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The boat ride across the lake had drenched them all, leaving Terry feeling like a soggy teabag. When they got inside, the stern-looking professor gave a brisk flick of her wand, and water vanished from their hair and robes. Terry looked at his once nicely pressed robes in shock as the water disappeared. He glanced around, wondering if this was just as bizarre to everyone else, but seeing them completely unfazed, he realised they must see this every time it rained. Unlike him, they were all born into this. And right now, they were all more interested in the towering doors ahead of them as opposed to foolishly being amazed by every little thing like him. Terry was still shivering from the cold, but he didn’t want to stand out. He was already so different. So he folded his arms tightly to try to stop the shivering and focused his gaze on where everyone else was looking.
The professor had given them a few instructions about the Sorting Ceremony and told them to wait. Terry, who was resolutely staring at the extremely tall doors like everyone else, jumped when a voice much older cleared its throat beside him. About forty heads turned together to spot the very tall bespectacled student standing there with his hands in his pockets. A Head Boy badge gleamed on his chest, and his red-trimmed robes looked just like the Head Girl’s Terry had run into earlier in the train.
“Er, cleaning up the swamp took longer than expected, Professor,” the Head Boy said with the kind of smile Terry used on his mum to wriggle his way out of trouble. “Would it be terribly anticlimactic if the doors opened and, instead of them,” he waved at the cluster of curious eyes glancing up at him, “I strolled through?”
Terry glanced back at the professor, who had somehow managed to look even sterner than before. He wondered what swamp needed cleaning, and why it was left to the Head Boy, but she didn’t give him much time to think on it. She gave the Head Boy a cool once-over, before crisply adding “You may take the rear, Mr. Potter. Thank you for attending to it.” She went right back to her scroll, clearly dismissing him.
Terry turned his head again to glance at the Head Boy, who gave him a wink. Embarrassed at being caught looking, he immediately turned his attention back to the professor who was now commanding the attention of the entire group with nothing more than her gaze. Terry’s shivering grew worse, though he couldn’t tell if it was the cold or the nervous prickle in his chest. He folded his arms again, hoping his shivering wasn't too obvious.
Then, almost as suddenly, a pleasant warmth spread through him, seeping into his arms and legs until it felt as if he'd stepped into a patch of sunlight. For a moment, he was sure he must be glowing. He even looked down at himself, half expecting light to shoot out of his sleeves. He frowned, puzzled, and that was when he heard a soft chuckle from beside him. Startled, he looked up to find the Head Boy watching him, still smiling. The realisation hit him all at once, and his mind tumbled with questions.
Had the Head Boy stopped his shivering with magic? Was he a really great wizard? Dealing with swamps, helping Terry feel warm again? How did the Head Boy even notice he was feeling cold? Terry had never had someone notice something so small about him before. The fact that the Head Boy not only noticed, but had been able to do something about it, made him wonder if he was even more amazing than all the Disney cartoons Terry watched. He looked at the Head Boy's spectacles, wondering if they were like the secret X-ray glasses in the comics he liked to read. Maybe they could even see the light Terry was certain he had felt burning inside? The thought made him smile.
Before he could ask any of those questions though, the huge wooden doors creaked open and the students started shuffling through. Terry was standing near the end, but even from back here, what he saw made his breath stop. It was like he had stepped into the books his mum would often read to him — before his sister came along. It was like he’d stepped into Narnia, only Hogwarts was real. Hundreds of floating candles lit long tables and above them, above them, was the night sky itself, veiled in storm clouds, the thunder rolling far away. Terry stopped walking because he was so entranced by what he saw — earning a few bumps and muttered “Oi!”s from behind him. As he hurried to catch up, he heard the Head Boy remark, “Amazing bit of magic isn't it?”
Terry turned to reply enthusiastically, but the Head Boy had already walked up to his table — stopping behind the pretty Head Girl who greeted him with a quick touch of the lips. Terry turned away quickly, face hot, pretending not to hear the older students whistling and calling out the Heads. He was quite glad his mum couldn't be at the school with him. This was the first time she'd ever expressed a desire to see his school, so Terry and his mum were quite bummed she couldn’t make it for the first day of school — but one look at that and she'd have marched him straight onto the train back to London.
Professor McGonagall led them all the way to the front, where a patched, battered hat sat on a stool. Terry frowned, not quite understanding — until the hat twitched. A rip near its brim opened like a mouth and, to Terry’s astonishment, it began to sing. The words rose and fell across the Hall, strange and jaunty, something about courage and cleverness and cunning. Terry didn't catch everything, too distracted by the way the older students clapped and cheered at certain parts. His eyes kept wandering, trying to take it all in; teachers sitting at the long table like a regular school assembly, rows of kids filling the Hall, and then the stranger things — the night sky somehow hanging right inside the castle, and suits of armour lined up as if they might start walking any second.
When the song ended, his attention was focused to the front again as Professor McGonagall unrolled a long scroll.
“The Sorting will now begin,” she announced.
Terry’s stomach dropped. But then he realised it would be a while before his name came up. “Thompson, Terrace” was far down the alphabet. The boy beside him — his friend from the train — suddenly leaned into him and whispered, “Where do you think you’ll go?”
“Maybe Gryffindor?” he whispered back and the boy nodded like it was the obvious choice. Terry was glad he’d said the right thing. Truthfully, Gryffindor had both the Head Boy and the Head Girl, and they seemed very nice. Especially her.
He thought back to how he'd been feeling so small and lost in the sea of students on the train, trying to fight back tears, just wishing he could run back into his mother's embrace. He had almost asked her to come inside the train with him, but just as quickly, the thought of his mummy on a magical train helping him find a seat made him flush with embarrassment. Everyone would definitely have laughed at him.
And then, to make matters worse, as he was standing there in the packed corridor, a very tall girl with red hair ran into him. He almost toppled over, his head nearly crashing into the door to his left, and this time, he really did let a few tears fall. Thankfully, the girl had been very kind about it all. Not only had she caught him and broken his fall — and apologised profusely while doing so, for some reason being horrified that he was crying — but with her next to him, students seemed to clear the way. She easily found him a seat. He remembered now, a little embarrassed, how he'd blurted out that her hair matched her robes, and she'd made a funny sound. At that time he wondered if she was saying something in another language, but before he embarrassed himself by asking, she told him it was the name of a house—Gryffindor. The house she belonged to.
And then she'd told him she was “Muggle-born”, just like him. She’d said it like it was something to be proud of. And that was the first time since Terry found out he was magical that he felt the tight feeling in his chest loosening. He had so many worries about not fitting in, about navigating this entirely new world, about how he would be perceived. But one word from the Head Girl had relaxed him. Professor McGonagall had told him there were other Muggle-born students like himself, but the words didn't quite register until that moment when he met the Head Girl. When he had his first conversation with someone like him, but older and more experienced. She'd said her name was Lily Evans. It was a very pretty name, Terry thought.
He watched his friend get called up, the Sorting Hat barely touching his head before shouting, “Gryffindor!”
Terry felt a surge of happiness for him, followed by a quick jolt of nerves. What if he didn’t get into Gryffindor? He had to get in. He had never wanted something so much. Back home, he was always taught to compromise, to relent to his 14 year old brother since he was older, and let his sister have her way because Terry was older and should know better than to argue with a child. He definitely knew that if they were here, getting into Gryffindor would have been easy for them. His brother would have probably sauntered up to the hat with a confident grin, and his sister… she could have just batted her eyelashes, and the hat would have conceded. But Terry, who had been feeling all sorts of wonky since the Professor had first stepped into his home, finally felt something warm inside because of both the Heads. And his only friend, who helped him feel more normal, was also in Gryffindor. He wanted to hold on to this feeling. He needed Gryffindor.
“Thompson, Terrace,” the professor called and he stumbled forward. The moment the Hat touched his hair, a voice in his head said, Aha!
Terry jolted so hard the hat nearly slid off. The professor caught it and plonked it back on his head as laughter rippled through the hall. He felt his ears burn. He had an urge to yank the hat off and run, but a stubborn part of him refused. No, he thought, I won't let them laugh at me.
The hat seemed to hum in approval. A bold mind, it whispered. Resilient. A desire to prove yourself … to prove yourself worthy of a certain House perhaps?
Terry thought of the Head Boy and Head Girl, both so kind and confident. Yes, he thought with sudden conviction, Gryffindor.
He heard the hat chuckle in his head, before bellowing "Gryffindor!"
Terry whipped the Hat off and threw it in Professor McGonagall’s hands before he bolted to the table his friend was seated at.
“Good on you Thompson!” Lily Evans called as he passed, the Head Boy grinning beside her. Terry’s face felt too small for his smile as he slid in next to his friend, only a few seats across from the Heads.
His friend gave him a questioning look, clearly wondering how the Head Girl knew him. Terry tried to shrug casually in response. A couple other first years were staring at him too now, probably wondering the same thing. One of them, a freckled boy with a loud voice, leaned forward and said, “Do your siblings also go to this school?”
“I'm Muggle-born.” Terry loudly declared in what he hoped was the same tone the Head Girl had used earlier on the train. He caught a green eye wink at him from a few seats across and smiled shyly.
“But then how does the Head Girl know you already?” The freckled boy continued to inquire.
Terry felt a rush of importance. “Met her on the train,” he said, trying to sound offhand. “She helped me find a seat”
He would have loved to chat more, relishing in this new feeling of so many people being interested in him, but then an old wizard at the front cleared his throat for attention. Terry blinked at him — with his long, silver beard and half-moon spectacles, he looked exactly like Merlin from the cartoon his mum always put on when it rained. For a moment, Terry half expected an owl to swoop down, or for the wizard to burst into a silly song.
At first, he was quite amazed that Merlin himself was leading the school (albeit under a different name), but then that excitement soon turned into boredom. He tried to listen, but the words ‘Forbidden Forest’ and ‘classroom swamps’ didn't make much sense. The old wizard had praised the Head Boy for taking care of the swamps and Terry's mind kept going back to that. He recalled the Head Boy saying he had taken care of one but he had no idea what that really meant. A swamp? Inside? The thought was so bizarre. How did you even make a swamp? Did it come from a spell? Did it have crocodiles in it? He felt himself getting so lost in his thoughts about the swamp and what a ‘Hogsmeade’ was that he missed the rest of the speech completely.
Then, as if on cue, the golden plates in front of them suddenly filled themselves with food. Terry jumped, his eyes wide in disbelief. He looked under the table, half-expecting to see a secret kitchen, but of course, there was nothing there. His heart hammered in his chest with the sheer magic of it all. He dug in, piling his plate high with roast chicken and potatoes, tasting everything at once as if to prove to himself it was real.
For a while, it did taste like everything he wanted, but once his stomach began to fill, a different feeling crept in. He found himself missing his mum’s cooking, the familiar taste of her Sunday roasts, with its crispy potatoes and her special gravy that was just a little bit lumpy. He glanced around the table, but the first years were too busy stuffing their faces to look sad. The older students were eating with ease, laughing and catching up, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. Every so often, Terry noticed one of the older prefects or the Heads glance toward their table before getting back into their conversation. He tried to push down the sad feeling in his chest and continue to eat, but just then, one of the older boys called across the noise, “I swear, they're getting shorter every year.”
The rest of the older students nearby turned to look in their direction and Terry's ears went hot. He ducked his head at once, staring at his plate as though the roast potatoes were suddenly the most fascinating things in the world.
“Be nice,” Lily's voice cut in, “It’s not everyday James gets to make an entrance with an entourage.”
The table rippled with laughter, the moment passed, and Terry found himself smiling despite the flush in his cheeks. He reached for his goblet of juice, a little more at ease.
He looked around the Great Hall now, taking everything in. The endless pumpkin juice, the way the food replenished itself without a hand touching the spoons, the sheer size of the Hall. It all dazzled him. He wished his mum could see this. He thought of the letter from Hogwarts, the first thing he'd ever done that had made her and his dad look at him like he was truly special. He had to be amazing here in this already amazing place. He had to get back believable stories that would trump his siblings’ tales of their football victories and falling teeth.
The sharp clinking of plates broke his thoughts, and he turned to see Lily Evans slip into the place across from him, accidentally knocking over a goblet of juice straight into an unsuspecting plate of mashed potatoes.
“Mind if I join you lot for a bit?” she asked, flicking her wand at the mess. The juice-filled potatoes vanished, replaced at once with a steaming plate of potatoes. “Sorry” she grinned sheepishly while Terry stared at her, wide-eyed. How did she make that look so natural? She didn’t even look like she was trying. She just did it, the way his mum would wipe a spill off the table. He felt a wave of awe wash over him, mixed with a little bit of wonder. She had told him she was just like him, but he couldn't imagine making magic look so effortless. She winked at him, giving him a warm smile when she caught him staring.
“You're all very quiet,” she eventually said when no one had spoken up.
“Well,” came Potter’s voice, making Terry whip his head up. Had he been standing near Lily the whole time? How had Terry missed him?
“We can’t have Gryffindors starting the year afraid to speak up,” he said cheerfully, helping himself to a roll.
“We're not afraid,” mumbled the freckled boy from earlier
“Good!” Potter grinned, “Because you'll be spending the next seven years competing for House points, and we need people who can shout loud enough to make the Slytherins nervous.”
That got a few giggles, but Terry noticed Lily rolled her eyes at Potter — though the smile tugging at her mouth said otherwise. She leaned in, starting to ask their names the way grown-ups did at parties, though it didn’t feel forced. Terry was amazed at how Potter remembered most of them before they even said their names. When a brown-haired girl mentioned she was related to one of his ‘chasers’, Potter lit up, then sighed that it was a pity he couldn't get to see her on the pitch. Terry blinked, wondering if he'd misheard. He definitely heard ‘pitch’ correctly, but what was that bit about ‘chasers’? He imagined a bunch of students chasing each other on a big football field, like a huge game of tag. He was so busy getting lost in his own head that he didn't even notice the silence around him. He only realised it was his turn to speak when the Head Girl rescued him.
“Thompson — the one I nearly flattened in the train corridor… right?” She gave him an encouraging smile, and he noticed there was a slight tinge to her cheeks.
“Er—yeah,” he said, ears growing hot at the memory of him crying.
“See? If you survived the cramped train corridor, you’ll survive anything here.”
Terry found the heat leaving his cheeks as he smiled at her.
Suddenly, a blonde girl piped up from down the table, “James, are you going to let second years play this year? I’ve been practicing with my sister all summer, and I’ve—”
James cut her off with a smile, “I have no doubt you’re as good as she is, but the rule’s third-years and above only.”
“Since when have you been such a stickler for rules?” an older, red haired boy laughed.
Terry saw Potter open his mouth to reply when a loud voice came from down the table, “As long as Bulstrode’s still Beater, midgets like McKinnon Jr will just get flattened.”
That earned a laugh from a few older students, though Terry only blinked in confusion.
“My brother played Quidditch against me and I won!” the girl protested to the long haired boy hotly
He was leaning back, and snickered at the tearful girl. “Adam’s about one-eighth as strong as Bulstrode.”
“Bulstrode’s arm alone outweighs him,” a shorter boy added, drawing more laughter.
Terry, who at this point felt they were talking in another language, not only had no idea what Quidditch was, but the way everyone was talking, he suspected ‘Bulstrode’ was some kind of beast you weren’t allowed to fight until you reached third year.
“Really mature,” Terry’s head turned back to the Head Girl who was giving the boys a pointed look before she turned back to look at the blonde girl. “Don’t let them get to you Sarah.”
Potter was also smiling at the blonde girl, and said in a voice much softer than before,” Tell you what—come to tryouts and show me what you’ve got. If you’re as good as you say, I’ll put you on the reserve list.”
Her scowl melted instantly, eyes shining as she nodded.
Terry, on the other hand, was still feeling very lost, but too shy to ask what Quidditch was. So he just looked down at his plate with a frown, wondering how long this feeling of not fitting in would last. He thought he'd left it back home.
“And just so you know,” Lily’s voice made him look up, “none of you are expected to know everything at once” Terry stared at her in shock, wondering if she could read minds. “Classes will be overwhelming at first, but you’ll get the hang of it. And if you don’t—well, come find me. I like being pestered. Especially if I can pass the pestering along to James,” she winked at them, and a few of the nervous faces cracked into smiles. Potter himself put his arm around her, smiling at her in the disgusting, sappy way Terry’s older brother always complained about. So he looked down at his plate again, half-wondering if Potter was going to kiss her right there at the table. He really hoped not.
But thankfully, they stood to go instead, reminding the first-years it was nearly time for pudding and that the prefects would guide them to the dorms so they should just enjoy themselves for the night.
When the puddings finally appeared, Terry’s eyes widened. Treacle tart, jam roly-poly, a wobbling tower of trifle that looked ready to collapse under its own jelly, and a sticky toffee pudding gleaming under the candles — the food seemed neverending. He had just worked up the nerve to reach for a third helping when a voice further down the table said, “First-years this year don't know how good they’ve got it.”
It was one of the older Gryffindor boys, tall and broad shouldered, talking to the girl beside him. She snorted into her goblet.
“Too right. If they’d started when we did, they'd still be scarred.”
“Scarred by what?” The freckled first year from earlier piped up.
The two older students, much to their delight, seemed to have caught the attention of quite a few first-years. The girl leaned in conspiratorially, eyes flicking toward where Lily and James were now sitting. “By them. Two years ago, they couldn't be in the same room without having a row. I always wondered when they'd snap and finally start hexing each other.”
“Oh they snapped,” came a dry drawl from further down. “Different kind of sparks.”
Terry hesitated, glancing around at the sniggering older students. The Heads didn’t once snap at each other, though? They were both so nice, separately and together. He felt like he had to defend them from these unfair comments.
“Im — er, not sure about them snapping. But they were … kissing. Like, properly kissing.” He felt himself go red. He hoped they understood the message: the Heads clearly didn’t hate each other like they were implying.
The girl however, just smiled at him, as if he’d said something quite funny. “Exactly. Miraculous isn't it?”
“My parents fight all the time and they still kiss,” offered another tiny, dark-haired first year. Terry wasn’t sure if she was defending the Heads or agreeing with the older students, who only laughed harder at her comment.
“Yeah, they still fight,” the tall boy said. “Difference is, now it’s just practice for later.”
Terry wasn’t sure what they were meant to be practicing later, and judging by the groans and laughter from the older students, he assumed it wasn’t anything good. He imagined them standing on opposite ends of the room and yelling at each other, much like his siblings often did and frowned, because that didn't fit their image. He glanced up at the table again, but from here, he couldn’t quite hear anything. He saw the Head Boy leaning in to say something that made the Head Girl roll her eyes and smile fondly up at him. Terry watched them, still frowning.
The older boy had said they used to fight all the time, but all Terry had seen was them being nice. He remembered his mother's words to his older brother, about not letting rumors take root in his mind and to only trust what he saw. The truth was that the Head Boy had noticed him and made him warm again with magic. The Head Girl had made him feel brave. Together they were a great team who helped all the first-years feel more welcome. People who once hated each other didn't do that so naturally. They just didn't. He looked at the gentle way the Head Boy's fingers brushed the Head Girl's arm, and he couldn't reconcile that touch with the story he'd just been told.
He looked down at his plate, the pudding forgotten, a new thought swirling in his head. If the older students were right, then what could have been so wrong between them? He looked up just as a prefect stood to lead them away, a thousand questions about the Heads swirling in his head.