The front of the Great Hall.
The professors at the teachers' table sat upright and proper.
Dumbledore, in a deep purple robe, occupied the very center seat. His silver-white hair and beard had been meticulously groomed, and his eyes, gentle behind his half-moon spectacles, rested kindly on the students.
Their eyes met.
Ian saw Dumbledore wink at him.
"This is my favorite time of the year."
The diminutive Filius Flitwick, head of Ravenclaw College, was so small he looked like a dwarf, though that did nothing to hinder his magical prowess—which far surpassed most others.
"What spirited children! I wonder how many will join our house."
Pomona Sprout, head of Hufflepuff College, looked for all the world like a housewife. She was watching the incoming first years with an expectant, cheerful smile plastered across her face.
"The Sorting Hat will make the choice for them."
As for Minerva McGonagall, the head of Gryffindor, she was the most severe-looking of all the professors—her lips were always pressed tight, carrying an air of almost disciplinarian sternness.
Of course.
Only those who truly knew her would realize that beneath her strictness was a subtle, gentle heart. In the students' eyes, her prestige far surpassed that of the head of Slytherin College, who was present to lead the first years tonight.
Severus Snape.
"Line up in the center."
He pointed with an unmistakably commanding gesture at the empty space and issued what practically squeezed out as a harsh order—leaving no doubt about his overbearing reputation in the minds of many students.
Everyone did as told and walked over.
"Thank you for your help, Professor Snape."
Professor McGonagall waited until Snape had returned to the teachers' table and sat down, then strode to the rather filthy Sorting Hat. Now, nearly every student in the hall was staring at her in nervous anticipation.
"Will we have to fight a giant?"
"I heard we'll have to catch an Occamy."
"Nonsense! My dad told me the test is to stay in a room with a succubus."
...
With Snape no longer keeping watch,
the little wizards immediately began muttering to each other in hushed tones.
In the grand hall,
the long tables for each of the four different houses were packed with older students. Above their heads, candles floated under the enchanted ceiling, their magical flames blazing brightly.
Aurora kept looking up at the ceiling.
It seemed that after seeing the Sorting Hat, she wasn't nearly as nervous as before.
"What are you looking at?"
Ian's heart was beating fast too, excitement lighting his tone.
"Why doesn't the candle wax drip down?"
The German girl whispered, her voice tinged with a hint of disappointment.
"Maybe when they enchanted the candles, they forgot to add a touch of realism," Ian replied, equally amazed by the unchanging candles above.
"That makes sense."
Aurora nodded.
"No problem–when I learn alchemy, I'll help them fix this little flaw." Ian offered enthusiastically; after all, his suitcase still contained Mara's latest assignment.
"Have you always been this mischievous?"
Aurora's tone had a trace of surprise in it.
"That's a good question."
Ian actually seemed to start pondering it for real, making Aurora gape at him, her eyes full of disbelief.
"Quiet!"
At that moment,
Professor McGonagall's loud voice rang out.
The Sorting Hat, propped on a little four-legged stool, twisted just in time, a mouth and eyes forming from a line in its fabric. Amid little wizards' cries of surprise, it burst into song—surely a soul inherited from Gryffindor himself.
In Hogwarts' ancient hall,
I gently intone a new song.
Here meet wisdom and bravery,
Each heart will find its way along.
Oh, the young hearts, endless in fantasy,
Is it Gryffindor's spark, bright with courage and hope,
Or Slytherin's depth, harboring cunning and brilliance?
Perhaps Hufflepuff's loyalty, warm as the sun,
Or under Ravenclaw's wings, do you soar with wisdom?
Hear me, feel my trembling tune—I am the Sorting Hat, never wrong for anyone!
If you have justice in your heart and will not yield to hardship or fright,
The flame of Gryffindor will blaze bright for your fight;
If you're quick of mind, truth-seeking your aim,
The Ravenclaw stars await—adventure without tame.
If you value love, hold friendship most dear,
Hufflepuff's meadows will grant what you revere.
If you're discreet, harboring ambitions unknown,
Slytherin's lake will mirror your glory alone.
No matter what path you choose, young heart, do not hesitate or stall,
Let me lead you towards your destined call!
...
The song was loud.
Well,
it was really only loud.
Ian was convinced the Sorting Hat's singing, in its own way, reflected Gryffindor's questionable musical talent. Who knew why Dumbledore was listening so enraptured?
"Clap clap clap clap!"
There were still plenty of students applauding on the spot.
And when the applause slowly faded,
Professor McGonagall, holding a scroll of parchment, stood beside the Sorting Hat and got ready to take attendance like a proper Cat Lady.
"Grace Allison!"
The first name rolled off Professor McGonagall's tongue.
Ian looked over.
He saw—
a freckle-faced girl standing there, utterly bewildered. Only after a few gentle nudges from nearby little wizards did she fluster her way over to Professor McGonagall.
"What am I supposed to do?"
The girl was confused and unsure.
"Just sit on the stool."
Professor McGonagall explained, her tone gentle.
"Hufflepuff!"
When the Sorting Hat was settled on her head, just a moment passed before it bellowed out, loud and clear. Now everyone understood what the Sorting Ceremony was all about.
Many little wizards let out a sigh of relief.
Some, though, looked less than delighted.
Notably,
the wizard who'd exclaimed about being locked in a room with a succubus looked utterly crushed.
"Mien Agfus!"
Another little wizard raced up onto the stage.
Soon after—
the boy was sorted into Gryffindor College. One after another, the little wizards were called up, and with each Sorting Hat shout, found their way to their house.
"Aurora… Grindelwald!"
When Professor McGonagall announced this name,
instantly,
the previously lively, cheering Great Hall fell absolutely silent—some were shocked, some wore expressions of utter disbelief.
The bewildered little wizards started whispering to their neighbors, but in a moment their faces, too, turned pale and frightened.
"What!?"
Daphne, who'd just been talking to her friends, now had the most ashen face among all the first years. Her eyes, filled with fear, watched as the German girl beside Ian walked calmly up to the stool.
At this moment,
no other sounds reached Daphne's ears. All she could hear was the endless hum in her brain, and her vision—which had been so clear—had started to blur.
"I'm doomed!"
Remembering all her earlier sarcastic remarks on the boat ride, Daphne's head was spinning, but her mind had never been clearer.
"My whole family is doomed!"
Yes.
Her mind was—terrifyingly clear.