“I’m talking about—look!”

  Harry grabbed Ron’s arm and wheeled him about so that he was face to face with the winged horse. Ron stared straight at it for a second, then looked back at Harry.

  “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

  “At the—there, between the shafts! Harnessed to the coach! It’s right there in front—”

  But as Ron continued to look bemused, a strange thought occurred to Harry.

  “Can’t… can’t you see them?”

  “See what?”

  “Can’t you see what’s pulling the carriages?”

  Ron looked seriously alarmed now.

  “Are you feeling all right, Harry?”

  “I… yeah…”

  Harry felt utterly bewildered. The horse was there in front of him, gleaming solidly in the dim light issuing from the station windows behind them, vapour rising from its nostrils in the chilly night air. Yet, unless Ron was faking—and it was a very feeble joke if he was—Ron could not see it at all.

  “Shall we get in, then?” said Ron uncertainly, looking at Harry as though worried about him.

  “Yeah,” said Harry. “Yeah, go on…”

  “It’s all right,” said a dreamy voice from beside Harry as Ron vanished into the coach’s dark interior. “You’re not going mad or anything. I can see them, too.”

  “Can you?” said Harry desperately, turning to Luna. He could see the bat-winged horses reflected in her wide silvery eyes.

  “Oh, yes,” said Luna, “I’ve been able to see them ever since my first day here. They’ve always pulled the carriages. Don’t worry. You’re just as sane as I am.”

  Smiling faintly, she climbed into the musty interior of the carriage after Ron. Not altogether reassured, Harry followed her.

  11. THE SORTING HAT’S NEW SONG

  Harry did not want to tell the others that he and Luna were having the same hallucination, if that was what it was, so he said nothing more about the horses as he sal down inside the carriage and slammed the door behind him. Nevertheless, he could not help watching the silhouettes of the horses moving beyond the window.

  “Did everyone see that Grubbly-Plank woman?” asked Ginny. “What’s she doing back here? Hagrid can’t have left, can he?”

  “I’ll be quite glad if he has,” said Luna, “he isn’t a very good teacher, is he?”

  “Yes, he is!” said Harry, Ron and Ginny angrily.

  Harry glared at Hermione. She cleared her throat and quickly said, “Erm… yes… he’s very good.”

  “Well, we in Ravenclaw think he’s a bit of a joke,” said Luna, unlazed.

  “You’ve got a rubbish sense of humour then,” Ron snapped, as the wheels below them creaked into motion.

  Luna did not seem perturbed by Ron’s rudeness; on the contrary, she simply watched him for a while as though he were a mildly interesting television programme.

  Rattling and swaying, the carriages moved in convoy up the road. When they passed between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars on either side of the gates to the school grounds, Harry leaned forwards to try and see whether there were any lights on in Hagrid’s cabin by the Forbidden Forest, but the grounds were in complete darkness. Hogwarts Castle, however, loomed ever closer: a towering mass of turrets, jet black against the dark sky, here and there a window blazing fiery bright above them.

  The carriages jingled to a halt near the stone steps leading up to the oak front doors and Harry got out of the carriage first. He turned again to look for lit windows down by the Forest, but there was definitely no sign of life within Hagrid’s cabin. Unwillingly, because he had half-hoped they would have vanished, he turned his eyes instead upon the strange, skeletal creatures standing quietly in the chill night air, their blank white eyes gleaming.

  Harry had once before had the experience of seeing something that Ron could not, but that had been a reflection in a mirror, something much more insubstantial than a hundred very solid-looking beasts strong enough to pull a fleet of carriages. If Luna was to be believed, the beasts had always been there but invisible. Why, then, could Harry suddenly see them, and why could Ron not?

  “Are you coming or what?” said Ron beside him.

  “Oh… yeah,” said Harry quickly and they joined the crowd hurrying up the stone steps into the castle.

  The Entrance Hall was ablaze with torches and echoing with footsteps as the students crossed the flagged stone floor for the double doors to the right, leading to the Great Hall and the start-of-term feast.

  The four long house tables in the Great Hall were filling up under the starless black ceiling, which was just like the sky they could glimpse through the high windows. Candles floated in midair all along the tables, illuminating the silvery ghosts who were dotted about the Hall and the faces of the students talking eagerly, exchanging summer news, shouting greetings at friends from other houses, eyeing one another’s new haircuts and robes. Again, Harry noticed people putting their heads together to whisper as he passed; he gritted his teeth and tried to act as though he neither noticed nor cared.

  Luna drifted away from them at the Ravenclaw table. The moment they reached Gryffindors, Ginny was hailed by some fellow fourth-years and left to sit with them; Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville found seats together about halfway down the table between Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor house ghost, and Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, the last two of whom gave Harry airy, overly-friendly greetings that made him quite sure they had stopped talking about him a split second before. He had more important things to worry about, however: he was looking over the students’ heads to the staff table that ran along the top wall of the Hall.

  “He’s not there.”

  Ron and Hermione scanned the staff table too, though there was no real need; Hagrid’s size made him instantly obvious in any lineup.

  “He can’t have left,” said Ron, sounding slightly anxious.

  “Of course he hasn’t,” said Harry firmly.

  “You don’t think he’s… hurt, or anything, do you?” said Hermione uneasily.

  “No,” said Harry at once.

  “But where is he, then?”

  There was a pause, then Harry said very quietly, so that Neville, Parvati and Lavender could not hear, “Maybe he’s not back yet. You know—from his mission—the thing he was doing over the summer for Dumbledore.”

  “Yeah… yeah, that’ll be it,” said Ron, sounding reassured, but Hermione bit her lip, looking up and down the staff table as though hoping for some conclusive explanation of Hagrid’s absence.

  “Who’s that?” she said sharply, pointing towards the middle of the staff table.

  Harry’s eyes followed hers. They lit first upon Professor Dumbledore, sitting in his high-backed golden chair at the centre of the long staff table, wearing deep-purple robes scattered with silvery stars and a matching hat. Dumbledore’s head was inclined towards the woman sitting next to him, who was talking into his ear. She looked, Harry thought, like somebody’s maiden aunt: squat, with short, curly, mouse-brown hair in which she had placed a horrible pink Alice band that matched the fluffy pink cardigan she wore over her robes. Then she turned her face slightly to take a sip from her goblet and he saw, with a shock of recognition, a pallid, toadlike face and a pair of prominent, pouchy eyes.

  “It’s that Umbridge woman!”

  “Who?” said Hermione.

  “She was at my hearing, she works for Fudge!”

  “Nice cardigan,” said Ron, smirking.

  “She works for Fudge!” Hermione repeated, frowning. “What on earth’s she doing here, then?”

  “Dunno…”

  Hermione scanned the staff table, her eyes narrowed.

  “No,” she muttered, “no, surely not…”

  Harry did not understand what she was talking about but did not ask; his attention had been caught by Professor Grubbly-Plank who had just appeared behind the staff table; she worked her way along to the very end and took the seat that ought to have been Hagrid’s. That meant the first-years must have crossed the lake and reached the castle, and sure enough, a few seconds later, the doors from the Entrance Hall opened. A long line of scared-looking first-years entered, led by Professor McGonagall, who was carrying a stool on which sat an ancient wizard’s hat, heavily patched and darned with a wide rip near the frayed brim.

  The buzz of talk in the Great Hall faded away. The first-years lined up in front of the staff table facing the rest of the students, and Professor McGonagall placed the stool carefully in front of them, then stood back.

  The first-years’ faces glowed palely in the candlelight. A small boy right in the middle of the row looked as though he was trembling. Harry recalled, fleetingly, how terrified he had felt when he had stood there, waiting for the unknown test that would determine to which house he belonged.

  The whole school waited with bated breath. Then the rip near the hat’s brim opened wide like a mouth and the Sorting Hat burst into song:

  In times of old when I was new

  And Hogwarts barely started

  The founders of our noble school

  Thought never to be parted:

  United by a common goal,

  They had the selfsame yearning,

  To make the world’s best magic school

  And pass along their learning.

  “Together we will build and teach!”

  The four good friends decided

  And never did they dream that they

  Might some day be divided,

  For were there such friends anywhere

  As Slytherin and Gryffindor?

  Unless it was the second pair

  Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?

  So how could it have gone so wrong?

  How could such friendships fail?

  Why, I was there and so can tell

  The whole sad, sorry tale.

  Said Slytherin, “We’ll teach just those

  Whose ancestry is purest.”

  Said Ravenclaw, “We’ll teach those whose

  Intelligence is surest.”

  Said Gryffindor, “We’ll teach all those

  With brave deeds to their name,”

  Said Hufflepuff, “I’ll teach the lot,

  And treat them just the same.”

  These differences caused little strife

  When first they came to light,

  For each of the four founders had

  A house in which they might

  Take only those they wanted, so,

  For instance, Slytherin

  Took only pure-blood wizards

  Of great cunning, just like him,

  And only those of sharpest mind

  Were taught by Ravenclaw

  While the bravest and the boldest

  Went to daring Gryffindor.

  Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest,

  And taught them all she knew,

  Thus the houses and their founders

  Retained friendships firm and true.

  So Hogwarts worked in harmony

  For several happy years,

  But then discord crept among us

  Feeding on our faults and fears.

  The houses that, like pillars four,

  Had once held up our school,

  Now turned upon each other and,

  Divided, sought to rule.

  And for a while it seemed the school

  Must meet an early end,

  What with duelling and with jighting

  And the clash of friend on friend

  And at last there came a morning

  When old Slytherin departed

  And though the fighting then died out

  He left us quite downhearted.

  And never since the founders four

  Were whittled down to three

  Have the houses been united

  As they once were meant to be.

  And now the Sorting Hat is here

  And you all know the score:

  I sort you into houses

  Because that is what I’m for,

  But this year I’ll go further,

  Listen closely to my song:

  Though condemned I am to split you

  Still I worry that it’s wrong,

  Though I must fulfil my duty

  And must quarter every year

  Still I wonder whether Sorting

  May not bring the end I fear.

  Oh, know the perils, read the signs,

  The warning history shows,

  For our Hogwarts is in danger

  From external, deadly foes

  And we must unite inside her

  Or we’ll crumble from within

  I have told you, I have warned you…

  Let the Sorting now begin.

  The Hat became motionless once more; applause broke out, though it was punctured, for the first time in Harry’s memory, with muttering and whispers. All across the Great Hall students were exchanging remarks with their neighbours, and Harry, clapping along with everyone else, knew exactly what they were talking about.

  “Branched out a bit this year, hasn’t it?” said Ron, his eyebrows raised.

  “Too right it has,” said Harry.

  The Sorting Hat usually confined itself to describing the different qualities looked for by each of the four Hogwarts houses and its own role in Sorting them. Harry could not remember it ever trying to give the school advice before.

  “I wonder if it’s ever given warnings before?” said Hermione, sounding slightly anxious.

  “Yes, indeed,” said Nearly Headless Nick knowledgeably, leaning across Neville towards her (Neville winced; it was very uncomfortable to have a ghost lean through you). “The Hat feels itself honour-bound to give the school due warning whenever il feels—”

  But Professor McGonagall, who was waiting to read out the list of first-years’ names, was giving the whispering students the sort of look that scorches. Nearly Headless Nick placed a see-through finger to his lips and sat primly upright again as the muttering came to an abrupt end. With a last frowning look that swept the four house tables, Professor McGonagall lowered her eyes to her long piece of parchment and called out the first name.

  “Abercrombie, Euan.”

  The terrified-looking boy Harry had noticed earlier stumbled forwards and put the Hat on his head; it was only prevented from falling right down to his shoulders by his very prominent ears. The Hat considered for a moment, then the rip near the brim opened again and shouted:

  “Gryffindor!”

  Harry clapped loudly with the rest of Gryffindor house as Euan Abercrombie staggered to their table and sat down, looking as though he would like very much to sink through the floor and never be looked at again.

  Slowly, the long line of first-years thinned. In the pauses between the names and the Sorting Hat’s decisions, Harry could hear Ron’s stomach rumbling loudly. Finally, “Zeller, Rose” was Sorted into Hufflepuff, and Professor McGonagall picked up the Hat and stool and marched them away as Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet.

  Whatever his recent bitter feelings had been towards his Headmaster, Harry was somehow soothed to see Dumbledore standing before them all. Between the absence of Hagrid and the presence of those dragonish horses, he had felt that his return to Hogwarts, so long anticipated, was full of unexpected surprises, like jarring notes in a familiar song. But this, at least, was how it was supposed to be: their Headmaster rising to greet them all before the start-of-term feast.

  “To our newcomers,” said Dumbledore in a ringing voice, his arms stretched wide and a beaming smile on his lips, “welcome! To our old hands—welcome back! There is a time for speech-making, but this is not it. Tuck in!”

  There was an appreciative laugh and an outbreak of applause as Dumbledore sat down neatly and threw his long beard over his shoulder so as to keep it out of the way of his plate—for food had appeared out of nowhere, so that the five long tables were groaning under joints and pies and dishes of vegetables, bread and sauces and flagons of pumpkin juice.

  “Excellent,” said Ron, with a kind of groan of longing, and he seized the nearest plate of chops and began piling them on to his plate, watched wistfully by Nearly Headless Nick.

  “What were you saying before the Sorting?” Hermione asked the ghost. “About the Hat giving warnings?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Nick, who seemed glad of a reason to turn away from Ron, who was now eating roast potatoes with almost indecent enthusiasm. “Yes, I have heard the Hat give several warnings before, always at times when it detects periods of great danger for the school. And always, of course, its advice is the same: stand together, be strong from within.”

  “Ow kunnit nofe skusin danger ifzat?” said Ron.

  His mouth was so full Harry thought it was quite an achievement for him to make any noise at all.

  “I beg your pardon?” said Nearly Headless Nick politely, while Hermione looked revolted. Ron gave an enormous swallow and said, “How can it know if the school’s in danger if it’s a Hat?”

  “I have no idea,” said Nearly Headless Nick. “Of course, it lives in Dumbledore’s office, so I daresay it picks things up there.”

  “And it wants all the houses to be friends?” said Harry, looking over at the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was holding court. “Fat chance.”

  “Well, now, you shouldn’t take that attitude,” said Nick reprovingly. “Peaceful co-operation, that’s the key. We ghosts, though we belong to separate houses, maintain links of friendship. In spite of the competitiveness between Gryffindor and Slytherin, I would never dream of seeking an argument with the Bloody Baron.”

  “Only because you’re terrified of him,” said Ron.

  Nearly Headless Nick looked highly affronted.

  “Terrified? I hope I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, have never been guilty of cowardice in my life! The noble blood that runs in my veins—”

  “What blood?” asked Ron. “Surely you haven’t still got—?”