War Wounds

“Did we really just get slagged off by a hat?” asked Alfred Cattermole, as the Gryffindors made their way up the shifting, labyrinthine stairs towards their common room.

“Reckon we did,” said Albus Alderton.

“It's been saying pretty much the same thing every year I've been here,” said a fourth-year ahead of them. “Stop bickering, you should all be friends, etcetera, etcetera. But it's never gone off on us like that before!”

“Hey Nick, has the Sorting Hat completely lost its marbles?” shouted another older student, to the ghost who was gliding slowly up the staircase, passing through the line of Gryffindor students. Teddy turned around to see the famous Gryffindor house ghost, Nearly Headless Nick. Chloe let out a little squeak and rapidly moved to his other side, opposite where the ghost was about to pass them by.

“To the extent that a hat might be said to possess marbles,” replied the ghost gravely, “I really cannot say. However, I will say that relations between the houses are the worst I have ever seen them, and I have been here for over five hundred years!”

“Can't be worse than during the war,” said Alfred.

“During the war,” said Nick, “all the houses were joined by mutual suffering and separated by mutual fear, but students were roughly divided into those who supported the regime and those who did not.”

“No need to guess who were the former and who were the latter,” snorted Albus.

The ghost looked at the boy sadly. “I am afraid, if you are assuming that every Gryffindor acted heroically during those dark times, you would be mistaken,” he sighed. “It is true: many, many Gryffindors acquitted themselves with honor and courage, before, during and after the battle that finally brought the Dark Lord's reign to an end. But neither honor nor villainy resides solely in any one house.”

Chloe's wide-eyed attention was alternating between the ghost and the portraits around them that waved and called out greetings. She kept shying away from the banisters and landings every time they moved. The girl was clearly having difficulty adjusting to this environment, and Teddy wondered if Harry had been this overwhelmed when he first came to Hogwarts.

“You'll get used to all this,” he whispered to her.

She looked doubtful, but then smiled. He felt his stomach do a little flip-flop.

They reached a portrait of fat, cheerful woman in a pink dress. “Hello, dears!” she said, bringing her fingers to her mouth to blow kisses at the students. “Password, please?”

“Naomh Pádraig,” said the Gryffindor Prefect, a gangly sixth-year named Danny Boyle. The fat lady smiled, and her portrait frame swung wide, revealing the Gryffindor common room beyond.

“First-years, best get settled into your rooms,” said Boyle. “Girls' dorms are downstairs, boys' upstairs.”

“Danny, what the Sorting Hat said, about sending people where they don't belong,” asked another boy. “Can it really do that? Put someone in the wrong house?” Teddy suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable as the older Gryffindors looked at the newly-sorted first-years.

“I dunno,” said Boyle. “But look, we're all Gryffindors until someone says different, understand? I figure the Headmistress and the teachers will sort this out... err, so to speak, and then they'll let us know.”

Everyone nodded. Chloe turned to Teddy.

“Thank you, Teddy,” she said, in that breathy voice that did funny things to his insides. “You've been so much help! I'll see you tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Yeah, definitely.” And then she gave him a kiss on the cheek, which made him turn bright scarlet, and he ran a hand over the top of his head, hoping his hair wasn't turning as red as his face.

Next to him, an older girl was hugging Alfred, but this seemed to embarrass the other boy in a different way. “Aww, Ellie, knock it off!”

“Oh, don't be such a baby, Alfred! We've got to stick together.” She stepped back from him, beaming. “I'm so happy you got sorted into Gryffindor!”

He nodded. “Me too,” he said, but Teddy thought he detected a note of uncertainty. “Maisie's probably disappointed, though.”

“No, she's not,” Ellie replied. “As long as you wound up with one of us.”

Teddy proceeded upstairs, until he found his room, a five-bed dorm room which, unhappily, he discovered he was sharing with Albus Alderton, as well as Alfred Cattermole, a lanky black boy with his head shaved almost bare, and an eager-looking freckle-faced redhead who was nearly as diminutive as Violet.

“Colin Hayes,” the fourth boy said, holding out his hand, and the redhead said, “Edan Burns.”

“Teddy Lupin,” Teddy replied, shaking Colin's hand, and then Edan's.

Albus and Alfred made their introductions, and then the five boys stood in a circle, until the silence became awkward.

“I think maybe you and me got off on the wrong foot,” said Albus at last, to Teddy. “I didn't know you were a Gryffindor too.” He held out his hand.

Teddy hesitated, then took the offered hand. “Well, neither of us were Gryffindors, yet,” he pointed out. “But, you'd better know, my grandmother was a Slytherin. And she wasn't on Voldemort's side, either!” The other boys flinched a little, but Harry had insisted that Teddy not grow up fearing to speak the name of the defeated Dark Lord. “Both my parents died fighting him, right here at the Battle of Hogwarts, and my grandmother raised me. So if you badmouth all Slytherins, you're badmouthing my grandmother,” he finished. He suddenly wondered where the courage to say that had come from, as he realized all four of the boys were staring at him, but he forced himself to stand proudly, though his heart was beating wildly in his chest.

Albus studied him a moment, and then nodded slowly, releasing his grip. “Fair enough,” he said. “But you'd better know, my father got sent to Azkaban during... You-Know-Who's reign, for being a half-blood. He never really recovered from that. And it was Slytherins who were keen to sort out all the 'Mudbloods' from 'real wizards.' So maybe your grandmother is all right, but don't expect me to say nice things about Slytherins.”

“My family had to flee the country, because of the Muggle-born Registration Commission,” agreed Alfred. “Even after... You-Know-Who died, my parents were afraid to come back, at first.”

“Yeah, those were bad times, from everything I hear,” said Colin. “But look, we're all good, right?” He looked around at his four roommates, and then grinned at Teddy. “And anyway, I'd rather hear about what's up with you and Chloe!”

Teddy blushed furiously, and as much as he wouldn't have thought that possible, suddenly wished they could go back to talking about the war.

“The Sorting Hat can't do that, can it?”

The Ravenclaw students were abuzz with the startling implications of the Sorting Hat's song. Kai was now walking with Connor McCormack and Gilbert Zirkle. All of them were tromping up a spiral staircase from the fifth floor, listening to the older Ravenclaws debate the matter.

“Well, evidently it can,” replied a tall girl with curly brown hair.

“Maybe it just said it did, to get us thinking!” countered the first speaker, a fifth-year boy named Saul Rambleston. “I mean, maybe it wants us to really think about our house and what it means to be a Ravenclaw. Or, you know, one of the others,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “It didn't actually say it put anyone in the wrong house, just that some of us might not really 'belong.' Which means,” he concluded, looking at Kai and the other first-years, “it thinks some of you aren't quite as Ravenclaw as you should be.”

“And I suppose you all arrived here just overflowing with Ravenclaw-ness, right?” Kai retorted, annoyed. He thought the older boy was awfully pompous.

“There've been some standards slipping,” Saul said, a bit haughtily. “What with all the turmoil and disruption caused by the war and the aftermath. Not everyone has been as dedicated to preserving our traditions as they ought to be.”

“What traditions are those? Reading books? Studying? Being pretentious swots?” Connor and Gilbert weren't the only ones who looked surprised at Kai's outspokenness. “I mean, they're just school houses, for Merlin's sake! It's not like just because you're a Ravenclaw, that's all anyone needs to know about you! You don't know anything about any of us!” Kai spread his arms, indicating all his fellow first-years in a sweeping gesture. They did not all look happy about being included in his argument.

The older boy scowled at him. “I know you're a mouthy little firstie,” he said.

“And we also know, maybe some of you don't really belong in Ravenclaw,” said another boy, with a rather unpleasant smile. “Let's find out.” And he suddenly grabbed Kai, and pushed him forward. “Why don't you do the honors, firstie?”

Kai found himself standing before the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower, a handleless door with only a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle. He knew how this worked, but despite all the practice he'd been given by Cho, having to do it for the first time with his entire house looking on was not something he was prepared for. He blinked and took off his glasses to wipe them quickly against his robe. He heard some of the kids behind him snickering at the delay. He thrust the glasses back onto his face, and then, displaying confidence he didn't feel, reached out and clasped the knocker firmly, and banged it against the door.

“A student stands atop the highest mountain in the world,” said the eagle. “How can she go higher?”

Kai's first thought was 'Fly,' which would have been a reasonable answer for an eagle, but not so reasonable for a student. Thoughts of ladders and step stools went through his head, and then he considered 'Jump,' but he was pretty sure that would be an unsatisfactory answer. Likewise, he knew suggesting the student use a broom would not likely get him through the door. When the eagle posed a dilemma such as this, the solution was rarely meant to be a literal one, Cho had told him, and proposing magical cheats did not impress it.

He knew also that answers were supposed to be simple and you weren't meant to spend lots of time pondering them; after all, scores of students had to pass through the door multiple times per day!

Simple, not literal, what's higher than a mountain, how does a student go higher? he thought frantically. He could hear the first muffled laugh behind him. If he didn't think of something quickly, they'd push him aside and have someone else answer.

The manner in which the eagle had put the question to him reminded Kai a bit of a Zen kōan. Kai was not well versed either in Zen or in kōans, but he knew the point of them wasn't to produce a “right” answer, but an answer that checked your progress towards enlightenment. And with that, an answer came to him.

“By reaching for enlightenment,” he said.

“Truly, you are on the right path,” said the eagle approvingly, and the door opened.

Kai's grin masked his relief, as first-years and older students alike applauded behind him.

He'd had enough pondering for one night, so although he was rather eager to see the Ravenclaw common room for the first time, he didn't linger very long there. Instead, he headed for his room, hoping to be the first to pick a bed.

One boy had beaten him there, though, a pale, skinny child even shorter than him whose name Kai couldn't remember from the Sorting Ceremony. He turned to face Kai with eyes that looked sad, even though his expression was perfectly normal.

“Hi,” said Kai. “Guess we're roommates. I'm Kai Chang.” He held out his hand.

“Rodney Bode,” replied the smaller boy, giving Kai a rather limp handshake.

“So, what do you think of what the Sorting Hat said?” asked Gilbert Zirkle, stepping into the room behind Kai before he and Rodney could say anything else to each other. Connor McCormack was behind him.

“I think we're going to be divided amongst ourselves, not just between houses, if we start questioning who's 'really' a Ravenclaw,” Kai said. “I don't imagine that's what the hat had in mind.”

Gilbert nodded. “That's good thinking.” He sighed and set his stuff on one of the beds. “The truth is, I was kind of surprised I was chosen for Ravenclaw,” he admitted, not looking at the other three boys, while Connor took the last remaining bed.

“Why? Don't figure you're smart enough?” Kai shrugged. “Look, even if the hat is ticked off at the whole school, I don't think it would set anyone up to fail.”

Gilbert nodded again. “That's good. It's just, I don't know much of anything about magic. Or the wizard world.”

Kai raised his eyebrows. “You're Muggle-born, then?”

Gilbert nodded.

“Ace!” Kai exclaimed. Gilbert looked startled. “I've never known any Muggle-borns,” Kai said. “You know all about automobiles and aeroplanes and televideos, then?”

“Umm, yeah,” Gilbert replied. “Television, you mean?”

“Right. Television!” Kai grinned.

“What's that?” asked Rodney.

“Like a Wizard Wireless, but with pictures, except what I've always wondered is how Muggles get people inside that box!” Kai looked at Gilbert. The other boy stared back at him, and then abruptly burst into laughter.

“Are you serious?” he asked.

Kai frowned. “Yeah...”

“You know what?” Connor said. “I think we should make the Sorting Hat sort us over and do it right!” The brawny red-head who'd been separated from his sister during the sorting hadn't spoken much during dinner, and not at all on the walk upstairs.

The other three boys turned to stare at him.

“What, you reckon you're in the wrong house?” Kai asked.

“Either that or my sister is,” Connor growled.

“Come on, mate, even twins don't always wind up in the same house, you know.”

Connor frowned. “Colleen and I shouldn't have been separated. We've always been there for each other. We look out for each other.” Rodney was watching Connor's hands. The larger boy's fingers were flexing open and closed, like he wanted to grab something.

“You still can,” Kai said reasonably. “I mean, even if you were in the same house you'd be in separate dorms, and you'll still probably have classes together and –”

“We shouldn't have been separated!” Connor yelled angrily. Kai leaned back, startled. Rodney flinched. Connor wiped at his face, and Kai realized with horror that the larger boy was on the verge of tears. He exchanged looks with Gilbert and Rodney; they were all embarrassed and uncomfortable.

“We... we... our parents were resisters, during You-Know-Who's reign,” said Connor. “Our mum was killed. Our dad.... he went to Azkaban, and while he was there, supposedly he tried to escape, and... and the Dementors...”

Kai and Rodney both turned very pale, while Gilbert merely looked confused.

“I'm sorry, mate,” Kai said quietly.

Connor sniffed, and looked away. “So anyway,” he went on hoarsely, “we were raised by our aunt and uncle, but they weren't really around much, so it's just been the two of us, mostly. We've never been separated before.”

Everyone was silent for a long time. Then Gilbert cleared his throat.

“I'm... I'm sorry,” he said. “But I keep hearing people talk about the war, and a Dark Lord everyone keeps calling You-Know-Who, and apparently Slytherins were the bad guys, and I really don't know anything about any of this. Can someone please explain it to me?” he pleaded.

Kai looked at Rodney, and then at Connor. Both of the other boys were looking at him, as if expecting him to do the talking. Kai sighed.

“It's actually a pretty long story,” he said. “We'll be up all night if I try to tell it to you all at once. But, well...” He gave Connor a sympathetic look. “The war ended right around the time most of us were born, and I figure there are hardly any wizarding families who didn't lose people in it.” Connor looked down. “It's not really true that the Slytherins were the bad guys, though. I mean, most of the Slytherins were on the wrong side, and most of the folks on the wrong side were Slytherins, but it's not quite the same thing.” Normally, Kai probably wouldn't have tried to be so fair, but he was thinking uncomfortably about Violet – and also wondering which side her family had been on.

“Bollocks!” said Connor. “All the Death Eaters were Slytherins! All the people in the Ministry who helped You-Know-Who take over were Slytherins!”

“That's not true,” said Rodney, very quietly.

“What are you talking about?” Connor demanded, rounding on him angrily. Kai and Gilbert both looked alarmed – Connor was obviously worked into a state, and he was almost twice Rodney's size. Kai was smaller as well, and while Gilbert was about as tall as Connor, he wasn't nearly as broad.

But Rodney just sat on his bed, not looking up at anyone.

“My father was a Ravenclaw,” he said.

Connor stared for a moment, and then his fingers unclenched, and the breath went out of him, very slowly.

“He's in Azkaban now,” Rodney said, still looking at the floor. “My mother and I... we don't talk about him, we don't write, we don't visit.” And he looked up, with his sad eyes. “I know it's not the same, but I figure he's as good as dead to us. Does that count as losing someone?”

The Hufflepuff Prefect in charge was a chubby sixth-year with short, bristly blond hair named Dennis Grumman. He led the first-years down the staircase from the Entrance Hall to a painting that marked the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. The older Hufflepuffs followed after them; they'd all been very friendly, but Dewey could hear them whispering as they studied the firsties.

The common room was full of large, over-stuffed black and yellow armchairs. They looked extremely comfortable, which made Dewey realize he was very tired, but Dennis turned as the rest of the Hufflepuffs filed in, and seemed intent on addressing the entire house. No one walked off through the tunnels Dewey could see leading into the dormitories. Instead they all lined up against the walls of the common room, with Dewey and the other first-years in the center.

“Welcome to Hufflepuff!” exclaimed a fat ghost in monk's robes, drifting through a wall. A couple of firsties jumped; Dewey supposed they didn't recognize the Fat Friar yet. Or perhaps they weren't used to ghosts yet; he thought a couple of them might be Muggle-borns.

“You're in the best house in Hogwarts!” said the monk cheerfully, and then leaned forward as if to share a secret, and whispered loudly “But don't tell the other houses that – we don't want to make them feel bad!” He winked at the first-years, and Dewey found himself smiling in spite of himself.

“Thank you, Friar,” said Dennis, looking a little impatient. He waited for the ghost to pass through the ranks of Hufflepuffs and out of the room before he spoke again.

“Listen,” he said. “No matter what the Sorting Hat says, as far as I'm concerned, anyone who wants to be in Hufflepuff belongs here! So let's just get this out in the open. Anyone have a problem with that?”

“But what if someone doesn't want to be here?” asked a boy who was older than Dewey but half a head shorter.

“Jeez, Frank, why're you always with the what-ifs?” asked Dennis. “Well, how about it? Is there anyone who doesn't want to be here?” He scanned the first-years, almost accusingly. Dewey glanced sideways at Sung-Hee Moon, who looked nervous but didn't say anything.

“Well then,” said Dennis.

“But the Headmistress and House Heads are going to talk to the hat, right? I mean, it can't just send people to houses they don't belong to, or refuse to stop sorting!” This was shouted from in the back.

“I don't know, jeez!” Dennis exclaimed. “That's why they said for us to wait and see!”

“Well, it's nice to say that anyone who wants to be here is welcome,” spoke up an older girl, with her arms folded across her chest. She was looking at the floor, rather than meeting the Prefect's eyes. “But if you've been reading the Daily Prophet lately, you know there's been a lot of talk at the Ministry of Education about what to do about the children of Death Eaters.”

A murmur went through the Hufflepuffs. Dennis frowned. “So?” he demanded.

“So,” said the girl, “they're worried about what'll happen if they all keep getting sorted into Slytherin. You know that house is a nest of snakes. Always has been, always will be!”

Many of the Hufflepuffs were nodding in agreement. Dennis just kept frowning. “What's that to do with us, Annabelle?” he asked.

She frowned back at him. “So, what if the Sorting Hat was made to sort certain children into other houses? To diffuse the poison, so to speak? And then sing a little song about how we'd all better get along or else?”

Dennis was staring at her with his mouth open and his eyes squinting in disbelief.

“That's the daftest thing I've ever heard!” he sputtered.

“I don't think it's so daft!” said a dark-haired girl in Prefect's robes standing next to Annabelle.

“So you're suggesting we've got children of Death Eaters in Hufflepuff?” he scoffed.

Dewey became uncomfortably aware that all the other kids were now staring at the first-years clustered together in the center of the room. Unconsciously, the firsties were all stepping closer together, while looking nervously at each other.

“Excuse me,” Dewey said, his voice trembling slightly as he raised his hand.

Dennis looked at him and nodded. “Yeah, you – what's your name again?”

“Dewey. Dewey Diggory.” Normally, Dewey hated it when people recognized his name, but as a murmur went through the group of Hufflepuffs, he realized it might be the only chance he'd have of being taken seriously now.

“First of all, if they were going to try to do that, shouldn't they have done it before, since most of us were born after the war ended?” he asked, indicating the group of first-years with him. “And second, even if someone's parents were Death Eaters, do you mean to hold that against them? No one can help who their parents were.”

Dennis nodded. “Good point! Good point! What do you want us to do, Annabelle, grill everyone about their parents? Where will that get us?”

“Snake-free!” snapped Annabelle, with an ugly expression.

“That doesn't sound like the Hufflepuff house where my brother was Prefect,” Dewey said quietly.

Silence fell over everyone. Annabelle bit her lip, and looked down.

“Right,” said Dennis at last, clearing his throat. “Well, like I said – no one's going to accuse anyone here of not being a true Hufflepuff! Until we hear different from the teachers, that's the end of it, clear? All right you firsties, grab your gear and get to bed!”

Gratefully, Dewey slung his bookbag over his shoulder, and allowed an older boy to lead him towards the tunnel that would bring him to his room. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the photographic portrait hanging on the common room wall directly above the tunnel.

It was his brother, smiling handsomely. There was a plaque under the photo that read:

Cedric Diggory, 1977-1995
Prefect
Quidditch Team Captain
Triwizard Champion
A True Hufflepuff

“We've got something in common,” said a soft voice next to Dewey. He tore his gaze from the wall, and found himself looking into the eyes of one of the other first-years, a blonde girl in pigtails who had been sorted into Hufflepuff before him during the ceremony. He couldn't recall her name, though.

“Sorry?” he said. “I'm afraid I don't remember – ?”

“Mercy Burbage,” she said. She looked up at the photo of Cedric. “I never met my aunt, either. You-Know-Who killed her, before I was born. She and mother were really close, and she says I look a lot like her. Sometimes she cries just looking at me.” Mercy's voice sounded wistful and sad.

Dewey nodded slowly. They did have quite a bit in common, he thought.

“I thought what you said was brilliant,” she said. “And really brave.”

“Thanks,” he replied.

“Well, we'd better get to bed. Good night, Dewey.”

“Good night, Mercy,” he said, as the girl headed down a tunnel in a different direction from the boys' rooms. And then he murmured softly, “Good night, Cedric.” Cedric smiled down at him, and Dewey continued on to his room.

“A'ight, ye lot!” sneered one of the Slytherin Prefects, a hulking, hideous boy named Hugh Truncher, who looked like there was a troll lurking somewhere in his family tree. “Yur lucky enow tae be sorted innoo Slyth'rin, but I dint care whit the hat telt ye, th'ain't Slyth'rns till way satisfied yur meant bae here! So ahll ye whalps lassen up while wur talking!”

They were in the Slytherin common room, down in the dungeons. The black water of the lake was visible through a window in the ceiling, but it was Hugh on whom most everyone's eyes were fixed now. The first-years had all been made to line up before the two Prefects, while the older Slytherins stood behind them like a jury. Most of the new Slytherins were quaking; in the green glow of the room's lamps, Hugh looked particularly sinister, and the fact that they could barely understand him made them even more fearful that he might address one of them.

Violet, however, was watching the other Prefect, a tall, dark-skinned girl with hawk-like features. While Hugh blustered, she remained silent, studying each firstie's reaction. Violet was certain that she was taking note of those who were most easily intimidated, and those who weren't.

When the bigger boy stopped talking, the other Prefect said, “My name is Ophilia Karait. I would welcome you all to Slytherin House, but it remains to be seen how many of you will stay here.” Hugh sneered, but Ophilia's expression remained perfectly cool. “Until we hear differently, however, we will assume that all of you will find your home here, so I'll explain a few things to you.”

Her eyes swept across the row of quivering youngsters.

“First, many of us have relatives who made... unfortunate choices during the war. We in Slytherin do not dwell on the past. The role one's family may have played in the war is not relevant to your standing here at Hogwarts, or in Slytherin. Your success will be measured by the contributions you – and your family – make to the present and the future.”

“Second, whatever you may have heard to the contrary, the practice of Dark Arts is neither encouraged nor permitted at Slytherin House. Death Eater symbols and regalia are absolutely forbidden. Anyone who thinks it's clever to invoke the Dark Lord's name, or draw Dark Marks on your arm,” she said, her eyes gleaming, “will be turned in to the Headmistress, if Professor Slughorn catches you, and she takes a very dim view of that sort of thing.”

Then she stepped forward, until she was almost directly in front of Violet, and staring down at the first-years with a gaze that was suddenly much more intimidating than Hugh's.

“If I catch you, on the other hand,” she said, her voice almost a hiss, “if you do anything to make us look bad... then you will rue the day you ever set foot in Slytherin House!”

She spun about, and very calmly walked back over to stand next to Hugh, before turning around again. The short cape she wore gave a dramatic flourish to the motion. “The Ministry of Education watches Slytherin House particularly closely,” she went on, “due to certain unfortunate and highly exaggerated associations. We are under constant scrutiny, which means it falls on each and every one of you to remain above reproach. We Slytherins must do twice as much to get half the credit. We must be better, smarter, and stronger than everyone else.” She smiled. “Fortunately, that is not difficult.”

The older Slytherins laughed, cheered, and applauded at this. One of the first-year boys began clapping eagerly also, until Hugh and Ophilia both stared at him, and he dropped his hands quickly back to his sides.

“A'ight then, hid's time tae sort ye innoo rooms aught whid Sal'zar's spirit tinks aught yew!” said Hugh. The first-years were trying very hard to look as if they understood what he was saying. He walked over to a cabinet sitting beneath a portrait of Salazar Slytherin and opened it, retrieving a spherical silver sculpture of some sort, and a black velvet bag. He brought them back and set the sculpture on the largest table in the room. Violet saw that it consisted of a large number of snakes, all intertwined and coiled together into one large ball. It was quite detailed and ornate. Hugh then emptied the bag onto the table next to the sculpture, spilling a handful of flat semi-precious gemstones of varying colors.

“You are all familiar with the Sorting Ceremony,” Ophilia said. “What you are about to undergo is Slytherin's Choice.” She waved her wand over the snake sculpture, and intoned: “May Salazar Slytherin recognize those of the purest and most puissant blood, and those whose blood runs thin.”

The sculpture came alive. The snakes began writhing and twisting about, without allowing the sphere to collapse. Now and then one of them would thrust a head out of the slithering mass and hiss.

Ophilia scooped up the gems in one hand, and held them out so the first-years could see them.

“Each gem matches a gem set in the doorframe above one of our four-bed suites,” said the Prefect. “You'll notice they also come in sets of four. As first-years, you are required to share a room with three other students. Beginning in your third year, you will have the option of moving into a two-bed suite, if your standing in this house merits such a privilege, and, of course, if your parents can pay for it.” She smiled. “There are a very limited number of private bedrooms, which you may apply for beginning in your fifth year. For now, however...” And she pushed the hand holding the gems into the mass of snakes, which parted for her, and then withdrew it, empty.

“Ahll each yew gang fernent yin Slyth'rn snakes an pud yur peedie naves i'tae,” said Hugh. “Ye take'a steen oot ginna snakes dint baet ye!” He grinned nastily.

“The stone you pull from the snakes,” said Ophilia, “will determine your room – and, of course, your roommates. It is said that this sculpture was enchanted by Salazar Slytherin himself. This is no random selection. The snakes are at least as wise in their sorting as that hat.” She sneered. “And they can also sense weakness and other... flaws.” Her lips curled into a cruel smile. “I understand it's been several years since they actually bit someone, but after tonight's Sorting Ceremony.... well, we'll see.”

“Ye furst!” barked Hugh, pointing at Geoffrey Montague, who jumped, and then, taking a deep breath, stepped forward and thrust his hand into the snakes as Ophilia had done. A moment later he pulled a green stone out.

Ophilia held out the bag for Montague to drop it into. “Anyone who forgets what stone they drew,” Ophilia said, “will have to do this again. The snakes become much more agitated if they're called upon twice in one night.”

All of the older Slytherins were watching with grins and winks, elbowing one another and whispering as they looked at the most nervous firsties.

Violet was convinced this was nothing more than a hazing ritual. She couldn't imagine Salazar Slytherin would have created an object for such a silly purpose as roommate selection. When it was her turn, she walked up to the table quite calmly.

“Wahl, yur a peedie lass int ye?” said Hugh, arms folded, looking very amused. When she stood in front of him, he could barely see her without leaning over.

“If you say so,” she replied. Some of the other Slytherins snickered.

“Gang on ten,” he said, nodding at the snakes.

Violet pushed her hand through the snakes, which continued to twist and twine and hiss, but offered no resistance. She ignored the serpent that lunged a few inches towards her, baring its fangs, and grabbed one of the gems and pulled it out. Appropriately enough, it was a violet amethyst. She turned and held her hand out to drop it into the bag Ophilia held open, then returned to the line.

Almost all of the firsties looked nervous, but they all took a stone without too much difficulty, until a boy with sandy hair and the very ordinary name of Stephen White took one step towards the snakes, and then began to balk.

“Wid ye waitin fur?” demanded Hugh. “Whitna fleg whalp ir yew? Git yur peedie hand i'taer!”

“I... I...” Stephen gulped. “I'm not sure... I might not be a... a....” He was stammering and looking very pale. The other Slytherins were sneering and snickering.

Just do it, Violet thought. She silently willed him to step up and get it over with, but it was obvious that he was terrified of the snakes.

Ophilia's countenance darkened. Her voice was icy. “Put. Your. Hand. In.”

Stephen was struggling mightily to hold back tears. Violet remained expressionless, while wincing inwardly. She knew the worst place in the world to show weakness was in front of a bunch of Slytherins.

“Ansur whid yur telt!” Hugh snapped. At that moment, one of the snakes reared its head up and hissed at Stephen. Violet had observed that they did this periodically, and entirely randomly as far as she could tell.

“I can't!” he bawled.

“Aw fer Merlin's saek!” The huge Prefect reached out and snatched Stephen's wrist, and practically lifted him off the ground. The unfortunate boy turned white, made a high-pitched sound, and looked as if he might faint, as Hugh thrust his hand along with Stephen's into the mass of snakes.

“Quid yur beerin an wheeskin ye peedie skreck an fitch a steen!” bellowed Hugh.

It seemed to take forever. Finally Stephen made a mewling sound as Hugh hurled him away from the table. The smaller boy went skidding on his back across the floor as a red stone tumbled out of his hand. The other boys who'd drawn red stones looked disgusted.

Whether the Sorting Hat had missorted him or not, Violet thought, Stephen White was going to have a very hard time fitting in at Slytherin.