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Candlelight flickered in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, wavering faintly against the backdrop of the storm outside. As Sargeras stepped through the towering doors alongside Professor McGonagall, Peeves was hanging upside down above the Ravenclaw table, ready to tip an inkwell over the seats below.
Their eyes met for a brief moment. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played at the corners of Sargeras' lips. Peeves, however, froze mid-air as if petrified, then dropped like a stunned bat into the aisle.
At the front of the hall, Professor Flitwick was busy brushing dust from the Sorting Hat. The candlelight shimmered against the silver-blue Ravenclaw pin on his chest, glinting softly next to the white in his sideburns.
"Filius, your cufflink," Professor McGonagall said gently, her voice low but firm. The words startled Madam Pince, who had been dozing nearby.
The tiny Charms professor instinctively covered his left sleeve, where a simple silver cufflink had come loose and was slightly askew. He turned toward the entrance, and upon seeing the new arrival, a wide smile lit up his wrinkled face. "Ah, Sargeras!"
"It's been a while, Professor Flitwick," Sargeras replied warmly, striding forward and extending both hands to clasp the hands of his former Head of House as he bowed.
In the shadows of the corner, Severus Snape—whose face rarely betrayed emotion—now wore an unmistakable expression of irritation.
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Inside the castle, candlelight danced across stone walls, casting shifting shadows where torches burned in their sconces. From deeper within the Great Hall came the distant murmur of students, their voices blending into a low hum of anticipation.
The first-years were huddled together in a tight cluster, their robes still clinging to the chill of the night air. Some of them were shivering faintly.
Professor McGonagall, dressed in a deep green robe, descended the marble staircase with purpose. Her expression was stern, her grip firm on a scroll of parchment—the list of new students. Her footsteps rang crisply with each step, her robes billowing elegantly behind her.
When she reached the base of the steps, her sharp gaze swept across the crowd of new students. The murmuring ceased at once, as though someone had cast a Freezing Charm over the entire group.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she announced. "The start-of-term feast is about to begin, but before you can take your seats and enjoy the delicious food, you must first undergo the Sorting Ceremony."
"The Sorting will determine which House you'll belong to during your time here. The four Houses are Gryffindor, known for bravery; Hufflepuff, for loyalty and fairness; Ravenclaw, for wit and wisdom; and Slytherin, for ambition and cunning."
"Each House boasts a long and proud history. They have produced countless extraordinary witches and wizards who've left their mark on the magical world."
"During your years at Hogwarts, your House will become your second home. Every excellent performance will earn points that bring glory to your House, while any rule-breaking will cost you points and tarnish its reputation."
"At the end of the year, the House with the most points will be awarded the House Cup—an honor held in the highest esteem, and one every student dreams of winning."
""And now…" She waved her wand, its tip flashing with a silver light, and motioned for the students to form a neat single line. Then, with a commanding voice, she called out, "Single file and follow me."
Before pushing open the massive oak doors to the Great Hall, she paused slightly, turning back to the pale and nervous faces behind her. Her tone softened a little, though the authority in her voice remained. "There's no need to be nervous. The Sorting Ceremony will not harm you in any way."
"All you need to do is put on the Sorting Hat," she said. "It is incredibly perceptive. It will sense your qualities and potential, and then announce loud and clear which House you truly belong to."
A faint smile lifted the corners of her mouth, as if trying to offer a sliver of warmth to ease the tension in the air. But it vanished just as quickly, replaced once more by the icy composure she always wore.
Without another word, she turned, chin held high, and strode confidently to the front of the line. The first-years, nerves tightly coiled in their chests, followed close behind, stepping into the solemn and mysterious hall.
Then she turned, chin held high, and strode confidently to the front of the line. The first-years, nerves tightly coiled in their chests, followed closely behind her, stepping into the solemn and mysterious hall.
Inside the Great Hall, the moment they entered, silence fell. Over a thousand pairs of eyes turned to stare at the new arrivals in perfect unison. At the front of the hall, Professor McGonagall carefully set down a small, four-legged stool, placing upon it an old, tattered hat—patched, weathered, and entirely unremarkable in appearance.
Then she quietly stepped aside, her hands folded neatly across her chest. Her gaze, sharp and watchful, never left the Sorting area for even a moment, overseeing every detail of the ceremony with unwavering attention.
The first-years, still unsure of what to expect, exchanged confused and anxious glances. But before anyone could speak, the worn, cracked old hat on the stool twitched slightly—then, as if it had come alive, it began to sing.
🎵~~"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I's eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.~🎶
🎵You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.~🎶
🎵~There's nothing hidden in your head,
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.~🎶
🎵~You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart:~🎶
🎵~You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil~🎶
🎵~Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you've a steady mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;~🎶
🎵~Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any moans.
To achieve their ends.~🎶
🎵~So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands, though I have none,
For I'm a Thinking Cap. 🎩✨"~~🎶
When the Sorting Hat finished its song, Professor McGonagall stepped forward again, holding the list of new students in her hand.
"We'll now begin the Sorting. When I call your name, come forward and sit on the stool."
"Hannah Abbott…"
A small witch, clearly nervous, stepped hesitantly out from the crowd and took her seat on the four-legged stool. Professor McGonagall lowered the ragged old hat gently onto her head.
"Hufflepuff!" the hat suddenly shouted from the seam that resembled a mouth.
A cheer erupted from the Hufflepuff table, warm and welcoming.
Watching the familiar scene unfold, Sargeras couldn't help but smile.
His thoughts drifted back ten years to the day he had first arrived at Hogwarts. Back then, Voldemort had just been defeated. The air had smelled of old oak and candle smoke, just as it did now.
He had been only eleven, clutching a second-hand wand in his hand as he walked toward the Sorting Hat, the cuffs of his robes still smudged with coal dust from Knockturn Alley. The moment the Sorting Hat touched his head, someone's sneering voice had cut sharply through the Great Hall.
"A Mudblood with a wand? Seriously?"
The voice came from the Slytherin table, hissing through the air like a serpent brushing across cold stone.
"Blood traitor…"
"Filthy half-breed…"
"He's not one of the Greengrass family…"
Then all the voices vanished, swallowed by silence. And in the stillness, the Sorting Hat's voice spoke softly into his mind.
"Alright then, let's see where you belong…
Ah, you're brimming with ambition… and yet, you have no regard for honor.
You possess great courage… but scoff at recklessness.
Loyal, certainly. And fair, without question… though it seems you have no patience for laziness or mediocrity.
Oh yes, there's sharp intellect too… but buried deep within, there's also a pride and detachment that few could ever reach.
How odd… you have the traits of all four Houses, yet your mind walks a path apart from each of them.
Difficult, very difficult choice indeed…"
"Put me in Ravenclaw."
"Ravenclaw? Hmm. It does suit you, though it's hard to say whether you truly suit it. Still… if that's what you insist."
"Then…"
"Gryffindor!"
The Sorting Hat's sudden cry pulled Sargeras back from his memories. On the staff dais, he blinked and looked up, just in time to hear a loud burst of applause erupt from the Gryffindor table.
So that's what it was—Harry Potter had just been Sorted into Gryffindor.
The students at the lion's table looked thrilled. A pair of red-haired twins were even whistling and shouting, "We've got Potter! Potter's one of us now!"
Sargeras raised an eyebrow. It seemed the title of "Boy Who Lived" was more popular than he'd expected, even though the boy himself was still only eleven.
His gaze swept slowly across the Gryffindor table and finally settled on the boy. Sure enough, it was the same bespectacled kid he had met earlier on the Hogwarts Express.
Thinking back to the boy's reserved demeanor and those old, worn-out glasses, Sargeras immediately understood one thing: the boy hadn't been living well in his Muggle household.
Oddly enough, that realization brought Sargeras a strange sense of relief.
He understood now why Dumbledore had made that decision all those years ago—why the old Headmaster had sent the Boy Who Lived to live among Muggles. It had not been solely for his safety. There had to be something more.
After all, every witch and wizard in the British wizarding world had known Harry's name since before he could walk or speak.
This infant had become famous for things he could not even remember.
If he had been raised in the wizarding world, that fame would have followed him everywhere, soaking into every corner of his life.
And in that kind of environment, what sort of person would the Chosen One have become?
Probably some arrogant, self-obsessed brat who believed the world owed him everything.
The pureblood families were already full of such examples. So, all things considered, Sargeras thought the current appearance of the Boy Who Lived was not bad at all. Aside from seeming a bit lacking in confidence, the kid did not appear to have any real flaws.
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[Chapter End's]
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