Sorting Hat: I'm Done for

"Lester Bide!"

Professor McGonagall held the parchment containing the student list, her gaze shifting to the bottom of the parchment, staring at Lester's last name, a hint of suspicion in her eyes.

The surname Bide is not a pure-blooded surname, but Professor McGonagall still remembered it because 10 years ago, an Auror couple named Bide died in the battle against the You-Know-Who.

If I'm not mistaken, this boy should be their child.

"Lester, sit in this chair and put on your hat!" Professor McGonagall instructed Lester.

Even if Lester wasn't a time traveler, he could tell how the house sorting worked by looking at the previous young wizards, so he naturally didn't need Professor McGonagall's explanation.

However, since Professor McGonagall was willing to say a few more words to him, Lester wouldn't be ungrateful.

"Thank you, Professor!" Lester nodded slightly in thanks to the professor, then plopped down in the chair, grabbed the brim of the Sorting Hat with both hands, and put the Sorting Hat on his head.

Just as the hat was about to be pulled down over his head, obscuring his vision, Lester saw a large crowd craning their necks to look inside the restaurant.

He wasn't narcissistic enough to think everyone in the restaurant was watching him. Lester knew they were so excited simply because he was the last house sorted. Once he was sorted, they could have their meal, which was why they were so eager.

"Hmm," Lester said, just as he put on the Sorting Hat, when he heard a soft voice in his ear, "Yes, you must be Bide child, right? I saw that little guy 30 years ago; your parents were sorted into Hufflepuff back then."

Lester knew that the Sorting Hat was conscious; for example, it knew that the Weasley family were all Gryffindor and the Malfoy were all Slytherin.

"Child, why aren't you saying anything? If you have any ideas about any particular college, you can simply tell me!"

"Relax, I am the Sorting Hat. I have been at Hogwarts for thousands of years. There's no need to empty your mind. I don't have the ability to peek into your heart."

Despite the Sorting Hat's assurance, Lester remained silent, insisting on clearing his mind and not letting himself show any emotional change.

"Hey, I know you might have some little secrets, but if you keep going like this, I won't be able to sort you into a house, and we'll just stay stuck here," the Sorting Hat continued. "That would only backfire. Don't worry, kid, I've lived for thousands of years and seen all kinds of geniuses. Your little secrets are nothing to me."

The Sorting Hat's words were calm, yet carried a hint of arrogance. Over the years, he had sorted countless young wizards into different houses. No matter how successful they became later, they were all originally sorted by the Sorting Hat.

Although the Sorting Hat could sense that Lester must have some secrets, he believed that with his knowledge, he couldn't possibly be intimidated.

Upon hearing this, Lester hesitated, because he could sense the restlessness among the people in the dining hall. This time, apart from Harry, who was the Chosen One and took a little longer to be sorted, everyone else was assigned to their houses almost very quickly.

There's an unwritten rule at Hogwarts: the longer the Sorting Hat takes, the better the Sorting Hat is. For example, Professor McGonagall took a full five minutes to sort her into Gryffindor after careful consideration.

Generally, only exceptionally talented young wizards receive the Hat's stigma, because these young wizards are so talented that they would be more than qualified for any house, which is why the Hat is in a dilemma.

At the Gryffindor dining table, Harry looked at Lester, who hadn't been sorted into his house for a long time, and couldn't help but feel anxious. "Lester, you really have to come to Gryffindor!"

In Harry's heart, Lester was the first friend he made in the Wizarding World, so he naturally hoped that Lester could be sorted into the same house as him.

Beside Harry, Ron Weasley's face was ashen, and he muttered under his breath, "What is the Sorting Hat hesitating for? A guy like Lester who bullies people with magic at the drop of a hat will definitely be sorted into a dark wizarding school like Slytherin."

Indeed, in Ron Weasley's view, it was ridiculous that Lester's reprimand of Malfoy and the others on the train had turned into Lester bullying others.

At the Slytherin table, Malfoy's eyes darted towards Lester. The humiliation of being hung up by Lester was still fresh in his mind, and he was eager to know which house this Lester fellow would be sorted into.

Through the low brim of his hat, Lester could see that all the students in the dining hall were craning their necks to look at him. Although he didn't mind being looked at, as the godfather of Azkaban, being stared at like a rare animal by these young wizards was still a bit hard for Lester to accept.

"Alright, I can keep my mind active, but I have one condition!" Lester pondered for a moment, then began to bargain, saying, "I absolutely cannot go to Gryffindor."

"Not going to Gryffindor?" The Sorting Hat paused for a moment, then said nonchalantly, "Well, actually, given your current performance, Gryffindor probably isn't the right house for you."

Having received the Sorting Hat's promise, Lester opened his mind and let the Sorting Hat investigate.

"Hmm, very talented. I can sense the surging magic power, which is very rare for a young wizard your age. You are very composed and not impetuous. You are neither in a hurry to know which house you will be assigned to, nor are you in a hurry to express your opinions. Which house should I assign you to? Wait!"

The Sorting Hat's expression suddenly became incredibly strange, followed by disbelief.

"Could it be because I've been doing this for too long that I'm too tired and need maintenance?" The Sorting Hat couldn't help but mutter to itself, its tone growing increasingly serious.

As the Sorting Hat delves deeper into the Sorting Hat, a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood gradually come into view.

Various wizards dressed in elaborate robes lay dead in the Diagon Alley, their bodies severed from their heads, yet still uttering mournful cries.

Hanging from the towering streetlights along the roadside were corpses dressed in aristocratic attire, their faces filled with fear and remorse. Their necks were tightly bound with ropes, and they remained suspended on the lampposts, their eyes bulging wildly from prolonged blood rushing to their brains. Blood flowed down their trouser legs, forming pools of blood at their feet.

There was one of these streetlights every five meters Diagon Alley, and unsurprisingly, a Pure-blood wizard was hanging from each of them.

The streets of London were in chaos. Under the powerful Muggle-Repelling Charm, all Muggle in the city center were temporarily expelled, replaced by Muggle-born from all over the Wizarding World.

Some of them work in restaurants as waiters/waitresses, working 12-hour days.

Some were impoverished people in Knockturn Alley who couldn't get enough to eat.

Some were destitute beggars on the streets, hated and scorned by everyone.

Previously, they were all despised, but now, they have come from all over the Wizarding World and stand proudly in the heart of London.

They each wore a black armband on their right shoulder with several large characters on it.

"Down with the tyranny of Pure-blood wizard! Victory belongs to the people!"

Next, the Sorting Hat experienced its first nightmare.