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Each frightened soul of the procession flinched as their names were called out by the woman standing opposite; each soul sat on the stool, placed the ragged hat upon their heads, and listened carefully as their fate was decided by the hat and they scurried off to one of four long tables where others of different years greeted them fondly. The very last of this line was the girl. The woman called her name,
"Mac." Noiselessly she glided towards the stool and took the hat from its place, sat herself down, and carefully placed the hat upon her head; she had closed her eyes so the others, who inquired between themselves of this girl without a family, could not see the world within her mind. Soon a silence filled the room; the hat had not decided her fate, but it was impossible; for nearly a thousand years this very same hat had decided the fate of millions of students; why should this girl without a surname be any different? But still the hat remained silent. All eyes were fixed upon her, eyes of those living and those of creatures of past souls; they burned just below her skin and caused her to huddle in much the same fashion as she had on the boat; the pain that flowed from her heart had cursed the ancient hat to fall silent; nearly two minutes had passed before the hat finally made as though it were to speak; but no speech came from it’s lips; instead of words a pitiful sob came to the ears of all those in that magnificent hall. Soft gasps filled the air and floated to the bewitched ceiling like owls taking to flight. Gently the girl thought, 'Please hat, put me somewhere; let me start again.' The hat fell silent then suddenly yelled out,
"Slytherin!" and the matter was decided.
Not a single soul cared to be associated with this strange immortal witch. She spoke nothing to them as she took her place at the far end of the table, bowed her head in submission, and began her meal. Never before had she seen so many good things placed before her, however, she ate very little.
Exhaustion quickly flooded her veins and she waited in silence for the others of her table to finish their meals and complain of their growing weariness. That moment was short to come and not ten minutes had passed before she found herself in a room with a fire roaring and two stairways leading to different towers. One amongst them directed the males to one set of stairs and the females to the other. Carefully she followed the females but found no bed awaiting her exhausted body nor a pillow awaiting her weary head; what she did find were angry voices telling her to ‘move along’ and to ‘clear off’ for she ‘wasn’t wanted there’; she continued to mount the stairs, journeying higher and higher until she could venture no further. The wind whipped viciously about the summit walls and the rain had begun to pick up. Expertly she found herself the soundest of corners and curled up, sleep finally winning the battle with consciousness.
