted and blinked at the sudden light. He hadn't realized how bright thousands of candles could be. Giving the stern professors next to him an uncertain look, Harry headed to the cheering table. He didn't register the curious looks he got from many students and every teacher.

His sorting had been the longest during the last ten years or so, and this despite everyone being sure the boy-who-lived would be a Gryffindor. Perhaps the hat was getting old? It couldn't have possibly considered sorting the conqueror of you-know-who himself anywhere else!

After the Potter-brat had seated himself - predictably - on the Gryffindor-table, Snape returned to his own seat at the staff-table, deep in thoughts. He wasn't worried, oh no, he would never worry about a Potter, but he couldn't help feeling somehow curious about the brats behaviour... and about the abnormal length of his sorting. True, Potter had ended up in Gryffindor, just as he had known all along he would, but unlike the students and the other teachers (except McGonagall, of course), Snape had been able to hear the muttering of the child... at one point, he had almost been sure Potter said something about "not being Slytherin". But this couldn't be. No sane person would ever suggest that a Potter belonged to Slytherin! Well, of course, the hat could hardly be called a person, and whether it was sane or not was quite doubtful, too, but nevertheless... well, maybe he had just misunderstood the boy? It had only been a whisper, after all.

But couldn't this be the reason the boy had decided to run? Of course, every Potter considered himself too good to be a slimy snake, and if the hat had suggested putting him in this very house...?
But then, why had the brat fought as if he was being led to a torture chamber (rather than a hat who would never send a child to a house it truly didn't want to go, as Severus knew for sure) when he had made him go back to the stool and Minerva? Only for attention? But the boy had been well and truly terrified... no eleven year old could deceive Severus Snape! It didn't make sense...

Determined not to think more than necessary about a Potter, and pondering about asking Minerva whether she had understood what the boy had muttered, Severus turned his attention to the headmaster, who just had exclaimed the rubbish that normally preceded the start-of-term feast. Dumbeldore didn't looked worried. He had thought that the old wizard might be somewhat disturbed about his golden boy not being sorted to Gryffindor right away, but if he was, he didn't let it show. 'Devious old coot', Severus thought. Dumbledore was the only one who was a match for him as far as hiding his true feelings was concerned.

His musings were interrupted by the appearance of all kind of fancy meals. When he helped himself to some roast beef and gravy, his eyes accidentally fell on a certain new Gryffindor. The boy stared at the food as if he had never seen a decent meal before. Trying to shake of the uneasy feeling that increased with every thought about Potter, Severus turned his attention to the babbling Quirrell next to him.

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On the Gryffindor-table, Harry had discovered his liking for mint humbugs. He only ate some meat and potatoes when Ron, who had been sorted into Gryffindor almost as quickly as the blond snake had ended up in Slytherin, asked him whether he didn't like "real" food. Harry had mumbled something about not having had many sweets before, and another red-head, probably one of Ron's many brothers, had enlightened him that there would be plenty of pudding, too.
He thought it was pretty neat to be a Gryffindor. Not only had he managed to go to the same house as his very first friend, but all the other people (and the ghost) sitting at the table seemed to be rather nice, too. So far, no one had made fun of Harry, only a few curious glances had been directed at him when he had stared at the knife next to his plate with a mixture of awe and horror for at least two minutes.

On the closed ward, they had never gotten knives, and his Aunt had stopped giving him one, too, after the demon had tried to stab Harry's hand. He had been very grateful that his Aunt made sure the demon wouldn't hurt him, and now he wondered whether the thing would try it again, now that it had a knife at his disposal again. He hoped it wouldn't. Harry was sure he would lose his friend if the demon did it. Nobody liked a freak, after all.