Evangeline groaned. She knew she had tranced - there was no other explanation for it. Her head was pounding and she knew her head had hit the floor when she fell. She seen the figure she pushed out of Professor Quirrel’s body and although she had never seen him before, she knew it was him. Voldemort. She had banished him, of course, but without Hell’s permission, she couldn’t send him there where he belonged. Professor Quirrel was dead. She heard voices around her and she snapped up and opened her eyes. Everyone was surrounding her. She was relieved to see that she was still in the room, which means that it couldn’t have been long since she passed out. She made out Harry, and asked weakly “How much time has it been?” “Not long, only a few minutes” he said and Evangeline let out a breath. She noticed everyone staring at her and she blushed. She stood up shakily and steadied herself against the wall. Noticing that everyone was still watching her, she cleared her throat and said loudly to the room “Can we just forget that this happened?” “Not likely, Miss Millenia, but we should get going for the Sorting Ceremony” said someone who she recognised as Dumbledore. Everyone whispered about her, but she walked firmly with Ron, Harry, Neville and Hermione to the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony.
Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Hermione whisper, "Its bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."
It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens. Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house. Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing -- noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth -- and the hat 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 Hufflepuffis are true
