Ah, what a curious one, the Hat's voice sounds in her ear—or her head? I don't see you in Gryffindor, oh, no—though you may wish to help others, it is not through bravery and chivalry, but rather through understanding them and lending them a helping hand. You would do quite well in Hufflepuff, I believe. But there is also a thirst—you wish to know more, to learn more, and there is a hard to sate curiosity in your soul...

Sarah smiles. I'll take that as a compliment.

But there is a part of you you do not know so well, not yet... You adapt. You behave in ways that will suit you, and that will help you reach your goals, quite unconsciously... Have you considered, my dear, the great House of Salazar?

She hadn't. Slytherin doesn't have the best reputation. Your own song said that they'd use any means to achieve their ends. That's not who I want to be.

That is... poetic licence, if you will. No, Slytherin is not necessarily this image you make of it... It is the House of greatness, and of achieving awe-inspiring things.

Even if it isn't a lot of people think it is, and there's a lot of eyes on me... That isn't a very Ravenclaw justification. I'm here to learn, I don't want to do anything which would interfere with being able to learn and I think Slytherin will interfere more than Ravenclaw.

And that is a rather Slytherin reason for not wanting to be in Slytherin, is it not? the Hat's voice says, sounding wry.

I also have Ravenclaw reasons. But I guess there's more Slytherin in me than I thought.

Indeed. You could shine in both places, I can see that about you...

If I have the choice I pick Ravenclaw. I won't forget this though.

I believe you won't.

"RAVENCLAW!"

And the room erupts in applause.

Sarah smiles and walks over to join her new housemates.

They welcome her warmly.

After her there's Thomas, then Tolipan, then Turpin, and finally "Weasley, Ronald!"

Who is sent to Gryffindor almost as quickly as Malfoy was sent to Slytherin.

Hopefully Ron will be a friend for Neville. Sarah's glad he got where he wanted to go. She claps enthusiastically. She also claps more for Slytherins than she was before her sorting.

Professor McGonagall calls "Zabini, Blaise!" who's a Slytherin but then the she rolls up her scroll and takes the Hat away.

And Headmaster Dumbledore gets to his feet. He's beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome," he says. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sits back down. Everybody claps and cheers.

Sarah commits those words to memory. "Do you think that was a joke?" She asks.

"Probably. They say he's a bit mad," says Padma Patil, before diving into the buffet that's suddenly appeared in front of them: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

"Alright." That's a weird thing to say about the headmaster of a school. Sarah files that mystery away and serves herself some food. "What class are you most looking forwards to?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," she admits. "But they say Defence Professors never stay very long..." She looks at the Head Table.

Sarah follows her gaze. "Do you know why defense professors tend to leave?"

"They say You-Know-Who jinxed the position," an older year whispers conspiratorially.

Professor Quirrell, in his absurd purple turban, who's this year's Defence Professor, seems to be talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

And very suddenly, the hook-nosed teacher looks past Quirrell's turban straight into Sarah's eyes—and a sharp, hot pain shoots across the scar on her forehead.

She winces and closes her eyes. What was that?