The Curse of the GateKeeper (James Potter #2) (13 page)

"I've got a whole collection of Debellows action figures at home," James heard Noah whisper meaningfully. "I collected them when I was little. I used to sic them on Steven's cat until one of them nearly tied its tail in a knot."

"I see many of you are familiar with Professor Debellows," Merlin commented from the podium. "I trust you will therefore find his classes interesting as well as challenging. And now I believe we will witness one of this school's longest and most important traditions: the Sorting of our newest students into their houses. Professor McGonagall, if you would do us the honors."

Exactly as last year, a wooden stool had been placed on the dais. Atop it, the worn and ancient Sorting Hat sat, looking like nothing more than a dusty cast-off from a forgotten wardrobe. James knew that in his parents' day, and for centuries before, the Hat had sung a song prior to each year's Sorting. Last year, however, the Hat had not produced a song. James hadn't thought about it much; he'd merely assumed that after all those centuries the Hat deserved the occasional break. Now, the ancient Hat stirred on its stool, apparently preparing to sing. The fold that formed the mouth seemed to open, to take a deep breath, and then the Hat's high, lilting voice filled the waiting silence.

"A thousand years and more have I resided at my post

And watched the tide of years forever ebb upon my host Fair Hogwarts alters not despite the weight of ages raging

For Hogwarts knows that time revolves, while she is only aging The rise of villains coincides, to keep the balance rightly

With dawning heroes in whose eyes good justice blazes brightly In recent past, dread Voldemort rose up with might so scary

That fate did send a hero boy, the orphan Potter, Harry And thus unveiled the drama of time's everlasting scheme

The players change, the venues shift, but constant is the theme The root of evil always finds a new and fertile garden

But valor's heart is ever strong to bring us fate's good pardon And this, you see, brings us to me, the Hat that does the Sorting,

For 'tis my task to keep the balance right for evil thwarting For witnessed I the dawn of that long battle that endures

And long as that old struggle lasts, my duty hope ensures

I see the seed that guarantees the role of every student

And place them best into the House that grows that seed most prudent In Hufflepuff, the seed of loyalty and diligence

For Ravenclaw, the vine of knowledge grows with common sense Brave Gryffindor breeds valor and courageousness of heart

And Slytherin gives those who love ambition their good start They go there hence into their House as sign of their vocation

But many sense it gives a hint of deeper motivation

Make no mistake, judge not the one upon their house of Sorting

But always look instead to gauge the way of their comporting

For good can come of any House, regardless of its banner

And evil, too, can spread its leaves within the finest manor Beneath my brim now come and sit to hear my declaration

But be assured, you bring along your heart's own inclination It matters not what happens while you sit upon this chair

The true judge of your character is what's beneath your hair."

As the Sorting Hat finished its song, the Hall erupted into applause. James grinned, craning to look across the room toward Ralph, who smiled back a little sheepishly. If anyone needed to hear the Hat's most recent song, it was Ralph, whose assignment to Slytherin had been a source of rather constant consternation during the previous year. As the applause died away, Professor McGonagall approached the Hat, producing a long parchment from her robes. She unrolled it and studied it through her tiny spectacles. She nodded to herself, lowered the parchment, and picked up the Sorting Hat by its tip.

"Cameron Creevey," she announced loudly. "Please join me on the dais."

A very small, very nervous-looking boy climbed the steps and clambered onto the stool. There's no way I looked that young and scared when I sat on that stool, James thought to himself, smiling. He remembered it very well: the voice of the magical Hat in his head considering him, debating which house would best suit him. It had been a close call. Moments before he'd climbed the dais, as then-Headmistress McGonagall had called his name, the Slytherin table had broken out in applause. A beautiful, albeit severe-looking, darkhaired girl named Tabitha Violetus Corsica had led the applause, and as James looked back on the memory, he thought for the first time that the Slytherins' applause had merely been a ruse, intended to sway him into accepting an assignment to Slytherin. As scared as he'd been, as worried as he'd been about the responsibility of following in his famous father's footsteps, James had almost fallen for it. For a fleeting moment, under the brim of the Sorting Hat, James had considered becoming a Slytherin, and the Hat had concurred. Only at the last second had James firmed his resolve, proving that he meant to be a Gryffindor, like his parents before him.

"Gryffindor!" the Sorting Hat proclaimed. Professor McGonagall lifted the Hat from Creevey's head as the Gryffindor table exploded into cheers. Cameron Creevey grinned in obvious relief as he ran down the steps. He crammed into the front of the table, sitting between Damien and a seventh-year named Hugo Paulson.

"Thomas Danforth," Professor McGonagall called, reading from her parchment. A moment later, the Ravenclaw table cheered as the bespectacled boy smiled sheepishly, joining his new housemates. As the Sorting continued, James glanced around the hall, picking out all the faces he knew. There was Victoire, sitting resplendently amidst her seventh-year Hufflepuff friends. Gennifer Tellus and Horace Birch whispered to each other at the end of the Ravenclaw table, and James remembered Zane telling him that they had begun seeing each other over the summer. Across the room, Tabitha Corsica sat smiling politely, her hands folded neatly on the table in front of her. On her left sat Philia Goyle, whose bricklike face was as expressionless as ever. Tom Squallus sat on Tabitha's right, his blonde hair combed neatly and his eyes almost unnaturally bright and alert. It almost looked like the trio of Slytherins were up to something, but James reminded himself that they always looked like that. They were probably just waiting for the Sorting of their new mate—

"Scorpius Malfoy," Professor McGonagall called, lowering her parchment and glancing down at the remaining first-years. Scorpius curled the corner of his mouth as he turned. He climbed the steps and sat jauntily on the stool, one leg kicked out in front of him. The Hat threw his face into shadow as Professor McGonagall lowered it.

Several seconds went by. The room had become rather restless as the older students got bored with the ceremony, but they silenced again as the pause grew longer. The Hat sat perfectly still on Scorpius' head. Scorpius himself didn't move. James looked around, surprised at the delay. Everybody knew that the Malfoys were Slytherins. Their family was known to have been among Voldemort's strongest supporters. Lucius Malfoy, Scorpius' grandfather, was said to still be in hiding for crimes he'd committed as a Death Eater, although James' dad had denied it. "He just likes to believe he's the most wanted man in the wizarding world," Harry had chuckled to Ginny one morning over breakfast. "His worst punishment is living in a world where his idol is dead." Still, there couldn't be any question about a Malfoy's house, could there? They nearly defined what it was to
be
a Slytherin. Perhaps something was wrong with the Hat. James nudged Graham, who glanced at him and shrugged curiously.

"Gryffindor!" the Sorting Hat suddenly sang out, pointing its peak at the ceiling.

Complete, stunned silence filled the hall as the Hat was lifted from Scorpius' head. His chin drooped and he closed his eyes. After a long moment, he climbed off the stool and clumped slowly down the stairs. The Gryffindor table remained absolutely silent as Scorpius approached it. He passed the head of the table, where most of the newly named Gryffindors sat staring, wide-eyed. James watched as Scorpius stalked the entire length of the table, not raising his eyes. When he reached the end, he stopped for a moment, apparently unwilling to actually sit down. Finally, he slumped onto a bench on the end. He raised his eyes, and James saw that they were tinged with red. Scorpius glared at James. After a long moment, he pressed his lips together and turned his gaze to the front of the hall.

"Albus Potter," McGonagall called into the silence. James couldn't help glancing aside at the Slytherin table. Tabitha wasn't rising to applaud this time. Strangely though, she was still smiling her polite smile, apparently completely unperturbed by Malfoy's Sorting.

Albus looked back over his shoulder as he climbed the steps to the dais. James assumed he was looking at him; he smiled encouragingly and nodded to his brother up on the dais. Albus showed no sign that he'd seen him. He approached the stool and stared down at it for a moment. Professor McGonagall nodded curtly to him. Albus squared his shoulders, turned, and sat down.

There was no idle chatter now as the Sorting Hat settled onto Albus' head. Every eye in the room watched. Everyone knew that Albus was going to go to Gryffindor. James had only ever joked about it because he was so sure it
was
only a joke. A Potter could never really be sent to Slytherin. But as James thought that, he remembered the look of hate on Albus' face when Malfoy had insulted him on the Hogsmeade platform. Albus had always been a passionate boy. That could be a very good thing, a beautiful thing. But, as James had very recently thought, it could also be a little scary. Too late, James realized that Albus had not turned to look back at him, James, when he'd climbed the stairs to his Sorting. He'd turned to look back at Scorpius, to make sure he was watching. He wanted to make sure Scorpius wouldn't miss what was about to happen.

"Slytherin!" the Hat proclaimed loudly. There was a sustained, collective gasp, filling the hall. Professor McGonagall raised the Hat from Albus' head, and even she seemed surprised at the pronouncement.

Albus was grinning happily, but he wasn't looking at the table belonging to his new house, which had erupted into wild applause. Albus was looking down the length of the Gryffindor table. James didn't need to follow his brother's gaze to know who he was looking at, but he did anyway.

Scorpius Malfoy stared back at Albus, his eyes baleful, his mouth a grim, white line of pure hatred.

A
s dinner appeared on the tables and the assembly began to eat, James couldn't help craning to see what was happening at the Slytherin table. Albus was seated next to Ralph, but he was deep in animated conversation with Trenton Bloch, Ralph's best Slytherin friend. As James watched, the two boys erupted into raucous laughter. Even Ralph was smiling and nodding as he gnawed a chicken leg.

"Something wrong with your neck, James?" Graham asked around a mouthful of stew.

"I'm just trying to see what's going on," James said. "It just isn't right! Albus can't be a Slytherin!"

Rose, beaming about her own Sorting into Gryffindor House, leaned toward James. "You keep on saying that, but as I recall, you were the one winding him up all summer about becoming exactly that."

"Well, yeah, but I was never serious!"

Graham followed James' gaze, peering across the hall to the table under the green banner. "Looks like he's having a grand time of it. Even Corsica is talking to him."

"Well," James exclaimed stridently, "she would, wouldn't she? She was trying to make all nice with me last year as well, up until she called my dad a liar in front of the whole school. She's probably just as pleased as can be that they've got a Potter in Slytherin. Who knows what kind of propaganda she'll fill his head with? It'll be her crowning achievement."

"Albus can take care of himself, James," Noah said dismissively. "Besides, you said yourself you were almost sent to Slytherin last year."

"I should go check on him," James said, moving to stand. Damien reached over and pushed him back into his seat.

"Let him be," Damien said. "He looks to be doing just fine."

"But he's in Slytherin!" James cried, exasperated. "He can't go to Slytherin! He's a Potter!"

"You want to talk about surprises," Rose said, lowering her voice, "even as we speak, a Malfoy is sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table."

James had nearly forgotten about Scorpius. He turned, following Rose's glance. Scorpius wasn't eating. The Gryffindors nearest him were studiously ignoring him, laughing and joking loudly. Scorpius caught James looking at him. He narrowed his eyes and smiled grotesquely, making a parody of those around him. Then he rolled his eyes and turned away.

"That's the one that really baffles me," Graham muttered. "How's a greasy git like him end up a Gryffindor?"

Rose reached for another roll. "You don't know what's in his heart," she said. "The Sorting Hat sees who you really are, not what your family has always been. Maybe there's more to Scorpius Malfoy than meets the eye."