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.

"Yeah, so I'm just giving him tips on how to survive," Ron completed boastfully.

Hermione placed her hands on her hips and said, in quite a bossy voice, "Go on, then. Tell me as well. It's the kind of thing I think we all should know."

Suddenly, everyone went quiet to listen. Ron shifted awkwardly from foot-to-foot and Harry could see his cheeks had turned a similar colour to his flaming hair.

"Well, you ... er, sort of ..." Ron blundered. "Dive around a bit. Then you kick it in the knees, because they're really sensitive down there."

"Are they really?" Hermione asked in a surprised tone and an exaggeratedly innocent expression. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah, and not only that," Ron went on eagerly, seemingly encouraged by Hermione's interest, which Harry thought was singularly stupid of him as even he could tell Hermione was being sarcastic. "But their knees are their down there ... you know, their privates. That's why they are so sensitive."

"Where did you read that?" Hermione asked sweetly. "I've memorised all our textbooks, you know, and I didn't come across that important piece of information anywhere."

"Oh, well, my brother told me," Ron explained awkwardly.

"And has he fought many trolls?" Hermione enquired.

"Well, I suppose he must have, when he was Sorted, you know."

"I don't think any of this is right," Hermione announced decisively. "I don't think you have to wrestle anything to get Sorted. What sort of an initiation would that be? To a school, of all things. No, I think your brother was just having you on. You know, making fun of you."

Ron flushed deeper still. "What makes you think you know any better? Just because you read some book? Being a know-it-all doesn't make you right."

Several people gasped lowly, surprised by Ron's prickly tone.

"That was a little uncalled for," Hermione retorted, the hurt evident in her tone. "I was just saying -"

"Well, don't," Ron spat. "If all you do is embarrass people, it might be best if you don't say very much at all."

"Be careful," Harry hissed, his voice low and dangerous, as he stepped forward and placed himself between Ron and Hermione.

"O-or what?" Ron stuttered, as Harry looked up and eyeballed him fiercely.

He may have been taller than Harry, but he hadn't survived an attack by a Dark Lord. Such a thing tended to give the survivor a bit of an aura of mystique. Ron Weasley wasn't insensible of who he was talking to, even if his mouth was writing cheques his magic couldn't cash.

"Or," Harry began pointedly. "You might make me dislike your family even more than I already do. And I'm sure you'd rather be making friends than enemies on your first day, wouldn't you?"

"Maybe, but I don't want to make friends with the wrong sort," Ron returned evenly, shooting an ugly look at Hermione over Harry's shoulder. "And neither should you. I can help you with that."

He held out his hand for Harry to shake. Harry looked down at it ... and actually laughed at the gesture.

"I was raised well, by good people, I'm more than capable of deciding on the right sort for myself, thanks," Harry replied smoothly.

"Oh, and if I'm wrong, and you do have to wrestle a troll," Hermione added sassily. "Hit it with your bleeding stump, because that's probably all you'll have left!"

Then she placed her hand on the small of Harry's back and guided him away from the crowd, where both decided to pay Ron Weasley as little attention as they could get away with.

A few moments later and Professor McGonagall returned. She looked at them all, suspicious at why they were all so silent. But she must have decided it was simply first-day nerves, for she didn't press for any further details.

"Attention everyone," Professor McGonagall began. "You will now follow me into the Great Hall. You will line up in front of the High Table, and when I call your name you will sit on the stool at the front of the Hall and place the Sorting Hat on your head. The Hat will then choose your House, and you will join your fellows at the assigned table. Any questions?"

"What if the Hat doesn't pick a House for you?" Harry asked. "Or decides you're an idiot and sends you home?"

Several people snickered behind him and Hermione poked him in the side, to tell him off for being so silly. So he just looked at her with a loaded expression, to try and communicate that it was a genuine question. She seemed to understand, and blinked by way of apology for assaulting his ribcage.

"In that case, Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall replied lightly. "We shall snap your wand and Apprentice you to Hagrid. I understand he never can have enough Keepers for his colony of Acromantula!"

Harry smirked back at his guardian, as somewhere behind him Ron Weasley was whispering in abject terror about being carted away by one of the giant spiders for their dinner.

Professor McGonagall opened the door and led them into the Great Hall, where they lined up facing the rest of the school. Harry felt like a piece of cattle being led to market, and tried to offset his nerves by seeing how many pointed hats he could count among the sea of seated students. Then he caught sight of the battered old Sorting Hat and was hit with a new fear - he hoped no-one else had nits or dandruff. For that would be a wonderfully embarrassing way to spend his first week at a new school.

Then the Sorting Hat sang some song about the qualities each House possessed, which Harry thought was actually a great way to create rivalry between everyone, because of course it was unthinkable for a Hufflepuff to be brave or a Slytherin honourable. Harry rather hoped he wasn't Sorted into Gryffindor, just so that Sirius could come to the school and make good on his promise to set the stupid Hat on fire.

Then the Sorting began. Sometimes the Hat decided right away, with others it took more time deliberating. Harry grinned widely when it was Hermione's turn, watching as she muttered "Gryffindor, please ... Gryffindor, please," rapidly under her breath. She got her wish, and beamed widely as she gave a thumbs-up to Harry and skipped off towards the Gryffindor table.

There were a whole host of other students Sorted, and then ...

"Harry Potter."

A thousand heads snapped in Harry's direction as he walked solemnly across the hall. Hagrid grinned at him, Professor McGonagall beckoned him towards the Sorting Stool with a smile and an outstretched hand. Harry placed the Hat on. It was so wide-brimmed that it came down over his eyes. The last thing he saw was every student craning to get a good look at him.

Then Harry was in total darkness staring at the inside of the Hat.

"Now, where to put you," a croaky voice whispered in his ear.

"Look, I'll make this really easy for you," Harry muttered back. "Either you put me the same place you put Hermione Granger, or you're going to have a nasty run in with Sirius Black, his wand, and a quantity of very hot magical fire!"

"Ah, I remember Sirius Black," the Hat replied balefully. "In that case, better be GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table erupted and chants of "We got Potter!" rang out from somewhere. Harry ignored them and made for Hermione, who looked very relieved. Oddly, she had white marks on her cheeks, as if her fingernails had been digging into them.

"I saved you a seat ... just in case," Hermione beamed widely, patting the bench next to her as Harry reached the table.

"Thanks," Harry grinned back as he slid down at her side. "I saw you asking politely to be Sorted into Gryffindor. I'm glad the Hat did as it was told!"

"What were you saying to it?" Hermione asked, as Ron Weasley was Sorted into Gryffindor somewhere in the background.

"I threatened to have it set on fire if it didn't put me into Gryffindor!" Harry laughed.

"That works, too!" Hermione giggled.

The Sorting finished with Blaise Zabini joining Slytherin House. Then Dumbledore stood up and announced that they would all sing the school song, conjuring a giant ribbon of lyrics from his wand. It was, in Harry's humble opinion, the very worst and stupidest song ever written. And that was saying something, as Sirius had often made Harry watch Britain's Got Talent with him, which Harry quickly decided was false advertising on the part of the 'talent' show. The fact that Dumbledore allowed everyone to sing with their own tune and pace was equally as stupid, and Harry was certain the horrendous cacophony was likely to make his ears bleed.

"Well, that was ... different," Hermione frowned, scrunching her nose as the last of the singers completed a sort of funeral march rendition.

"I noticed you didn't sing!" Harry teased. "Not much of a songstress, eh?"

"I'll have you know I sing like an angel," Hermione replied haughtily. "When the mood or music takes me."

"And that didn't hit the right notes for you?" Harry quirked.

"Really? How can you even ask that!?" Hermione decried incredulously. "Hoggy, warty, Hogwarts? Honestly! I didn't see you singing either, by the way."

"I have it on good authority that I sing like a warthog being squashed by a steamroller!" Harry explained piously. "It was a service to the school for me to stay quiet!"

Hermione laughed at that, just as Dumbledore addressed the students again.

"Could I have everyone's attention for a few start of term notices," the Headmaster began. "Mr Filch has given me an updated version of the Banned and Dangerous Items list. A copy will be available for viewing on your Common Room Noticeboards. First-years will find a Welcome Pack, including school map, rulebook and timetable in their dorm rooms from tomorrow morning.

"As always, the Forbidden Forest and Shrieking Shack are out of bounds. Furthermore, students are not permitted to enter the Third Floor Corridor, on the right-hand side, for the time being. A giant hole has made its home on the floor there, and we are still trying to work out how to close it. Any student who happens to fall in may reasonably expect to not be rescued for several years. Thank you."

Hermione frowned at the Headmaster, as the tables suddenly groaned under a veritable cornucopia of food.

"He is a very odd man, that one," Hermione mused.

"Ah, you picked up on that too?" Harry cried gleefully. "Great. I thought it was just me being mean."

"You? I don't think you're capable of being mean," Hermione replied, confused.

"Oh, I am," Harry nodded solemnly. "I'll have you know I can be very evil when I want to be."

"I'll be sure to be on my guard!" Hermione chortled in reply.

There was much eating and chatter after that. Luckily for Harry and Hermione, spotted dick wasn't on the menu, so they were able to eat in companionable comfort and not have to explain their childish giggling to the rest of Gryffindor House. Talk was dominated by getting to know new people, speculation about lessons, the Muggleborn students explaining how they discovered they were magical, while the Magicalborns nattered excitedly about Quidditch and Gobstones tournaments.

Hermione was genuinely stunned that Harry didn't know any of the other students, and had only a fleeting knowledge of their families. But Harry was more interested in how Hermione knew Neville, and why she kept shooting furtive glances at him down the table.

Hermione wouldn't realise what this might mean until later that night, and the understanding would make her so mindlessly giddy that she would barely get any sleep after it.

But for now, Hermione was more cautious in her explanation, lest she let something slip. Papageno was in her mind, too, prompting her to keep her wits sharp. Which was hard, as he was out chasing mice in the grounds and was getting so over-excited by it that Hermione was finding his enthusiasm distracting.

"Oh, my parents used to know his," Hermione explained, talking low so that Neville couldn't hear them. It would be bad enough if Harry knew the truth about her origins, but if Neville knew his parents were perfectly healthy in another world he might die of the shock. And Hermione didn't want that on her conscience. "My Mum asked me to keep an eye out for him, because he's quite nervous and clumsy, apparently."

"Oh, right!" Harry breathed out in relief, which was an odd response he thought. "So you're just trying to make sure he's okay?"

"Yes, pretty much," Hermione replied. Then she looked questioningly at Harry. "Why? Why else do you think I'd be doing it?"

"I don't know," Harry mumbled into his ice cream. "But that's very good of you, you know. Looking out for him like that."

"Well, I did promise my Mum," Hermione returned plainly. "Look after Neville Longbottom, she said. So I will, if I can."

"Longbottom?" Harry queried, looking up suddenly. "My Mum was friends with an Alice Longbottom. I wonder if its the same one your Mum knew? She said her son might be starting school at the same time as me."

"When's that? 8.45?" Hermione teased with a laugh.

"Ho ho!" Harry replied dully. "You know what I mean."

"I was just playing, Harry!" Hermione smirked, nudging his shoulder with her own. "Don't be so grouchy."

"I cant promise that!" Harry smirked.

"Oh, of course, you can be very evil," Hermione nodded sagely. "I'll be better behaved for you from now on, just in case!"

"That would be nice," Harry grinned. "But the Longbottoms ... do you reckon they could be the same?"

"Possibly," Hermione replied evasively. "I'll have to send a message to my Mum, ask her for Mrs Longbottom's first name."

"You can borrow my owl, if you like," Harry offered. "You can use Hedwig any time you need to send a letter, actually. I'm sure it would be better than using the smelly school owls."

"That's very generous of you, Harry," Hermione swooned, blushing faintly. "Do you think she'll mind?"

Harry hooted out a laugh. "You called her the most beautiful owl you'd seen... she'll be your slave for life after that!"

Very soon, desserts were cleared and the students rose and began filing away towards their respective Common Rooms. Harry and Hermione joined the flow behind Percy Weasley, who was a Gryffindor Prefect. It was a good thing other people knew the way, because Harry was lost after just a few of the many staircases they took.

Soon they came to a halt in front of a large painting, of an equally large woman in a shocking pink dress. Percy gave them the password ('Harmony') and then the students flocked into the circular Common Room. Returning students headed off for their assigned dorms, while the Head Prefects explained that the five first-year boys would be housed in the top dorm of the boys tower, while the new girls were on the third floor of the girls side. Then they bade them to bed.

Before they parted for the night, Hermione turned to Harry.

"Meet up for breakfast in the morning?" she asked, so sweetly that Harry found it almost achingly appealing.

"Yeah, I'd like that," Harry replied. They stood awkwardly a moment. "Night, then."

"Goodnight, Harry."