A Bright Star

The Willow

Harry glanced over his shoulder at the ancient tree, which was still flailing its branches threateningly. He was sore, bruised, and scratched. Pain was something he was used to, after all, he lived with the Dursely's. He could manage this. Flexing his wrist, not broken, Harry nodded, turning to stare at the castle grounds.

"Come on," he said wearily, "we'd better get up to the school ..."

It wasn't at all the triumphant arrival they had pictured. Thinking back, Harry knew it was a mistake. He had missed Cassiopeia's first train ride. He had wanted to be there, calming her nerves and supporting her. And he had missed it. He could only hope she and Ginny were able to entertain themselves.

Maybe Hermione would join them. Harry mentally scoffed dismissing the thought almost immediately, no, she already showed her dislike. Rolling his eyes, Harry resigned himself to a friendship that probably wouldn't make it through the school year. No one dismisses my baby sister. She was annoying anyways.

Still, cold and bruised, they seized the ends of their trunks and began dragging them up the grassy slope, towards the great oak doors.

"I think the feast's already started," Ron exclaimed, dropping his trunk at the foot of the front steps and crossing quietly to look through a brightly lit window. "Hey, Harry, come and look - it's the Sorting!"

Harry hurried over and, together, he and Ron peered in at the Great Hall. Innumerable candles were hovering in mid-air over four long crowded tables, making the golden plates and goblets sparkle.

Maybe, just maybe, they could sneak over to the Gryffindor table to watch the sorting. Looking over the group of first years, Harry tried to find his little sister to little avail.

Overhead, the bewitched ceiling which always mirrored the sky outside, sparkled with stars. Through the forest of pointed black Hogwarts hats, Harry saw a long line of scared-looking first-years filing into the Hall. Ginny was amongst them, easily visible because of her vivid Weasley hair. Harry knew Cassiopeia would be around her; eyes searching intensely, a smile spread across his face because he knew of only one person with a particularly raven-colored head that gleamed almost blue in the candlelight.

Cassiopeia.

Harry could only see a fraction of her body, but she seemed to be okay. Next to her were two blonde girls and Harry couldn't help the pride that swelled up in him. Already making friends. 

Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall, a bespectacled witch with her hair in a tight bun, was placing the famous Hogwarts Sorting Hat on a stool before the newcomers. Every year, this aged old hat, patched, frayed and dirty, sorted new students into the four Hogwarts houses (Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin).

Harry remembered putting it on, exactly one year ago, and waiting, petrified, for its decision as it muttered aloud in his ear. Thinking back, Harry was curious to know what the Hat had meant by "finding his true family" in Slytherin. Initially, Harry had been relieved to be sorted in Gryffindor – he hadn't expected to talk the Hat into not placing him in the House of Snakes. Now, however, Harry knew that Slytherin had an incredible bias against them – a bias he had fed into. Maybe I can still find my family. Warmth pooled in his chest, expanding and making Harry's tense form relax. He'd create his own family, unlike the Dursely's, and surround himself and Cassiopeia with that of which they had never experienced before.

A very small, mousy-haired boy had been called forward to place the hat on his head. Harry's eyes wandered past him to the place where Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster, sat watching the Sorting from the staff table, his long silver beard and half-moon glasses shining brightly in the candlelight, and, several seats along, Harry saw Gilderoy Lockhart, dressed in robes of aquamarine.