Emma Potter

93: The Triwizard Tournament

 The Sorting of the new students into Houses took place at thestart of every school year.

"Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Zoe, who was looking up at the teachers. 

We had never yet had a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacherwho had lasted more than three terms. My favorite by far had been Professor Lupin, who had resigned last year. I looked upand down the staff table. There was definitely no new face there. 

"Maybe they couldn't get anyone!" said Nicholas, lookinganxious. 

I scanned the table more carefully. Tiny little ProfessorFlitwick, the Charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushionsbeside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat wasaskew over her flyaway gray hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra's otherside was the sallow-faced, hook-nosed, greasy-haired Potions master, Snape —Head of my house and my least favorite person at Hogwarts. Harry's hatred was more, the absolute Harry'sloathing of Snape was matched only by Snape's hatred of him, a hatred which had, if possible, intensified last year, when Harry and I hadhelped Sirius escape right under Snape's overlarge nose — Snapeand Sirius had been enemies since their own school days.On Snape's other side was an empty seat, which I guessedwas Professor McGonagall's. Next to it, and in the very center ofthe table, sat Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, his sweepingsilver hair and beard shining in the candlelight, his magnificentdeep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons. Thetips of Dumbledore's long, thin fingers were together and he wasresting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through hishalf-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. I glanced upat the ceiling too. It was enchanted to look like the sky outside, and I had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds wereswirling across it, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, afork of lightning flashed across it. 

"Oh hurry up," Zoe moaned, beside me, "I could eat ahippogriff."

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than the doors ofthe Great Hall opened and silence fell. Professor McGonagall wasleading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall. If Me,Draco, Zoe, and Nicholas were wet, it was nothing to how these firstyears looked. 

They appeared to have swum across the lake ratherthan sailed. All of them were shivering with a combination of coldand nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in aline facing the rest of the school — all of them except the smallestof the lot, a boy with mousy hair, who was wrapped in what I recognized as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. The coat was so big forhim that it looked as though he were draped in a furry black circustent. His small face protruded from over the collar, looking almostpainfully excited

"What happened to him?" whispered Zoe.

Professor McGonagall now placed a three-legged stool on theground before the first years and, on top of it, an extremely old,dirty, patched wizard's hat. The first years stared at it. So did everyone else. For a moment, there was silence. Then a long tear near thebrim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke into song: 

A thousand years or more ago, 

When I was newly sewn, 

There lived four wizards of renown, 

Whose names are still well known: 

Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor, 

Fair Ravenclaw, from glen, 

Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,

Shrewd Slytherin, from fen. 

They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,