Chapter Four

After Hagrid knocked the door three times, Professor McGonagall took over and led us all to the entrance hall—we were finally heading into the zones I was familiar with. It greeted us with all its golden luxury, torches perched on the walls and ceilings too high and magnificent to even make out in the nighttime. Beautiful glass windows lined the cobblestone walls, letting in the slightest bit of moonlight, and in front of us was a marvelous pair of curving staircases, which I knew led to the higher floors. 

The sight of the intimidating Professor McGonagall hushed the crowd up almost immediately, and when she saw me she gave me a curt, knowing smile. She led us all to a small room next to the Great Hall, where I could hear the current students talking excitedly. The air in the room buzzed with anticipation.

The first day of my new life, I thought.

After giving a spiel on all the Houses, Professor McGonagall had gone into the Great Hall to quiet down all the students for our Sorting. My blissful romanticization of my soon-to-be school life was horribly cut short by the Hogwarts ghosts I had come to know and love—though thankfully, they were not Peeves or the Bloody Baron. 

The Friar, accompanied by Nearly Headless Nick, waved at me as he flew over all the first-years. “Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!” the Friar exclaimed. (I didn’t tell him that I hoped the opposite.)

“Move along, now,” McGonagall said sharply, returning from the Great Hall. She instructed us all to form a line—she didn’t need to tell us twice—and follow her into the hall. I was beside myself with excitement.

I had only been to the Great Hall that one time I was with Fred and George, but it definitely didn’t look like this. In the nighttime, the Hall was lit with thousands of candles floating in the air, and I noticed four very long tables, where the members of each House sat. The tables were adorned with golden dishes and utensils, and I saw the teachers’ table towards the front. The ceiling was bewitched to look like the night sky.

Professor McGonagall led us in front of the teachers’ table, and peering at all the expectant faces around me, I felt the excitement start to be replaced by anxiety. I could hardly hear the Sorting Hat’s song; the blood rushed in my ears, and I felt the same fear that I had felt in Ollivander’s shop, when I thought that the wand search was taking so long because none of them had chosen me. What if I didn’t belong anywhere? At the moment, I didn’t feel very brave, or quick-witted, or ambitious. I looked over at Gramps at the teachers’ table with uncertainty, but he was looking off gazing somewhere to the right with a pleasant expression on his face. 

As soon as Hannah Abbott went, my stomach lurched with the realization that I was going second. Second! A miserably early position for something so nervewracking!

I gulped. As Professor McGonagall called, “Aberforth, Carina!” to its four-legged stool, I tried my best to remember that a wand did choose me, after all, and it was a bloody good one at that.

I took a deep breath, then placed the hat on my head.

Immediately, I could hear a small voice in my brain—the Sorting Hat’s voice—murmuring, musing, rummaging through my mind. “Carina. You’ve placed me on your head at last. Let’s see here… you’ve demonstrated an excellent thirst for knowledge, a strong sense of morals, although you do have a mischievous streak. You’re brave and you’re kind, Carina Aberforth, no mistaking it. And it appears as though you have a burden on your shoulders. You feel as though you must live up to it.”

I shivered, thinking about Ollivander’s words.

“Now, where to put you, then?”

Not Hufflepuff, I thought, squeezing my eyes shut a little.

“Not Hufflepuff, eh? I’d think you’d love the people, you know. Perhaps it’s that desire of yours to be exceptional… I have the perfect choice for you, then. GRYFFINDOR!”

With shaky hands, I took the hat off and placed it back on the stool as the word “GRYFFINDOR!” seemed to ring through the halls. I almost didn’t notice all the students cheering for me—I spotted Fred, George, and Lee shouting at the top of their lungs: “Carina! Carina!” I supposed it was because I was the first Gryffindor to be Sorted.

Finally taking a seat at the end of the Gryffindor table, I let out what felt like my hundredth sigh of relief that day. To finally be Sorted gave me an unbelievable ecstasy—I finally belonged at Hogwarts. I belonged somewhere. I belonged somewhere!

“We’re all cheering you on, Carina!” George said excitedly as I sat down.

I smiled weakly as the other names were called and, slowly, the seats around me filled with fellow Gryffindors in my year. I looked around the sea of unfamiliar faces and thought about what Professor McGonagall had said about our House being our family. Were these people going to become my family?

The thought of that made me feel both queasy and excited.

Leah became a Ravenclaw, and I was happy for her, because it seemed a lot of the friends she’d already made were in it. Draco was instantly made a Slytherin—though I wasn’t surprised, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little disappointed—and by my proximity to Fred and George, I found myself sitting next to Ron Weasley as well as his good friend, who turned out to be the Harry Potter. He was a kind-looking, spectacle-wearing boy with dark hair and bangs covering a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, confirming the rumors. His skin looked awfully pale white in the light, though I assumed a lot of it had to do with the pressures of coming to Hogwarts for the first time. 

I remembered that Draco had mentioned he wanted to befriend him earlier. I wondered if they were friends now.

After Gramps said a few words—he winked my way, which made me smile a little—food magically appeared on our plates. That never happened in my lodging with Gramps, who always insisted that he cook food for me because I “needed to learn self-control.” I was vaguely aware that this was a thing because of the lunch I shared with Fred and George just a few months prior, but it definitely didn’t appear in this abundance.

“Are dinners always like this?” I asked Fred and George incredulously. Stuffing their faces with chicken leg, they nodded.

Not wanting to question it, I grabbed whatever I wanted and ended up with a large plate full of chicken tenders, macaroni and cheese, some bacon and steak. I topped it all off with some pudding in my little bowl. Bon appetit!

I wasn’t too far into my meal when the boys around me started to make conversation. Ron asked, “Carina Aberforth, right? Where’s your family from?”

I looked up from devouring my steak, caught off guard. Quickly swallowing, I braced myself for the awkwardness and gloom of having to say that my parents were dead. “Ah. My parents died when I was young, but I was actually raised by my grandfather Dumbledore in the Hogwarts castle,” I explained. 

“Really!” They gawked—I laughed a little because I didn’t even know some of their names. Eventually, they introduced themselves to me. Seamus Finnigan, Harry Potter, Dean Thomas, and Ron. I kept trying to talk to Fred, but he was busy talking with his own third-year friends, which was understandable but made my heart sink a little.

At some point towards the end of the night, Harry turned to me and said, “Both my parents died when I was young, too. I had to live with some Muggles who treated me terribly. Wish I got to live at Hogwarts.”

“Oh, I had to live by lots of rules,” I reassured Harry. “It’s kind of a scary place if you’re caught at the wrong place at the wrong time. You see that teacher over there? The Hogwarts gamekeeper.” I pointed over at Hagrid, but Harry already knew who he was.

“Hagrid!” Harry exclaimed, smiling a little. “I know him. He’s the best.”

“He’s been there for me, a lot of times when I felt bored or lonely. That’s another thing, too. You don’t really get to have friends when you’re basically another school ghost.”

As dinner progressed and there were fewer main dishes and more desserts, Harry helped himself to a treacle tart as we slid into a conversation that made me feel as though he was an old friend. We had discussions on his own life living under a cupboard—Harry Potter, under a cupboard!—for most of his life with his Muggle family, our anxieties before the Sorting Ceremony, and our classes. Eventually, the conversation shifted towards the more personal. I asked him if he knew anything about his parents, and he nodded. 

“Only a little, though. Hagrid told me they were great people,” Harry said, somewhat glumly. “And everyone I meet’s been telling me I have my mother’s eyes.”

“I’m jealous! Everyone I meet tells me I have pretty lavender eyes, but it’d be nice to know where I got them. I don’t even know what my parents looked like, only that they died when I was really young… by the way, are you okay? You look a little ill. No offense.”

Harry took a sip of what seemed like his fifteenth cup of cold water. He clasped his hand over his head, then shook it, as if to ward off some malaise. “It was… weird. I looked over at that teacher, and all of a sudden, my… my scar started to hurt!” 

“You mean that one?” I subtly pointed over to Professor Quirrell, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, who I’d never met directly because he was new (all of them were new, because I’d never seen a professor in that position last longer than a year. I’m telling you, it’s cursed.) He was a stuttering man who wore a purple turban. Unluckily for me, he was giving me a piercing, almost calculating look when I pointed him out to Harry. We made uncomfortable eye contact for half a second before he continued talking to Professor Snape, the Potions professor who was so intimidating that I exited his class after sitting in for one day. I gulped.

“No, the one next to him.”

“Professor Snape? Oh, yeah. He’s scary as all hell.” I added, sarcastically, “Can’t wait to go to his class for the first time.”

Harry looked a little frazzled, and he seemed keen to change the subject, so I obliged. “Besides Ron and Hermione and the other people at this table, have you made friends with anyone so far?”

Harry shook his head. He had clearly lost his appetite. “But I have met people I dislike.”

“Oh?”

“That Draco Malfoy chap and his minions Crabbe and Goyle are a real piece of work,” Harry said, scoffing a little. “Have you heard of him?”

I was stunned, though Mr. Shacklebolt’s words about the Malfoys echoed in my head. Not wanting to make it seem as though I wasn’t on Harry’s side, I set aside my own feelings and said, as casually as possible, “Oh, a little.”

Ron thought it was a perfect time to interject in our conversation, and he said, with a hint of accusation in his voice, “I saw them holding hands earlier when we were walking to the Black Lake!”

“I just—” I stuttered, at a loss for words. My heart pounded—what a stupid move to make back there! It was a thoughtless move, with no intention in it besides having someone’s hand as company in the eerie night. Was I about to ruin my Gryffindor reputation before school had even started? “It was scary out there!” 

Everyone around me who was listening laughed at my now beet-red face. If they all disliked me, it was doomed! Doomed! I thought back to Professor McGonagall saying that Gryffindor would become my family, and how that all seemed impossible now. I wanted nothing more than to be back in the Sorting Hat’s stool, maybe it had made a mistake and put me in the wrong house—

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said, chortling. “I believe you.”

All my anxieties melted away. And just like that, everyone had moved on.

Soon after, Gramps got to his feet and gave a few announcements to everyone in the hall. “"Ahem—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.”

I could tell he was talking about Fred and George.

“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.”

That was new. I remembered being there before—there was nothing there except a few empty rooms. Percy Weasley mumbled something to Harry about how the prefects get told about why the rules are in place.

Then we all sang the Hogwarts song, which I shouted to my heart’s content. Ever since I was born, I had heard it from outside the Great Hall, either from my room near Gramps’ office. A muffled song filled to the brim with the joyous cheers of a thousand students. A song I could never be a part of—until now.

Gramps always did love music. After Fred and George, who sang a hilarious, funeral march-like rendition of the song, finished, all the Gryffindor first-years followed Percy out of the hall and up the staircase from the entrance hall. I was sleepy from all the traveling and eating, but I still couldn’t help but notice how adept Percy was at navigating the seemingly endless maze of staircases.

We almost made it to our destination when Peeves showed up to ruin things—I knew him all too well, and when I saw his silvery silhouette swoop down at the group, I rolled my eyes.

“Go away, Peeves, or the Baron’ll hear about this, I mean it!” Percy barked, rightfully. Peeves gave me a menacing smile as he flew away, and I stuck my tongue out at him. Clearly, he remembered me as well as I remembered him.

What happened? Oh, it was just over a year ago. I was just sneaking around my classes as per usual when all of a sudden, a silvery hand flew down at me with lightning-fast speed and stole the cloak clean out from over my head! Visible and embarrassed (and visibly embarrassed), I instinctively hexed Peeves, who was gloating about his new treasure and how he’d use it, with the Jelly-Fingers Curse. As soon as the cloak slipped out of his hands, I ran like hell to my room and didn’t go to any classes for a week. We’ve had a mutual dislike for each other ever since, though Peeves doesn’t bother me as much. Maybe it was both dislike and respect.

“Peeves is the worst,” I whispered to Harry, who looked so exhausted he might’ve fallen asleep on the stairs. He mumbled something in agreement.

When we finally got into our rooms in the tower, I found that I was sharing a room with Hermione Granger, a mousy-haired girl who was talking to Percy during dinnertime about classes. We didn’t make much conversation since we were so tired, and I hit the hay as soon as I pulled my pajamas on.

When I opened my eyes, I… didn’t. I opened my eyes to complete and utter darkness, hollow and all-consuming and much, more worse than the darkness of the path that Hagrid led us through to get to our boats. Then, I had the feeling of being suffocated. I couldn’t tell what was suffocating me—it felt like cloth? Some sort of fabric? Whatever it was, it was so tightly wrapped around my face that every gasp for air was futile. I tried to move my arms and legs to tear the thing off my face, but it was impossible. It was almost as if my limbs had been torn off my body, and there I was, a disembodied head wrapped in cloth. 

To make it worse, I started hearing whispering in my brain, like the internal conversation I had with the Sorting Hat, but much, much more sinister. 

Bring yourself to me, Carina… it is your destiny…

Just as I felt like I was about to pass out, I opened my eyes—for real this time.