The Great Hall is the biggest room Harry's ever been in. She can't stop fidgeting with the sleeves of her robes as she looks around, cringing at the whispers that ripple across the tables when the older students catch sight of her. Isn't that? Potter's come to Hogwarts! The Boy Who Lived? It's maddening, and if it wasn't for Hermione's reassuring presence next to her, Harry's certain she would make a break for it, right back out the doors. Even magic can't be worth this, can it?

"A hat? All we've got to do is try on a hat?" she echoes blankly when the last notes of the Sorting Hat's song die away.

"I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll," a red-headed boy with masses of freckles and a dirt smudge on his nose grumbles behind her. A troll? Harry thinks, wide-eyed. Must be his brother, she decides two seconds later, thinking about all the play-yard interactions between siblings she's seen. They do that, don't they? Teasing?

McGonagall calls them up alphabetically. "Bones, Susan" gets Sorted into Hufflepuff with an enormous smile on her face. "Goyle, Gregory" into Slytherin.

"Granger, Hermione!" and then Hermione is gone with a regretful glance back. The Hat ponders on her head for what seems like ages, before the enormous rip on its brim opens wide and shouts "Ravenclaw!" to the Hall. She nearly skips to the proper table.

"Malfoy, Draco" is the boy Harry met in Madam Malkin's and he looks just as thoroughly unpleasant as he did in Diagon Alley, swaggering up to the stool with a smirk. The Hat barely touches his head before it yells "Gryffindor," and the smirk is wiped off his face.

"What?" the boy demands, sneering at the Hat before throwing it to the ground in disgust. "I'm not a bloody Gryffindor. I demand a ReSorting! My father will hear about this!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy," Professor McGonagall says, retrieving the Hat, mouth thinning. "But the Hat's decision is final. Please take your seat."

Blustering and defiant, the blond boy finally makes his way to the red-and-gold table, but Harry can see the glimmer of fear in his eyes and wonders why. It's patently obvious the rest of his House can't stand him, but that doesn't seem like enough, does it? "My father will hear about this." Is he afraid of his father? Harry wonders but is quickly distracted by the continuation of the Sorting and the unpleasant realisation that her turn is coming up far too soon.

"Potter, Harry," McGonagall announces, and the room goes unearthly silent. Harry trudges up, feeling like she's going to be sick any moment. The professor gives her an encouraging sort of look and says, rather loudly and deliberately, "Come on, Miss Potter. Try on the Hat."

"Miss? Did she say miss?" Harry hears a piercing whisper before the Hat droops over her ears.

"Ah, Miss Potter, I was wondering when you would turn up," a voice says in her head, making her jump. "No need to worry, Miss Potter, it's only the Hat," the Sorting Hat reassures her. "Now where to put you? You'd do quite well in any House, you know. Clever, loyal, brave, with a thirst to prove yourself. But I think there's only one House you'll find the belonging you seek, though you may not know it yet. Better be...

"Ravenclaw!" the Hat yells to the rest of the Hall, and it is a dazed and befuddled Harry who hands the Hat back to Professor McGonagall and makes her way, on legs that feel like stilts, to Hermione's side, who throws her arms around her and gives her the tightest hug she's ever felt. Some of the older students are chanting "We got Potter!" down the table. It's with a rather dopey grin on her face that Harry watches the end of the Sorting, "Weasley, Ron" being Sorted into Gryffindor and "Zabini, Blaise" ending up in Slytherin.

"Welcome to Ravenclaw," an older boy with a shock of brown hair whispers to the new first years. "You're going to love it."

Harry can't help but agree.