Harry wore a gentle smile as he walked forward, step by step. Facing so many people, even he felt a bit nervous.
But he couldn't afford to lose his composure. If he couldn't handle a little scene like this, how was he supposed to stride through wars between dimensions in the future?
The Sorcerer Supreme was expecting him to one day overawe all the demon gods of the multiverse, after all.
Under the gaze of the entire hall, Harry placed the grimy Sorting Hat on his head.
The moment it settled, he felt a force surge out from the hat, probing at his mind and memories.
Only then did Harry truly understand why the Sorting Hat could place young witches and wizards so accurately in the House that suited them best—because it could read their thoughts and memories, glimpsing who they really were inside.
It might even know a young witch or wizard better than they knew themselves.
There was a spell similar to Legilimency permanently woven into the hat!
Harry, of course, had no intention of letting the Sorting Hat rummage through his memories at will. He immediately raised a layer of protection inside his mind, one that combined Occlumency and a mental shield spell.
He sealed away his memories of the other world, and also locked down his loan-related abilities and anything else that could not be exposed for the time being, leaving only harmless, unimportant memories available.
The Sorting Hat had no idea it was only seeing what Harry allowed it to see. As soon as it had taken in that carefully selected slice of information, it exclaimed loudly in his mind:
"Oh, how extraordinary—talent that can astonish even a hat!
Hmm~ this is very hard, terribly hard. I can see you're very brave, unafraid to face any difficulty, and you possess remarkable gifts besides. Your heart is not a bad one, either.
You'd do well in any House—no surprise there, you are our saviour after all, an almost all-round little wizard.
Perhaps you should go to Slytherin—Slytherin could help you rise to glory, no question about it…
But Gryffindor would also suit you; you could absolutely become the next Dumbledore there, and there's a very high chance you'd surpass him…
No, no, no, you're very studious as well—maybe Ravenclaw could give the wizarding world a scholar who brings true change…
Oh, this is too difficult, far too difficult for a hat. How about letting you choose for yourself?"
The Great Hall fell completely silent, everyone waiting for Harry's answer.
Every House hoped Harry would join them. Every young witch and wizard wanted to become friends with the saviour—even the Slytherins were no exception.
Of course, there was also one particular boy silently praying Harry wouldn't be sent to Slytherin. Poor Mr Malfoy was terrified right now.
If Harry ended up in Slytherin, Draco would have to face him every day—and for all he knew, one night he might go to sleep and simply never wake up.
That golden blade of Harry's was no toy.
Harry paused for a moment, then quickly made up his mind.
To him, it didn't really matter which House he joined.
But with Hermione and Neville—who practically worshipped him—already in Gryffindor, Gryffindor was clearly the best choice.
Besides, Dumbledore had been in Gryffindor too. Sharing the same House might help him earn a bit more goodwill from the greatest wizard of the age.
Harry gave his answer. "Gryffindor, then."
The Sorting Hat nodded. "Yes, that really does suit you. In that case… GRYFFINDOR!"
When the Sorting Hat shouted out Harry's House, an explosion of cheers rose that dwarfed anything before it.
Even though the other three Houses were disappointed, they still applauded and cheered for the saviour. As for the little lions, they were on their feet, bouncing up and down as they shouted at the top of their lungs:
"We've got Potter! We've got Potter!"
Harry took off the hat and walked over to the Gryffindor table, sitting down beside Hermione. Percy the prefect hurried over and gripped his hand tightly, shaking it like Harry was some visiting dignitary there to inspect the school.
Noticing this, Harry's eyes flashed thoughtfully. It seemed Ron's brother was someone who liked power.
Harry had no problem with that at all—he rather liked people of that sort. If Percy worked hard enough, maybe one day Harry could make him Minister for Magic.
Once he'd dealt with the excited young lions, Harry glanced up toward the staff table. Hagrid was sitting in the closest seat to him and gave him a big thumbs-up.
Harry answered with a brilliant smile.
Looking toward the centre of the high table, he found the greasy-haired professor glowering at him with pure malice. Harry simply gave him yet another pleasant smile and then looked away, leaving the greasy old bat to stew in his own temper.
After that, Harry turned an even warmer gaze on Quirrell, and then his eyes moved on to Dumbledore. The kindly old wizard lifted a gem-studded golden goblet and raised it slightly in Harry's direction.
Harry had the distinct feeling he ought to leave a good impression on Dumbledore.
After Harry, only three students remained.
Lisa Turpin became the next new Ravenclaw, and then it was Ron's turn.
Ron looked even more nervous than Hermione had—his face had gone greenish, and he was shaking all over like he'd caught something nasty.
The Sorting Hat gave a little shake. "Ha, another Weasley. I know exactly where to put you, I do… GRYFFINDOR!"
And just like that, all four children who had shared a boat here were in the same House. You really had to call that fate.
The applause for Ron was noticeably weaker than the storm that had greeted Harry; even Percy was paying far more attention to Harry than to his own brother.
Perhaps Percy felt that being "friends with the saviour" was a title that could bring him more power?
Harry, Hermione, and Neville all clapped for Ron, and Harry even cheered loudly. He knew exactly how to lift a young wizard's spirits.
The final first-year was Blaise Zabini, who was sorted into Slytherin.
Once every first-year had been sorted, Professor McGonagall rolled up her parchment, picked up the grimy Sorting Hat, and left the hall.
At that moment, Dumbledore rose to his feet. Only then did Harry realise just how tall he was—around one metre ninety, at a guess.
He also noticed many faint traces of old wounds on Dumbledore's body, the kind only magic could leave behind. Clearly, this kindly old wizard had been a very restless man in his youth.
Perhaps, just like the Sorcerer Supreme, the title of "greatest" was something you had to fight for.
Albus Dumbledore beamed down at the young witches and wizards, stretching his arms out as though to embrace them all.
His voice was steady and powerful, slightly hoarse, with a natural rhythm to it:
"Welcome, welcome to a new year at Hogwarts!
Before we begin our banquet, I'd like to say a few words—just a few points to keep in mind.
First-years, take note: the Dark Forest on these grounds is strictly out of bounds to all students. It is the Forbidden Forest!
In addition, our caretaker, Mr Filch, has asked me to remind you that the corridor on the right-hand side of the fourth floor is also forbidden.
If you do not wish to die a particularly horrible death, stay away from it!"
Dumbledore's tone was very stern, but Harry's attention at that moment was entirely on Mr Filch.
He studied the middle-aged man curiously and realised, to his surprise, that Filch was a Squib.
Perfect.
As a new borrower, Mr Filch couldn't have been more suitable!