28

Sherlock knew the history and character of all four Houses well. His mother had graduated from Ravenclaw, while his father had been a Slytherin, so he guessed that neither of his parents would complain if he was sorted into either of those Houses. Even Gryffindor or Hufflepuff would be fine.

After all, neither of his parents subscribed to extreme pure-blood ideals.

Sherlock's mother was a half-blood witch, after all. His grandmother's family was pure-blooded, but his grandfather had been an ordinary Muggle... or perhaps not so ordinary. He had founded an international corporation.

"There is a feast going on inside. Once you pass through these doors, the Sorting Ceremony will begin."

Behind McGonagall stood a pair of black doors. With a creak, they swung open, like the entrance to a hall from ancient times welcoming its guests.

The hall was spacious, with torches lining the stone walls. White candles floated overhead, their light illuminating the entire chamber. Magic had been cast upon the ceiling, making it look just like the sky.

The long tables around the hall were completely bare, without even any cutlery, but Sherlock understood that the feast would only begin after the Sorting Ceremony, once each House had welcomed its new members.

At the far end of the hall, another long table stood upon a raised platform. That was where the teachers sat.

Sherlock saw the heads of the various Houses, as well as several professors who taught the students. His gaze lingered especially on a man dressed in black robes, with straight shoulder-length hair and a cold expression.

Severus Snape. In Sherlock's eyes, he was unquestionably a tragic figure, but that did not diminish Sherlock's respect for him. He was talented, steadfast in his beliefs, and unwaveringly faithful in love. Accomplishing any one of those things was already remarkable.

McGonagall led the first-years over and had them line up in a row facing all the older students.

The candlelight flickered, and the hundreds of faces watching them looked like pale lanterns.

Ghosts mingled among the students, glimmering with faint silver light.

The moment Sherlock entered, he drew everyone's attention. His calm, composed, and elegant bearing made him far too conspicuous among a group of trembling new students.

His dazzling platinum-blond hair and handsome face also made him stand out from the crowd.

Students from many Houses sat behind their tables, pointing at Sherlock and whispering among themselves. The girls kept glancing at him, occasionally letting out delighted little giggles.

After all, he was the famous Prince of Charms. Everyone was eagerly discussing whether he would be sorted into their House.

Yet in Sherlock's eyes, there was only one person: the white-haired headmaster seated at the very center of the teachers' table, Albus Dumbledore. To Sherlock, the old man looked like an ordinary elder, but there was something different about him. He could not be underestimated. Boundless light and heat seemed to radiate from his entire being, and his powerful magical presence filled the Great Hall with an irresistible force.

Sherlock thought that this was perhaps the power of one of the world's greatest wizards. Among those still alive today, only Voldemort remained in a wandering, spectral state, while Grindelwald had been locked in the prison he had built with his own hands.

Sherlock felt a stirring within his magic, as though it wanted to compete with Dumbledore's. The Obscurus inside him grew restless, eager to emerge and battle the old man.

A clash of magic silently began in the unseen air. Whoever allowed their magical fluctuations to affect the other first would lose.

The Obscurus was indeed an immensely powerful force of dark magic. In the contest, Dumbledore's body trembled ever so slightly—so slightly that no one noticed. But Sherlock still lost in the end. The other man's magic was like an ocean, and Sherlock's extraordinary magic was swept away in moments after barely resisting.

However, a faint sheen of sweat had appeared on Dumbledore's forehead, though even Sherlock failed to notice it.

He looked at Dumbledore and thought that the old man was still at the height of his strength.

Perhaps sensing Sherlock's attention, Dumbledore looked over at him in surprise, then gave him a kind and benevolent smile. Sherlock smiled back and withdrew his gaze. At that moment, McGonagall placed a pointed wizard's hat atop a four-legged stool. The hat was patched, worn thin, and terribly dirty.

Sherlock looked at the battered old hat on the stool in surprise. Clearly, it was a magical item with powerful magic.

The Great Hall fell silent. Then the hat twitched. A wide slit opened along its brim like a mouth—and the hat began to sing:

You may think I'm not much to look at, But never judge by appearances.

If you can find a hat more handsome than me, I'll eat myself whole.

You may make your bowlers glossy black, And your top hats smooth and crisp, But I am the magic hat Hogwarts uses for testing, Naturally, I surpass all your hats.

Any thought hidden in your mind

Cannot escape my piercing gaze.

Put me on and give it a try, And I will tell you which House you belong in.

Perhaps you belong in Gryffindor, where courage lies buried in the heart, Their daring, nerve, and chivalry make Gryffindors stand apart;

Perhaps you belong in Hufflepuff, where the people are just and loyal, Hufflepuff students are patient and honest, unafraid of hard work;

If you have a clever mind, perhaps you will enter wise old Ravenclaw, Those who are wise and learned will always find their like-minded friends there;

Perhaps you will enter Slytherin, where you may find true friends, But those cunning and ruthless souls will stop at nothing to achieve their ends.

Come and put me on! Do not be afraid! Do not panic!

In my hands—even though I haven't any—you will be perfectly safe, For I am a thinking magic hat!

After finishing its song, the hat bowed to the surrounding crowd, making Sherlock think that it was a magical item with life and independent consciousness.

At that moment, McGonagall stepped forward a few paces, holding a roll of parchment.

"Whenever I call your name, you will put on the hat, sit on the stool, and await your sorting," she said.

"Memi Shelley!"

A rosy-cheeked little girl with long blonde hair stumbled out of the line, put on the hat, which covered her eyes completely, and sat down. After a brief pause—"Ravenclaw!" the hat shouted.

The little girl smiled and skipped over to the table where everyone was clapping to welcome her.

"Lucy Taylor!"

"Ravenclaw!" the hat shouted again. Lucy hurried over to sit beside Memi.

Ravenclaw House gave her the same enthusiastic applause. At the teachers' table, Flitwick, who had goblin blood, cheered the most happily. The first two students had both gone to his house, which thrilled him, since he was Ravenclaw's Head of House.

"Terry Boot!" "Hufflepuff!"

"Griselda Keith! Gryffindor!"

Then McGonagall called Rupo Adams's name. Rupo strutted forward, and his wish was granted almost immediately. The hat had barely touched his head before it shrieked, "Slytherin!"

After that, more students were sorted into their respective houses.

"Dandeni Lestrange!" McGonagall herself paused slightly as she spoke the surname.

Whispers and chatter rose around the hall. After all, nearly three-quarters of the Lestrange Family were currently locked up in Azkaban.

But Dandeni did not care in the slightest. He even looked rather smug and proud. Sherlock stroked his chin. Another boy who had been led astray since childhood.

"Slytherin!"

Sure enough, Fimiya Prince was subsequently sorted into Slytherin as well. When Snape heard that a child actually bore the surname Prince, his expression turned somewhat strange.

In the end, only one person remained—the final name on the list. "Sherlock Mephisto!"

Sherlock stepped forward beneath everyone's gaze!

At that moment, the only sounds in the hall were the candles burning and the heavy breathing of several professors.

Everyone was thinking that someone so outstanding—the famed Prince of Spells—would surely be sorted into their house.

As Sherlock walked toward the Sorting Hat, an invisible aura seemed to emanate from him and spread through the air, suppressing the entire Great Hall into silence. Only Sherlock's footsteps could be heard.

The hat was placed on Sherlock's head, and a faint voice came from within.

"What an incredibly difficult choice! You are extraordinarily talented. I have made choices for countless people, but you alone are different. You possess Ravenclaw's wisdom, Hufflepuff's kindness and integrity, Gryffindor's courage, and Slytherin's composure and nobility!"

"Thank you. You are special as well. You are a remarkable hat, with a soul and independent consciousness. At the same time, I have also gained some other knowledge from this experience. Perhaps it will help me invent new spells!"

"Wahaha! As expected of the famed Prince of Spells!"

"Slytherin!"

The Sorting Hat shouted at the top of its voice.

The entire hall fell silent for a moment, then the students at the Slytherin table erupted into fervent cheers. Rupo yelled excitedly, happier than when he himself had entered Slytherin.

But for the other three houses, Sherlock entering Slytherin was far from good news.