A Hogwarts Legend: Round Two [2]

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven- "Because we're not Ravenclaws ..."

It isn't at all the triumphant arrival I was picturing. Stiff, cold and bruised, we seize the end of our trunks and begin dragging them up the grassy slope, towards the great oak front doors.

"I think the feast's already started," says Ron, dropping his trunk at the foot of the front steps and crossing quietly to look through a brightly lit window. "Hey guys, come and look - it's the Sorting!"

Harry and I hurry over, and together, we all peer in at the Great Hall.

Innumerable candles are hanging in mid-air over four long, crowded tables, making the golden plates and goblets sparkle. Overhead, the bewitched ceiling which always mirrors the sky outside, sparkles with the stars.

Through the forest of pointed black Hogwarts hats, I see a long line of scared-looking first-years filing into the Hall.

Hah, they're so small!

Wait...

Were we that small?

Nah!

Ginny is among the small people, easily visible because of her vivid Weasley hair. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall, is placing the famous Hogwarts Sorting Hat on a stool before the newcomers.

Every year, this aged old hat, patched, frayed and dirty, sorts new students into one of the four houses.

Or when your me, you get to choose your house!

Because I special!

A very small, mousey-haired boy has been called forward to place the hat on his head. My eyes wander past him to where Professor Dumbledore sits watching the Sorting from the staff table, his long silvery beard and half-moon glasses shining brightly in the candlelight. Several seats along, I see Gilderoy Lockhart, dressed in robes the colour of aquamarine.

Fancy.......

And at the end is Hagrid, huge and hairy, drinking deeply from his goblet.

"Hang on ..." Harry mutters. "There's an empty chair at the staff table ... Where's Snape?"

Ah, our least favourite teacher. But he loves me! #obv

"Maybe he's ill!" says Ron hopefully.

"Maybe he's left," says Harry, "because he missed out on the Defence Against the Dark Arts job again!"

"Maybe he died," I say, and Harry and Ron look at me. "What? You can't rule it out!"

"Or he might have been sacked!" says Ron enthusiastically. "I mean, everyone hates him -"

"Or maybe," says a very cold voice right behind us, "he's waiting to hear why you three didn't arrive on the school train."

I spin around. There, his black robes rippling in a cold breeze, stands Snape. He's a thin man with sallow skin, a hooked nose and greasy, shoulder-length black hair, and at the moment, he's smiling in a way that tells me we are in a lot of trouble.

"Well ... he's not dead," I whisper to Harry.

"Clearly," Snape says, "follow me."

Not daring to look at the other two, we follow Snape up the steps into the vast, echoing Entrance Hall, which is lit with flaming torches. A delicious smell of food is wafting from the Great Hall, but Snape leads us away from the warmth and light, down a narrow stone staircase that leads into the dungeons.