Preparing for the Sorting

Yulian smiled without answering. His mind, however, had already slipped quietly into the "Magic Resonance Library" that belonged to him alone.

Inside the library, candles blazed brightly. Murphy, the librarian, was dozing atop a pile of new books, the tip of his tail idly brushing the pages.

"Hey, Your Librarianship," Yulian's spirit strolled between the shelves. "Tonight's a big night. Got any special 'welcome guides'?"

Murphy opened one amber eye and yawned. "As a matter of fact, I do. For example, How to Keep Your Cool in Front of the Sorting Hat and Thirty Awkward Opening Lines for Meeting Dumbledore."

Yulian shook his head. "I was wondering what the Sorting Hat would see."

Murphy opened both eyes. The silver-gray one glinted mischievously. "Relax. The Sorting Hat isn't a Legilimens. It can only sense your desires, your fears, the truest echoes from the depths of your soul."

"Isn't that pretty much what you do?"

"Me? I can do all that and more... I can even smell the unrealistic fantasies in your head."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Like imagining you could join all four Houses at once: fight in Gryffindor by day, plot in Slytherin at night, read in Ravenclaw on weekends, and show up in the Hufflepuff kitchens right on time for meals." Murphy's tone dripped with disdain.

Yulian blushed. "I'm not that greedy! I just think... a hat shouldn't get to limit your choices."

"Sanguis non facit, sed eligit." Murphy suddenly recited in Latin. "It is not blood that makes a person, but choice. Your grandfather carved those words into the walls of the Chamber of Secrets, and now they're carved into your heart, too. The Sorting Hat only gives you a starting point. The path you take is up to you."

Yulian fell silent. Wind from the lake tousled his hair. In the distance, the spires of Hogwarts Castle stood clear against the night, ablaze with light and dreamlike.

Countless young wizards cried out, "Wow!"

The boats reached the shore. Hagrid led the first-years up the steps to a huge oak door.

At Hagrid's thunderous knock, the door opened, and light spilled out.

A tall, stern-faced elderly witch in a dark green robe stood in the doorway. It was Professor McGonagall, who had guided Yulian through his enrollment.

Professor McGonagall stood there, stern and unsmiling, her gaze sharp as a blade. Behind her was a fireplace burning with magical flames and a grand pair of doors leading into the Great Hall.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said clearly and firmly. "Before the feast begins, you will be sorted into your Houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. You will study and live there, and find friends who will stay with you for the rest of your lives."

She paused, her gaze lingering on Yulian for a moment before moving on.

"I'll go make the preparations. In the meantime, take the opportunity to tidy yourselves up."

"Do you know how the sorting works?" Hermione asked the others, smoothing the hem of her robe. "Do you think they'll give us a test first? I've already read all the first-year books."

"Ron and I discussed it on the train. According to one of his brothers, we might have to duel."

"Duel? Who would we duel?" Harry's answer clearly caught Hermione off guard. Neville and the blonde girl also shuddered.

By then, Yulian had recognized the blonde girl as Hannah, whom he'd met at The Leaky Cauldron. Now that the "Sword Saint" and the "Iron Hat King" were both in place, it meant the wheels of fate had begun to turn.

"Maybe we'll have to duel some kind of Fantastic Beast," Ron said uncertainly.

"Actually, I've heard that too." A short boy with curly brown hair squeezed over and joined in. "Hello, I'm Seamus Finnigan." He held out a hand. "I heard we'll have to duel a dragon."

"A dragon!" Every young wizard who heard this cried out, and the mood around them instantly grew lively.

Only Yulian calmly stepped forward and shook Seamus's right hand. "Hello, Seamus. My name is Shilem Yulian Black."

"Huh? From your accent and your name, you must be from France. Why didn't you go to Beauxbatons?"

"Oh, they required us to wrestle a Troll to get in. I didn't pass, so I thought I'd give Hogwarts a try." Yulian put on a helpless expression, his left index finger unconsciously rubbing the side of his nose.

"Don't listen to him," Hermione said, recognizing the telltale habit he had when he lied. "Think about it. Why would a school make first-years duel dragons and Trolls before they'd even enrolled? Unless they were great wizards like Gilderoy Lockhart."

The others didn't question who Gilderoy Lockhart was, but they thought Hermione made sense and relaxed.

"Hmph, honestly. Poverty and ignorance limit your imagination." A haughty voice rang out. It was Malfoy.

Seeing Ron glare at him, Malfoy lifted his chin unconcernedly. "I'm not picking on you, Ron. I mean everyone here." He pointed to the people around Harry and Yulian.

"My father told me Hogwarts' entrance test is a Quidditch match." Malfoy smoothed his slicked-back platinum hair. "Now that's the sort of noble sport a wizard should play."

The others, along with some of the other young wizards, thought that might actually be true. After all, dueling dragons and the like was ridiculous.

Just then, Professor McGonagall returned. "The Sorting Ceremony is ready. Line up and follow me."

The hall was enormous, yet it had very few support columns. That must be the power of magic, Yulian thought.

Countless candles floated overhead, filling the hall with light.

"Look at the night sky above us. It isn't that the hall has no roof. It's magic—I read about it in a book." Needless to say, it was Hermione again.

At the very front was a row of seats for the staff. Around twenty teachers sat in a line, most of them smiling down at the young wizards.

The white-haired old man seated in the middle had a long beard that reached his waist, bright eyes, and a vigorous air. He was undoubtedly Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.

Below the staff table were four long rows of tables and benches, each decorated in its own colors.

The row farthest inside was decorated mainly in red and gold. That was clearly Gryffindor House's place.

Bronze and blue marked Ravenclaw.

Yellow and black marked Hufflepuff.

Green and silver marked Slytherin.

In one corner of the hall, a battered leather hat sat on a stool.

Professor McGonagall had explained that the hat was called the Sorting Hat. Each young wizard only had to put it on, and it would sort them into one of the Houses.

As the young wizards stared at the Sorting Hat in amazement, a crease at its front suddenly widened like a mouth, and it began to sing: