The Sorting Hat

Professor McGonagall placed a four-legged stool in front of them, then set a ragged, grimy, patched-up pointed wizard's hat on top of it.

The entire Great Hall fell silent at once.

Everyone stared at the hat.

The hat was utterly unremarkable to the extreme.

It was old, dirty, a deep brown color that could never be washed clean, mixed with dust and grease, and patched haphazardly with several mismatched patches, heavily worn, its tip drooping limply to one side, looking as if it had been picked up from some tramp's rubbish heap.

But the whole Great Hall, in that instant, had become deathly quiet.

All the students' gazes, filled with a mix of anticipation and reverence, were fixed intently on that battered hat.

Then, under the watch of all the first-years, the hat moved.

On its body, near the brim, a wide slit like a mouth split open.

Immediately after, in a hoarse, grating, off-key voice that could drive a Thestral mad, it burst into song:

"You might think I'm not much to see, but don't judge a hat by its cover, for I'm far stronger than you'd believe! For I am the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts, and I can see right through your little minds. I see the fears you hide inside, and the desires you keep confined. Put me on, and let me see, if Gryffindor is where you're meant to be! Their emblem is the lion, brave and bold, with chivalry and courage that never grows old. Or perhaps you'd suit loyal Hufflepuff, where the truest and kindest hearts are enough. They're the badger, steadfast and true, patient and hardworking, through and through, the sturdiest friend you could ever know. If you've a clever mind and wit to spare, maybe wise Ravenclaw is where you belong, where eagles think all day long. They seek knowledge's edge, explore truth's mystery, for wisdom, to them, is life's eternal decree. But maybe Slytherin is your true home, your rightful place, where snakes never walk the beaten race. Ambitious, power-hungry, pure-blood's pride, they'll stop at nothing to reach the other side. So put me on! Don't be afraid! Don't hesitate! Don't let fear seal your fate! Place me firmly on your head, and I'll sort you right, I've said! At Hogwarts, you'll find your one true way ahead!"

When the last off-key note faded in the hall, the entire Great House erupted in thunderous applause.

The shabby hat, with considerable grace, bowed to each of the four tables in turn, then immediately went still, reverting to that ordinary, worn-out hat.

"Wow! That was so cool!" Ron whispered to Harry, barely containing his excitement. "I swear, my brothers were definitely messing with me! Compared to this, wrestling a troll is totally lame!"

Harry smiled, and much of his nervousness faded thanks to the magical performance of the singing hat.

Professor McGonagall unrolled a long scroll of parchment filled with names, cleared her throat, and announced in her emotionless voice, "The ceremony will now begin. When I call your name, you will come forward, put on the hat, sit on the stool, and await your Sorting."

"Hannah Abbott!"

A girl with flushed cheeks and two cute blonde braids marched stiffly out of the line, legs trembling, walked to the stool, and put on the hat, which nearly covered her entire face.

Then came a brief, suffocating pause.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat suddenly bellowed.

At a table on the right corner of the hall, a burst of warm applause and friendly cheers erupted immediately.

A senior prefect stood up and waved enthusiastically at Hannah.

Hannah, happy and relieved, ran over and sat down at the Hufflepuff table.

"Susan Bones!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" Another one.

The applause from the Hufflepuff table grew even louder.

"Terry Boot!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

This time, it was the second table on the left that applauded, their clapping more restrained and refined.

The Sorting ceremony proceeded methodically, one after another.

Sometimes, the hat had barely touched a student's hair for less than a second before it loudly shouted out the house name;

Other times, it took a full minute or more, the hat motionless on the student's head, as if engaged in a fierce and difficult debate inside their mind.

Harry had heard that this situation was called a "Hat Trick," and it was very rare.

"Hermione Granger!"

Hearing her name, Hermione took a deep breath, practically jogged up to the stool, and with an air of barely contained impatience, slammed the hat down onto her head.

Time seemed to crawl, second by second.

The hat was silent for a very, very long time.

"Gryffindor!" the hat finally bellowed, just as everyone was about to lose patience.

Ron let out a barely audible groan beside Harry.

Hermione jumped off the stool with palpable relief, almost sprinting toward the Gryffindor table.

Harry saw Ron's brother, Percy Weasley, stand up and greet her warmly with the solemn poise befitting a prefect.

"Draco Malfoy!"

Hearing his name, Malfoy immediately strode up with what he considered the most dashing and haughty air, swaggering all the way.

That shabby old hat had barely touched his platinum-blond hair—gelled into perfect place—when, in less than a second, it shouted out in a near-scream:

"Slytherin!"

Like a triumphant king, Malfoy swaggered over to the Slytherin table.

There, a round of applause had already broken out—enthusiastic, yet carrying that same polite, slightly arrogant air of keeping others at arm's length.

His two lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle, soon followed in his footsteps, sorted into Slytherin as well, reuniting with him in victory.

The line was visibly shrinking.

"Harry Potter!"

When Professor McGonagall spoke that name with a slightly complicated tone, the entire Great Hall fell into a silence so profound you could hear a pin drop.

Then, in an instant, that silence shattered like a lake hit by a depth charge.

Buzzing, excited, disbelieving murmurs erupted from every direction.

"Is that the Harry Potter she meant?"

"Merlin! It really is him! The Boy Who Lived!"

"Look! He really does have a scar on his forehead!"

Harry felt his cheeks burn, his legs weak with nerves. It took every ounce of his strength to walk, step by step, under the gaze of the entire crowd, to that little stool.

He sat down and put on the hat, which smelled of old dust and blocked his view.