A soft, almost imperceptible note sounded at the door of Nathael and Celestia's room. It wasn't a magical summons or a spell—just a house-elf with a message written on fine parchment, sealed with the Hogwarts crest.
You are invited to the Welcoming and Sorting Ceremony tonight in the Great Hall.
Nathael read the note and set it on the table.
"It's time."
Celestia was already ready. She wore her ancestral collar and a small blue velvet cape embroidered with perception runes. Nathael, for his part, had dressed in sober elegance: a black cloak with silver trim, a white shirt open at the collar, and silent boots. Nothing flashy. Nothing ostentatious. Just presence.
They descended to the Great Hall.
As they entered, the very air seemed to hold its breath.
The enchanted ceiling reflected the starry night sky, and thousands of floating candles illuminated four long tables—scarlet, blue, yellow, and green. Students were already seated, whispering, laughing, watching the new faces with curiosity.
At the staff table, a seat awaited them—tall, with a blue velvet cushion: for Celestia.
Nathael gave a small nod of greeting to Flitwick, who returned an enthusiastic smile; to Sprout, who raised her goblet; to Snape, who didn't even glance their way; and to Hagrid, who winked at them with a clumsy grin.
But then, they smelled it.
Garlic.
Strong. Unpleasant.
They turned.
A man in a woolen turban wrapped high over his ears trembled slightly as he spoke with Snape. His nervous eyes scanned the hall as if something pursued him.
"Odd," Celestia murmured.
"Yes," Nathael said. "But not our concern."
They took their seats.
Students stared at them curiously. Some girls whispered, pointing at Celestia.
But the first-years weren't here yet. They waited outside, nervous and wide-eyed.
Then, the doors of the Great Hall opened.
Professor McGonagall entered with firm steps, followed by a line of anxious children in new robes and bright-eyed wonder.
On a worn wooden stool at the front sat the Sorting Hat.
Nathael and Celestia recognized it instantly.
They'd seen it in Dumbledore's office.
And the Hat, sensing their gaze, shifted slightly—as if remembering.
Among the first-years, a girl with bushy brown hair and prominent teeth stared at them, eyes wide.
"It's the girl from Ollivanders," Celestia whispered.
"Hermione Granger," Nathael said, nodding toward her.
But the one drawing the most attention was a thin boy with broken glasses and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
"Harry Potter," someone murmured.
Nathael studied him carefully.
He sensed no great magic in him.
Nothing extraordinary.
Just a child.
Nervous. Alone.
"Just as we said," Celestia whispered. "No trace of ancient power."
"Though," Nathael added, "the scar… glows faintly with residual magic."
"From the curse?" Celestia asked.
"Perhaps. Or from something else."
Before they could speak further, the Sorting Hat cleared its throat.
And it sang:
You might not find me handsome,
but don't judge by appearances.
I'll eat myself if you can find
a hat more charming than I am…
Celestia whispered,
"It's worse than when Lysander sings."
The Great Hall burst into applause.
Then, McGonagall unrolled a scroll.
"When I call your name, come up, sit on the stool, and place the Hat on your head."
"Hannah Abbott."
A shy, blonde girl stepped forward. The Hat barely touched her.
"Hufflepuff!"
Soft applause from the yellow table.
"Susan Bones."
"Hufflepuff!"
"Terry Boot."
"Ravenclaw!"
And so the names continued.
Nathael grew bored.
He began stroking Celestia, who purred softly.
"How many more?" he murmured.
"Patience," she said. "History is being written."
Then—
"Hermione Granger."
Nathael and Celestia exchanged a glance.
She walked up with her back straight, as if she already knew what was coming.
She sat.
The Hat settled on her head.
Silence.
Then—
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Nathael and Celestia looked at each other, surprised.
"Gryffindor?" Celestia said. "She has the intellect of a Ravenclaw. Even the potential… like Anneliese."
"Perhaps the Hat saw something else," Nathael said. "Courage. Loyalty. Determination."
"Or perhaps," Celestia said, "Gryffindor needs minds like hers."
They let it go.
The ceremony continued.
And then—
"Harry Potter."
Silence fell like a stone.
Every eye locked onto him.
He walked up, trembling slightly.
The Hat touched his head.
And then… it waited.
Minutes.
Eternal minutes.
The Hat murmured in his mind.
Harry closed his eyes, as if praying.
Finally, the Hat shouted:
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The scarlet table erupted in cheers.
Two redheaded twins leapt up, shouting:
"We've got Potter! We've got Potter!"
Harry smiled—a smile of relief.
Nathael noticed.
"He didn't want Slytherin."
"No one does," Celestia said, "not since Slytherin became synonymous with darkness."
The last students were sorted.
The ceremony ended.
Then, Dumbledore rose.
Tall, in purple robes spattered with moons and stars, his blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles.
"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!" he said warmly. "Before we begin our feast, I have a few words to say."
He paused dramatically.
"And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
The Great Hall burst into laughter and applause.
Nathael and Celestia exchanged a look.
"What did that mean?" Nathael asked.
"I don't know," Celestia said.
Then, the food appeared.
Steaming dishes of stew, pumpkin pasties, chocolate puddings, butterbeer—and for Celestia, a small plate of steak in tomato sauce.
"It's quite tasty," she admitted after a bite.
Nathael smiled.
"Even you surrender to Hogwarts cuisine."
He looked around.
Ghosts floated between tables: the Bloody Baron at Slytherin, a monk at Hufflepuff, a headless knight at Gryffindor.
"Curious," he said. "The spirits here aren't just echoes. They're… aware."
"Because Hogwarts welcomes them," Celestia said. "It doesn't exile them."
When they finished eating, Dumbledore stood again.
"Ahem… just a few more words now that we've all eaten and drunk."
His voice turned serious.
"I have a few announcements to make for the start of the year.
"First, first-years should remember that they must not enter the Forbidden Forest under any circumstances."
He gave a meaningful look at the redheaded twins.
"And a few of our older students should remember that as well."
The twins laughed but nodded.
"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to remind you that magic should not be performed in the corridors or during breaks.
"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Those wishing to try out for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.
"And finally," Dumbledore said, pausing longer this time, "I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor—on the right-hand side—is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to suffer a most painful death."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
Nathael frowned.
"Interesting."
"And lastly," Dumbledore said, smiling, "this year we are honored to welcome an academic consultant."
He gestured to Nathael.
"Nathael Grauheim."
Nathael stood.
He gave an elegant nod.
Celestia did the same.
A few girls sighed.
"He's adorable!"
"I'd love to pet her!"
Celestia purred softly, without looking at them.
Dumbledore continued:
"Mr. Grauheim will be available for consultations on ancient magic, lost relics, and non-European magical traditions. He will also assist certain professors as needed."
He nodded to Nathael, who sat back down.
"And now, before we retire to bed—let us sing the school song!"
Instantly, all the students began to sing.
But each in a different melody.
A harmonious chaos.
For Celestia, it was worse than the Hat.
"Merlin, do something!" she yowled.
Without moving a muscle, Nathael cast a silent spell.
A bubble of selective silence enveloped them.
Celestia sighed in relief.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," Nathael said.