Right Now Could Last Forever

Through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars, and up the sweeping drive the carriages trundled, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale. Leaning against the window, I could see Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed across the sky as our carriage came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. People who had occupied the carriages in front were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle; Harry, Hermione, Neville and I jumped down from the carriage and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when we were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit Entrance Hall, with its magnificent marble staircase.

“Blimey,” said Ron, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, “if that keeps up, the lake’s going to overflow. I’m soak –ARGH!”

A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron’s head, and exploded. Drenched and spluttering, Ron staggered sideways into me, just as a second water bomb dropped – narrowly missing Hermione, it burst at my feet, sending a wave of cold water over my shoes. People all around us shrieked and started pushing each other in their efforts to get out of the line of fire – I looked up, and saw, floating twenty feet above us, Peeves the poltergeist, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow-tie, his wide, malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again.

“Peeves...” I started to say.

“PEEVES!” yelled an angry voice. “Peeves, come down here at ONCE!”

Professor McGonagall, deputy headmistress and Head of Gryffindor house, had come dashing out of the Great Hall; she skidded on the wet floor and grabbed Hermione around the neck to stop herself falling. “Ouch – sorry, Miss Granger –“

“That’s all right, Professor!” Hermione gasped, massaging her throat.

“Peeves, get down here NOW!” barked McGonagall, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upwards through her square-rimmed spectacles.

“Not doing nothing!” cackled Peeves, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall. “Already wet, aren’t they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeeee!” And he aimed another bomb at a group of second-years who had just arrived.

“I shall call the Headmaster!” shouted McGonagall. “I’m warning you, Peeves –“

Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely.

“Well, move along, then!” said McGonagall sharply to the bedraggled crowd. “Into the Great Hall, come on!”

We slipped and slid across the Entrance Hall, and through the double doors on the right, Ron muttering furiously under his breath as he pushed hi sopping hair out off his face.

“Hey, cheer up, grumpy-guts,” I said, tussling his hair.

The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in mid-air. The four long house tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils. It was much warmer in here. We walked past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. Pearly white and semi-transparent, Nick was dressed tonight in his usual doublet, with a particularly large ruffle, which served the dual purpose of looking festive and ensuring that his head didn’t wobble too much on his partially severed neck.

“Good evening,” he said, beaming at us.

“Says who? I said, taking of my shoes and emptying them of water. “I hope they hurry up with the Sorting, I’m starving.”

The Sorting of the new students into houses took place at the start of every school year. Fred and George came and sat down next to us.

“You’re a little wet, I see,” George said, tussling my hair, like I had done Ron’s.

“How’re you two dry?” I asked, for somehow they were both neither dripping wet nor seemed to have a drop on them.

“Now, now, we all have our secrets,” Fred said, winking at me.

“But guys...”

“Brothers and sisters usually go in the same houses, don’t they?” Harry said, cutting me off. He was probably judging by the Weasleys, all seven of whom had been put into Gryffindor.
“Oh, no, not necessarily,” said Hermione. “Parvati Patil’s twin’s in Ravenclaw, and they’re identical, you’d think they’d be together, wouldn’t you?”

I looked up at the staff table. There seemed to be rather more empty seats there than usual. Hagrid, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first years; McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the Entrance Hall floor, but there was another empty chair, too.

“Where’s the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?” I said.

We had never yet had a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who had lasted more than three terms. My favourite by far had been Lupin, who had resigned last year. I looked up and down the staff table. There was definitely no new faces there.

“Maybe they couldn’t get anyone!” said Hermione, looking anxious.

I scanned the table more carefully. Tiny little Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway grey hair. She was talking to Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Sinistra’s other side was the sallow-faced, hook-nosed, greasy-haired Potions master, Snape – my least favourite person at Hogwarts. On Snape’s other side was an empty seat, which I guessed was McGonagall’s. Next to it, and in the very centre of the table, sat Dumbledore, the Headmaster, his sweeping silver hair and beard embroidered with many stars and moons. The tips of Dumbledore’s long, thin fingers were together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought.

I glanced up at the ceiling, too. It was enchanted to look like the sky outside, and I had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across it, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it.

“Oh, hurry up,” I moaned. “I could eat a Hippogriff.”

“I’d love to see that,” said George.

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened, and silence fell. McGonagall was leading a long line of first-years up to the top of the Hall. If we were wet, it was nothing to how these first-years looked. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailing. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school – all of them except the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousey hair, who was wrapped in what I recognised as Hagrid’s moleskin overcoat. The coat was so big for him that it looked as though he was draped in a furry black marquee. His small face protruded from over the collar, looking almost painfully excited. When he had lined up with his terrified-looking peers, he caught Colin Creevey’s eye, gave a double thumbs- up and mouthed, “I fell in the lake!” He looked positively delighted about it.

McGonagall now placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the first-years and, on top of it, an extremely old, dirty, patched wizard’s hat. The first-years stared at it. So did everyone else .For a moment, there was silence. Then a tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke into song:

“A thousand years or more ago,
When I was newly sewn,
There lived four wizards of renown,
Whose names are still well known:
Bold Gryffindor, for wild moor,
Fair Ravenclaw, form glen,
Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley board,
Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.
They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,
They hatched a daring plan
To educate young sorcerers
Thus Hogwarts School began.
Now each of these four founders
Formed their own house, for each
Did value different virtues
In the ones they had to teach.
By Gryffindor, the bravest were
Prized far beyond the rest;
For Ravenclaw, the cleverest
Would always be the best;
For Hufflepuff, hard workers were
Most worthy of admission;
And power-hungry Slytherin
Loved those of great ambition.
While still alive they did divide
Their favourites from the throng,
Yet how to pick the worthy ones
When they were dead and gone?
‘Twas Gryffindor who found the way,
He whipped me off his head
The founders put some brains in me
So I could choose instead!
Now slip me snug about your ears,
I’ve never yet been wrong,
I’ll have a look inside your mind
And tell where you belong!”

The Great Hall rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished.

“That’s not the song it sang when it sorted us,” said Harry, clapping along with everyone else.

“Sings a different one every year,” I said. “It’s got to be a pretty boring life, hasn’t it, being a hat? I suppose it spends all year making up the next one.”

McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment.

“When I call out your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool,” she told the first-years. “When the Hat announces your house, you will go and sit at the appropriate table. Acherley, Stewart!”

A boy walked forward, visibly trembling from head to foot, picked up the Sorting Hat, put it on and sat down on the stool.

“Ravenclaw!” shouted the Hat.

Stewart Ackerley took off the Hat and hurried into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him. I placed my head on my hands and watched as eleven-year-old after eleven-year-old walked up to the stool and try on the Hat. My stomach gave a loud rumble.

“Shh,” I told it, placing a hand on my stomach.

“Control that beast, will you?” George hissed at me.

“Yeah, Blondie; we’re trying to watch the Sorting,” Fred whispered.

“Oh, come on, we’re up to the M’s!” I moaned.

And finally, with “Whitby, Kevin!” (“Hufflepuff!”) the Sorting ended. McGonagall picked up the Hat and the stool, and carried them away.

“About time,” I said, seizing my knife and fork and looking expectantly at my golden plate.
Dumbledore had got to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome.

“I have only two words to say to you,” he told us, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. “Tuck in.”

“Hear, hear!” said Ron and I loudly, as the empty dished filled magically before our eyes.
Nearly Headless Nick watched mournfully as we all loaded our plates.

“Aaaah, ‘at’s be’er,” said Ron, with his mouth full of mashed potato.

“You’re lucky there’s a feast at all tonight, you know,” said Nick. “There was trouble in the kitchens earlier.”

“Why? Wha’ ‘appened?” said Harry, through a sizeable chunk of steak.

“Peeves, of course,” said Nick, shaking his head, which wobbled dangerously. He pulled his ruff a little higher up his neck. “The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast – well, it’s quite out of the question, you know what he’s like, utterly uncivilised, can’t see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghosts’ council – the Fat Friar was all for giving him a chance – but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down.”
The Bloody Baron was the Slytherin ghost, a gaunt and silent spectre covered in silver bloodstains. He was the only person at Hogwarts who could control Peeves.

“Yeah, we though Peeves seemed hacked off about something,” I said. “So what did he do in the kitchens?”

“Oh, the usual,” said Nick, shrugging. “Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits –“

Clang. Hermione had knocked over her golden goblet. Pumpkin juice spread steadily over the table cloth, staining several feet of white linen orange, but Hermione paid no attention.

“There are house-elves here?” she said, staring, horror-struck, at Nearly Headless Nick. “Here at Hogwarts?”

“Certainly,” said Nick, looking surprised at her reaction. “The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred.”

“I’ve never seen one!” said Hermione.

“Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?” said Nick. “They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning... see to the fires and so on... I mean, you’re not supposed to see them, are you? That’s the mark of a good house-elf, isn’t it, that you don’t know it’s there?”
Hermione stared at him.

“Come on, Hermione, they’ve been here for longer than we have. They’re quite happy, I’ve seen them myself,” I said, pilling more food onto my plate.

“But they get paid?” Hermione said, ignoring me. “They get Holidays, don’t they? And – and sick leave, and pensions and everything?”

Nearly Headless Nick chortled so much that his ruff slipped and his head flopped off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still attached it to his neck.
“Sick leave and pensions?” he said, pushing his head back onto his shoulders and securing it once more with his ruff. “House-elves don’t want sick leave and pensions!”

Hermione looked down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put her knife and fork down upon it and pushed it away from here.

“Oh, c’mon, ‘Er-my-knee,” said Ron, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding. “Oops – sorry, ‘Arry –“ He swallowed. “You won’t get them sick leave by starving yourself.”

“Slave labour,” said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose. “That’s what made this dinner. Slave labour.”

And she refused the eat another bite.

The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark windows. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with puddings.

“Treacle tart, Hermione!” said Ron, deliberately wafting it towards her. “Spotted dick, look! Chocolate gateau!”

But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gave up.
When the puddings, too, had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

“So!” said Dumbledore, smiling around at us all. “Now that we are all fed and watered” (“Hmph!” said Hermione), “I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.

“Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the catle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr Filch’s office, if anybody would like to check it.”

The corners of Dumbledore’s mouth twitched.

“As ever, I would like to remind you all that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to al below third year.

“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.”

“What?” I gasped. I looked around at Harry, then Fred and George, who were my fellow members of the Quidditch team. The twins were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak.

Dumbledore continued, “This is due to an even that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy – but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts –“

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.