Chapter One: The First Journey
Author’s Notes: I’d like to thank slytherinphoenix116 for her awesome beta work as well as everyone else who looked at this thing before it was posted. I’m so grateful for feedback and I appreciate every bit I get!
Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling and I mean no infringement by borrowing her setting and some of her characters.
***
The only new things Moravius Krubb had for his first day of Hogwarts were his school robes, his wand, and his haircut.
He only had the robes because his mother worked at Madam Laropa’s in Diagon Alley. Mrs. Krubb had refused to buy second-hand school robes for her son upon his acceptance to Hogwarts, and had sacrificed the better part of a month’s salary so she could afford to buy some material from the shop in order to make them herself. (Luckily, Mr. Krubb had been able to get a job busing tables in the Leaky Cauldron during the summer before his son’s first year, so the family had enough to scrape by, even with the school expenses.)
His wand was new, of course, because those couldn’t be bought secondhand, and no one Moravius knew had an extra wand to give him. The young salesman at the shop had repeatedly assured Moravius and his mother that this was a special wand, and that it had chosen Moravius. Moravius wasn’t so sure about that, but he liked the feeling of the ten inches of birch in his hand and fancied he could feel the power coursing through the unicorn hair inside the thick wood.
The haircut was another matter. At least, Moravius thought, she
had the sense not to use magic. His mother was a witch, of course, but she
had not attended Hogwarts, nor had her husband. She knew quite a bit of magic,
but what she knew were mostly domestic spells she used around the house.
Fortunately for Moravius, she had used scissors and not her wand to cut his
hair. Unfortunately for Moravius, his hair was still far too short for his
liking, making his prominent ears very obvious, and he couldn’t figure out how
to properly grow it back.
Mrs. Krubb had left him at King’s Cross early, because she had to get to work. He had been waiting on Platform Nine and Three Quarters since seven o’clock in the morning and had watched the scarlet engine pull into the station. Not long after this, the conductor had come through the barrier and boarded the train. He had waved brightly to Moravius, and Moravius had waved back. He had watched a middle-aged witch with a trolley arrive and she had given Moravius a sugar quill, free of charge. That probably because she felt sorry for him, Moravius supposed.
Then, the conductor had helped Moravius get his trunk on the train and into a compartment (or rather the conductor had levitated the trunk into the train and onto a luggage rank; Moravius assumed the conductor didn’t think Moravius could have lifted it.)
When
In retrospect, he thought he probably should have realized that with his luck, neither would work.
He was standing with his left knee bent, so his stance did not appear unusual and, even though this was uncomfortable, Moravius hoped to have more success with this than he had had with his hair.
He had only been able to re-grow his fringe; now, it was too long and hanging in his eyes. The rest of his hair was just as short as it had been the night before when his mother had hacked it off, telling him he needed to look presentable. Truthfully, Moravius did not think he could look presentable without an awful lot of work.
Moravius was short and skinny, with a round face, big ears, thick black hair and dark, deep set eyes which made him look older than eleven. His right leg was considerably shorter than his left, which meant that he walked with a pronounced limp. Despite all this, Mrs. Krubb would never admit there was anything wrong with her only son. Mr. Krubb often called him an ugly little blighter, though Moravius took this as the closest his father got to a term of endearment.
Moravius had grown up in Knockturn Alley and lived with his parents in a flat there. Many of the children Moravius knew were Squibs and those who weren’t would not be going to Hogwarts anyway. Everyone told Moravius he was lucky to be able to go to Hogwarts—the assistance fund didn’t have enough money to pay the ways of all the magical children in Britain whose families couldn’t pay for it themselves.
Moravius’s mother had taken him to a Ministry evaluation in July, after he had gotten the letter, where they had described to a committee his family’s financial situation, their family tree, and Moravius’s first signs of magic. The committee had ruled him eligible and now he was going to Hogwarts. His mother often told him she couldn’t be prouder.
“Now you won’t end up like your father,” she had said on the platform, when they had parted. “But don’t tell ‘im I said that.”
Julius Krubb did odd jobs when he could get them, though he seemed unable to get them more often than not. Mrs. Krubb often said that this was because he was more interested in cards and firewhiskey than in finding a job. Mr. Krubb often said this was because his potential employers were prejudiced against him, though against what they were prejudiced, he never said, which often was the beginning of a very loud row.
During these rows, to Moravius’s annoyance, his mother often invoked his name.
“They en’t prejudiced against your son!” she would protest.
“Well, ‘oo’s prejudiced against the bloody shoeshine boy,” Mr. Krubb would then reply. (It was usually at this point that Moravius would yank the covers over his head and try to get some sleep, so he wasn’t sure how his mother responded to that.)
Suddenly, Moravius was shaken from his thoughts by a voice quite near him.
“Oi, you’re a first year, right?”
He jerked his head up, shaking his fringe out of his eyes. His knee was really beginning to get stiff, staying bent like this.
“Yeah, I am,” he said, looking at the other two boys who stood before him. Both were still wearing Muggle clothes and had apparently been about to move into the compartment Moravius was standing in front of. “Are you?”
The boys nodded. “I’m Ignotus Potter,” said a boy with black hair and glasses
“And I’m Guthrum Longbottom,” said a large boy with light brown hair.
“Moravius Krubb,” said Moravius.
“Are you Muggle-born?” asked Potter curiously. “I’ve never heard of anyone called Krubb before.”
“Oh,” said Moravius nervously. “M-me parents didn’ go to ’Ogwarts, but I’m pure-blood, you can be sure o’ that.”
The other boys exchanged glances.
“Where are you from?” Longbottom asked.
“Knockturn Alley.”
Longbottom looked confused, but Potter nudged him and whispered something in his ear. Moravius felt his face grow hot.
“Would you mind moving?” Longbottom asked, smiling. “We need to get into our compartment.”
“S-sure,” stammered Moravius, stumbling backwards. His left foot caught on the hem of his robes and he sat down hard.
Potter and Longbottom laughed, as did several of the older students nearby. Moravius struggled to his feet and groaned when he heard the hem of his robes tear.
“What’s wrong with your legs?” Potter asked, eyeing Moravius suspiciously.
“Nuffin’,” said Moravius, turning to walk away.
“Sure doesn’t look like ‘nuffin’’, Krubb,” said Potter, smirking. He turned to look at Longbottom. “He says he’s a pure-blood, Guth, but he sure looks crippled like a Muggle.”
Longbottom grinned, stepped over to Moravius and threw an arm around the smaller boy’s shoulders. Moravius felt his bad leg buckle under Longbottom’s weight. “What choo gonna do, Krubb? ‘Ex me?” he sneered.
“Gerrof me,” said Moravius in a low voice. “Ge’ jer filfy ‘and off me.”
Potter, Longbottom, and the others roared with laughter.
“Come on,” said Longbottom, “I was only joking. Say ‘ullo to our new friend M’ravius, everybody. Just be sure to talk slow, he migh’ not unnerstan’ joo.”
Without warning, Moravius pulled away from Longbottom with all his strength. He kicked his left leg at Longbottom’s knees and felt his foot connect with bone. Longbottom howled in pain and let go of Moravius’s shoulders.
Moravius took this opportunity to run for it. He tore down the corridor as fast as he could, stumbling over his torn hem. Unfortunately, Potter and Longbottom were quickly beginning to realize that chasing Moravius might be a fun way to pass the time.
Moravius frantically tried to remember where he and the conductor had stowed his trunk, but it felt like eons ago. Finally, he spotted the right compartment. The same witch who had given him the sugar quill earlier had her trolley parked outside of it. A plump boy with blond hair and large brown eyes was buying a Galleon’s worth of sweets from her.
Shoving past them, Moravius wrenched the door to the compartment open, stumbled inside, and shut it just as Potter and Longbottom thundered up. Panting, Moravius dropped down to his knees so he would not be seen from the corridor. He heard voices outside.
“Hey, did you see a skinny little prat go by here?” Potter was asking.
“Oh, yes, I saw him. I think he went that way,” said a new voice Moravius didn’t recognize.
“Brilliant!” said Potter. “Thanks!” Then to Longbottom, he said, “C’mon, Guth. The prefects’ carriage on the other side of that one; we’ve got him cornered,” and they were off again.
The door slid open. It was the blond boy, who now had an armload of sweets.
“What did you do to them?” he asked, stepping around Moravius and dumping his load on one of the seats. Moravius stood up and closed the door.
“Nuffin’. I didn’ do nuffin’. They just started chasin’ me fer no reason,” he said.
“I sort of expected that,” said the other boy cheerfully. “Well, come on, would like some?” He indicated the load of sweets. “I couldn’t help myself, you know. We’re not allowed in Hogsmeade until third year and I’m sure Mother won’t send me anything; she’s always going on about how I eat too many sweets—so this has got to tide us over until Christmas. Imagine!”
Moravius was suddenly conscious of his torn robes and messy hair, which couldn’t really compare to the other boy’s new Muggle suit and neatly-combed hair.
“It’s all right,” said the other boy, apparently noticing Moravius’s hesitation. “Maybe I should introduce myself. My name’s Horace Slughorn. What’s yours?”
Moravius couldn’t stifle a small laugh. The other boy gave an embarrassed smile.
“I know; it’s horrible. Yours can’t be worse. What is it?”
“Moravius Krubb,” said Moravius slowly.
Horace laughed. “Oho! I guess I spoke too soon. Yours is worse.”
Moravius scowled. “’Ang on, what’s wrong wiv me—”
“Nothing, nothing, I was only joking. Plus, you laughed at my name… Come on, let’s tuck in. What do you like best? Chocolate frogs?”
Moravius stared. The other boy flushed.
“Well… do you? Like Chocolate Frogs, I mean?” he asked and offered the bag to Moravius, who reached over and took one. Moravius realized he had forgotten how hungry he was, not to mention how much his knees hurt from standing all that time. He sat down next to Horace and they both set into the pile with gusto.
“I en’t never ‘ad most o’ these,” he confided in Horace, who blinked in surprise.
“Never? You must have an awful lot of pocket money saved up if you don’t—” He stopped and turned red. “I’m sorry, I mean...”
“Don’t sweat it, Sluggy,” said Moravius, grinning and sucking on an Acid Pop. “’S all right.”
Horace blinked in confusion. “Did you just call me…?”
“Sluggy? Yeah, tha’s your nickname, I’ve decided. I en’t gonna call you ‘Orace all the time.”
“Nickname?” His already large eyes widened. “Oh, that’s brilliant! Sluggy, I love it. No one’s ever called me by a nickname before.” He chuckled.
Moravius had the distinct impression that if he was still trying to look normal, making friends with this strange boy was not the way to do it. Fortunately for Moravius, he had decided to stop trying to look normal.
“So,” said Horace, with his mouth full of pumpkin pasty. “You’re a first year too?”
Moravius nodded.
“What house do you think you’ll be in? Father was in Ravenclaw, but my mother was in Hufflepuff… I guess I wouldn’t mind either. Where were your parents?”
“Er…” Moravius lowered his gaze,
not wanting to have two bad encounters in one day. Without meaning to, he found
himself telling Horace about Potter and Longbottom, and about his own parents.
After he’d finished, he gazed at the countryside going past their windows.
Dark, foggy moors stretched out beside them. It had been a sunny day in
“It doesn’t matter,” said Horace suddenly. “You’ll be all right. We can study together. I mean…” He looked down and scratched his nose. “I mean, if we’re in the same house.”
“Yeah,” said Moravius vaguely. He knew that Hogwarts students were divided into four houses, but he suddenly realized he knew essentially nothing about the sorting process, or anything about Hogwarts.
He spent the better part of the next hour listening to Horace talk about his family and Quidditch. Moravius gathered that Horace’s family was quite well to do and lived in the country; his father had a high position in the Department of Magical Law and they owned several house-elves. Horace confessed that he did not have any real friends his age—his childhood had been spent playing with his two younger sisters. He and Moravius vowed to help each other out.
The sky was beginning to grow darker and it looked like night was approaching. Moravius was trying to decide whether he wanted to have one last Cauldron Cake when the compartment door slid open.
It was a girl with long brown hair, neatly held back with a
pink
“I was going to introduce myself to all the other first years,” she informed them. “And remind you that we’ll be arriving soon and you,” she looked pointedly at Horace, still in his Muggle suit, “ought to get changed.”
“’Oo are you?” Moravius asked.
She smiled sweetly. “My name is Dolores Umbridge. My mother was a Lestrange,” she added. “Father was in Ravenclaw, but she was in Slytherin, and I’m sure I’ll be in there, even though my sisters are in Ravenclaw. I take after her ever so much.” She batted her eyelashes.
Moravius could not believe she was wasn’t joking. He and Horace exchanged glances.
“I sure hope I’m not in Slytherin,” Horace whispered. Moravius sniggered.
Dolores raised an eyebrow. “Telling secrets is rude, you know. And you really shouldn’t eat so many sweets; you’ll spoil your dinner. There’s going to be a marvelous feast, they tell me.” She held up the book. “It’s all in here, it says so. Did you know Helga Hufflepuff developed all the recipes herself? She was amazing, all four of the Founders were.”
Horace shook his head to indicate that he hadn’t known this, but Moravius asked, “’Oo’s ‘Elga ‘Ufflepuff?”
Dolores wrinkled her nose and ignored his question. “What are your names, anyway?”
“I’m Horace Slughorn,” said Horace.
“Moravius Krubb,” said Moravius.
She frowned. “You talk awfully strangely, Moravius Krubb. And you need a haircut.” She turned and left, not bothering to close the door behind her.
Horace hopped up to close it and then hastened to change into his robes, muttering something about “bossy girls”.
Moravius ran a hand through his hair. It had re-grown itself perfectly. “I love magic,” he said to no one in particular.
**
Moravius noticed mountains outside the train window, the bases of which were obscured by thick, dark forests. The sun had been down for about an hour and the sky was a rich shade of deep purple.
“I guess she was right,” he said grudgingly. “We will be gettin’ there soon.”
Horace was standing on the seat, stuffing the rest of the sweets into his trunk on the luggage rack. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to lift this,” he remarked. “It’s quite heavy.”
As if in response to his question, a disembodied voice echoed throughout the train. “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately.”
Horace jumped down to the floor. “That’s quite convenient, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” said Moravius absently. “It is.”
“Is everything all right?” Horace asked.
“Yeah,” said Moravius, “I’m just a little… nervous, y’know. I mean I don’t know anyfin’ about… anyfin’. I mean, ‘cause of me parents… it’s almos’ like I’m Muggle-born, innit? I just didn’ realize…”
“It’s all right,” said Horace, patting him on the back. “All the first years are new to the school. It won’t matter after awhile. Father says the Sorting Hat sings a song before the Sorting—that will tell you all about the Founders and the houses.”
Moravius was not sure how a hat could sing a song, but at that moment, the train came to a stop and voices could be heard in the corridors.
“Come on,” said Horace, and he dragged Moravius out the door and down the corridor.
When they got out onto the platform, Moravius was surprised at how cold it was. He supposed they were awfully far from London; the train had traveled continuously from eleven in the morning until now, when it was quite dark. Moravius wondered what time it was.
“Where’s the castle?” a girl’s voice asked and Moravius could hear Dolores Umbridge’s voice reply, “It’s rather far away. We have to take boats to get there; the other students take horseless carriages, but they’re not really horseless, you know, they’re actually pulled by—”
“C’mon,” said Moravius. “Let’s ge’ as far as we can from ‘er.”
The older students seemed to know what to do; they were gradually drifting away from the platform, off to where a set of apparently-not-horseless carriages sat waiting. Soon, all that was left on the platform was the first years.
“First years? You lot are all first years?” a voice called. Moravius turned to see who had spoken. A very tall man with pale hair was holding a lantern high above his head. His broad, weather-beaten face looked eerie in the dim light.
Moravius was a little uncertain, but Dolores Umbridge pushed past him and said, “You’re the Groundskeeper, aren’t you?”
The man laughed and Moravius felt a little more comfortable.
“That’s right, my name’s Ogg, Bertram Ogg, but just call me Ogg. I’ll be taking you lot up to the castle, come on.”
The first years followed Ogg silently down a steep narrow path through the forest. Moravius had to walk quite slowly, and Horace tried to match his pace. Soon, they were at the back of the group.
“At least we don’t have to listen to her,” said Horace, pointing to where Dolores was still prattling on to Ogg and anyone else who would listen about how she had learnt the entire rulebook by heart.
“Well, well, well, we’ve found a friend,” said a familiar voice. Potter and Longbottom appeared on either side of Moravius and Horace, clumping along in a crude imitation of Moravius’s limp.
Moravius groaned.
“Why do you think these two hooked up, Ig?” Longbottom asked.
Potter laughed. “I reckon it was because this one’s so fat he goes about as slow as Krubb the cripple.”
Horace turned bright red. “Th-that’s not very nice, you know,” he stammered
“Hear that, Guth? He doesn’t think we’re very nice.”
“Shut it,” said Moravius. “Now.” He raised a fist in what he hope was a threatening gesture.
“Oooh,” said Potter. “You’re really quite scary, Krubb. I will shut it. I wouldn’t want you after me.”
They rounded a bend in the path.
“Look!” cried Horace. All four boys stopped and looked.
There, on a cliff, sat
“Oi! You four! Come on and take the last boat!” Ogg was shouting from below. Moravius suddenly realized that the other students were waiting, already seated in a fleet of small boats by the shore.
Moravius, Horace, Potter, and Longbottom reluctantly got into a boat together. Moravius and Horace sat as far from the other two as they could get.
“I sure hope they’re in a different house,” Horace said in a low voice. “I can’t imagine sharing a dormitory with them for seven years.”
Moravius nodded absently, keeping an eye on Potter and Longbottom, who were also whispering to one another.
“All settled?” Ogg called to the students.
A chorus of “Yes!” and “Let’s go!” answered him, though none of the occupants of the last boat said anything.
“FORWARD!” shouted Ogg and the boats began to glide across the surface of the lake. Moravius was so mesmerized by the sight of the castle and the awkwardly jerky sensation of being in the boat that he almost forgot to keep an eye on Potter and Longbottom. Almost.
There was a splashing several feet to their left. Moravius could just make out a long tentacle stretching out of the water as though waving “Hullo.”
“What was that, Ogg?” somebody asked.
Before Ogg could say anything, Dolores cut in, “It must have been the Giant Squid. It—”
But Moravius did not hear what the Giant Squid did because at that moment, a fight had broken out in the boat. Potter lunged at Horace, who tried to escape his reach. Unfortunately, he was already as far away from Potter as he could get in the tiny boat and his shifting weight made it tip dangerously. Longbottom grabbed Horace around the waist, dragging him back.
Deciding to come to his new friend’s rescue, despite their shaky location, Moravius jumped over the other seat and threw himself at Potter. Potter pushed him back and, falling backwards over the seat, Moravius slammed hard into the side of the boat. It tipped dangerously. Longbottom released Horace and stumbled backwards. The boat tipped again as Horace landed next to Moravius, and Potter cried out as he slipped over the side with a great splash.
The boats stopped.
A girl in another boat screamed, “IGGY!” and Ogg dove into the lake with surprising grace, returning a few seconds later with a sputtering Potter.
Ogg dropped Potter into his own boat before hauling himself in and turning to look at Moravius.
“I’ll be speaking to Professor Black about you,” he said. “Let’s not keep them waiting.” He raised a hand and the boats began to move again.
“You’re in trouble,” said Longbottom, as they ducked their heads when the boats passed through a curtain of ivy. “You’ll probably be expelled before you’re even sorted. You’ll be back blacking boots before you can say ‘Hufflepuff’—which I almost forgot you can’t.”
Horace glared at Longbottom, but Moravius felt quite nervous. What if he really were expelled?
As they disembarked from the boats, Ogg grabbed Moravius by the hair (almost making him regret having grown it back) and directed him to stay at the front of the group. Before he knew it, they were standing in front of the oak front doors and Ogg was using the hand that wasn’t holding Moravius to knock three times.
The door swung wide open. A tall, thin man with a narrow face, black hair and a goatee stood in the doorway.
“Here you are, Professor Black,” said Ogg. “And this one—” he shoved Moravius forward across the threshold, releasing his hold “—was causing trouble out on the lake. He pushed another boy into the water.” He indicated Potter, who, along with Longbottom, was surrounded by fussing girls. Potter obediently began shivering and sneezing, though Moravius knew that Ogg had cast a Drying Charm on his robes, and he was perfectly all right.
“I see,” said Professor Black, curling his lip. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Moravius Krubb.”
“Well, Mr. Krubb, it seems we will have to take points after the Sorting. Fifty seems about right; what you did was very serious. Behavior such as this will not be tolerated at Hogwarts anymore. I certainly do not envy your Head of House and I hope it does not turn out to be me. Come along,” he said, addressing the group at large. “We haven’t got all night.”
Moravius did not look up into the enormous entrance hall, nor did he feel excited about the hum of voices he could hear coming from the crowded Great Hall. What kind of punishment was “taking points?” He also did not think he wanted this unpleasant-looking teacher to be on his bad side. He almost wished he had been expelled.
The first years followed Black into a small antechamber off the entrance hall. He crossed the room and waited until all the first years had filed in before speaking.
“Welcome to
“The four houses are Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, each named for one of the four Founders. During the year, house points will be given or taken, based upon good behavior…” his eyes rested on Moravius again, “or bad, as in the case of Mr. Krubb here. At the end of the year, the House Cup is awarded to whichever house has amassed the most points. Now, I must return to the Hall to announce your presence. I suggest you take this time to put yourselves in order.” His eyes fell on Moravius for a third time, who tried to straighten his hair, and then on Horace, who still had chocolate around his mouth, which he quickly wiped on his sleeve.
As soon as Black had gone, Potter stopped pretending to shiver and relaxed.
“Brilliant, Krubb,” he said. “Losing your house points before you even know which one it is.”
There were murmurs of agreement throughout the room.
“Oh, come on,” said Moravius. “It en’t like you didn’t deserve it.”
“Yeah,” said a pale boy with brown hair. “You started it, I saw you.” There were several more murmurs of agreement, though considerably fewer in number than those who had supported Potter.
“But you really ought to think before you act,” said Dolores. “I mean, he could have been eaten by the Giant Squid. You could have been expelled.”
“It wouldn’t have eaten him,” said a very short boy with a slightly squeaky voice. “It waved to us, didn’t you see?”
“How do you know that? I don’t think you’ve read Hogwarts, a—” Dolores screamed, as did several other people. Several silvery ghosts were floating above their heads, passing right through the walls.
“Oh, Nick, look! First years!” called a fat monk, pointing. He waved merrily at them. “Welcome to Hogwarts! Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!”
“My dear Friar,” said the ghost called Nick. “They can’t all be in Hufflepuff, leave some for Gryffindor.”
“Come along, come along. We’re going in now,” said Professor Black, who had returned. “Form a line, now, form a line.”
Moravius went to stand between Horace and the short boy in the middle of the line; he really did not think he wanted to be anywhere near the front.
After they had gotten organized, Professor Black led them into the Great Hall. Despite his nervousness, Moravius was awed by the sight of it. The place was not lit by chandeliers as he had expected, but by thousands of candles floating in mid-air. All the students in second year and above were sitting at four long tables and all four tables were set with gold plates and goblets.
“It’s amazing!” he heard Horace gasp in front of him.
“Look at the ceiling!” cried the boy behind him. Moravius looked up. The ceiling reflected what, he presumed, was the view above the castle. The deep purple of the sky had turned an impenetrable black and it was now glittering with stars.
When the line stopped alongside the staff table, Moravius ran smack into Horace. Professor Black was setting a three-legged stool in front of them. On top of the stool was an enormous, old and very dirty hat with a lot of rips and fraying stitches.
To Moravius’s utter astonishment, one of the rips opened and the hat began to sing:
For almost a millennium,
With a duty I’ve been
tasked:
To sort the students,
year by year;
As
the Founders asked.
For that purpose, I
was granted
This special gift of
speech and song,
And though I may be
patched and frayed,
I am seldom, if never,
wrong.
The Hogwarts four
trusted this old hat
And in return, I bring
Those children who
exemplify
The
traits of which I sing.
Brave Gryffindor, upon
whose head I rested,
Valued
the daring and the bold.
Those who were always
chivalrous
Were his favorites, I
was told.
Sweet Hufflepuff did
love
Those hard-working
students who,
With good hearts, did
stay loyal
To
their friends, old and new.
Bright Ravenclaw’s favorite few
Treasured
wit above all others.
Their fervent pursuit
of knowledge
Made
them different from their brothers.
Shrewd Slytherin’s valued traits
Included
cunning and ambition.
His favorite students
all believed
Fate needed only
manipulation.
Now after all these
many years,
I remain here, holding
court
Now, all you first
years, please step forward
It is you that I must
sort!
The older students and a few of the first years applauded. Moravius could feel his palms begin to sweat.
He knew from the letter that Professor Black was Deputy Headmaster, but he wasn’t sure what house he was head of, but he was sure that it wouldn’t be good for either of them if Moravius was sorted into that one.
The students’ attention was drawn toward Professor Black, who was unrolling a long scroll.
“When I call your name, you will sit on the stool and put on the hat,” he informed them. “It will sort you into your House. Allen, Marcus!”
A tall blond boy walked nervously forward and jammed the hat on his head.
“RAVENCLAW!” bellowed the hat after about thirty seconds’ pause.
A table on the left erupted in cheers. Marcus joined them, seemingly relieved the tension of being first was now gone.
“Bagman, Garth!”
A short, squat blond boy became the first new Hufflepuff and “Belby, Caroline!” joined the Ravenclaw table.
“Borgin, Lambert!”
A wispy-looking boy with light brown hair darted forward and clapped the hat on. Before he could even sit down, the hat shouted, “SLYTHERIN!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Moravius noticed Professor Black smile. Right, he thought. Not Slytherin, then.
Esther Brown became the first new Gryffindor, and Caractacus Burke joined Borgin as a Slytherin.
Moravius let his attention drift until the short boy on his left (“Flitwick, Filius!”) was called.
Moravius knew he was very soon, if not next, and shivered. Horace squeezed his arm and gave him a reassuring smile. The whole scene just felt unreal.
“Krubb, Moravius!”
Woodenly, Moravius marched forward, painfully aware of everyone’s eyes on him. He could hear whispers from many of the older students. He picked up the hat, put it on and sat down. The hat caught on his ears and tipped forward. Moravius grabbed at it and jerked it down over his head. It was smelly and dark inside the hat. Moravius wondered if there was anything he had to do in order to get the hat to sort him. Maybe it would decide he wasn’t magic enough after all. Maybe it would never say anything, maybe…
“Krubb, is it?” said a small voice in his ear. Moravius jumped. “Haven’t had one of you in a while; I wonder what happened. Oh, I see…very interesting. Where will it be, where will it be? Oh, there are brains, certainly...”
Moravius found he was too stunned to reply to the hat’s assessment of him. It had never occurred to him that he had brains before.
It continued. “But there’s an independent streak there I didn’t see at first, but you do want friends. Very courageous, but there’s not much self-confidence. Well, you are very young yet. I see… you want to prove yourself. Well, there’s only one place for it then.”
Moravius suddenly remembered his fears about Black. His stomach twisted in knots.
“’Ang on!” he said quickly, hoping
the hat could hear him. “I don’t wanna be in—”
“SLYTHERIN!” the hat shouted for the whole Hall to hear. Moravius could hear the Slytherins start to cheer. He felt his stomach drop. Not Slytherin. Black’ll kill me.
There was a clattering noise. Moravius ripped the hat off his head and leapt off the stool. The table on the far left of the Hall had stopped cheering. Fifty black stones were dropping into an hourglass at the back of the Hall. Professor Black was looking at if he had just eaten an Acid Pop.
When he noticed Moravius watching him, he seemed to recover enough to call, “Latrobe, Deirdre!”
A red-haired girl was walking forward. Moravius shoved the hat in her hands and bolted for the Slytherin table, his face hot.
“What happened?” a blond-haired boy with a prefect’s badge was asking anyone who would listen. “What did we lose points for? Are we not allowed to cheer now, is that it?”
“It must have been him,” said a dark-haired girl curiously. She was also a prefect. “What did you do?” she asked Moravius as she slid over to let him sit.
“Sorry,” he whispered, as he sat between them, not looking at either of them. He found he had to try very hard not to cry. Losing house points on his first day… everyone would hate him. Oh, he certainly hoped Horace was in Slytherin. How many students were sorted into each house? There were already three Slytherin boys…
The girl and the boy exchanged glances.
“Longbottom, Guthrum!”
Moravius looked up. Longbottom sauntered over to the hat. It barely touched his head before it declared him a Gryffindor.
A wave of relief washed over Moravius. At least he wouldn’t have to share a dormitory with Longbottom.
“What a stupid name,” muttered the boy. “Who names their kid Guthrum?”
“It’s ‘is fault I los’ points,” Moravius muttered.
“How?” asked the boy.
Throughout the “M”s and “N”s, Moravius told the two prefects, who had introduced themselves as Abraxas Malfoy and Astraea Black, about Potter and Longbottom.
Abraxas nodded. “Gryffindors have been giving us trouble for centuries,” he explained. “You’ll find out all about it later.” He patted Moravius on the shoulder. “Don’t worry too much about it, we’ll get them back.”
The sorting continued for what seemed like ages. A pair of twins, Hazel and Henry O’Flaherty were split between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, which Astraea told him was rather unusual.
“Potter, Ignotus!”
“He’ll be a Gryffindor, too,” Abraxas muttered. “It runs in families, you see,” he added, seconds after the table on the far right erupted in cheers.
“Prewett, Muriel” also became a Gryffindor and then the brown-haired boy who had defended Moravius in the antechamber (“Prince, Septimus!”) joined them as a Slytherin.
“Hullo,” he said, sliding in across from Moravius. “You can call me Sep if you want. ‘Septimus’ is a mouthful, I know.”
Moravius shrugged and shook Sep’s hand. “It’s shorter than me own name.”
Right after Sep, a pretty girl called Portia Quirrell also became a Slytherin. Moravius knew who was probably next.
“Slughorn, Horace!”
Moravius crossed his fingers.
Nearly a minute passed before the hat shouted, “SLYTHERIN!”
“Three in a row! We got three in a row!” chanted some of the older students and Abraxas and Moravius slid apart to make room for Horace on the bench.
“Well, looks like we wound up in Slytherin after all,” said Horace, a relieved grin on his flushed face. “I was sort of thinking it wouldn’t go for Slytherin three times in a row.”
Moravius laughed, also relieved that his new friend would be able to stay with him.
“Umbridge, Dolores!”
“Want to go for four, hat?” Abraxas joked.
“No,” said Horace and Moravius together, at the same time that the hat shouted, “SLYTHERIN!”
The Slytherin table erupted in whoops and screams as Dolores flounced towards them, smirking at Moravius and Horace.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” remarked Astraea.
“I guess we’re just lucky,” said Sep.
Moravius and Horace looked at each other and grinned.
“’E’ll find out soon enough,” said Moravius. He could already hear Dolores telling Astraea all her relatives who had been in Slytherin.
They waited through several more Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws before the last student (“Yaxley, Serena!”) became a Slytherin.
The Slytherins’ cheers extended for several minutes as Black took the hat away. It was not until the Headmaster, Professor Fortescue, silenced them that the Slytherins quieted down.
Moravius
had been curious about meeting Fortescue, as the
Headmaster had added a third page to Moravius's Hogwarts letter letting the
family know about the recently reinstated Hogwarts Assistance Fund. Moravius
was trying to determine whether the man looked as friendly as he had seemed in
his letter.
Fortescue was corpulent, red-faced, and balding. Moravius decided he looked like a nice bloke overall.
“Now that we have all enthusiastically welcomed our new students,” said Fortescue, “I believe it is time we began our feast!”