The Sorting Hat's Choice

Professor McGonagall held the parchment, and when she called Damon's name, a barely perceptible softness flickered across her face.

But the commotion that erupted from that name left her somewhat bewildered.

She looked at Damon, who was smiling back at her, a hint of confusion in her eyes, and when Damon saw her expression, his smile grew even brighter.

"Gryf-fin-dor! Gryf-fin-dor!"

Suddenly, some students started chanting.

Then, a large number of Gryffindor students quickly joined in, their chant gradually becoming uniform and thunderously loud.

The little snakes of Slytherin watched this scene with gloomy expressions, their smiles dark—Damon was a natural Slytherin, how could they think he'd go to Gryffindor?

Under Professor McGonagall's stern gaze, the chanting gradually died down, and Damon sat on the four-legged stool, placing the greasy Sorting Hat on his head.

For a moment, a pin drop could be heard in the hall.

Just then, the Sorting Hat on Damon's head suddenly sang out loudly: "

Oh, you might think I'm just an ordinary hat, But upon my head lies the key to wisdom;

I can see into his heart, And find where he best belongs."

At the same time, Damon heard a faint voice in his ear:

'Difficult, very difficult—plenty of courage, plenty of ambition, plenty of talent, oh my, where should I put you?'

'Anywhere but Slytherin, anywhere but Slytherin.'

'Not Slytherin, is that right?' the faint voice asked. 'Have you made up your mind? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that—no? Well, if you're sure, better be Gryffindor!'

The Sorting Hat suddenly sang out loudly again: "

You have the ambition of Slytherin, The calm, the reason, and the cunning calculation;

But also the fire of Gryffindor, Brave, fearless, unafraid of future challenges."

The rhythm of the song quickened, and everyone's eyes were locked on Damon, waiting to see how this interesting contest would end.

You are the kind who is destined for greatness, No matter which path you choose, I will guide you;

But in your heart, there is a strong will—

You have already made your choice.

As the last words fell, the Sorting Hat paused, and the hall fell into dead silence again, everyone holding their breath, waiting for the Sorting Hat's final decision.

Then, the Sorting Hat suddenly shouted, "Gryf—fin—dor!"

"Whoosh!"

The entire Great Hall erupted in deafening applause. Gryffindor students surged toward Damon like a tide, rising to welcome him, while the Slytherin students sat in silence, their eyes revealing barely concealed dissatisfaction and confusion.

"We've got both Damon and Potter! We've got both Damon and Potter!"

The Weasley twins shouted loudly from the crowd.

Damon stood up with a smile and walked toward the Gryffindor table, ignoring the mournful gazes of the little snakes behind him.

"Damon White, is that the child Minerva mentioned? He does seem somewhat unique."

At the High Table, Dumbledore watched Damon, who was surrounded like a star alongside Harry, his gaze flickering.

And at that moment, Damon seemed to sense the old man's stare, turned around, and waved with a bright smile.

"...Seems like a good child."

With Damon's Sorting over, only the last student, Blaise Zabini, remained, and he was sorted into Slytherin.

Professor McGonagall rolled up the parchment, picked up the Sorting Hat, and left.

Albus Dumbledore stood up. He looked at the students with a beaming smile, spreading his arms wide, as if nothing made him happier than seeing them all gathered together.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

As soon as he finished, Damon clapped enthusiastically, leaving Harry and Hermione beside him a bit stunned.

"Do you know what he said that was funny?"

"No, just clap."

The two, who had already found Dumbledore a bit odd, now began to find Damon a little puzzling too.

But as the empty plates in front of them suddenly filled with food, they set aside those thoughts and dug in with gusto.

"It looks quite good," said the ghost in the ruffled collar, watching Damon cut his steak, with a mournful tone.

"Are you Nearly Headless Nick?"

Damon swallowed a small piece of steak and watched the ghosts overhead with interest.

"I think I'd prefer you call me Sir Nicholas." His eyes fixed on Damon, he cleared his throat and said:

"Gryffindor hasn't won the House Cup in a long time—Slytherin's taken six in a row! But I believe you'll lead Gryffindor to win the new House Cup!"

"Oh? I'll try."

Damon picked up a roast chicken leg and brushed the ghost off with a perfunctory reply.

In truth, he wasn't particularly interested in the House Cup—this little honor game where points were added or subtracted entirely at the teachers' discretion felt as childish to him as competing for gold stars in kindergarten.

Besides, with Harry Potter around, Gryffindor always managed to win the House Cup at the end of the term, even if they'd been trailing in points the whole way.

"Try! Try won't cut it! I don't want to lose to the Bloody Baron again! He's the Slytherin ghost!"

Nick shouted angrily at Damon a couple of times, then went off to lecture other Gryffindor first-years.

When everyone had more or less finished eating, the main dishes vanished and desserts appeared on the long tables. The first-years ate their sweets and started chatting.

Hermione and Harry sat on either side of Damon. To Hermione's left was Neville, and to Harry's right was a red-haired boy with freckles, who was quietly sizing them up.

"My parents are both Muggles. My dad's a dentist. I already know about Harry and Damon's situations. What about you, Neville?"

"Oh, I was raised by my grandmother. She's a witch."

Neville, flustered at being called out by Hermione, recounted his bumpy magical awakening—how his Uncle Algie always tried to catch him off guard and force him to show some magic, once dangling him by the ankles from an upstairs window when he was eight.

Then the man lost his grip, and Neville fell, bounced back up, and awakened his magic.

Listening to Neville's story, Damon suppressed his laughter and gave him a thumbs-up:

"Buddy, you're the Boy Who Lived too."

Neville didn't catch the subtext. Thinking Damon was praising him, he was almost overwhelmed, his whole face turning bright red.

Hermione shot Damon a reproachful look. She didn't know exactly what he meant, but she knew he was making fun of Neville.

Meanwhile, Harry and the red-haired Ron Weasley were whispering to each other, the topic mainly being Damon's earlier performance—through this, the two quickly grew familiar.

As the meal ended, Professor Dumbledore stood up again, and the hall fell silent.

"Ah, now that everyone is full and well-watered, I have a few more words to say. At the start of term, I'd like to remind you of a few points.

"First-years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all students. Some of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling gaze swept toward the Weasley twins.

"Also, Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you that magic is not to be used in the corridors between classes.

"Quidditch tryouts will be held in the second week of this term. Anyone interested in playing for their House team should contact Madam Hooch.

"Finally, I must tell you that anyone who does not wish to meet with an accident, a painful death, should not enter the corridor on the fourth floor on the right."

The fourth-floor corridor, huh. Damon's lips curled slightly—if they really didn't want people going there, why announce it so loudly? Pure bait-and-trap.

Dumbledore was already setting his pieces in place.

'Fools! Crybabies! Dregs! Twisted!

Ravenclaw: All three are fools

Gryffindor: All three are crybaby cowards

Slytherin: All three are scum

Hufflepuff: You three are a bit twisted, aren't you?'