THE SORTING HAT
“First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbid-
den to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to
remember that as well.”
Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the
Weasley twins.
“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind
you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corri-
dors.
“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term.
Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact
Madam Hooch.
“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corri-
dor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does
not wish to die a very painful death.”
Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.
“He’s not serious?” he muttered to Percy.
“Must be,” said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. “It’s odd,
because he usually gives us a reason why we’re not allowed to go
somewhere — the forest’s full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows
that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least.”
“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!”
cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers’ smiles
had become rather fixed.
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get
a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose
high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.
“Everyone pick their favorite tune,” said Dumbledore, “and off
we go!”
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