C H A P T E R S E V E N
THE SORTING HAT
T
he door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in
emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face
and Harry’s first thought was that this was not someone to cross.
“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.
“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”
She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you
could have fit the whole of the Dursleys’ house in it. The stone
walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the
ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble s tair-
case facing them led to the upper floors.
They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone
floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a
doorway to the right — the rest of the school must already be
here — but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a
small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing
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