LANCASTER / H. POTTER

FIVE

Three loud knocks resounded off the huge, oak, front door. It swung open at once revealing a tall witch with a very stern face.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said the groundskeeper Copeland heard Hermione call Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid."

She pulled the door open and got straight to business.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting," Professor McGonagall said, surely referring to Neville's red puffy eyes and Ron's dirt smudged nose. She saw Harry flatten his hair from the corner of her eye.

The room broke into a plethora of madness, cries, squeaks and murmurs. So much for "waiting quietly". After hearing something about taking a painful test, Copeland's heart gave a terrible jolt. She knew a fair amount about magic for a first year, not as much as Hermione, and certainly not enough to take a test in front of the whole, entire school!

"Oh no, oh no, oh my god," She hissed under her breath as Professor McGonagall led them into the Great Hall, packed with pointy hatted students eager to greet the first years.

"Now, form a line," The Professor ordered, sounding slightly impatient.

Copeland had noticed the sky open onto the hall, the starts burning with a brilliance she could only imagine in her head. From somewhere in the crowd, she heard Hermione whisper to no one in particular; "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

Copeland rolled her eyes so far in the back of her head she almost missed the Professor pull out a rickety stool and an even more rickety looking hat. It was dirty and patched. Copeland grimaced. Would she have to put that on her head?

After a few seconds of complete silence, the hat twitched to life. A rip at the brim of the hat opened wide to act like a mouth. Then it began to sing.

"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks use any means
To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into manic applause, and Copeland giggled as the hat bowed to the four tables. Professor McGonagall with a ghost of a smile on her face, and an infinitely long roll of parchment began to speak. Even more unnerving than all of those things, was the council of stony-faced wizards and witches gawking down at the first years from pedestals. She caught Dumbledore's eye, and he winked conspiratorily in her direction.