Chapter Text
A giant of a man, who Harry is pretty sure might actually be a giant, takes all the first years aside and loads them into boats. Ron stuck close to Harry as they went, the girl from before and the round faced boy looking for his toad joining soon after.
“My name's Hermione by the way, Hermione Granger.” The girl greets them, holding out her hand. “I realize that I didn’t introduce myself earlier.”
“Ron Weasley.” Ron replies first, although he seems a little pinched about the whole thing in a way that Harry can’t understand. At least not until he adds, “and he’s Harry Gaunt.” Harry turns a surprised look at him at the insistence in the other boy's voice that brokers no argument as he glares at the girl as if daring her to press the issue. Harry feels touched at the unexpected protectiveness on the other boys part and he watches as Hermione huffs and crosses her arms, looking away.
“I wasn’t going to call him anything else,” she snips back, the air between the two charged. Next to her the round-faced boy shrinks down in his seat.
“Erm, I’m Neville. Neville Longbottom,” he greets softly.
Harry turns to him and gives him a small smile. “Hi Neville. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Harry. Harry Gaunt, as my friend Ron just said.”
The boy nods, seeming somewhat relieved at the acknowledgment before the boat suddenly jerks under them and they all lurch forward. Harry turns in his seat to see where the boat is taking them and feels his breath hitch in his throat as he is met with the sight. The lake they are crossing is as smooth as glass reflecting the magnificence of the towering castle sitting high above them on a large cliff. The sun is just finishing setting and the stars are beginning to blink into existence in the sky, illuminating the stones in a brilliant show of colors. The windows of the castle shine with a warm orange glow as they draw closer, their own brilliance reflected in the water.
The sight itself isn’t the only thing that takes Harry's breath away though, it’s the castle's very presence. The place doesn’t just look magical, every pore of it seems to exude magic. Every light, every stone, every shingle seems to be its own magical foundation. He can feel the very magic entrenched in the castle against his skin and it feels like coming home. He can, with absolute clarity, understand why his grandpa and uncle were so protective of the place. So protective of Salizars legacy here. This had been his home and it felt like something sacred that needed to be protected. This was their home and he felt, without a shadow of a doubt, that he, too, would do anything to protect it.
“Heads down!” the giant yells breaking Harry out of the trance that the castle had put him under just in time to duck down as they passed through a curtain of ivy that hid an opening in the cliff-face that the castle sat upon. The passage opens up into a large tunnel lit on either side by magical lanterns as they seem to travel below the castle itself. It isn’t much further before they reach a rocky harbor. The boats come to a stop at the edge of it, letting all of them clamber out.
“Oy, you there!” the giant calls to their boat as he moves around collecting each, Harry and his companions all freeze, wondering which one of them he is talking to. The man reaches into his large black overcoat and pulls out a toad.
“Trevor!” exclaims Neville excitedly as he holds out his hands to take the toad.
“Though’ it might ‘ave been yers,” says the giant with a strong accent and a warm smile that stretches across his face. Something about his large, burly, and unkempt form immediately puts Harry at ease, especially up this close. He seems genuinely friendly and Harry wonders if they would be seeing him often around the castle. Perhaps he is the grounds keeper?
“Come on now, all of ya. Off we go!” The giant says as he takes a lantern from the wall and begins to lead all of the first years through a large passageway. It deposits them into damp grass before a flight of stone steps. Harry doesn’t hesitate to continue forward, knowing, without a doubt, that he belonged there. They all push forward until they come to a stop before a gigantic wooden door.
The giant raises his fist and knocks exactly three times.
The door swings open at once and Harry squints against the brightness of the light from within. Once his eyes have adjusted he is greeted by the figure of a tall black-haired witch in emerald-green robes. She eyes them all through squared spectacles looking very stern indeed. Harry feels a little bit of his enthusiasm diminish at the sight of her. She felt like a person that he should not cross and, for a moment, he has almost forgotten that he has reason to worry about his presence there.
“Tha firs’ years for ya, Professor McGonagall,” says the giant.
The professor nods at him. “Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”
She flicks her wand and the doors open as wide as they can go revealing a large entrance hall behind her lit with glittering torches. Harry’s wonder starts to bleed back in as he looks up and up and realizes he can not make out just how high the ceilings are.
“Come along first years,” Professor McGonagall calls and they all quickly fall in line to follow her into the magnificent castle. The further they go in the more Harry can pick up the sounds of voices until they come to a stop within a small empty chamber, all of them crowding in.
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” the professor starts in on what must have been a memorized speech that she has given so many times that she doesn’t even flinch. “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. While you are here your houses will be something like a family to you within these walls. It will be where you sleep, spend your free time, and who you attend classes with. The four houses are Gryffindor, Huffle—”
Harry’s mind starts to drift as the speech goes on, already knowing exactly what house he is to be in and not feeling the need to continue to listen, instead he lets his eyes wander to the rest of the students, wondering where each would end up. Hermione, he can see, ending up in Ravenclaw with the way she pulled out that book of hers and with how annoyed she seems that Harry insists he isn’t that ‘Harry Potter’ bloke. Neville, he can see, perhaps, going to Hufflepuff. Although he truly can’t be sure with how little he knew of the other boy. Ron…he really wants Ron to come with him to Slytherin, but if the way he stood up to Hermione is any indication then he is likely to end up in Gryffindor with the rest of his siblings.
He comes back to the speech with Professor McGonigal announcing she will be returning shortly and that they are to wait quietly, something that none of the students do. Everyone bursts into nervous whispers as soon as the door closes on them.
“It’s some sort of test.” one is saying.
“Like a magic test?” another replies.
“Got to be. At least, I hope it is. I don’t even have a quill on me if it's written!”
“My brother said it hurts a lot.” Ron offers to the other whispering students. “He said we have to fight a troll.”
The whispering gets louder after that. Most of the students insist that there is no way that could be the test while others start to panic about not even knowing what a troll looks like. Beside him Harry hears Hermiony mumbling to herself about all the spells she knows and wondering which she will have to use. Harry, privately, wonders if it is some kind of blood-purity test. He doesn’t think so, not with the way that Uncle Morfin and Grandpa Marvolo complained about the school letting in mudbloods, but they hadn’t been to Hogwarts in a long time and what if they changed the rules? What if whatever test they had to take found him lacking? Labeled him a half-blood and sent him away? He didn’t think he would be able to handle that. Not now. Not after seeing what Hogwarts is truly like!
He is broken from his silent panic when several students start to scream. He jumps nearly twenty feet into the air and whirls around onto to find – ghosts. About twenty of them are entering the room through the back wall. They are conversing, completely ignoring all of the frightened children around them as they gild through.
“Honestly, he really isn’t even a ghost. I don’t see why – “ one of the ghosts talking suddenly pauses, blinking transparent eyes as if noticing all of them for the first time. “I say, what are you all doing here?” The ghost that spoke wore high ruffles around his neck and tights. Nobody answered him.
“New students!” Another ghost exclames excitedly. “All about to be sorted, I suppose?” A few of the students manage fearful nods of affirmation.
“Oh I do hope you end up in my house,” another ghost, this one a woman in a flowing dress proclaims joyfully, “Hufflepuff, you know. One of the best.” she whispers towards one student in particular who gives her a nervous smile. Behind her one last ghost makes his way through the back wall and Harry feels his blood run cold at just the sight of him. The whole room, in fact, seems to drop many degrees as his silvery vestige shambles in, chains around his whole body which rattle with his every momentment. The front of his shirt is stained through, and though the stain is as silver as the rest of him it is very obviously blood.
His harsh dead eyes drag along the students until they meet Harry’s. Harry feels himself freeze under the gaze, wondering why the ghost's attention is so heavy on him, before it moves along. The breath Harry has been holding is expelled from his lungs and he is surprised it doesn’t come out as a puff of frost.
“You lot move along.” Professor McGonagall’s voice cuts through the growing fear in the room as she once more enters it giving all of the ghosts a stern look – even the terrifying blood covered one – as she waves them on and out through another wall. “The sorting ceremony is about to start. Students, form a line please and follow me.”
Harry and all the other students do as told, all of them still holding onto that nervous air from before the ghosts had arrived, as they make their way out of the waiting chamber and into a Great Hall.
Harry has heard his uncle and his grandpa talk about great and powerful magics before. His grandpa, in particular, laments often about the old family homes that the Gaunt’s had once resided in. Talking at length about the dark magics that permeated the very walls of the buildings. The rooms would stretch to any size. The way the art was bewitched to act as portals to wherever was shown in their frames. The doors that all had carved snakes that could only be opened by a parselmouth (Something that Harry’s inherited trunk also boasted). When he spoke of it Harry’s mind has always pulled up magical images of dark castles on the sea, or black-painted wooden mansions like what the Riddle house looked like only far grander in size, but in all his imagining he never imagined something as splendid as this.
The Great Hall is lit by thousands upon thousands of candles that floated midair over four large tables stretched long across the whole of the expansive stone floor. Students sat at the benches placed around said tables and, upon each table were glittering plates and goblets of precious metals. Bronze, gold, silver, and fine porcelain. All were empty for now but Harry has to assume they wouldn’t be that way long.
Ahead of them at the very front of the hall is one last long table upon which older witches and wizards sit who Harry can only assume are the teachers. His eyes move along them but he doesn’t recognize any but the burly giant of a man – ‘Hagrid’, Professor McGonigal had called him – sitting at the very end. Harry wonders then if he is a professor too and, if so, what he teaches.
“It’s bewitched,” Hermione whispers from up ahead. Harry returns his own gaze to the roof of the Great Hall to see what she has seen. “It looks like the sky outside.”
Now that she has mentioned it Harry realizes that she is right. What he thought was just darkness was, in fact, a reflection of the night sky within the very hall's ceiling. He gazes in awe as his eyes slowly adjust to pick up star after star shining between the candle light. He wonders if he had better glasses if the whole thing would look even more magical.
A ‘click’ draws his attention back down and to the front of the hall where Professor McGonigal has just placed a four-legged stool and, upon that, a wizard's hat. The poor thing is so old that its point doesn’t even stick up any more; instead slumping over its frayed and extremely dirty side. Harry has a hilarious thought that maybe they were expected to pull their house animal out of it and had to stifle a laugh at the idea of the blond-haired boy from the train pulling out a deadly cobra from the object or, even funnier, Ron attempting to pull a full lion out on his turn.
(Harry then wonders if he would be able to keep his if he manages to pull out an interesting enough snake from the hats depths.)
The hat twitches and, much to Harry's mortification, begins to sing.
He only just keeps from covering his ears at the terrible voice that is emitted from a rip near the hat's brim, his year-mates seeming to have a similarly strong reaction. The rest of the hall, however, seem used to the hats' antics and simply watch silently or, in some cases, humming along. When the whole thing is done the room bursts into applause and the hat actually bows to each of the tables in turn.
“So we’ve just got to try on a hat?!” Whispers Ron angrily from where he has moved close to Harry. “I’m going to kill Fred. I was getting prepared to fight a troll all summer!”
“I can send a snake after him.” Harry offers, giving his friend a smile which is met with a light shove.
“Not so funny when you can actually do it, mate.” Ron grumbles, although there was still a bit of teasing to it. “Don’t kill my family, please.”
“No promises,” Harry teases right back before Professor McGonical pulls their attention back forward as she produces a long roll of parchment from her sleeve. The feeling of dread that he has managed to push aside came immediately flooding back to the sight of it.
“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she says and Harry feels his blood run cold. “Abbott, Hannah!” Now he wishes they truly were wrestling a troll.
Harry swallows nervously as the first girl goes up, unable to pay attention at all to the sorting as he feels himself start to panic at the realization that his name will be called for all the school to hear and he didn’t even know which name it would be. He hopes that it will be Gaunt – or even Riddle – but what is he going to do if they call Potter? Should he just ignore it? Would they force him up there under that name even though it wasn’t his? Would they assume he is Harry Potter just as Hermione and Ron just because of his scar?
He, once more, self consciously makes sure to flatten his hair over said scar hoping that it is still hidden.
Someone named Finnigan is called and Harry feels his hope plummet as, right after, “Granger, Hermione!” Is declared. Gaunt hadn’t been on the list. That only left two options.
He only just registers Hermione getting sorted into Gryffindor.
He feels himself get more and more tense as the list gets closer and closer to the P’s until it hits them. He feels like he can’t breathe. “Parkinson”...”Patil”...”Patil”...”Perks”...
Silence suddenly hits and Professor McGonigal, for the first time that night, seems to genuinely hesitate. She eyes her list and Harry swears he sees fear in her expression for the briefest moment before she calls out —
“R—Riddle, Harry!”
Her voice stumbles over the name but Harry, for his part, is relieved. They had made it past the P’s and gone right through to the R’s. His breath stutters out and he feels light headed before a hand on his back shoves him forward. He stumbles slightly, looking back to see Ron. His friend gives him an encouraging thumbs up and a smile. Harry returns it with a nervous one of his own before he finally straightens himself up and properly steps forward on legs that still feel like jelly.
The students in the hall seem to be paying him little attention, most of them too busy congratulating their newest members or chatting softly among themselves. Some do watch him as he goes up, though most of the looks he receives are simply professional disinterest.
It isn’t until he approaches the stool that he realizes that, although his fellow students are disinterested, the high table seems inordinately interested in him. The looks he receives from the professors range from worried, to confused, to concerned. The only exceptions seem to come from an oil-slick of a man who looks oddly furious, a man wearing a large purple turban who has gone deathly pale and looks vaguely like he might pass out, and a man with a silvery beard that is sat at the center of the table. He watches Harry with unblinking and deep eyes which seem to dig into his very soul.
Harry feels the scar on his head suddenly prickle with pain. He winces, only just keeping from reaching up to touch his forehead. The pain is gone as quickly as it came but he is happy to turn his back to all of them as he takes a seat on the stool.
Professor McGonigal is looking at him with wide confused eyes, glancing between the paper and himself but does, untimely, drop the hat upon his head.
Darkness greets him.
He waits.
“Riddle, was it? How interesting. Truly very interesting. Now, let's see. Hmm.” A small voice, which Harry realizes much to the hat, hums in his ear in contemplation. “Difficult. Very difficult.”
Slytherin. Harry thinks at the hat I’ll get in trouble if I go anywhere else.
“Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? There is plenty of courage here, oh yes. Not a bad mind either. So much potential for talent and such loyalty to your family—”
Please. It has to be Slytherin
“There is certainly a nice thirst to prove yourself. You could certainly do well there. It would help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that, but Gryffindor too could also help you rise above yourself— ”
Not Gryffindor. He thinks frantically. Of all the options, that one was the absolute worst. Not Gryffindor
“No? Well, if you are sure. Best be SLYTHERIN!” The hat finally calls out, Harry lets out a sigh of relief and makes his way to his new house table, giving Ron, who was still in line, a thumbs up as he does.
There is polite applause from his new house as he goes over and takes an empty seat, making sure to leave some space next to him in the hopes that Ron might be joining him. He turns to watch the rest of the sortings — only four people now — before he catches one of the professors at the high table glancing his way. The one with the large purple turban. Harry frowns as he notices the man's attention.
He turns to his new housemates to ask who the professor is when he finds himself, instead, coming face to face with the silver vestige of a ghost coming halfway out of the table.
The ghost eyes him with a dead look.
“‘Riddle’, was it? I remember that name.” The ghost comments.
“You do?” Asks Harry, his eyes lighting up, all but forgetting the odd glances from the professor at this information. The ghost must be talking about his dad! He doesn’t know anything about the man besides that he is the reason for Uncle Morfin's imprisonment. Harry is desperate to know more.
He opens his mouth to ask what the ghost remembers when another call of “SLYTHERIN!” rings out. Only this call isn’t met with respectful applause like Harry’s had, instead it’s met by a heavy silence. Harry turns forward to see what the fuss is about.
Sitting on the four-legged stool, looking absolutely terrified, Ron Weasley slowly lifts the brim of the Sorting Hat away from his eyes and glances out at the silent and shocked Great Hall.