Suspense filled the Great Hall for about ten minutes. People couldn't take their eyes off the Sorting Hat, trying to guess what it was whispering about. Doubtful murmurs echoed in the background, some students' stomachs growled with hunger, and those who had been nodding off suddenly sat upright, eager to hear the hat's verdict.
Even the professors were restless and surprised, realizing this was one of the longest times the Sorting Hat had ever taken to decide a house for a single student. Some had been sorted in under five seconds.
"Those wizards who created me, the Founders themselves, gave me the ability to read minds. Almost impossible to resist. And yet, for some reason, I cannot see beyond your last few months… What I do see is that you've suffered a great loss. You carry hatred in your heart—a dangerous thing, to tell the truth…" said the hat.
"I only want to honor my parents' name, to keep it high. Even though they were taken from this life, I want to protect the people I love. Hatred isn't the problem. The real problem will be anyone who stands in my way."
"I see you're opening up, boy. You have great potential. Even your wand… It's an incredible work, crafted by a demon with a twisted mind. To create something like that is to ignore the danger it poses to wizarding society. What surprises me most, though, is your ability to learn to control it in just a few weeks—something that would take many of the wizards here years." The hat gestured with its tip toward the professors and students.
"Professor McGonagall, is everything all right with that boy?" asked Dumbledore, standing up.
Those were the last words I heard before collapsing onto the floor for a few seconds. Seconds in which the hat still managed to communicate with me.
"I fear what you might become, boy. I hope you achieve great things. I have decided which house you belong to—the perfect house to hone your power, to go far with your wit, to forge bravery, and to help you open your heart to those coming into your life. All I can say is good luck, boy. We'll meet again." The hat's voice echoed in my mind as I drifted in that brief faint.
"Oh, good, he's waking up," said a deep voice—Dumbledore's.
When I opened my eyes, Professor McGonagall quickly removed the hat, and the Headmaster was standing before me. Some students had gathered around, and the murmurs had become a constant uproar of voices and shouts across the hall.
"Everyone, sit down and be quiet! The ceremony continues. Give the boy some space to breathe!" shouted one of the professors.
"Are you all right, child?" asked Professor McGonagall.
"Yes, ma'am. I don't know what happened. I'm sorry."
"It's the strain of the hat. No one has ever worn it that long. When the hat enters someone's mind, it forces them in certain ways so it can read their thoughts and know who they truly are," explained McGonagall.
"Who would've thought someone could beat its record, Professor McGonagall," chuckled a professor—an older man with gray hair, missing an arm, his clothes tattered and dirty, and one eye gone.
"Be quiet, Silvanus. This isn't the time for jokes. Listen, boy, your sorting is postponed for now. Go rest and rejoin the line," she said firmly.
I stood up, walked a little shakily, and managed to return to where Patrick was waiting.
"Mate… you okay?" asked Patrick.
"Just a bit dizzy, but it'll pass."
"Very well, students. Apologies for the small incident. Let us continue the ceremony," said McGonagall.
"No! I've made my decision!"
The astonishment of everyone in the room was impossible to hide. The hat, silent all this time, suddenly let out a piercing shout.
"Your house, boy… shall be—Ravenclaw!"
A hush fell over the hall, followed by thunderous applause. The Ravenclaw table erupted in cheers, thrilled to welcome such a curious boy into their house.
"Go on—they're waiting for you. I'll join you in a minute, just wait for me," Patrick said.
Without another word, I headed to the Ravenclaw table. As soon as I sat down, dozens of students rushed over to me, bombarding me with questions about what the hat had said. The excitement grew so intense that another professor had to step in to restore order at the table.
"Silence, students! Unless you want to lose points, keep your mouths shut," said a thin professor with pale skin, dressed in black robes. His greasy, shoulder-length dark hair and his deadly stare sent chills down my spine.
"Ugh, what a drag. That's Professor Severus Snape—one of the worst teachers here," whispered a boy softly so as not to be overheard. But it didn't work. In the blink of an eye, Snape emerged from the shadows and appeared behind him.
"So… one of the worst, eh, student Damian?" Snape hissed, tugging the boy's ear. "I'll see you in class tomorrow to test that little claim of yours, Mr. Damian."
The look of fear on the other students' faces was unmistakable. It was like watching Death itself standing before them.
"And as for you, Mr. Dion… I look forward to seeing what talents or qualities you're hiding—enough to make the Sorting Hat hesitate so long." Now up close, I could see his lifeless eyes, his yellow, crooked teeth—an appearance that made his presence even more menacing.
"It's nothing special, Professor Snape… Honestly, I just hope to learn new things."
"Hmm. A dull thought for someone who already draws so much attention on his first day." With that, Snape vanished instantly and reappeared among the professors at their table.
"My life is over!" cried Damian, breaking into tears as a few classmates hugged him in sympathy for what awaited him.
"Very well, next up—Patrick Williams Patel," announced Professor McGonagall.
All eyes turned once again to the front, to where the remaining students still waited to be called.
"Step forward, please, Patrick Williams Patel," repeated McGonagall.
Looking toward Patrick, I saw him frozen in place, his hands trembling. For a moment, he glanced in my direction. To encourage him, I gave him a look of acceptance and confidence. It was as if he understood perfectly. He took a deep breath and stepped forward.
"It's me!" shouted Patrick excitedly.
"Very well. Take a seat, please."
Patrick sat down, and the Sorting Hat was placed on his head. It slipped low enough to cover part of his eyes, and at once it began to speak—though I now understood only he could hear it.
The hat's mouth moved, but nothing could be heard. Even in the absolute silence of the hall, no one else could make out the words. Standing there, I could just barely distinguish a faint murmur, but nothing clear. From here, it seemed impossible.
"Can you make out anything?" asked a Ravenclaw student.
"No, nothing yet. It's impossible to read his lips. And magic to eavesdrop doesn't work either. It's like there's a shield keeping all spells away from them," replied Damian, calmer now, wiping his tears and rubbing his sore ear.
Incredibly, Patrick spent six whole minutes under the hat's scrutiny. You could see it was still hesitating, still weighing which house might suit him best. The rest of the students wore the same anxious faces as when I had been up there—consumed by intrigue, hooked on the suspense.
"Well then—this year brings surprises… Ravenclaw!" shouted the hat.
Patrick jumped from the chair, yanked off the hat before McGonagall could, shoved it quickly back to her, and sprinted toward the Ravenclaw table in a burst of excitement.
"Dion, I told you we'd be together! Now let's become the best wizards in Hogwarts—together!" Patrick exclaimed, thrilled.
"Hahaha, we will, Patrick. We'll go far… we have to."