轮椅瘫痪美女视频:Chapter seven: the sorting hat

THE SORTING HAT

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green

robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought

was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have

fit the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit

with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too

high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to

the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry

could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right

-the rest of the school must already be here -- but Professor McGonagall

showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They

crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have

done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term

banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great

Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very

important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be

something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with

the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free

time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and

Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced

outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your

triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose

house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is

awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a

credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the

rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as

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you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened

under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. Harry nervously tried to

flatten his hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall.

"Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Harry swallowed.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Ron.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he

was joking."

Harry's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole

school? But he didn't know any magic yet -- what on earth would he have

to do? He hadn't expected something like this the moment they arrived.

He looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified,

too. No one was talking much except Hermione Granger, who was whispering

very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one

she'd need. Harry tried hard not to listen to her. He'd never been more

nervous, never, not even when he'd had to take a school report home to

the Dursleys saying that he'd somehow turned his teacher's wig blue. He

kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall

would come back and lead him to his doom.

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air -

several people behind him screamed.

"What the --?"

He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just

streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent,

they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing

at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat

little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him

a second chance --"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He

gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost -- I

say, what are you all doing here?"

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A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be

Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you

know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to

start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away

through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and

follow me."

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line

behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron behind him, and they walked out

of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors

into the Great Hall.

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, the

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."

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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;

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You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffis are true And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It

bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Harry. "I'll

kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Harry. smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than

having to do a spell, but he did wish they could have tried it on

without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather alot;

Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If

only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy,

that would have been the one for him.

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Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of

parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to

be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the

hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moments pause

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at

the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving

merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next

to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws

stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

" Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender"

became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded

with cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Harry's

imagination, after all he'd heard about Slytherin, but he thought they

looked like an unpleasant lot. He was starting to feel definitely sick

now. He remembered being picked for teams during gym at his old school.

He had always been last to be chosen, not because he was no good, but

because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked him.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

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Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at

others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the

sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost

a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Ron groaned.

A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when

you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just

sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor

McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a

mistake and he'd better get back on the train?

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called,

he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide

with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off

still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it

to "MacDougal, Morag."

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at

once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with

himself.

There weren't many people left now. "Moon" "Nott" "Parkinson" then a

pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil" then "Perks, Sally-Anne" and

then, at last -- "Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little

hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

The Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the

hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he

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was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty

of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, A my goodness,

yes -- and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting....

So where shall I put you?"

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Not Slytherin, not

Slytherin.

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be

great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you

on the way to greatness, no doubt about that -- no? Well, if you're sure

-- better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off

the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. He was so

relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, he hardly noticed

that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and

shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got

Potter! We got Potter!" Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff

he'd seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden,

horrible feeling he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.

He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat

Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs up. Harry grinned

back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair,

sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at once from the card he'd

gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair

was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the

ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirtell, too, the nervous young man

from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple

turban.

And now there were only three people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean,"

a Black boy even taller than Ron, joined Harry at the Gryffindor table.

"Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was

pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers under the table and a

second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next

to him.

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"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley Pompously across Harry

as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled

up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how

hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students,

his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to

see them all there.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin

our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit!

Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know

whether to laugh or not.

"Is he -- a bit mad?" he asked Percy uncertainly.

"Mad?" said Percy airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But

he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"

Harry's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with

food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table:

roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon

and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding,

peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint

humbugs.

The Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry, but he'd never been

allowed to eat as much as he liked. Dudley had always taken anything

that Harry really wanted, even if It made him sick. Harry piled his

plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat.

It was all delicious.

"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Harry

cut up his steak,

"Can't you --?"

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I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't

need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've in troduced

myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost

of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" said Ron suddenly. "My brothers told me about you

-- you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy --" the ghost began

stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"

Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't

going at all the way he wanted.

"Like this," he said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His

whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on

a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it

properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly

Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said,

"So -- new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house

championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without

winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody

Baron's becoming almost unbearable -- he's the Slytherin ghost."

Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost

sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained

with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who, Harry was pleased to

see, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food

faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment

later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you

could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam

doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding -- "

As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their

families.

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"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell

him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock

for him."

The others laughed.

"What about you, Neville?" said Ron.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the

family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept

trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me -- he

pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned -- but

nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for

dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles

when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let

go. But I bounced -- all the way down the garden and into the road. They

were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you

should have seen their faces when I got in here -- they thought I might

not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased

he bought me my toad."

On Harry's other side, Percy Weasley and Hermione were talking about

lessons ("I do hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm

particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something

into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult-";

"You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of

thing -- ").

Harry, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at

the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet.

Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor

Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy

black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's

turban straight into Harry's eyes -- and a sharp, hot pain shot across

the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

"What is it?" asked Percy.

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"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the

feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look -- a feeling that he

didn't like Harry at all.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked Percy.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so

nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want

to -- everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about

the Dark Arts, Snape."

Harry watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look at him again.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to

his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahern -- just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I

have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to

all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember

that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley

twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all

that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone

interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor

on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to

die a very painful death."

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.

"He's not serious?" he muttered to Percy.

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"Must be," said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he

usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere -- the

forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he

might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried

Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become

rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a

fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose

high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot.

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the

Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march.

Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they

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had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here!

And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds,

out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Harry's legs were

like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He

was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits

along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice

Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging

tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their

feet, and Harry was just wondering how much farther they had to go when

they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as

Percy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raised

his voice, "Peeves -- show yourself"

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide

mouth appeared, floating cross- legged in the air, clutching the walking

sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked

Percy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on

Neville's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as

he passed.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again.

"The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even

listen to us prefects. Here we are."

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At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a

pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said. "Caput Draconis," said Percy, and the portrait

swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled

through it -- Neville needed a leg up -- and found themselves in the

Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the

boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase -- they were

obviously in one of the towers -- they found their beds at last: five

four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had

already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their

pajamas and fell into bed.

" Great food, isn't it?" Ron muttered to Harry through the hangings.

"Get off, Scabbers! He's chewing my sheets."

Harry was going to ask Ron if he'd had any of the treacle tart, but he

fell asleep almost at once.

Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much, because he had a very strange

dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to

him, telling him he must transfer to Slytherin at once, because it was

his destiny. Harry told the turban he didn't want to be in Slytherin; it

got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off but it tightened

painfully -- and there was Malfoy, laughing at him as he struggled with

it -then Malfoy turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, whose laugh

became high and cold -- there was a burst of green light and Harry woke,

sweating and shaking.

He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke next day, he

didn't remember the dream at all.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE POTIONS MASTER

There, look."

"Where?"

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"Next to the tall kid with the red hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next

day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look

at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring.

Harry wished they wouldn't, because he was trying to concentrate on

finding his way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide,

sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different

on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to

remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you

asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors

that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It

was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed

to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit

each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of

them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly

Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right

direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a

trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would

drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet,

pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab

your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus

Filch. Harry and Ron managed to get on the wrong side of him on their

very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a

door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds

corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe they were lost, was

sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening

to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor

Quirrell, who was passing.

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Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature

with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the

corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of

line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds

later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than

anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly

as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest

ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes

themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Harry quickly found out,

than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every

Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the

movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the

greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little

witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of

all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only

one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old

indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got

up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on

and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emetic the

Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had

to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their

first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name he

gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to

think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a

talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you

will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class

will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very

impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they

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weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time.

After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match

and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson,

only Hermione Granger had made any difference to her match; Professor

McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and

gave Hermione a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense

Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of

a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said

was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be

coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had

been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of

a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story.

For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell

had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about

the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung

around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed

full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Harry was very relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone

else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn't

had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to

learn that even people like Ron didn't have much of a head start.

Friday was an important day for Harry and Ron. They finally managed to

find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost

once.

"What have we got today?" Harry asked Ron as he poured sugar on his

porridge.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Ron. "Snape's Head of

Slytherin House. They say he always favors them -- we'll be able to see

if it's true."

"Wish McGonagall favored us, " said Harry. Professor McGonagall was head

of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her from giving them a huge

pile of homework the day before.

Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but

it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a

hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast,

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circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters

and packages onto their laps.

Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anything so far. She sometimes flew in to

nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the

owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered

down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto

Harry's plate. Harry tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy

scrawl:

Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have

a cup of tea with me around three?

I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with

Hedwig.

Hagrid

Harry borrowed Ron's quill, scribbled Yes, please, see you later on the

back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

It was lucky that Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because

the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to

him so far.

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea that Professor

Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he'd

been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Harry -- he hated him.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder

here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough

without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and

like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new -- celebrity."

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their

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hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His

eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth.

They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of

potionmaking," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but

they caught every word -- like Professor McGonagall, Snape had y caught

every word -- like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a

class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving

here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you

will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with

its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through

human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.... I can teach

you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death -- if you aren't

as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks

with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and

looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered

root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Ron, who

looked as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand had shot into the air.

"I don't know, sit," said Harry.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"Tut, tut -- fame clearly isn't everything."

He ignored Hermione's hand.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me

a bezoar?"

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without

her leaving her seat, but Harry didn't have the faintest idea what a

bezoar was. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were

shaking with laughter.

"I don't know, sit." "Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming,

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eh, Potter?" Harry forced himself to keep looking straight into those

cold eyes. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys', but did

Snape expect him to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs

and Fungi?

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon

ceiling.

"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why

don't you try her?"

A few people laughed; Harry caught Seamus's eye, and Seamus winked.

Snape, however, was not pleased.

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter,

asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as

the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach

of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and

wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of

aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise,

Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your

cheek, Potter."

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson

continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a

simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak,

watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing

almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just

telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned

slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the

dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a

twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor,

burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was

standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the

potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils

sprang up all over his arms and legs.

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"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one

wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before

taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he

rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

"You -- Potter -- why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought

he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another

point you've lost for Gryffindor."

This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked

him behind their cauldron.

"Doi* push it," he muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry's mind

was racing and his spirits were low. He'd lost two points for Gryffindor

in his very first week -- why did Snape hate him so much? "Cheer up,"

said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come

and meet Hagrid with you?"

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the

grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the

forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the

front door.

When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and

several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang

-- back."

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door

open.

"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous

black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the

ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner

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stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded

straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was

clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Ron," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a

large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles. I spent

half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their

teeth, but Harry and Ron pretended to be enjoying them as they told

Hagrid all about their first -lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's

knee and drooled all over his robes.

Harry and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Fitch "that old git."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang

sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me

everywhere? Can't get rid of her -- Fitch puts her up to it."

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Harry not

to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

"But he seemed to really hate me."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he?"

Yet Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet his eyes

when he said that.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot -

great with animals."

Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron

told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Harry picked up a

piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a

cutting from the Daily Prophet:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

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Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July,

widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault

that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if

you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this

afternoon.

Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to

rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.

"Hagrid!" said Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday!

It might've been happening while we were there!"

There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes

this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the

story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied

earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and

thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little

package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

As Harry and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets

weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Harry

thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much

to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package

just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about

Snape that he didn't want to tell Harry?