The Sorting Hat

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

The entire Great Hall fell silent at once.

Everyone stared at the hat.

It was as plain-looking as could be.

It was old and dirty, a deep brown mottled with dust and grease that no amount of washing could remove. It was covered in mismatched patches, worn almost to pieces, and its tip drooped limply to one side. It looked as though someone had picked it out of a tramp's rubbish heap.

But at that moment, the entire Great Hall fell silent.

Every student stared at the shabby old hat, their eyes filled with anticipation and awe.

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

A wide slit opened in the body of the hat, near the brim, like a mouth.

Then it burst into song in a hoarse, unpleasant voice so off-key it could drive even a Thestral mad:

"You may think I'm not much to look at, but don't judge a hat by its cover. I'm far more powerful than you could imagine!

For I am Hogwarts' Sorting Hat, and I can see into your little minds.

I see the fears hidden in your hearts, and the secret desires you keep concealed.

Put me on and let me take a look: is Gryffindor the glory you truly seek?

Its emblem is the lion, a symbol of the courage and bravery buried deep within. Chivalry is always celebrated there.

Or perhaps loyal Hufflepuff is where you belong, where the finest, fairest qualities abound.

Its emblem is the badger: steadfast and patient, never shying from toil, the strongest guardian a friend could trust with their life.

If you have a clever mind and wisdom to spare, perhaps wise Ravenclaw is where you should go, where eagles are always thinking high above the clouds.

They seek the frontiers of knowledge and explore the mysteries of truth. To them, wisdom is the one eternal creed.

But perhaps Slytherin is your true destination, your true home. Its serpents never take the well-worn paths others tread.

They're ambitious, hungry for power, and seek the purest, noblest blood. They never use ordinary means to achieve their ends.

So put me on!

Don't be afraid! Don't hesitate!

Don't let fear take hold of your heart!

Set me firmly on your head, and I'll give you the most fitting house!

Here at Hogwarts, you'll find your true and only path!"

As the final off-key note faded in the Great Hall, a thunderous round of applause erupted.

The shabby hat bowed with a touch of flair to each of the four tables, then immediately went still, once again nothing more than an ordinary old hat.

"Wow! That was so cool!" Ron whispered to Harry, barely containing his excitement. "I swear, my brothers were definitely winding me up! Compared to this, wrestling a Troll sounds rubbish!"

Harry laughed, and the nervousness inside him eased a little after the magical performance by the singing hat.

Professor McGonagall unfurled a long roll of parchment covered in names, cleared her throat, and announced in her emotionless voice, "The ceremony will now begin. When I call your name, come forward, put on the Sorting Hat, and sit on the stool to be sorted."

"Hannah Abbott!"

A girl with flushed cheeks and two pretty blond braids stepped out of the line, awkwardly putting one foot in front of the other. Her legs trembling, she walked to the stool and put on the hat, which nearly covered her entire face.

Then came a brief, breathless pause.

"Hufflepuff!" the hat suddenly shouted.

A table in the right-hand corner of the Great Hall immediately erupted into enthusiastic applause and friendly cheers.

An older student who was a Prefect stood up and waved warmly to Hannah.

Hannah ran over happily, relieved, and took her seat at the Hufflepuff table.

"Susan Bones!"

"Hufflepuff!" Another one.

The applause at the Hufflepuff table grew even louder.

"Terry Boot!"

"Ravenclaw!"

This time, the second table from the left applauded, their clapping more restrained and refined.

The Sorting Ceremony proceeded in an orderly fashion, one student after another.

Sometimes, the moment the hat touched a student's hair, it shouted out the name of a house without even taking a second;

other times, it took a full minute. The hat would remain motionless on the student's head, as though it were engaged in a fierce and difficult debate with them inside their mind.

Harry had heard that this was called a "Hatstall" and that it was very rare.

"Hermione Granger!"

Hearing her name, Hermione took a deep breath and almost ran to the stool. With an air of barely contained impatience, she snatched up the hat and clapped it onto her head.

The seconds ticked by, seeming to pass especially slowly.

The hat remained silent for a very long time.

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

Beside Harry, Ron gave an almost inaudible groan.

Hermione, meanwhile, hopped off the stool in relief and all but sprinted toward the Gryffindor table.

Harry saw Ron's older brother, Percy Weasley, stand up and warmly shake her hand with the solemnity unique to a Prefect.

"Draco Malfoy!"

Hearing his name, Malfoy immediately strode forward with what he thought was the most dashing, arrogant air imaginable.

The moment the shabby hat touched his platinum-blond hair, fixed perfectly in place with hair gel, it shouted in a voice close to a scream, without even a second's delay:

"Slytherin!"

Like a victorious king, Malfoy strutted proudly toward the Slytherin table.

A round of applause greeted him there. It was enthusiastic, but also polite and slightly arrogant, with a distinct air of keeping others at a distance.

His two cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, soon followed in his footsteps. They were sorted into Slytherin too, where they joined him in triumph.

The line was visibly growing shorter.

"Harry Potter!"

When Professor McGonagall called the name in a slightly complicated tone, the entire Great Hall fell into a silence so complete you could hear a pin drop.

Then the silence was blown apart, like a lake hit by a depth charge.

Excited, disbelieving whispers rose all around him.

"Is he the Harry Potter she mentioned?"

"Oh, my goodness! It really is him! The Boy Who Lived!"

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

Harry felt his cheeks burning and his legs trembling with nerves. It took all his strength to walk, one step at a time, beneath the gaze of everyone in the room, toward the little stool.

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