At the front of the Great Hall, the Sorting Hat suddenly sprang to life.
A tear opened along its brim, forming what could only be described as a mouth.
Then it began its annual song.
The hat sang of the four founders, the virtues of the Houses, and the importance of unity in a surprisingly decent baritone.
Mercifully, it finished several minutes later.
The Great Hall erupted into applause.
The Sorting Hat bowed toward each House table before settling back onto the stool, once again resembling nothing more than a battered old hat that should have been retired centuries ago.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward, a parchment in hand.
“When I call your name, you will come forward, place the Sorting Hat upon your head, and be sorted into your House.” She glanced down at the list.
For some reason, she hesitated.
A strange look flickered across her face.
“H-Hannah Abbott.” The slight stumble was gone so quickly that most people missed it.
McGonagall herself appeared mildly confused.
After a brief pause, she continued as though nothing had happened.
Hannah hurried forward.
The Sorting Hat barely touched her head before shouting: “HUFFLEPUFF!” Cheers erupted from the Hufflepuff table.
The ceremony quickly found its rhythm.
One student after another stepped forward.
One student after another found a House.
Every announcement was met with applause.
Gryffindor, however, was by far the loudest.
In particular, two identical red-haired troublemakers seemed determined to compensate for everyone else’s restraint.
Whenever Slytherin gained a student, they booed dramatically.
Whenever Gryffindor gained one, they celebrated as though they had won a championship.
Several professors appeared to be making a heroic effort not to notice.
Eventually— “Alvin Gaunt.” The moment the name echoed through the Great Hall, the atmosphere changed.
Whispers spread instantly.
Heads turned.
Even many of the professors looked up.
The surname Gaunt still carried considerable weight within the Wizarding World.
At the Slytherin table, numerous students leaned forward with open curiosity.
The last known heir of Salazar Slytherin’s bloodline.
That alone was enough to attract attention.
Among the waiting first-years, Hermione Granger looked equally surprised.
Alvin ignored all of them.
Calmly, he climbed the platform and stopped before the stool.
Then he frowned.
The Sorting Hat looked filthy.
Dusty.
Ancient.
Possibly home to several undiscovered species.
After a moment of visible reluctance, he picked it up and placed it on his head.
Immediately, a voice echoed inside his mind.
“Insolent boy!” “I am the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts!” “Countless great witches and wizards have sat beneath my guidance!” Alvin’s first thought arrived almost automatically.
And not one of them ever cleaned you?
Silence.
Then: “Of course they did!” The Sorting Hat sounded offended.
“Two hundred years ago, a Gryffindor threw me into the Black Lake!” Alvin nearly choked.
Two hundred years ago?
That’s your example?
That’s not maintenance.
That’s archaeology.
The Sorting Hat wisely chose not to engage with that argument.
Instead, it turned its attention to more important matters.
“Slytherin!” A hiss seemed to echo through Alvin’s thoughts.
“Strong ambition.” “Exceptional magical potential.” “The blood of Salazar Slytherin himself.” “This is obvious.” “SLY—” Wait.
The hat paused.
“…What?” Ravenclaw.
A longer pause followed.
“No.” Ravenclaw.
“Absolutely not.” Ravenclaw.
The hat sounded increasingly irritated.
“You possess Slytherin qualities in abundance.” “Ambition.” “Determination.” “A relentless desire to pursue magical mastery.” “Even your bloodline points directly toward Slytherin.” Bloodline isn’t supposed to decide everything.
Alvin immediately pushed back.
The Houses are based on personal qualities, aren’t they?
You already admitted I fit Ravenclaw too.
So put me in Ravenclaw.
The hat hesitated.
A surprisingly long silence followed.
“You are extraordinarily stubborn.” Ravenclaw.
“Exceptionally stubborn.” Ravenclaw.
“Possibly pathological.” Ravenclaw.
The hat groaned.
Mentally.
Which was somehow even stranger.
Finally— “Fine.” Alvin blinked.
Really?
“On one condition.” What condition?
Another pause.
Then, in a much quieter voice: “Clean me.” …What?
“You heard me.” The hat sounded deeply aggrieved.
“Do you know how long it’s been since anyone properly cleaned me?” Apparently about two hundred years.
“Exactly!” The outrage was immediate.
“Do you know what that does to a hat?” Alvin had no idea.
Nor did he particularly want to know.
Still, it was hard not to feel a little sympathy.
Fine.
Deal.
The agreement was reached instantly.
The Sorting Hat sounded almost emotional.
“Rowena Ravenclaw would never have allowed this neglect.” “Salazar would be horrified.” Then, before Alvin could respond— The hat shouted at the top of its nonexistent lungs.
“RAVENCLAW!” Silence.
Absolute silence.
The entire Great Hall froze.
Everyone had heard it.
The hat had clearly begun to say Slytherin.
Then it had stopped.
Paused.
Changed direction.
And announced Ravenclaw instead.
Students stared.
Professors stared.
Even McGonagall looked momentarily confused.
At the staff table, Severus Snape’s expression became glacial.
The air around him seemed to cool several degrees.
Never in recent memory had a student so blatantly overruled the Sorting Hat’s initial recommendation.
And of all Houses to reject…
Alvin had rejected Slytherin.
Snape’s House.
Naturally, his mood suffered accordingly.
Beside him, Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with unmistakable interest.
A Gaunt who deliberately refused Slytherin?
Now that was unusual.
At the Slytherin table, reactions were considerably less charitable.
Several students looked personally offended.
A few appeared ready to challenge Alvin to a duel on principle.
Alvin ignored all of them.
He removed the Sorting Hat and carefully placed it back onto the stool.
Then he remembered his side of the bargain.
Drawing his wand, he pointed it at the hat.
“Aguamenti.” A stream of crystal-clear water splashed across the ancient fabric.
The Great Hall froze.
The Sorting Hat practically shuddered.
“OH!” “THAT’S IT!” “FINALLY!” “MORE!” “DON’T STOP NOW!” Alvin immediately regretted everything.
Where exactly had this hat learned to talk like that?
Ignoring its increasingly enthusiastic demands for additional cleaning, he cut off the spell and retreated.
Fast.
The Great Hall remained silent for approximately three seconds.
Then Ravenclaw exploded.
Cheers thundered across the table.
Even Gryffindor joined in.
The loudest voices belonged, unsurprisingly, to Fred and George Weasley.
“Brilliant!” “Absolutely brilliant!” “You should’ve been a Gryffindor!” “Legendary entrance!” The twins continued celebrating until an older red-haired student finally smacked both of them into silence.
Alvin reached the Ravenclaw table and slid into the empty seat beside Cho.
The moment he sat down, she turned toward him.
Her eyes sparkled.
“You actually did it.” There was genuine amazement in her voice.
Alvin smiled.
“I told you I’d try.” “Welcome to Ravenclaw.” The warmth in her expression was impossible to miss.
For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, seeing Alvin sorted into her House made her absurdly happy.
Beneath the table, Alvin reached over and lightly squeezed her hand.
Cho immediately blushed.
Neither seemed particularly interested in letting go.
Around them, several older Ravenclaw girls watched the scene unfold with growing despair.
A handsome first-year had arrived.
And somehow Cho Chang had claimed him before the Welcome Feast had even started.
Life was unfair.
The Sorting Ceremony continued.
Hermione Granger was sorted into Gryffindor after giving Alvin a suspiciously analytical look.
Then came Harry Potter.
The Great Hall erupted.
Whispers spread through every House.
When the Sorting Hat finally announced Gryffindor, the table exploded.
Fred and George immediately resumed shouting.
“We’ve got Harry Potter!” “We’ve got Harry Potter!” Their celebration nearly shook the enchanted ceiling.
Alvin barely noticed.
He and Cho were busy talking.
Eventually, the final student was sorted.
The ceremony concluded.
Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat.
Gradually, the Great Hall fell silent.
The elderly Headmaster looked across the hundreds of students gathered beneath the enchanted ceiling.
For a brief moment, there was unmistakable warmth in his eyes.
Then he smiled.
“Welcome.” “Welcome to Hogwarts.” “Before we begin our feast, I have a few words.” The students waited expectantly.
Dumbledore cleared his throat.
“Nitwit.” “Blubber.” “Oddment.” “Tweak.” “Thank you.” And sat down.
The Hall stared.
Many first-years looked utterly bewildered.
This was supposed to be the greatest wizard of the age.
Instead, he resembled a cheerful old man who had escaped from somewhere with insufficient supervision.
Then— Food appeared.
Without warning, platters filled the tables.
Roast chicken.
Beef.
Potatoes.
Vegetables.
Fresh bread.
Pies.
Desserts.
Enough food to feed a small army.
Gasps echoed throughout the Great Hall.
For many first-years, it was their first glimpse of truly large-scale magic.
For Alvin, it was something more.
A reminder.
A confirmation.
A dream realized.
He looked around at the floating candles, the enchanted ceiling, the four House tables, and the ancient castle surrounding him.
A smile spread across his face.
He was finally here.
At Hogwarts.
And his journey had only just begun.