"Quiet, everyone—the first-years are coming!"
No one knew which prefect shouted it, but the Great Hall instantly fell silent—probably the only time all year a prefect's command could be this effective.
Under the gaze of all the returning students, the black oak doors at the far end of the hall slowly swung open. The first to appear was Deputy Headmistress Professor McGonagall, clad in emerald-green robes. Behind her surged a great mass of pearly white ghosts, billowing in like mist and swiftly filling the air above the entire hall.
Only then did the first-year students file in, marching in neat rows. Most of them wore expressions of intense nervousness, their legs feeling as heavy as lead, their steps slow and unsteady. The moment they entered the hall, the first thing they did was look up at the enchanted ceiling, which reflected the night sky and was dotted with hundreds upon hundreds of floating candles. From time to time, they leaned toward one another, whispering in awe or animatedly discussing what they saw.
Professor McGonagall walked to the front of the hall and took out the dirty old Sorting Hat, placing it on the three-legged stool just as she had the year before. The professors at the staff table and the older students, well-practiced by now, casually cast charms on their ears—using fingers or wands alike—to block out sound. Then the Sorting Hat began to sing once more:
You may think I'm not handsome, but don't judge a hat by its looks;If you can find one prettier than me, I'll eat myself without crooks.
You can polish your bowlers till they gleam jet black,Or smooth out your top hats so they never lose track;But I am the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts, you see,Far finer and cleverer than any hat could be.
Whatever you're hiding deep inside your head,The Sorting Hat's sharp eyes will leave nothing unsaid;So try me on, don't hesitate—I'll tell you the house that shall be your fate…
When the song ended, thunderous applause erupted from students and teachers alike. Then, quietly, they lifted the charms from their ears and turned their attention to the line of first-years. After hearing the Sorting Hat's song, the newcomers looked much more relaxed. A few even wore faintly indignant expressions—probably the sort who'd been rather thoroughly fooled by their elders at home.
Professor McGonagall then unfurled a scroll of parchment and addressed the students in a clear voice. "When I call your name, you will come forward, put on the hat, sit on the stool, and wait to be sorted."
"Hannah Abbott!"
A ruddy-faced girl with a solid, almost steely presence stepped forward unsteadily. Her blonde hair was braided into two plaits. She pulled the hat down over her head—it slipped right over her eyes—and sat down. A brief pause followed—
"Hufflepuff!"
the Sorting Hat shouted.
Cheers immediately burst out from the Hufflepuff table. Avada, in particular, was especially enthusiastic, warmly welcoming the girl who so clearly embodied the ideal of a pure-blood.
"Susan Bones!"
"Hufflepuff!"
"Terry Boot!"
"Ravenclaw!"
…
"Hermione Granger!"
Here it comes.
Avada focused intently on the brown-haired girl with the bushy curls as she sat stiffly on the stool and pulled on the Sorting Hat, her face tight with nerves. She had originally possessed the qualities of both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. After his subtle interference, would history change this time?
"Gryffindor!"
A round of hearty applause erupted from the Gryffindor table, and Avada finally let out a small breath of relief.
"Neville Longbottom!"
The Sorting Hat hesitated for a long while before finally shouting, "Gryffindor!"
"Draco Malfoy!"
"Slytherin!"
…
"Harry Potter!"
At the sound of that name, a low buzz of murmurs rippled through the Great Hall. Harry walked forward almost in a daze, staring at the sea of faces craning their necks to catch a glimpse of him. Then the wide brim of the hat dropped over his eyes, plunging him into darkness and waiting.
"Hmm,"
the Sorting Hat murmured inside his mind. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. A decent heart as well. Talent—oh my, yes, quite a lot of it. And such a strong desire to prove yourself… how interesting. Slytherin could help you on the path to greatness, there's no doubt about that…"
Slytherin?
Harry remembered Hagrid's warning from that day, as well as the smug expression Draco Malfoy had worn when he was sorted into Slytherin earlier. But then he thought of Baron Shafiq standing beside Ken—polite, gentle, and composed. Maybe Slytherin wasn't quite as unbearable as he'd imagined?
No… better not Slytherin.
In the end, Hagrid's advice and Harry's most recent impressions of Slytherin won out in his mind.
"Not Slytherin?" the Sorting Hat asked softly. "Are you sure? You know Slytherin could help you achieve greatness, that's certain… Not willing? Very well then. If you've made up your mind—then off to Gryffindor you go!"
"Gryffindor!"
The loudest cheers and applause yet exploded from the Gryffindor table, nearly making Harry jump. Percy Weasley, the Gryffindor prefect, leapt to his feet and vigorously shook Harry's hand as soon as he reached the table. Somewhere in the crowd, voices were shouting excitedly, "We've got Potter! We've got Potter!"
At last, when Ron Weasley was sorted into Gryffindor as well, the Sorting Ceremony for the year came to an end.
Nothing has changed.
Avada let out a relieved sigh. Then he turned his gaze toward the staff table, where Professor Quirrell sat wrapped in his turban, looking distinctly nervous. Avada's eyes slowly hardened.
In that case, there's even less reason to fail.
After Professor McGonagall rolled up the parchment and carried the Sorting Hat away—returning shortly after to take her seat at the staff table—Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet. Smiling broadly, he spread his arms toward the students, as though nothing in the world delighted him more than seeing them all gathered together.
"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts and the start of a new school year! Before we begin the feast, I'd like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
Avada silently rolled his eyes.
"Thank you!"
Dumbledore sat back down with a genial smile and gave a flick of his hand. "Let the feast begin!"
The next moment, just like the year before, dazzling platters of food instantly filled the empty dishes along the long tables. For reasons unknown, a small plate of mint humbugs also appeared in front of everyone.
After waiting for so long, the ravenous students immediately dug in, eating with gusto while chatting with those beside them and with the newly arrived first-years.
"Truman, I hear you made prefect—congratulations!"
"You flatter me, you flatter me. You weren't bad yourself, Cedric—top of the year last term, weren't you? So, third year now? What electives did you choose?"
"Me? Care of Magical Creatures, Muggle Studies, Ancient Runes, and Divination."
"Four electives? That's eleven subjects including the core classes—no small pressure!"
"That's nothing. Don't forget Percy from Gryffindor—he's taking twelve. Merlin knows how he manages it."
Avada shot Cedric a sideways glance. A pity Cedric hadn't taken every subject—otherwise, he might have gotten an early look at a Time-Turner.
Come to think of it, Percy must have been using a Time-Turner frequently last year, yet Avada had never sensed even the slightest magical fluctuation related to time. That had always puzzled him—was time really part of magic at all? Its close sibling, "space," was crystal clear within his Magical Perception.
But if time wasn't magical, then how were Time-Turners created in the first place?
He shook his head and pushed the thought aside. He already had more than enough on his plate this year.
(End of Chapter)