As we walked towards that far table on the podium, the little man perked up and looked at me with interest.

  “Minerva,” he said, “this is young Mr. Granger, I take it?”

  “Exactly, Filius,” McGonagall nodded and turned to me. “Sit somewhere nearby for now, at any table. The other students will arrive soon. You will be the last to undergo the Sorting Ceremony.”

  “Okay, Professor.”

  I sat down on a bench at the first table I came across and began to wait. A few minutes later, the teachers began to gather and sit at the table I was led to.

  “Mr. Granger,” a familiar voice said from behind, and turning around, I saw the Headmaster.

  “Hello, Headmaster.”

  Dumbledore smiled into his beard, and the light was reflected intricately in his half-moon glasses.

  “How do you like the Great Hall of Hogwarts?”

  I looked around, taking in the illusion of a dark, cloudy sky on the ceiling. The Headmaster waved his hand, and a multitude of burning candles appeared above the tables, floating in the air.

  “Interesting charms on the ceiling, sir.”

  “Very… capacious, yes,” the Headmaster nodded. “Well, the students are already approaching. I think I should take my place too.”

  The Headmaster walked up to the teachers’ table and sat down on a large throne-like chair. Soon, all the seats at the teachers’ table were occupied. They were quite colorful people, from stern and gloomy to cheerful and positive. There was even a huge, shaggy man with a shaggy beard. Probably some kind of half-breed.

  Literally a couple of minutes later, students of different ages poured into the hall in a crowd. Some of them were a little wet, rumpled, lethargic, pale, and frightened, but they quickly came to their senses. Each one was wearing a school uniform and robes with colored linings. They sat at tables according to color—I sat behind those in blue. Ravenclaw, if you believe *Hogwarts: A History*.

  Quickly taking the robe out of my backpack, I threw it on and turned around as if I had been sitting at a table. They paid minimal attention to me, talking about their own matters. As it turned out from these conversations, Dementors visited the train with children, and many became ill—this undead has a very pernicious influence.

  For about ten minutes, the hall was quietly humming with voices, and then the doors of the hall opened again, and Professor McGonagall led a small crowd of applicants behind her. The first-years did not look very good. Lost and shocked, but they quickly came to their senses, looking at the beautiful illusion charms on the ceiling.

  The professor led them to the podium. They brought out a stool and placed the Sorting Hat on it. It seemed to come to life, and a semblance of a face formed from the folds, which immediately began singing, missing the notes.

  After such a peculiar concert, Professor McGonagall took the parchment and began reading the names of the first-years from it in alphabetical order. The named one came out of the crowd, sat on a stool facing the faculty tables, and the Hat was placed on his head. The Hat either immediately or after a moment’s thought loudly shouted the house in which the first-year would study, after which the Hat was removed, and the student went to the table of his faculty.

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  As I noticed, the distribution was more or less even, but Gryffindor still got a little more students. Hmm, and Hermione is a Gryffindor student.

  The professor did not go anywhere, although the first-years were over. Then the Headmaster stood up from his seat, approached the lectern, on which a golden animated owl with spread wings and a pair of candles on candlesticks flaunted.

  “Before finishing the distribution ceremony, I would like to say a few words,” said the Headmaster. “To begin with, today, for the first time, not only first-year students came to us as students, but also another young man. Two years ago, due to health reasons, he was unable to enroll in the first year with everyone else and was undergoing treatment. This year, to our general joy, he will be able to join our friendly team.”

  Dumbledore nodded, and McGonagall looked at me and said loudly, like the previous names:

  “Granger, Hector.”

  I stood up and walked briskly to the stool, turned sharply, throwing up the hem of my robe, sat down, and immediately a hat was placed on my head. Silence. Silence. A light mental scan that does not affect memory but evaluates personality.

  “How interesting, yes…” the Hat’s voice came from all sides.

  It looks like some kind of mental transmission.

  “…And where should I send you?”

  “I don’t know, dear Hat,” I mentally directed the words to this interesting artifact. “I wasn’t prepared for such a question, and I don’t have any personal preferences. Look, my sister is in Gryffindor.”

  “Determined and goal-oriented, I see. You, young man, would look good in Ravenclaw. I feel that you can be a very extraordinary person. Hufflepuff will welcome your hard work with open arms.”

  “You don’t have to belong to any faculty to display the proper character traits. It’s just your own choice.”

  “Well, in that case…”

  “Hufflepuff!” the Hat shouted across the hall.

  The gnome inside me rejoices. If the books are to be believed, a friendly team, work, and life in the dungeon await me. If only someone would supply me with some ale and meat. What nonsense is this in my head?

  The Hogwarts faculty is one family. At least these are the words of Professor McGonagall that the first-years quoted as we walked to the Hufflepuff common room after the end of the festive feast. Despite the joy of admission, the children could not ignore the news that the school would be guarded by the Dementors of Azkaban, and if their anxiety was purely emotional, then mine was from the knowledge of what was in the books and from the sensations of their magic. And yes, I walked with the first-years, but in fairness, it should be noted that the Hufflepuff students basically walked in one crowd; that behind the ostentatious friendliness, behind the smiles and cheerful conversations, they hid real worries and fear in their eyes.

  I hadn’t been attacked with questions yet, although I was accepted easily at the feast table, without going overboard in excessive caution or, on the contrary, friendliness. The prefect, Cedric Diggory, was a rather tall, brown-haired man with unruly hair and a polite smile that seemed to be stuck to his face. On the way to the common room, he told me various little things about these gloomy stone corridors of the school, about the best way to get to the Great Hall, and about when and where you can get from the main tower, where all the stairs move.

  “And here,” Cedric pointed to a large still-life painting, “is the Hogwarts kitchen. To get there, you need to tickle this painted pear.”

  He pointed his finger but did nothing.

  “The entrance to our living room is already very close.”

  And indeed, we walked another ten meters, turned a corner, and saw large wooden barrels stacked horizontally on top of each other. They were so big that an adult could crawl through one of them, just bending over a little.

  “The entrance is here.”

  Although there were guys from other years with us, who obviously knew how to get into the common room, they were standing nearby and waiting for Cedric to demonstrate to the newcomers how to do it. He knocked in a strictly defined rhythm on one of the barrels, and the bottom of the other opened like a door.

  “Here. The sequence must be followed. Come in,” the prefect waved his hand towards the passage with a smile.

  The faculty common room reminded me too much of something. A low domed ceiling with slightly slanted walls, an abundance of shelves with pots in which a variety of plants grew, creamy yellow colors with an abundance of wooden trim. The common room itself was not exactly in the dungeons—through the high round windows, you could see the grass growing near the walls of the castle. It looked like a basement, a dugout—you can call it whatever you like. Many comfortable deep sofas and armchairs, massive but small wooden tables, a monumental fireplace, and… And again, round doors, behind which, as I saw, the passages to the women’s and men’s rooms were hidden. Yes, these are not dwarf halls—this is some kind of hobbit hole!

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