Chapter 11 — The Sorting Ceremony
After receiving Siron's affirmative reply, Hagrid finally walked down the stone steps and left.
Inside the castle, Harry Potter had been keeping an eye on that direction… or rather, he had been glancing toward Hagrid on purpose or by habit along the way, and just happened to notice the two of them whispering at the very back of the line.
For some reason, the moment Siron stepped into the castle, Harry instinctively walked over.
"Excuse me, what were you two talking about just now?"
Siron froze for a moment—he hadn't expected the "Chosen One" to be so… outgoing.
Logically, after dealing with Malfoy's provocation, Harry should have had little patience or goodwill toward pure-blood wizards at this point.
"Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it," Harry said, realizing perhaps he had been a bit rash. Flustered, he gestured wildly with his hands. "I mean, I know Hagrid too, so… if you need help, I can—"
"Thanks for the offer, but it's not necessary," Siron said casually. "It's just that something of his was broken, and I happened to be able to fix it."
"Oh, I see. By the way, I'm Harry Potter."
"Siron Ollivander. We met in Diagon Alley, but your attention was all on the wand back then."
"Really? I'm sorry, I honestly don't remember."
"That's fine. Few wizards can remain calm when receiving their first wand."
…
The two of them chatted idly, which naturally caught the attention of others.
Malfoy kept glancing their way from time to time, and each time, his expression changed—spectacularly so.
Why?
Everyone here was a pure-blood wizard, yet Potter was willing to talk to Siron. That wasn't fair!
Ron felt the same way, though his expression leaned more toward caution.
Because of the earlier incident, he subconsciously grouped Siron with Malfoy-type people. As everyone knew, the Weasleys and Malfoys had never gotten along.
So the more Harry and Siron talked, the more annoyed Ron became.
Luckily, it wasn't long before Professor McGonagall arrived, leading everyone into the Great Hall.
The hall was already filled with students, but as McGonagall guided the long line of first-years forward, all eyes still fell on the newcomers.
Nervous? Most of the first-years seemed tense, yet simultaneously astonished by the magical scene before them.
The ceiling appeared to be a starry sky.
A thousand floating, lit candles hovered beneath the enchanted ceiling, giving the impression of another sky entirely.
Around them floated a dozen or so pale, almost human-like shapes.
Ghosts?
Even Neville and a few other timid students had wobbly legs, shuffling forward with great effort.
Hermione was slightly steadier, but her face was pale, and both hands gripped the edges of her robe tightly.
Ghosts, singing hats—these things practically pressed her eleven years of understanding and principles into the ground, grinding them raw…
After what felt like an eternity, the Sorting Hat finally finished its song, and everyone sat up straight.
"Now, the Sorting begins. When I call a name, that student will put on the hat and sit on the stool."
McGonagall scanned the first-years.
"Hannah Abbott!"
…
As students slowly disappeared from view, Siron suddenly realized something—he was still holding Tom.
Normally, pets were supposed to be sent to the school with luggage, but Tom had chased a colleague off the train, and Siron had no choice but to carry him into the castle.
But he couldn't very well hold a cat during the Sorting Ceremony. That would draw too much attention and look pretentious.
"Siron Ollivander!"
Professor McGonagall's voice called, leaving no time to ponder what to do. Siron reluctantly set Tom down.
"Don't run off," he quickly warned before walking forward.
"Look, it's Siron," Hermione whispered, turning toward the Gryffindor table after just arriving.
Neville sat beside her.
"I really hope he gets sorted into Gryffindor too," Hermione murmured.
A passing ghost overheard and shook its head. "That's impossible."
"Why?" Hermione asked, confused. Four houses, shouldn't that be a one-in-four chance? How could it be impossible?
"Because he's an Ollivander," Nearly Headless Nick said with a grin. "Most Ollivanders go to Ravenclaw. There's no way he'll be sorted into—"
"Gryffindor!"
The ghost's words were interrupted by the Sorting Hat's loud voice.
The next moment, the Great Hall fell into a strange, almost electric silence.
Some students instinctively clapped, but a small number just sat there, staring in astonishment.
Even the professors at the front didn't clap, all eyes focused on the Sorting Hat.
Gradually, the applause faded, leaving the hall in eerie quiet.
Snape narrowed his eyes, Professor Flitwick rubbed his ears vigorously, and even Dumbledore leaned slightly forward unconsciously.
"Albus…" McGonagall turned her head, as if to confirm something.
"The Sorting Hat does not make mistakes," Dumbledore said firmly.
"Looks like the Sorting Hat has delivered another surprise," Snape said coldly, tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Indeed," Flitwick added from the side. "Just like decades ago, when a Black was sorted into Gryffindor. But this is even more extraordinary."
All eyes now focused on Siron, who calmly removed the hat and returned it to McGonagall.
"Mr. Ollivander, you—"
"I respect the school's sorting rules, Professor," Siron said evenly. "But may I ask the Sorting Hat a question? I was in too much of a hurry before and forgot."
"…Very well," McGonagall hesitated for a moment, then placed the hat back on Siron's head.
"Hm? It's you again," the faint voice murmured in his ear. "No matter what you say, I will not change my mind. You are well-suited for Gryffindor."
"No, you misunderstand. I just want to ask one question," Siron said, speaking clearly so many could hear.
"What question? Ask freely."
"Do you have a particular type of wood that you like?"
…
Wood?
Everyone who heard this was puzzled, unable to grasp the significance of the question.
Only Dumbledore seemed to understand, his expression shifting slightly.
He had long heard that the Ollivander family produced an extraordinary wandmaker—a genius capable of crafting wand cores from materials that no one else would even think of.
Could it be… oh, no, impossible. What is he thinking? The Sorting Hat could never be used as a wand core.
Dumbledore shook his head, thinking Siron was probably just teasing the Sorting Hat.
This personality didn't feel like an Ollivander at all.
By now, Siron had calmly walked to the Gryffindor table and sat down.
The sorting continued, as if nothing had happened.
"Next, Harry Potter!"
(End of Chapter)