An Opus Alchymicum Vol 2: The Witch-Consul's Riddle

The Sorting

There was a little antechamber just off to the side of the Great Hall. In normal term time, it was here that naughty students were forced to eat in solitary confinement away from their classmates. It had no windows, just one floating candle high up in the gloom, and smelled strongly of cabbage. Quite why this was, nobody could remember anymore, but it did make the place distinctly unpleasant.

It was into this oppressive environment that Minerva McGonagall deposited the forty or so first-years who were huddled together so tightly that a decent sized tablecloth could have probably covered the lot of them. Then she turned her stern expression on the frightened little faces.

"Very shortly, the Sorting will begin," Professor McGonagall announced briskly. "Your House will be like your family here at Hogwarts. You will eat with your Housemates, sleep with your Housemates - ("I hope that's not LITERALLY true!" Hermione whispered teasingly into Harry's ear, making him need to stifle a giggle) - and study with your Housemates. Points can be won for high academic performance, for Quidditch, for participation in the school societies, and at the end of the year these points are totalled up and the House Cup is awarded. This is an ancient and prestigious honour, and I expect all students to strive to uphold this vaunted tradition, whichever House you are Sorted into."

"But more for Gryffindor, as she's Head of that House!" Harry whispered with a grin at Hermione.

"Maybe she'll award you fifty points just for getting in!" Hermione hushed back.

"Or take fifty off if I get dumped into Slytherin!"

"I shall go and make the preparations for the Sorting," Professor McGonagall continued. Then she turned her eyes on Harry, and a little twinkle was born in them. "And I do hope Mr Potter and Miss Granger will stop nattering to each other long enough to hear when their names are called!"

"Sorry," Harry and Hermione chorused dolefully, blushing deeply as several people snickered around them.

"Very well," Professor McGonagall replied, the corners of her mouth twitching as Harry grinned cheekily at her. "I shall return for you shortly."

Little conversations burst out like hissing wildfires as soon as Professor McGonagall closed the door behind her. Harry heard someone out of sight say - "That's really him then, really Harry Potter!"; "He's shorter than he looks in his pictures." - and Harry was sorely tempted to ask just how big their copies of the magazines were if he had subverted their expectations about his height.

But Hermione was listening intently to a conversation over near the door. Neville and his toad were there, and Hermione had been paying him particular attention ever since they'd gotten off the boat. Harry wasn't sure what he thought about that, beyond a bizarre urge to push Neville out of the moving Hogwarts Express next time they were on it.

But Hermione was curiously attentive to the lanky, red-headed boy that Neville was talking to. He was muttering very fast and waving his arms in an exaggerated and theatrical fashion. It made him look like some sort of demented human windmill. Harry edged closer to hear what he was saying.

"So, what you have to do is move very fast, as they are stupid and easily distracted," he was advising.

"But what about the club?" Neville asked, sounding truly petrified. "How do you avoid that?"

"They don't always have clubs," came the reply.

"Yes they do, Ron," a tall, statuesque girl with elaborately curly hair argued. "Everyone knows trolls always carry clubs."

"Why are you talking about trolls?" Hermione asked breezily.

"Because Ron says we have to wrestle one in order to get Sorted," Neville explained.