The door swung open, revealing a black-haired witch in emerald-green robes standing before them.
The young witches and wizards, who had been chattering incessantly a moment before, fell dead silent in an instant—much like students during quiet study when they suddenly spot their homeroom teacher standing silently at the back door of the classroom.
Even Hagrid looked noticeably subdued before Professor McGonagall.
“The first-years, Professor McGonagall.” “Thank you, Hagrid.
I’ll take them from here.” As Professor McGonagall spoke, her eyes swept over the crowd, finally lingering on Caelan.
Averting her gaze in silence, McGonagall opened the double doors and led everyone into the castle.
Greeting them was a magnificent marble staircase leading upstairs.
Thick stone walls surrounded them on all sides, lit brightly by flaming torches.
The mist from the Black Lake clinging to the young wizards slowly dissipated under the warm torchlight.
McGonagall led the children to a small room at the far end of the hall.
“First of all, welcome to Hogwarts,” McGonagall said, effortlessly delivering her annual welcome speech for new students.
“The start-of-term feast will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you must be sorted into your respective houses.
The Sorting is a very important ceremony…” McGonagall’s gaze swept across the bewildered crowd as she began introducing the four houses.
“They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin…” After finishing her introduction, McGonagall added a final word of advice.
“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in front of the entire school.
I suggest you smarten yourselves up as much as possible while you wait.” “I will return for you when they are ready.” Once McGonagall left, the young wizards unmuted themselves and burst back into excited chatter.
Right now, what intrigued and excited them most was the Sorting Ceremony.
“How are they going to sort us?
Do we choose?
Or do the Heads of House choose?” “I heard we have to take a test, like reciting the names of a thousand magical herbs or brewing a potion on the spot.” “Those are just exam questions.
I heard the Sorting Ceremony involves each person taking an Unforgivable Curse.
You only get admitted if you survive.” “Nonsense!
What kind of school are you applying to?
Azkaban?” Wild guesses about the Sorting Ceremony buzzed around them, and the chaotic theories made Hermione frown.
“Caelan, do you know how the Sorting works?
I’ve read *Hogwarts: A History*, but there’s no record of the Sorting in it at all.” It really was a wonder how generations of witches and wizards had kept the secret, keeping the first-year Sorting Ceremony hidden for so many years.
Every year during the Sorting, older wizards took endless delight in fooling the young newcomers with this topic.
It was as if the wizarding world had no other source of amusement.
Faced with such foolish behavior, Caelan decided: *I might as well add fuel to the fire.* So he shook his head, putting on a completely clueless expression.
“I don’t know either.
But I suppose we could ask them.” Caelan gestured with his eyes toward the ghosts drifting through the walls.
The other young wizards were terrified into silence by the sudden appearance of the ghosts, tacitly backing away toward the wall.
Finding these new students with clear yet foolish eyes, the bored ghosts treated them like newfound toys, enthusiastically floating over to perform their talents.
For instance, lifting their heads with both hands, tossing them in the air, spinning them several hundred degrees, and catching them neatly on their necks.
Of course, occasionally a head would be put on backward.
When that happened, they would use their hands to twist their heads 180 degrees back into place.
At first, the young wizards were terrified by these displays.
But after a few times, they realized the ghosts were actually quite friendly and their tricks were rare to see.
They gradually calmed down, and a few bolder ones even started critiquing the ghosts’ performances.
It had to be said that future witches and wizards possessed a remarkable tolerance for strange occurrences.
Caelan asked a ghost wearing a ruff collar, “Excuse me, how does the Sorting at Hogwarts work?
I heard we have to summon animals representing each house from a hat and fight them, joining whichever house’s animal we beat.” The ghost stared back at Caelan, a strange, unspoken understanding passing between them.
“Oh, yes, yes,” the ghost said with a deadly serious nod, even adjusting his head, which had nearly slipped off.
“Last year, I saw with my own eyes a student get eaten by the Gryffindor lion, and the Slytherin serpent poisoned several to death.” Several young wizards nearby were scared out of their wits.
Caelan even heard sniffling and cries of wanting to go home.
He put on a terrified face as well, pretending he believed it completely.
[Silver Tongue: Proficiency +7] Caelan was very satisfied.
*Sorry, classmates, but your experience points are just too sweet.* “C-Caelan…” Neville’s face crumpled, looking on the verge of tears.
“I don’t think I’ll make it into Gryffindor.
I can’t fight a lion.” *Great, went too hard and terrified the future Sword Saint.* Hermione stood nearby, her eyes wide.
“Do I have to fight a lion too?” Caelan had to try and salvage the situation: “It might not actually be true…” However, his obvious attempt at comfort only made the anxious kids even more frightened.
[Silver Tongue: Proficiency +9] Caelan: …
“Ron, you don’t seem scared at all,” Harry whispered beside him.
“Please, fighting a lion or a snake sounds great.
At home, they told me I’d have to battle a dragon.” “In that case, I guess we really should consider ourselves lucky…” When Professor McGonagall returned to the room, she found the young wizards looking utterly listless, like Flobberworms that had been squeezed dry of all their mucus.
This puzzled McGonagall.
Why did this batch of new students look so wilted and lifeless?
“Remember, the Sorting is a very serious matter.
Silence, please.
Now form a single line and follow me,” McGonagall instructed.
Dejected, the young wizards moved into a single file and followed closely behind Professor McGonagall.
They walked out of the room, crossed the entrance hall, and passed through double doors into the magnificent Great Hall.
The hall was astonishingly grand.
Even with four long tables packed with students, it didn’t feel crowded in the slightest.
On the long tables stood lavish golden plates and goblets, illuminated brightly by thousands of candles floating in midair.
Looking past the candles, the ceiling was not boring, heavy stone, but a stormy, star-dappled night sky.
Every student who noticed it let out an involuntary gasp of admiration.
Hermione whispered, “It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside.
I read about it in *Hogwarts: A History*.” The young wizards walked all the way to the very front of the Great Hall before stopping.
On the raised platform was the staff table.
Dumbledore sat in the center in purple robes, kindly, gentle eyes glinting behind his half-moon spectacles.
The seat next to him was vacant, likely meant for Professor McGonagall.
Beside that sat the Head of Slytherin, Severus Snape, whose hair was greasy and slick, looking as though it hadn’t been washed in ages.
The other two Heads of House, Filius Flitwick and Pomona Sprout, sat on Dumbledore’s other side.
Of course, Hagrid and the disposable Defense Against the Dark Arts professor were also present.
McGonagall fetched a four-legged stool and placed it before the first-years, then set a patched, dirty, pointed wizard’s hat upon it.
Some of the young wizards stared at the hat in terror, half-expecting a lion or a snake to burst out of it.
Silence fell over the Great Hall.
Then, the dirty hat twitched, opening a wide rip at its brim, and began to sing.
Though the singing left much to be desired, the children were relieved to gather from the lyrics that the so-called Sorting merely required putting on the hat.
They all breathed a sigh of relief.
Dirty and ugly as the hat was, it was far easier than wrestling a lion or a snake.
Professor McGonagall stood before them holding a long roll of parchment and began reading the names for the Sorting.
“Hannah Abbott.” “HUFFLEPUFF!” the hat shouted.
The Sorting order at Hogwarts was alphabetical by surname.
Caelan’s surname, Prewett, started with “P”, placing him in the same batch as Harry Potter.
Thus, both Neville and Hermione were ahead of him.
Name after name was called, and soon they reached the students starting with “G”.
“Hermione Granger.” Hermione glanced quickly at Caelan before practically sprinting to the stool and putting on the hat.
The Sorting Hat twitched its brim and shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!” After taking off the hat, Hermione didn’t rush down the steps.
Instead, she shot Caelan a look of sheer astonishment, as if saying, *You were right after all.* Neville wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, pumping himself up internally.
*Caelan’s divination really is spot-on!* *I’m definitely going to get into Gryffindor!* He could feel a surge of confidence welling up inside him.
Neville turned to look for Chris Nott in the crowd, finding the boy glaring menacingly at him.
He shrank his neck back in fear, but after glancing at Caelan, an inexplicable wave of courage rose within him.
He widened his eyes and glared right back at Chris Nott.
This made Chris Nott absolutely furious.
How dare this normally meek weakling glare at him?
Incensed, he directed his anger toward Caelan as well.
*It’s all because of that guy!* “Neville Longbottom.” Hearing his name, Neville took a deep breath and nodded to Caelan.
“Walk slowly when you go up, Mr.
Longbottom.” “Okay.” Hearing Caelan’s advice, Neville walked slowly over to the stool.
Though he looked nervous, he managed not to trip and embarrass himself.
Placing the Sorting Hat on his head, Neville closed his eyes.
He heard a tiny voice whispering in his ear, “Difficult, very difficult…” This sent a wave of panic through him.
He gripped his robes tightly with both hands resting on his lap.
He felt afraid, but even more anxious.
What if the Sorting Hat realized he was a coward and assigned him to scrub toilets?
Gran would be so heartbroken.
And Caelan would lose face because of him too.
“Gryffindor…
Gryffindor…” Neville repeated “Gryffindor” under his breath, trying to cheer himself on.
Yet he clearly felt his spirits plummeting to the bottom, the warmth draining from his body as his limbs turned icy cold.
After a long pause, just as the other students were growing impatient, the hat bellowed: “GRYFFINDOR!” Neville could hardly believe his ears.
His body reacted faster than his brain.
The icy sensation instantly dissolved, replaced by a comfortable, surging warmth.
He leaped off the stool and dashed toward Caelan, shouting: “Gryffindor!
Gryffindor!” He was so thrilled that he completely forgot to return the hat to Professor McGonagall.
The crowd erupted into laughter, leaving him bewildered.
Caelan chuckled and pointed to his head, making Neville realize he was still wearing the hat.
Blushing furiously, he ran back and handed the hat to Professor McGonagall.
The young wizards who had witnessed his earlier confrontation with Chris started calling out Nott’s name, raining boos down upon him.
Chris turned red and pale by turns, glaring venomously at Neville and Caelan.
He hadn’t expected Neville to actually be sorted into Gryffindor, just as Caelan had predicted.
Furious as he was, he felt a sting of relief that he hadn’t made a bet with him.
Otherwise, he would have lost face even worse.
This made him feel smug again; clearly, when it came to intelligence, he was still superior.
The Sorting continued.
After Harry was called, Caelan’s turn quickly arrived.
“Silas Prewett.”