Chapter 10 — The Sorting
"So… so huge!" Stark sucked in a sharp breath. A warrior's instincts made him instantly assess the man's build and strength, his muscles tensing on reflex.
"Lord Stark, he seems to be a member of the Hogwarts staff."
"Sorry, Fern. I'm still not completely used to this."
The first-years followed Hagrid, stumbling along a steep, damp path downhill through thick woods.
Then a black lake, smooth as a mirror, came into view. On the slope beyond it stood Hogwarts Castle, ablaze with light and crowned with towers, its windows glowing warmly beneath the starry sky.
"No more than four to a boat!" Hagrid shouted, pointing toward the little boats by the shore.
The three of them naturally boarded one together. Ripples spread across the lake as the boat moved on its own toward the castle. Frieren stretched out a finger and lightly traced it through the cold, black water.
"Mistress Frieren…" Fern's voice carried a faint unease as she sensed a strange shift in the mana within her body. "I feel like… a small part of my mana was just drawn away."
Frieren calmly felt that faint pulling force. Her mana was like a bottomless sea, so such a tiny extraction was almost negligible.
She looked toward the towering castle on the opposite shore, her pale green eyes faintly gleaming in the night.
"Yes. A rather rare contract-based spell.
"It seems we've just entered into a one-sided permission agreement with this castle. It's verifying and recording our magical signatures. A very elegant design—almost impossible to notice."
Just then, Hagrid's booming voice rang out from ahead.
"Duck! Mind the branches!"
Hearing that, Fern and Stark immediately lowered their heads on instinct.
Seeing this, the corners of Frieren's mouth curled upward.
"Fern, it's already passed."
Fern lifted her head and saw Frieren's expression. She immediately understood, and her cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk with its mouth full of nuts.
Stark looked blankly from the indignant Fern to the innocent-looking Frieren, completely unable to understand what had just happened.
"Huh? What's wrong? There really were branches just now, weren't there?"
The boats reached shore, and the first-years climbed a flight of stone steps before gathering in front of the enormous oak doors of Hogwarts Castle. Professor McGonagall was already standing there waiting for them, her expression stern. Her gaze swept across each new student, lingering slightly when it passed over the three of them.
The doors opened, and they were led into the magnificent entrance hall. But the moment they stepped into its warmth and brightness, all three of them almost simultaneously sensed a cold, appraising gaze fall over them like a sticky spiderweb.
Stark gave a sudden shiver. His warrior's instinct made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
He hunched his shoulders a little and whispered to Fern and Frieren beside him,
"Hey… do you feel that? That professor at the staff table—the one in black, with greasy hair and a face like a bat… his stare is terrifying! He's been watching us the whole time!"
Frieren followed the feeling and saw the black-robed professor with the gloomy face and sharp eyes.
But she quickly shifted her gaze away and let it fall instead on the professor beside him—the nervous-looking one wearing a heavy purple turban.
Professor Quirrell was staring fixedly at Harry Potter in the crowd with a look mixed with greed, fear, and resentment. He was not paying much special attention to them.
Frieren frowned slightly and thought to herself,
As expected of Hogwarts. It can even tame something radiating such obvious darkness and chaos enough to make it a professor? Still, that faint scent of decay and parasitic attachment… truly disgusting.
Around them, they heard nervous whispers from the other young wizards:
"I heard the Sorting Ceremony is a fight against a dragon!"
"Really? Merlin's beard! How am I supposed to beat a dragon?"
"Maybe it's identifying dragon eggs or feeding one?"
Listening to these discussions, Fern's little face turned slightly pale. If it was not a group challenge, then with her current level of magic, defeating a dragon alone would be rather difficult. She instinctively tightened her grip on her wand.
Stark's hands also began to tremble slightly. Leaning closer to Fern, he whispered,
"Do… do people in the future really sort students like that? Fighting dragons? Is it too late for me to run away now?"
Looking at the unease in the two beside her, Frieren tried to reassure them in her usual flat tone—a tone that somehow only made things worse.
"Humans in the future learn weakened versions of all-things-into-gold magic at eleven, so fighting a dragon for sorting sounds pretty normal.
"But from what I can tell, their total mana is very low, so it's probably a group challenge. It's fine, Fern. Stark can go in front and draw its attention to buy time while you chant your spell slowly."
"???"
Stark felt even more terrified.
"…" Far from feeling reassured, Fern instead remembered the time Mistress Frieren had abandoned her and run off first.
Once everyone had taken their seats, Professor McGonagall announced the start of the Sorting.
The moment they saw the old, battered Sorting Hat resting on the four-legged stool, all the first-years immediately understood what was going on.
Fern let out an enormous sigh of relief—but then her nerves tensed again.
Reading thoughts?
She immediately turned to Frieren, concern in her voice.
"Mistress Frieren, that hat… it's not going to sort us by reading our memories, is it?"
"It's fine, Fern," Frieren replied calmly, her gaze sweeping over the dingy old hat.
"Before school started, didn't you already work very hard on learning Occlumency? The effort you make every day won't betray you when it matters."
The Sorting began. The first name called was "Hannah Abbott!"
When Fern saw that all the girl had to do was put on the hat, she finally relaxed completely and began silently reviewing the principles of Occlumency in her heart.
"Frieren!"
Frieren walked forward calmly. Looking at the oily, patched-up Sorting Hat, she showed a very obvious expression of distaste.
She did not put it on immediately. Instead, she drew her holly wand and lightly tapped the hat twice, casting a cleaning spell and then a spell that made clothing smell pleasant.
The Sorting Hat suddenly gave a violent twitch, as if someone had tickled it, and let out a shrill cry:
"Ow! What did you do to me? You rude little—hmm? I do feel… much fresher?"
The grime on the hat visibly faded, and a faint fresh scent like grass after rain drifted from it. Only then did Frieren nod in satisfaction and place the now-clean and pleasantly scented Sorting Hat on her head.
The moment it touched her silver hair, it sensed a bold thought already forming in her mind—how she might borrow it from the Headmaster's office later and study it properly.
The Sorting Hat panicked at once.
"Waaaah! Stop! Stop that dangerous train of thought! I'm a precious relic left behind by the Founders! Not one of your experimental specimens!"
Practically shrieking in alarm, it blurted out:
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The Gryffindor table erupted into warm applause. Frieren blinked, seeming a little surprised by the result, though not displeased by it.
Soon enough, it was Fern's turn.
Fern took a deep breath, walked forward, and put on the Sorting Hat, which still carried that faint fresh fragrance.
"Oh! An excellent mind! Careful, disciplined, calm…!" the hat whispered in her thoughts. "Your thirst for knowledge and your logical ability would make Ravenclaw a very fine fit."
In her mind, Fern repeated quietly but firmly:
Gryffindor. Gryffindor.
The hat fell silent for a moment, seemingly sensing the source of her strong resolve.
"I see. The one you wish to stay beside, the one you wish to protect—they're in Gryffindor, aren't they? Such clear loyalty… then as you wish."
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Fern let out a breath of relief. A small, reassured smile appeared on her face as she quickly walked to the Gryffindor table and sat beside Frieren.
At the staff table, Dumbledore watched the scene through his half-moon spectacles, smiling as he stroked his long beard.
The Sorting continued. When Harry Potter's name was called, the hall instantly fell silent.
In the end, the hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" and the Gryffindor table exploded into thunderous cheers unlike any before.
Frieren tilted her head slightly and quietly said to Fern beside her,
"Look, that's the little boy I asked for directions on the first day I arrived.
"I didn't expect he'd be the one who defeated the Dark Lord. But his family doesn't seem to treat him well, and they seem rather hostile toward magic too."
Her tone was as flat as if she were simply commenting on the weather.
Fern studied Harry curiously and carefully sensed him for a moment, only to shake her head in confusion.
"It seems… his magical fluctuations aren't fundamentally different from anyone else's."
She simply could not connect the thin little boy in old glasses with the legendary Boy Who Lived.
Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet and delivered a few short, thoroughly mad welcome words.
"Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
Then he declared the feast begun.
In an instant, the long tables were filled with every kind of delicious dish imaginable.
Fern, meanwhile, carefully selected various desserts she thought Frieren might like, while also making sure to pass gravy and extra napkins to Stark, who was starving and gnawing on chicken legs so enthusiastically that his hands were covered in grease. Out of habit, she took care of the two troublesome companions beside her.
The feast ended amid laughter and cheerful conversation. Prefect Percy Weasley stood up, trying his best to look sufficiently dignified.
"First-year Gryffindors! Follow me! I'll take you to the common room!"