Chapter Three
Professor Dumbledore led the Baudelaires up a grand flight of steps, and to the enormous wooden doors that opened into Hogwarts. The doors were set ajar, and from inside, the chatter of gaggles of schoolchildren was particularly loud; it was clear that a large group of students was waiting just inside. The Baudelaires paused at the doors, nervous at meeting their peers so soon.
Dumbledore noticed the agitated orphans, and smiled gently. “The first years,” he said, “waiting to be Sorted into the Houses of Hogwarts… courageous Gryffindor, assiduous Hufflepuff, wise Ravenclaw, and cunning Slytherin. They’re just as nervous as you are, Baudelaires. But let’s drop Sunny off first before asking you to join them, shall we?”
Professor Dumbledore pushed open the grand front doors with surprising ease given his clear age, and the Baudelaires, looking beneath his arms, saw a crowd of children not much younger than themselves suddenly fall silent and turn to look at him.
Dumbledore strode into the foyer, the Baudelaires shortly behind him, and the three found themselves blushing as they earned just as much attention as Dumbledore. Three children in Muggle clothes, one of them a baby, at Hogwarts? You have probably heard the phrase “a fish out of water,” which refers to a person who has been taken out of their normal surroundings and suddenly finds themselves looking and feeling very odd. The Baudelaires felt this way at this very moment, for they were even more exotic fishes than the first-year shoal staring silently at them.
Dumbledore didn’t break his stride, but simply waved cheerfully at the new students as he led the Baudelaires down a side-corridor. Once out of sight of the first-years, the Baudelaires were just as taken aback by the architecture inside the school as outside – high vaulted ceilings, corridors lined with blazing torches and extravagant paintings, paintings which didn’t simply follow the Baudelaires around the room with their eyes, but which literally followed the Baudelaires, painted figures walking from frame to frame with curious eyes.
Dumbledore led the Baudelaires down several flights of stairs, and into a dark and moody underground passageway – but one alive with warmth. Finally, he stopped in front of a wide painting depicting a luxurious platter of gorgeous food.
“A remarkable painting, don’t you think?” Dumbledore asked, as the Baudelaires stared at the grand feast depicted. “Do you know, it shows a different meal for every person who looks at it, with all the foods that person likes best. Of course, people who are very close – family members like yourselves – may well see the same meal if they have similar tastes…” He trailed off, and smiled at the Baudelaires once more. “Forgive me – I am rambling. Now, students are normally not permitted in the kitchens of Hogwarts, but I will make an exception for you, since Sunny will be staying here. You can even eat your meals here, if it would be more convenient, but I will ask you not to reveal this password to anyone else. Are we agreed?”
Violet, Klaus, and Sunny nodded. Having seen so many amazing things already, it didn’t seem like much for Dumbledore to ask.
“Very well,” Dumbledore said, and he turned to the painting. “‘Gorgeous gourmet goulash,’” he said, and the painting split down the middle, and swung open like an enormous pair of doors.
Stepping through the hole in the painting, however, it quickly became clear to the Baudelaires that such a grand entrance was unnecessary. Inside, the ceiling was only a centimetre over Violet’s head, and Dumbledore had to fold himself up to fit inside, and meet the creatures that came to greet them. Only a few feet tall, and dressed in colourful togas that resembled – and, indeed, were – tea-towels, they were wrinkly little men with large heads and eyes, and pointed ears. All of them had broad smiles on their faces to meet Professor Dumbledore, and were looking curiously at the Baudelaire children. Klaus was reminded of a book he had once been given for his birthday by a distant relative. The book was called
The Littlest Elf, and was about a tedious, jolly little man who looked just like one of these elves, but perhaps more annoying, and the book had been pushed far to the back of Klaus’s bookshelf; he had quite forgotten it until then, and realised that it had surely been destroyed in the fire.
“House-elves,” said Dumbledore, both as a greeting to the elves, and as an introduction to the children. “These are the Baudelaires,” he said, sweeping a crooked arm to the Baudelaire orphans. “Although they are Muggles, they are joining us at Hogwarts this year. Sunny is too young to attend classes, so I was hoping she could stay here instead, and maybe learn a few things about cooking. Would that be quite alright?”
The house-elves nodded enthusiastically, and one, nearest to the Baudelaires, bowed very deeply to them. “We will be happy to look after you, miss Baudelaire!” it cried. “We will follow your every whim!”
“Now, now, Biccy, don’t spoil the girl,” Dumbledore said, wagging a finger at the elf. Violet, in the meanwhile, had set down Sunny, who was looking curiously at a distant doorway, through which the clash and bang of pots and pans could be heard.
“We are busy with the meals right now, miss Sunny,” the elf Biccy said to the youngest Baudelaire. “You can watch, if you wish!”
Sunny nodded, but then turned to look back at her siblings uncertainly.
“Could we perhaps come and say goodnight to Sunny later?” Violet asked.
“It would be good to know she’s doing well,” Klaus added.
“We can bring her up to your rooms before you go to bed, if you like!” Biccy quickly interjected. “Please don’t tire yourselves out walking all the way down here!”
“How about it, Baudelaires?” asked Dumbledore. “If you’re Sorted into the same House, it will be very easy for the elves to bring Sunny up to the House Common-Room just before bedtime each day.”
“That sounds very nice,” Violet replied, and bowed her head slightly. “Thank you very much, Professor Dumbledore.”
“No trouble at all,” Dumbledore said, cheerfully. “But now we must hurry to get to the Feast in time – and the Sorting.”
“Funlax,” Sunny said, which her siblings knew meant “Don’t worry about me – this place looks very comfortable.”
“Then we’ll see you later, Sunny,” Klaus said, and the Baudelaires stepped back through the painting with Dumbledore. “Good luck!”
The painting closed behind them on a view of Sunny crawling in the direction of the kitchens, and Dumbledore swiftly beckoned the Baudelaires to follow him once more.
“Back the way we’ve come,” he said. “Try and learn the layout of Hogwarts, Baudelaires – it can be very confusing, but the portraits will always be happy to help you out. And that reminds me – when you are Sorted, and arrive in your House, you will find a chest waiting for each of you, containing all the clothes and books you need; I took the liberty of having them prepared for you ahead of time. You’ll be wearing the same robes as the other students, but just for now, we don’t have time to get you out of your Muggle clothes.”
“Thank you again,” Klaus said, struggling to keep up with Dumbledore’s generosity after the neglect with which their previous guardians had treated them. “But could you explain what the Sorting is? You mentioned the four Houses earlier –”
“You’ll see,” Dumbledore said, as they returned to the foyer. “I think we’re just in time for you to catch the end!” And he pushed his way through another grand set of doors, and into Hogwarts’s Great Hall.
Another phrase you have probably head is “the centre of attention,” which simply means that, in a given situation, everybody starts looking at you and what you are doing rather than anything else that is happening. I have been the centre of attention many times, and as a consequence have gotten very good at running away from police officers or embarrassing relatives, but what you have probably also noticed is that the centre of attention can change. In the Great Hall, the domed ceiling was often the centre of attention, as it depicted the starry sky high above the school. On this particular occasion, the Sorting of the first-year students had previously been the centre of attention, as students sat at four enormous tables, and staff at a high table near the front, watched a procession of young schoolchildren take turns to wear a silly hat. But now Dumbledore and the Baudelaires were suddenly the centre of attention, and all eyes were once again on them, hundreds of eyes. Violet and Klaus were uncomfortably reminded of living in Count Olaf’s awful house, where the many eyes he decorated his walls with were always watching the children.
Dumbledore swept up to the end of the now quite short line of first-years waiting to be Sorted, and stopped Violet and Klaus there. “Just do as they do,” he murmured, and then left them, striding up to the staff table at the other end of the hall. With surprising agility, he swept around the table and settled himself in a high-backed chair that loomed even taller than himself. “Don’t stop just for me,” he said – and a few students laughed, and the Sorting continued.
Violet and Klaus watched as a serious-looking woman read a series of names off a list, and as each person’s name was read, a youngster from the line of first-years walked up to a stool in the centre of the hallway, picked up a dusty and battered hat that had been left there, and put it on their head. A short time later, a creaky old voice would cry out the name of one of the houses – “Gryffindor!” or “Hufflepuff!” and so on – and one of the tables would cheer, and the student would walk over to them. As the line dwindled, Violet and Klaus paid close attention to the cheering, and worked out which table represented which House – Gryffindor’s table marked with red and gold drapes and the symbol of a lion, Hufflepuff was decorated with yellow and black and had the sign of a badger, Ravenclaw was blue and bronze and had the emblem of a raven, and Slytherin was green and silver and was marked with a snake. The Baudelaires noticed, with some discomfort, that students at the Slytherin table seemed to be giving them some very ugly looks; a boy with slicked-back blonde hair, flanked by two burly cohorts, was particularly contemptuous.
Finally, the woman reading out names reached the end of what seemed to have been an alphabetical list, and she folded it up and put it away. But then she looked at the orphans, and after a moment’s curious glance, called out “Klaus Baudelaire!” Klaus nodded to Violet, and then walked up the silent aisle to the stool at which the hat waited. He picked up the hat, sat down, and put the hat on his head, where it fell down past his ears.
After all he had seen so far, Klaus was only slightly surprised to hear a voice speaking in his head from nowhere. It was the wheezy voice he had heard earlier, a sly voice that sounded like an old man with his wits still about him, who enjoyed a clever joke. “Well, well, well, what have we here?” it asked, in a slightly mocking tone.
“Klaus Baudelaire,” Klaus muttered.
“I know who you are, Klaus,” the hat said, into his mind. “I can see everything in your head. Dear, dear, no wonder Dumbledore took pity on you.”
Klaus summed up his courage, and told the hat, in a quiet but stern voice, “aren’t you meant to be Sorting me?”
“What? Oh, yes…” the hat said, sounding disappointed. “Now, let me see… you do make this difficult. You really could go anywhere.”
“How do you mean?” asked Klaus.
“Usually it’s a simple matter,” the hat told him. “The brave – or the reckless – go with Gryffindor’s lot; the wise and haughty join Ravenclaw; the enthusiastic or assiduous – as you know, ‘assiduous’ means ‘hard-working’ – join Hufflepuff, and those with a sly or a mean streak go to Slytherin. But you’re all those things.”
“Which is strongest, then?” asked Klaus.
“A tough question,” the hat admitted. “But, mulling it over and hearing your questions, I think it will have to be…” And here the hat filled itself with air, before bellowing out, “RAVENCLAW!”
The table with cloths of blue and bronze burst into applause as Klaus took off the hat and left the stool, and though he was worried that his peers might shun him for being new and strange, the nearest bench quickly shuffled up to make a space for him, where the dark-robed students smiled curiously at him.
“Violet Baudelaire!” cried out the teacher, and Violet took her turn to wear the hat.
The hat muttered something inaudible even to Violet, before telling her, “After doing your brother, you’re no challenge… you Baudelaires are all the same. RAVENCLAW!”
And the Ravenclaw bench shuffled up once more to allow Violet in to sit next to her relieved brother, who smiled at her. Being parted from Sunny in a strange new place was bad enough; at least they still had each other to rely on.
The teacher who had called out the names was taking the stool and hat away, and at the staff bench, Dumbledore stood up and clapped his hands to call for quiet.
“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” he cried, “and welcome one and all to a new year at Hogwarts – whether this is your first, your last, or one of the no less important five in-between. As you may know, I am the headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore.
“As always, let me begin the term by celebrating new arrivals. To our many new first-years, let me issue you with yet another warm welcome. Whether you come from a magical family or a Muggle one, I’m sure you will soon find yourselves fitting in, and learning all the wonders that magic can teach us, about the world – and about ourselves. To our new staff, I will also issue a winter’s day fireplace welcome – eventually. Our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Nossifer Vulpine, has yet to arrive, but I am sure he will be here in just a few hours.
“Finally, some of you may have noticed a couple of unusual new students here. I shan’t embarrass them yet again, but suffice to say, they are part of a Muggle crossover experiment to assess the talents of the non-magical at wandless classes. They will learn alongside you for this year, and I’m sure” – at this point loud mutterings and even a shout broke out across the hall, and Dumbledore raised his voice, which took on a harder, sterner sound – “and I’m sure that you will treat them as you would any other student of Hogwarts.
“And now,” he said, returning to a cheerier mood, “let us celebrate another new arrival – our food. Bon appétit!”
The Houses turned to their tables, where dishes of food swiftly began to appear, but those Ravenclaws around Violet and Klaus turned to look at them curiously.
“Muggles?” asked a snooty-looking girl. “In Ravenclaw, no less?”
“Oh, hush, Karmel,” a boy sitting next to Violet said, and held out a hand to the Baudelaires. “Eric Legger – I’m Muggle-born myself, and I know how hard it is to adjust.”
Violet and Klaus shook his hand, glad to meet a friendly face.
“Thank you,” Violet replied, a little shyly. “Could you explain, perhaps, where we get the food from?”
“It’s quite simple,” Eric said. “Just tell your plate what it is you want to eat, and it will appear. Anything you like – the kitchens can manage.”
“Anything?” Klaus asked, and he leaned towards Eric. “What about meals that we can remember?”
Violet looked at Klaus, knowing what he was thinking. The night before the Baudelaire fire, the Baudelaire family had had a wonderful family meal together; although it wasn’t a particularly complicated or unusual meal, the way it was made and the happy mood the family were in had made it one of the best meals Violet and Klaus, and even Sunny, could remember. It wasn’t the food itself, but the love that the family members had for each other, and the memories of that love that mixed with the memories of that food.
Violet and Klaus each looked at their plates, and said, “the last dinner we had with our parents” – and there it was, in exactly the same portions, even arranged on the plate the way the Baudelaire mother knew made it look the most appetising. To Eric, who was tucking into an enormous roast chicken, the meal didn’t look like much, but when he saw tears appear in the corners of the Baudelaires’ eyes, he knew this was not the time to interrupt.
“This really is magic,” Klaus whispered to Violet, and she nodded, smiling as she blinked away the sadness.
There are many more things I could tell you about the evening that followed – about the meal that followed, about the friendly conversation the Baudelaires shared with Eric Legger and the other Ravenclaws, or about the Ravenclaw tower, entered by answering a riddle, or about how glad the Baudelaires were to meet Sunny in the common-room of their tower and see that she, too, had shared that memorable meal with them, or about the trunks packed with books and robes and potion ingredients the Baudelaires found in their rooms, or about the deep sleep they fell into in their soft and warm beds even while a shadowy figure climbed up the steps to Hogwarts with a stolen trunk in his hand. It is not the details of any of these things that matter, but the feelings they create that live forever in a person’s memory, or not forever, if that person forgets, even if they don’t want to. The memories of that night were of happiness and safety for the Baudelaire children, even if, before long, their memories would be filled with fear and woe.
