Chapter Five: Arrival at Hogwarts

Elthiona Greenglass seeking him out was entirely beyond Siwen’s expectations. He hurriedly waved his wand to help her stow her luggage on the rack, then invited her to sit down.

Elthiona naturally took the seat beside Siwen and greeted Abraxas with practiced familiarity.

Resigned, Siwen put away his “Magical Theory” and joined the two of them in conversation about the Sorting Hat and Hogwarts, realizing he’d have little chance to read during the train ride.

…

As a crimson glow crept across the horizon, the Hogwarts Express slowed to a stop at Hogsmeade Station, signaled by the piercing wail of the whistle.

"First-years, over here—" a booming voice rang out along the length of the train. "Leave your luggage where it is; you’ll find it in your dormitory after the Sorting."

The three of them disembarked and made their way toward the source of the voice.

Beside the train stood a strange, bearded man—or rather, he was only barely standing. His left arm was entirely missing, and his right leg ended halfway down, forcing him to lean heavily on a crutch and his remaining left leg, looking as though he might topple at any moment.

The odd man counted the students, and, seeing all were present, introduced himself: "My name is Sylvanus Kettleburn. I am Hogwarts’ gamekeeper and your professor for the Care of Magical Creatures, which you can take as an elective in your third year."

Abraxas leaned toward Siwen and muttered, "He doesn’t look the least bit reliable. I’m guessing I won’t be taking that class in third year."

Siwen replied, "That's still two years away. Let's see how things go. Who knows, this professor might turn out to be surprisingly dependable."

Standing at Siwen’s left, Elthiona shot them both a look. "You haven’t even started term yet and you’re already gossiping about a professor?"

"Silence!" Professor Kettleburn bellowed, his voice so loud Siwen thought he had no need for a Sonorus charm. "Now, follow me—don’t fall behind!"

He led them down a steep, narrow path flanked by dense forest.

Perhaps the hush of the woods cast a pall; the group of young witches and wizards followed Kettleburn in tense, absolute silence.

After a few minutes in the quiet, the professor announced, "Round this bend, and you’ll soon see Hogwarts."

Hearts pounding with excitement, they turned the corner. At the end of the narrow path, a vast black lake unfolded before them. Atop the slope on the far side, an imposing castle soared into the night.

The castle stood with its myriad turrets, its windows aglow, their light intermingling with the stars above. The last traces of sunset cast a streak of violet-red along its battlements, deepening the sense of ancient mystery.

The young witches and wizards were struck speechless. Only Professor Kettleburn, long accustomed to this sight, launched into an animated recounting of Hogwarts’ history.

"Over nine hundred years ago, the four great founders of Hogwarts—Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff—came here by boat, just as we will. That’s why every year the first-years cross the lake to the castle: to retrace the founders’ path..."

A little farther north, they reached a small landing, where the lake reflected the shimmering afterglow and a dozen or so little boats bobbed gently on the water.

At the shore, Professor Kettleburn checked the numbers and nodded in satisfaction.

"All the first-years are here. Listen to my instructions: first-year students must cross the Black Lake by boat to reach the castle. No more than four to a boat. Do not touch the water—there are many powerful magical creatures in the lake..."

After giving his warning, he let the students board freely.

Siwen and his friends climbed into one boat. Looking around, he saw that most boats were sparsely filled; some students sat alone, and there were empty places to spare. The tense times among Muggles and the unrest in the wizarding world had clearly affected Hogwarts’ admissions—this year’s intake was noticeably small.

Siwen also noticed the freckled girl Abraxas had driven away earlier sitting alone in a boat, looking forlorn. Professor Kettleburn seemed to notice her as well and, balancing on his crutch, hopped into her boat, giving her quite a fright.

"Off we go!" Professor Kettleburn, standing at the bow, swept his crutch with gusto, commanding all the boats to leave the shore.

The little boats spread out in a line, gliding of their own accord toward the castle, which loomed ever closer.

"Duck your heads!" Professor Kettleburn shouted as the first boats neared the cliff. Everyone stooped, and the boats carried them beneath a canopy of ivy draping the rock face, into a hidden, open entrance. Down a pitch-dark tunnel they went, as if passing under the castle itself, finally arriving at an underground dock.

Disembarking, they saw a long stone staircase leading up from a small hut toward the castle atop the cliff.

As they climbed, Abraxas puffed and grumbled endlessly about the castle being built too high, while Siwen strode on with ease, even helping the pitiful-looking Elthiona beside him.

The reputation of Kamar-Taj’s close-combat sorcerers was no idle boast. Even in this world, Siwen never neglected his physical training; this much exertion was nothing to him.

Most of the young witches and wizards had little energy left to admire the castle’s magnificence as it loomed ever nearer; only when they reached the great oak doors, dripping with sweat, did they breathe a collective sigh of relief.

Professor Kettleburn knocked three times. The door swung open to reveal a broad entrance courtyard.

The courtyard was a square, circled by a marble colonnade.

They followed the professor along the walkway, through the spacious court, stopping before a pair of great doors from which golden light and the murmur of many voices spilled.

Professor Kettleburn handed them over to an elderly witch standing at the end of the entrance hall, dressed in blue robes and a pointed hat. He then hobbled through the doors on his crutch.

The elderly witch, her hair already white, regarded the first-years kindly. "Welcome to Hogwarts. I am your Deputy Headmistress, Galadia Melith. Perhaps you noticed my name on your acceptance letters."

She smiled at the breathless group and gave her wand a wave, instantly relieving everyone’s exhaustion as if their fatigue had been swept away. Seeing them revived, she continued:

"The Opening Feast will begin soon. But first, you will be sorted into your houses. This ceremony is very important—your house will be your family at Hogwarts."

"There are four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each has a proud and ancient history and has nurtured many brilliant wizards. During your time at Hogwarts, good behavior will earn points for your house, while breaking rules will cost points. At the end of every year, the house with the most points will be awarded a shared honor—the House Cup. I hope you will all bring glory to your house."

As she spoke, she led the first-years into a nearby empty room. As they passed the great doors, Siwen could still hear the excited voices within.

"The Sorting will begin before the entire school in a few minutes. Now’s your chance to tidy yourselves up," Professor Melith said, glancing meaningfully at the sweat-drenched faces around her before stepping out.

"Did your family tell you how the Sorting works? My mother wouldn’t tell me a thing, just said it’d be a surprise," Siwen asked Abraxas and Elthiona.

Abraxas shook his head, grumbling, "I don’t know either. It’s infuriating! They all know and just won’t tell us."

"My mother was worried I’d fret, so she gave me a little hint," said Elthiona. "There’s a hat—ah!"

With a shriek, Elthiona grabbed Siwen’s arm, startling both him and Abraxas.

"What’s—what on earth!" Abraxas began, but before he could finish, a group of translucent ghosts floated through the walls into the room.

Siwen watched them with interest as they drifted casually past the first-years, some passing straight through their bodies. But if one looked closely, it was clear that quite a few ghosts were sneaking glances at the terrified reactions of the young witches and wizards, then grinning in satisfaction.

"You look so strange, Siwen!" Elthiona exclaimed, giving him a little slap. "Everyone else is either scared or curious when they see ghosts—how can you look like that?"

"Ahem… do I?" Siwen coughed awkwardly.

As the room descended into chaos, Professor Melith pushed open the door and entered.

She smiled at the ghosts, who "just happened" to be passing through on their way to the Great Hall, and then signaled the first-years to follow her.

"Come on, let’s go!" Siwen seized the chance to change the subject and tugged the still disgruntled Elthiona after their Deputy Headmistress.

Professor Melith led the group out, across the antechamber, and through the double doors into the Great Hall.

The older students were seated at four long tables, above which thousands of candles floated in midair, bathing the hall in warm light. The tables were set with gleaming golden plates and goblets. At the front of the hall, on a raised dais, stood another long table where the professors sat.

Professor Melith led the first-years onto the dais, where they stood in a line facing the rest of the school.

She then took from the end of the staff table a pointed wizard’s hat, battered and threadbare, patched and stained with age. She set it upon a four-legged stool at the front and center of the hall.

Suddenly, a seam near the brim split wide like a mouth, and in a raspy, tuneless voice, the hat began to sing, startling the young witches and wizards!

You might think I’m not much to see,
But never judge on what you view;
If you can find a finer hat than me,
I’ll gladly let you eat me, too.

You can polish your caps till they gleam,
And your silken hats till they shine,
But I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat supreme,
Outshining your headwear by design.

No thought in your mind can you hide,
From the watchful eyes of the Sorting Hat;
Put me on and you’ll find your guide,
I’ll tell you where your future’s at.

Perhaps you’ll dwell in Gryffindor,
Where courage is held in highest esteem;
Boldness and daring define their core,
And glory shines with a scarlet gleam.

Perhaps in Hufflepuff you’ll rest,
Where loyalty and friendship grow;
Patience and hard work pass the test,
And fearlessly through trials they go.

Or maybe your mind is sharp and bright,
So Ravenclaw may be your home;
Where wisdom and wit take flight,
And kindred spirits freely roam.

Or Slytherin may be your fate,
Where ambition and cunning reign;
Friendship here you can cultivate,
And greatness through effort gain.

So place me on—no need to fear,
There’s nothing to fret or to dread;
For I’m the magical hat who can peer
Right into the thoughts in your head!

…

Siwen was sure few first-years cared what the Sorting Hat sang; they were all far too nervous, eyes glued to the rows of upperclassmen.

The older students, for their part, watched the newcomers with great interest, as if seeing themselves at their own Sorting. The professors, too, seemed eager to enjoy the expressions on the faces of the young witches and wizards, frequently exchanging comments and laughter.