The air above the lake was a few degrees colder than anywhere else, and with the chill wind cutting across the water, the frail Hermione couldn't help shrinking into Harry's arms.
Harry automatically helped Miss Otter block the cold wind with his body. With his constitution, a breeze like this couldn't affect him in the slightest anyway.
Suddenly, the surface of the lake rippled with a very obvious splash. Harry looked toward the sound and caught a glimpse of a gigantic squid, there for a heartbeat and then gone.
He could sense a faint surge of magic from the giant squid as well, very similar to the magical fluctuations he had felt from Scabbers, the grey rat.
But this squid was clearly far stronger than Scabbers—at least dozens of Scabbers stacked together.
Even so, Harry didn't panic in the slightest. He just studied it curiously.
This giant squid had obviously lived in the Black Lake for a very long time. It was a magical creature tamed by Hogwarts and would absolutely never attack young witches and wizards.
If a student fell into the water, it would even rescue them, and at ordinary times it might swim over to the shore, letting them scratch its tentacles to help with the itching.
Harry had read all of that in Hogwarts: An Incomplete and Unreliable Guide.
When the boats at the front were about to bump into a sheer cliff face, Hagrid's voice rang out again: "Heads down!"
Everyone quickly ducked their heads, only straightening up again when the boats slid through a curtain of ivy hanging over the rock wall.
Then they followed a pitch-black passage that ran under the castle and came out at an underground dock. Just then, Harry spotted a familiar little black shape.
A few metaphorical black lines popped up in his mind. He lifted his wand and flicked it, sending the black toad floating through the air into Neville's arms. Half exasperated, half amused, he said,
"Neville, stop losing Trevor. He'll get upset!"
Neville cried out in delight. "Merlin's beard, you've found Trevor for me again! Harry, that's the third time you've helped me—I'll definitely repay you someday!"
Guided by the steady light Harry kept casting ahead of them, they followed the tunnel upward until they emerged onto a flat, damp patch of grass. From there they walked on, climbed a flight of stone steps, and finally stopped before a huge oak door.
They had only just halted when, as if she had sensed their arrival, a tall, black-haired witch in deep green robes stepped out through the doorway.
Her expression was stern, and she looked like someone who would be hard to get along with, but Harry knew that was just a typical teacher's demeanor.
From something Hagrid had said earlier, Harry already knew her name.
"Professor McGonagall, the first-years are here."
Professor McGonagall swept them with a sharp, assessing gaze. Only when everyone had fallen completely silent did she give a small, satisfied nod.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take them from here. All right, young witches and wizards, follow me."
She led them into the depths of the castle. The place was even grander than Harry had imagined. It didn't feel like a school at all—more like a palace.
Professor McGonagall led them left and right through corridors and up a staircase, finally stopping in front of a large door.
Harry could hear noises from the other side—the voices of other young witches and wizards. It sounded like everyone else was already seated.
So what exactly was the Sorting Ceremony?
Harry was curious. To his surprise, though he had searched through all kinds of books, he had never found any detailed description of the ceremony—only vague mentions that it had something to do with a hat.
Professor McGonagall gave the first-years a few instructions, telling them about Hogwarts' history, the origins of the four Houses, and how the House Cup was awarded. She particularly emphasized that the House Cup was the school's highest honor.
The other young witches and wizards were thrilled, Hermione included. They were already itching to start earning points and help the House they were about to join win the Cup.
Harry, however, didn't care much. To him, the House Cup was no different from the little reward stickers children got in primary school. He was well past the age where he could get excited over rewards that didn't have any real substance.
"In a few minutes, the Sorting Ceremony will be held in front of the entire school," Professor McGonagall said. "I suggest you take this time to straighten yourselves up and try to look presentable."
Her eyes lingered on a few especially disheveled students. Only after those particular kids hurried to tug their robes into place and smooth their hair did she turn and leave.
A few minutes after the strict Professor McGonagall left, the first-years finally dared to whisper among themselves.
"How are they supposed to know which House to put us in?" Hermione asked Ron, who was the most familiar with the wizarding world among the three of them.
Ron didn't sound very sure either. "I think… there has to be some sort of test, right? Fred said it really hurts, but I reckon he was joking."
The murmur of other students drifted over to them.
"My brother told me we have to fight a troll!"
"Boohoo, but my mum told me we have to challenge a fire dragon…"
"No, no, that's not it—we're supposed to fight a hippogriff!"
…
All sorts of ominous rumors were passed along, each worse than the last. Hermione grew so nervous she kept muttering spells under her breath, hoping to cram them in at the last second.
Ron was shivering outright now, and even Harry was affected to some extent.
But his thoughts were very different from the other kids'. Harry was wondering, if they really did have to fight those magical creatures, whether he should go all out or hold back.
He didn't know exactly what the Sorting Ceremony involved, but he was sure that it had to be completely safe.
Even so, he wasn't exactly eager to see trolls and other magical beasts sent scrambling in panic after being pummelled around the hall.
Maybe it would be better to end it with a single sword stroke. Whether it was a troll, a fire dragon, or a hippogriff—cut off the head and they all die the same.
Wouldn't that be a bit too bloody, though?
Soon enough, Professor McGonagall returned, and the room fell instantly silent.
"The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin," she said. "Everyone get ready and follow me."
The first-years lined up in a single file as she'd instructed, passed through the entrance hall, and then through a pair of double doors into a magnificent hall.
Students from the other years were already seated around four long tables. On the tables were countless gleaming gold plates and tall silver goblets.
Even Harry couldn't help but marvel at the sight. Hogwarts was clearly very wealthy.
High above them, thousands upon thousands of candles floated slowly back and forth, bathing the hall in warm light.
The brightest place of all was at the raised platform at the far end of the hall, where another long table stood—the staff table.
Harry's gaze was drawn to the familiar figure sitting in the center. Tall and thin, with hair and beard both falling to his waist, every strand meticulously groomed, not a whisker out of place.
He was the same man Harry had seen on the Chocolate Frog card—the wizard widely acknowledged as the greatest of their age: Albus Dumbledore.
As Harry looked up at Dumbledore, Dumbledore looked back at him and gave him a small nod.
Apart from him, two other figures also caught Harry's attention.
One of them was a thin, sallow-skinned man in middle age, with lank, greasy hair.
Most of the time his expression was cold and unreadable, his face barely changing—but whenever his eyes landed on Harry, his emotions surged violently, twisting his features.
That look was strangely familiar to Harry. It reminded him of the way Aunt Petunia used to look at him.
A gaze full of love and hate all tangled together, complicated and contradictory. As if he despised Harry, yet at the same time cared for him deeply.
What on earth was going on with that?!