The Sorting Ceremony

Most of Hogwarts' professors paid little attention to their appearance.

Few were like Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall.

The former wore pale wizarding robes today, paired with an exquisitely embroidered silk cloak. The translucent silk trim along its hem made him look almost otherworldly.

Professor McGonagall wore emerald-green robes and a matching wizard's hat. Her stern expression and crisp movements lent her an air of distinction.

And Voldemort... He wore a complete set of elegant robes from the brand Fengya. Their avant-garde, tailored design drew plenty of attention, along with Snape's disdainful gaze.

But Voldemort didn't care about his contempt. Instead, he regarded Snape with interest.

As a master of Legilimency, Snape's deep gaze held nothing but disdain. Still, Voldemort was content simply to see him.

Snape would always be the one true love of Harry Potter fans. In Lin Zuo's primary consciousness, Voldemort often showed more curiosity, which also did an excellent job of concealing his true identity.

At least, no one would think that this amiable young man, who always wore a smile and enjoyed asking others for advice, was Voldemort himself.

"Hagrid, there's no need to be nervous. Relax." After exchanging looks with Snape, Voldemort turned to Hagrid beside him. Because of his position as a deputy professor, Hagrid had also been seated at the High Table.

"I'm not nervous. I just feel a little out of place," Hagrid said, shifting in his seat.

Professor Kettleburn, sitting on his other side, patted him on the shoulder in comfort. Farther down, Professor Trelawney, the Divination teacher, gazed at Hagrid through bleary eyes.

"You will find yourself caught between two paths. Your choice between darkness and light will decide the fate of many," she rasped.

The professors paid her words no mind. Even Hagrid merely shrugged. Compared to her predictions of death, this was nothing.

Dumbledore, seated in the golden chair, was the one who looked at Hagrid in puzzlement. Beside him, Voldemort lowered his head to fiddle with his bracelet, a puzzled look flashing in his eyes.

Damn it, could she have made another prophecy that actually came true? he thought.

"Silence, please. The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin." Amplified by the Amplifying Charm, Professor McGonagall's voice rang through the hall.

At her words, the students at the four long tables gradually quieted. The ghosts fell silent too, floating above the tables or between the walls.

Professor McGonagall led the first-years into the hall and lined them up in front of the High Table. Voldemort noticed that one student had tied his cloak strap beneath his left ear.

"What a nostalgic sight," Voldemort murmured to Hagrid. "I'd like to go through it all again."

"Me too," Hagrid replied perfunctorily. He still looked a little nervous.

By then, Professor McGonagall had set a four-legged stool in front of the first-years and placed the patched Sorting Hat on it.

In the utterly silent hall, everyone's gaze turned to the hat. Then a rip appeared in it, and it began to sing.

In its song, Gryffindor stood for bravery, daring, and a bold spirit.

Hufflepuff stood for fairness, loyalty, perseverance, honesty, and hard work.

Ravenclaw stood for sharpness, wisdom, and keen learning.

But when it came to Slytherin, this was what it had to say:

Perhaps you'll join Slytherin, where you'll make true friends. But the cunning and sly will stop at nothing to achieve their aims.

Voldemort's brows rose, and a smile curved his lips. Bravery linked with arrogance, breeding prejudice—that was so Gryffindor.

As he pondered this, the Sorting Hat finished singing, and the whole school applauded, including Slytherin. Voldemort clapped with a smile, but deep down he was thoroughly displeased:

If you let others slander you, you'll only become the one blamed for every evil. These students should learn to fight back. No one is always right, and a hat certainly can't be.

He didn't let his resentment show, but he carved it deep into his memory. The little snakes of Slytherin, the gates of hell are open!

After the applause, Professor McGonagall took out a roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, put on the hat, sit on the stool, and wait to be sorted," she said. "Hannah Abbott!"

A rosy-cheeked little girl with two golden braids stumbled out of line, put on the hat, and had it slip down over her eyes.

She sat down. There was a brief pause—"Hufflepuff!" the hat shouted.

The students at the table on the right applauded and cheered for Hannah, and the ghost of the Fat Friar waved to her happily.

"Susan Bones!"

"Hufflepuff!"

"Terry Boot!"

"Ravenclaw!"

More and more students were sorted, while Voldemort's gaze settled on a little girl.

"Hermione Granger!"

At the sound of her name, she hurried anxiously to the stool. The moment she put on the hat, she was sorted into Gryffindor.

I wish she'd been in Ravenclaw... Voldemort thought.

"This year's students are very lively," Professor Flitwick remarked. "They're never this excited in other years."

"We never had Harry Potter before," Hagrid said. "His arrival will inspire everyone."

The professors smiled. No one responded, but their agreement was clear.

The Boy Who Lived could inspire more than just the first-years. Many of the professors were full of anticipation too.

Voldemort gazed at Dumbledore's back, wondering how he would carry out his plan to raise Harry, given that Voldemort had no intention of cooperating.

When he looked away, he noticed that the hall had grown quiet. Everyone was waiting. Voldemort turned his gaze to the boy whose head was hidden beneath the Sorting Hat—the one who had tied his cloak strap wrong.

"Gryffindor."

After a long deliberation, the hat shouted. The boy ran to the table with the hat still on his head, setting everyone off laughing and making his face turn scarlet.

Neville Longbottom, a true Champion. I wonder if I can win him over. At least his parents are alive, Voldemort murmured to himself.

Ever since seeing Hagrid's valor, he had wanted a subordinate like him. Of course, he could call him a partner instead, but that would be difficult, wouldn't it?

Neville was followed by Malfoy. The boy strutted up to the stool, drawing everyone's attention, while Voldemort sneered inwardly.

If he had to choose one student to pin his hopes on, it would undoubtedly be Malfoy. But the boy needed some training.

If hell has eighteen levels, the eighteenth is already waiting for you, my loyal Young Malfoy... Voldemort murmured to himself.

After Malfoy, a few more students were sorted, and then it was Harry Potter's turn.

Naturally, everyone watched him. Even Voldemort put on an excited expression—he couldn't very well become a ray of light in the darkness, because that would mean something had gone wrong.

Harry's sorting took a long time. When the Sorting Hat finally called out "Gryffindor," the Gryffindor table erupted.

After the last first-year was sorted into Slytherin, the ceremony finally ended. Dumbledore also stood up and delivered his famous speech about "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

But afterward, he didn't sit back down right away, because he still had something to say.