CHAPTER SEVEN
Nobody answered.
“New students!” said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them.
“About to be Sorted, I suppose?”
A few people nodded mutely.
“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!” said the Friar. “My old House,
you know.”
“Move along now,” said a sharp voice. “The Sorting Ceremony’s
about to start.”
Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts
floated away through the opposite wall.
“Now, form a line,” Professor McGonagall told the first years,
“and follow me.”
Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got
into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron behind him, and
they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through
a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.
Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid
place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were
floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the stu-
dents were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden
plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table
where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first
years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other
students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces
staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candle-
light. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone
misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked up-
ward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard
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