Fred and George and the Toilers of Trouble (Year 1) ✔

Chapter 5:2

In the history of magical architecture, there could be no greater structure than Hogwarts castle. With its looming towers and glowing leaded windows, it welcomed the new students with an unsurpassed splendor, as bewitched boats coasted them in silence toward the craggy underground docks. Once inside the cavernous Entrance Hall, the first years crowded up a wide, marble staircase and admired the vaulted ceiling, talking paintings, and limestone statues of famous wizards from centuries long past. Fred and George were well-acquainted with Hogwarts, but even with all the stories they had heard around the fireplace before bed, nothing could prepare them for such wonders.

While Hagrid explained how he dealt with a variety of unusual tasks as the gamekeeper, the students listened instead to the din of voices coming from the room at the top of the vast stairway. Behind those double doors was the Great Hall, the place where their adventures would truly begin. For now, they were all equals. But soon the Sorting would separate the decent from the distinguished, the courageous from the cunning.

With a grunt, Hagrid led the students to the empty landing where they awaited further instructions from a woman who was approaching from a nearby chamber. Seeing her square-rimmed glasses, emerald green robe, high-pointed hat, and unsympathetic expression, the twins knew at once whom they were about to meet.

"Who's that?" Lee Jordan asked from behind them.

"McGonagall, I reckon," came the skittish voice of Cedric Diggory.

"Deputy Headmistress and the head of Gryffindor house," Fred whispered. "Looks just like Bill described."

"She doesn't mess about, that one," George added.

The witch's small, piercing eyes glanced down at the twins as she arrived with a smooth, almost skating step. "More Weasleys, I see."

Hagrid noticed their red hair and freckles for the first time and nodded clumsily at Professor McGonagall.

"Does no one care about appearances anymore? These robes are a disgrace." The dark haired professor leaned forward to adjust their tattered and patched clothes. A laugh snorted from somewhere near the stairs.

Fred's face went scarlet. "Sorry, Professor. They're hand-me-downs."

"From our older brothers," George finished.

McGonagall blinked grudgingly. "I can see that." Her gaze traveled to Hagrid. "No concerns with the squid this year?"

"Not at all, Professor. I s'pose yeh'll be takin' it from 'ere, then?"

"Indeed."

"Right. Good luck in there, you lot. No matter what house yer in, it'll be a good 'un."

"Unless it's Slytherin," Angelina Johnson muttered from nearby, still on edge about the Sorting Ceremony.

"Thank you, Rubeus." The witch spoke each word firmly, her Scottish accent well-defined. The beady eyes behind her glasses skimmed the low group of nervous students with measured interest. "My name is Professor McGonagall. Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If you form a line, I will escort you into the Great Hall," she instructed hurriedly. "I ask you not to take your seats, but to accompany me to the very front of the hall. As you will no doubt gather, there will be a Sorting to decide where you'll be staying for the duration of your schooling.

"There are four houses — with which you should be familiar — Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Slytherin. Once your destination has been announced, you may join your house at their corresponding table. Know that your fellow students will be as close to you as family. Consider them as such." She turned and moved swiftly toward the brass handles on the immense double doors in front of them. "Now, right this way."