Harry watched her leave through narrowed eyes before taking the opportunity to study his classmates. Ron Weasley was in robes that had been handed down one too many times and wore unfortunately visible battered trainers. Evidently he took little pride in his appearance and had a look about him that suggested laziness. A little behind him, prattling on at a hundred words a minute to his dear brother, was a bushy haired Mudblood; a Ravenclaw if he'd ever seen one. Although, she'd annoy even the bookworms with her obsession of reciting textbooks to ease her… A loud shriek interrupted his train of thought and he turned at more screams and gasps to see a group of ghosts floating through the wall.
"They do this, every year," a hoarse, chilling voice said at his shoulder.
Harry resisted the urge to flinch and turned his head to see another ghost, but perhaps the most haunting out of all of them. He was handsome though his face was of stone and his eyes a personal frozen over hell. His robes were stained and bloodied with a tear in that general area.
"And what about you? Do you come to scare the first years every year?" Harry asked, keeping his voice neutral.
"Not every year," the ghost said. "Only when it interests me." The ghost eyed him. "You are the epitome of my house, Scion Potter; you seem to be very carefully thought out."
"Wouldn't want to give myself away now, do I?" he replied. "And your house?"
"The Bloody Baron," the ghost introduced. "Ghost of Slytherin House."
"I see…" Harry studied the ghost more closely, "Do you not have a name of your own?"
"I did once but even that has got lost in time," the Baron said morosely. "I bid you farewell Scion Potter- I look forward to seeing you amongst my house."
He watched the ghost go thoughtfully as the other spectres left, exiting through the opposite wall. He was not given much chance to think too much on the enigma, as the bane of his existence called up his name in conversation.
"What? How could they even let him into the school?" the Mudblood whispered in horror.
"The Ministry are claiming false-imprisonment," Saeviour informed the bookworm all too eagerly. "That a new light has come up on the case. But I know better…they should've left him to rot…"
He felt his fists clench; his cold emeralds blazing like the fiery depths of hell of which many claimed he heralded from. The Avada Kedavra green curling and flicking, just begging to be allowed to have a go at the source of their anger, their hatred.
"Perhaps they should have, dear brother," he interrupted coolly, earning a startled gasp from the Mudblood. "At least then I wouldn't have to put up with you, and…" he eyed the girl with disdain, "…your vapid companions. Surely the little Mudblood can form her own opinions rather than ooh and gasp at your less than stimulating conversation?"
He almost laughed at the reaction he caused. He had no doubt that his gormless brother only understood the little derogatory word he had slipped in, whereas the Mudblood had understood everything except that. But whilst she fumed, Saeviour held a wand to his face; pitiful.
"Mr Potter!" a stern voice snapped. "Put that away this instant."
Growling, Saeviour did as he was told, turning to face the deputy headmistress. Professor McGonagall looked down at her soon to be lion, as The-Boy-Who-Forgot-To-Die could end up nowhere else, with somewhat forced anger. Her hardened eyes flickered to himself and he gave her a charming smile in return; she flinched. She had not forgotten what he had been falsely imprisoned for.
"Form a line, quickly now," Professor McGonagall ordered, her wary eyes never leaving his.
The crowd were quick to obey and pushed and shoved their way into a line; none of them wanted to be first. Harry dropped the gaze with the Deputy Headmistress, ducking his head to hide a scowl. He could not afford to live under suspicion just yet; it was rightly placed suspicion, but it wasn't wanted. Not in the slightest.
"Follow me."
The Great Hall was something to be held in the same light as the exterior view of the castle. The stone walls basked in the orange haze that was emitted in glowing waves from the tips of the candles that floated above the sea of black robes. Four long tables stood perpendicular to the table that sat the teachers on a raised platform; the students sitting at them divided into four houses; Gryffindor, the house of the brave; Hufflepuff, the house of the loyal; Ravenclaw, the house of the smart; Slytherin, the house of the cunning. Plates made from metals suiting the houses accordingly were lined up along with matching forks and goblets, waiting patiently for the feast to begin. Before the teachers' table was a rickety wooden stool, which upon sat a dirty hat and a roll of parchment.
Professor McGonagall left them at a halt in-between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw houses, before stepping up to the stool and taking the roll of parchment into her hands. Then, the rip in the dirty old hat stretched open, and 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;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs 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 folks 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!"