The young witches and wizards left the room, crossed the Entrance Hall, and passed through the two heavy oak doors, finally stepping into the Great Hall of Hogwarts.
Compared with the cramped little room they had just left, this place seemed like another world.
The vaulted ceiling rose so high they could barely see its top. Countless lit candles floated overhead like suspended stars, illuminating the entire hall.
The ceiling had been enchanted to imitate the starry sky. Slowly drifting constellations dotted the deep night, as though the actual heavens had been brought inside this stone hall.
Four long tables stood in neat rows along the two sides of the hall, covered with tablecloths in each house's colors: scarlet and gold, blue and bronze, yellow and black, green and silver.
The professors and older students taking part in the sorting ceremony were already seated.
The High Table stood on a raised platform at the front, with Headmaster Dumbledore seated in the center, his silvery-white beard gleaming softly in the candlelight.
Hundreds of eyes turned in unison toward the line of new students, leaving them nowhere to hide.
The first-years formed a long line down the middle, standing on the open expanse of flagstones, their legs seeming to go a little weak beneath them.
Professor McGonagall walked to the front and bowed slightly to Dumbledore for permission.
Dumbledore smiled and nodded, gentle anticipation in the eyes behind his half-moon spectacles.
Professor McGonagall turned back toward the students. With a wave of her hand, a low, four-legged stool appeared out of thin air and landed between the first-years and the High Table.
She raised her hand and pointed again, and a patched wizard's hat drifted down from the air, landing squarely on the stool.
The hat looked old and filthy, with patches piled upon patches, edges worn pale, and who knew how many years' worth of dust clinging to its brim.
To an ordinary person, the hat's shabby condition revealed its age.
Someone with an obsession with cleanliness, however, would probably think only of tossing it straight into a washbasin and giving it a thorough scrub.
Yet the next moment, the seemingly dilapidated hat suddenly moved.
Its crown slowly caved inward, forming two dark, hollow "eyes," while a jagged slit opened below them like a grinning mouth.
The hat gave a little shake, as though it had just awakened from a long sleep.
Then that "mouth" slowly opened, and a slightly hoarse but clear voice echoed through the hall.
It began to sing.
The song broadly recounted the origins of the four houses, the sorting process, and the qualities each house prized: Gryffindor's courage, Ravenclaw's wisdom, Hufflepuff's loyalty, and Slytherin's shrewdness and ambition.
But as it reached the last few lines, Draco shook his head helplessly. The hat seemed somewhat biased against Slytherin.
It sang the praises of every other house without disparaging them, while repeatedly stressing words like "sinister," "cunning," "ambitious," and "stopping at nothing to achieve their ends" for Slytherin.
When the song ended, the Sorting Hat gave a slight shudder.
It then returned to looking like an ordinary hat, though the two sunken "eyes" and split "mouth" remained faintly visible.
Professor McGonagall clapped her hands softly, and a parchment scroll appeared out of thin air, slowly unfurling before her.
Rows of names and corresponding little portraits shimmered on the parchment, clearly displaying information about every first-year.
"Now," Professor McGonagall's voice rang through the hall, "when your name is called, come forward, put on the hat, and wait on the stool to be sorted."
She glanced down at the parchment and read out the first name. "Ron Weasley."
Ron gave a violent shudder, his neck and ears instantly flushing bright red.
Looking utterly miserable, he pointed at himself, repeatedly waving his hands and shaking his head as though silently saying, "Not me, not me."
His expression could not have been more despairing.
Why am I first?! Ron wailed inwardly.
His gaze instinctively drifted toward the Gryffindor table, where his two brothers, George and Fred, sat.
Barring any surprises, a surprise was about to happen.
Sure enough, the ones to subject him to public humiliation were bound to be the twins.
George pointed his wand at his throat and muttered something, then shouted loudly enough for the entire hall to hear, "Welcome our valiant vanguard-Ron Weasley!!!"
Fred immediately chimed in. "Will he be the first Gryffindor in Hogwarts history to faint from nerves on the sorting stool???"
"Let's wait and see!" George added, his voice brimming with the excitement of watching a spectacle.
Ron looked at them miserably, wanting only to roar inwardly, Merlin's... why can't they be normal like other people's brothers?!
The older students exchanged knowing smiles, clearly long accustomed to the Weasley Twins' antics.
The Gryffindor table instantly became the center of a whirlpool of merriment, filled with excited spectators and good-natured mockery.
The first-years were initially a little bewildered, but the lively atmosphere soon rubbed off on them.
Many craned their necks, watching Ron with curiosity and amusement to see whether he really would faint.
This greatly eased their own nerves.
Not only were they not first, but someone ahead of them was "making a fool of himself"-and possibly quite a spectacular fool.
By the end, quite a few first-years had even come to share Harry and the others' feelings: sympathy.
Pansy, meanwhile, wore an openly derisive smile as she watched this "vulgar Gryffindor farce" with an air of superiority. She murmured to Draco, "A celebration for barbarians."
George and Fred really do stick to their principle, whether it's friend or foe-indiscriminate attacks.
So Draco thought.
Watching Ron dawdle and refuse to step forward, Percy finally could not sit still any longer.
He stood up and called sternly, "Ron! Get moving! Stop dawdling! Don't embarrass the whole family!"
Ron had no choice but to steel himself and walk toward the stool.
That short journey felt to him as though he had walked an entire light-year.
With every step, he could feel hundreds of eyes on him, making him wish he could dig a hole and crawl into it on the spot.
When he reached the stool, Ron took a deep breath and practically "threw" himself onto it.
He sat down, still trembling slightly all over.
Expressionless, Professor McGonagall picked up the Sorting Hat, gave it a gentle shake, then settled it firmly onto his head.
The instant the hat came down, Ron squeezed his eyes shut, as though that would let him escape reality.
Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor... he screamed frantically in his mind. Please don't let it be Slytherin, please don't let it be Slytherin... I'm begging you, good sir hat, for Merlin's sake...
The hat shifted gently on his head, seemingly rummaging for something.
A few seconds later, a faint voice sounded in his ear with a hint of teasing. "Hmm... Weasley? Another Weasley. Most of your family went to Gryffindor, didn't they?"
Ron's heart leaped into his throat.
The next moment, the hat suddenly drew out its voice and shouted loudly enough to reach every corner of the hall, "Gryffindor!"
Ron slumped on the stool for a fraction of a second as though his bones had been pulled out, then abruptly sprang up.
A huge, relieved, even slightly goofy smile spread across his face, though his ears were still fiercely red.
He fumbled the hat off his head, nearly dropping it, then all but scrambled headlong toward the Gryffindor table.
The Gryffindor students erupted into enthusiastic applause and cheers.
Fred clapped furiously at the long table, whistling and shouting, "Well done, Ron!"
George immediately followed. "First one! You've done the family proud!"
Ron immediately bowed his head, wishing he could bury his entire face in the empty plate before him.
Beneath his red hair, his ears and neck had turned purplish red, almost blending into the scarlet house tablecloth.
"Shut up... both of you... I hate you..." he forced out through gritted teeth.
Professor McGonagall continued reading the next name without expression, though anyone looking closely might have noticed an almost imperceptible softening at the corners of her mouth.
She seemed to be thinking, Another Weasley, safely landed.
Next, two more first-years had their names called.
Hannah Abbott was sorted into Hufflepuff, while Terry Boot went to Ravenclaw.
Each name brought cheers from the corresponding house, and the atmosphere steadily grew livelier.
Soon, Professor McGonagall read out a name that made quite a few people turn their heads. "Pansy Parkinson."
Pansy raised her chin slightly and first glanced at Draco, obvious pride and anticipation in her eyes, before walking toward the stool with elegant, confident steps.
Her movements were crisp and decisive, without a trace of hesitation, as though she had long known where she would be sorted.
Professor McGonagall placed the hat on her head.
Almost instantly, the hat made its decision. "Slytherin!"
The second table on the right immediately erupted into fierce cheers, green and silver tassels swaying in the candlelight.
A haughty smile spread across Pansy's face. She straightened her school robes and headed toward the Slytherin House table, every step as though she were walking up the marble stairs of her own manor.
Professor McGonagall lowered her head and continued with the next name. "Hermione Granger."
Hermione froze, clearly not expecting to be called so soon.
She paused for less than a second, then took a deep breath and hurried to the stool, placing the hat on her head almost eagerly.
The moment the hat touched her hair, it shuddered slightly, as though startled by some force.
"Hmm..." A faint voice sounded in her ear. "Very interesting. It's quite obvious, isn't it? Ravenclaw would welcome you with open arms. There's a vast store of knowledge in here, a pure love of logic, a thirst for truth... You would be a star in Ravenclaw, without a doubt."
Hermione's heartbeat instantly quickened.
Ravenclaw, the hall of wisdom and learning.
That sounded both reasonable and glorious.
She could almost picture herself sitting in Ravenclaw Tower, surrounded by books and clever classmates, immersed in a sea of knowledge every day.
But the hat did not announce its decision immediately.
It continued delving into the depths of her mind, as though browsing an enormous library.
"Wait... there's more." The hat's voice grew serious. "I see a strong sense of purpose. You don't stockpile knowledge for its own sake. You do it to... use it."
"To prove something, to change something."
"Ah... there's fire here, a driving fire. Yes, this is ambition, a determination to leave your mark. That's very Slytherin!"
"Shrewd, goal-oriented, capable of being very... resolute in achieving your ends. Slytherin could help you rise to glory. You could distinguish yourself there."
Slytherin? Hermione's heart sank sharply.
No, Malfoy's there, along with those people who look down on Muggle-borns and worship Dark Magic.
She instinctively rejected the place.
"Oh, you reject it?" The hat seemed to detect her feelings. "Because of their methods? Because of their... prejudices?"
"Interesting."
"Then let's look at this: boundless diligence, an almost stubborn insistence on fairness, loyalty to your friends. Hufflepuff would treasure those qualities. You would find a true sense of belonging. There is kindness and fairness there."
Hufflepuffs were good people. Hermione knew that, of course.
But some corner of her heart quietly felt that the place might not be dazzling enough, might not allow her to realize all her ambitions.
She did not want to be buried in a cozy haven of "nice people." What she wanted was a stage where she could shine.
The Sorting Hat fell silent for a little longer, as though weaving these glittering threads together.
It saw her intelligence, her diligence, her ambition, but as it peeled back layer after layer, it touched the most central, most blazing thing of all.
"Ah... found it." The hat's voice suddenly grew gentle and certain. "That's the key, isn't it? Your intelligence is your most powerful weapon, but you're always ready to take it into battle."
"Your diligence is there to ensure you're prepared when a trial comes."
"Your ambition is to make the world better, not to seek power for yourself."
"Beneath that orderly library of thoughts lies a volcano of courage, ready to erupt at any moment."
"You yearn to prove yourself, yes, but more importantly, you yearn to protect, to fight injustice, to stand up for what you believe is right, even if it means breaking every rule."
Hermione's heart gave a violent tremor.
The hat's voice gradually rose, filled with an utterly certain conclusion. "Ravenclaw would enrich your mind, but Gryffindor would ignite your soul. That is where the fire of your courage belongs, where you would have a stage to turn your wisdom into a sharp blade. What you cherish most deep within is not cold truth, but burning conviction. So, you'd best go to-"
It paused for an instant, as though gathering strength for this moment.
"Gryffindor!"
The hat shouted out its final word.
Enthusiastic cheers immediately erupted throughout the hall, especially at the Gryffindor table, which practically exploded.
Ron was so excited he nearly jumped out of his seat. Gryffindor had finally welcomed its second student, and someone they knew fairly well at that.
Harry clapped furiously too, sincere joy written all over his face.
Hermione let out a long breath, a strange, fiery sense of recognition welling up within her.
She took off the hat and walked toward the Gryffindor table, her steps a little floaty.
Her eyes were astonishingly bright, as though she had just come to know herself anew.