Professor McGonagall pushed open the massive oak doors.
Instantly, a torrent of warm, bright light, the gaze of hundreds of faces, a low buzz of conversation, and the rich scent of food washed over the nervous group of first-years, utterly overwhelming them.
As Alvin Vance stepped into the Great Hall of Hogwarts with the line of students, even his usually tranquil nature couldn’t suppress a quiet gasp of awe.
What captured his attention first was not the four long house tables packed with students, nor the array of professors at the staff table, but the impossible sky stretching above their heads.
There was no stone ceiling here—only a deep, velvet night sky, crossed by the Milky Way and dazzling stars, with a few light clouds drifting slowly past.
This was no mere illusion.
Through his spiritual perception, he could truly sense the vast, lofty aura of the starry sky above, blending seamlessly with the castle’s intrinsic magical field to create a realm both real and ethereal.
It reminded him of the Stargazing Pavilion back at his Taoist temple.
Yet those stars had been physical bodies; these felt more as if a condensed, eternal expanse of the night sky had been invited indoors—a magnificent synthesis of human craft and celestial phenomena.
Beside the four long tables, students wore black robes pinned with different house crests: a golden lion, a silver serpent, a bronze eagle, and a black badger.
Their eyes turned as one toward the small procession at the doorway, filled with curiosity, scrutiny, warmth, or appraisal.
The staff table stood on a raised platform at the far end of the hall.
Seated at its center, in a large golden chair, was an old man with silver hair and beard, wearing half-moon spectacles.
His bright blue eyes twinkled kindly through his lenses as he looked down at them.
At Professor McGonagall’s signal, the line halted to face the gathered school.
Alvin could hear Ron sucking in a sharp breath beside him and noticed Harry’s quiet effort to straighten his back.
For his own part, Alvin subtly regulated his breathing, calming his quickened pulse as his tranquil gaze swept over the hall.
Professor McGonagall placed a four-legged stool on the floor before the new students.
It looked thoroughly ordinary.
Then she produced a hat.
It was a patched, frayed, and thoroughly dirty pointed wizard’s hat.
Out of place in this grand and starry hall, it looked as though it had been pulled from the bottom of an abandoned junk pile.
A few suppressed giggles and bewildered whispers rippled through the first-years.
Hermione frowned, staring intently at the hat as if searching her memory for a book that mentioned it.
Ron was completely stunned, whispering low to Harry:
“Are they really going to make us wear that?
Fred didn’t say anything about this!”
Only Alvin Vance caught a subtle shift the moment the hat appeared, his eyes narrowing slightly.
His spiritual perception, sharper than physical vision, caught the anomaly at once.
The hat was no inanimate object.
Its surface was woven with intricate, overlapping layers of magical runes—or, in Eastern terms, warding formations.
These array markings were far from static; they ebbed and breathed in a slow, profound rhythm.
More importantly, rooted deep within the hat was a distinct, stable, and remarkably active…
spiritual consciousness.
Not a lingering phantom like a ghost, nor the faint psychic imprint clinging to a painted portrait, but a complete, independent entity seamlessly fused with the cloth itself. New chapters come out on g.com first.
A Spiritual Treasure!
And one with a fully developed Artifact Spirit!
Alvin realized the truth instantly.
In the Eastern cultivation world, a treasure possessing spirit was already rare; one capable of birthing a fully conscious, independent, and communicative artifact spirit was invariably a sacred heirloom of ancient lineage.
Mount Qingcheng’s grand artifact, the Qingsuo Sword, held only the faint embryonic beginnings of a sword spirit.
According to his father, its awareness was hazy and far from capable of articulate thought.
Yet this tattered hat…
the vitality and solidity of its spirit exceeded his wild imagination!
So, the so-called Sorting Ceremony…
As if confirming his suspicion, the crumpled hat resting on the stool twitched.
A wide tear near the brim opened like a mouth—
—and it began to sing.
Twisting its body—if it could be called a body—the hat sang in a raspy, dramatic tone full of emotion:
“A thousand years ago, four friends of old, Shared a single dream, courageous and bold.
In this wild expanse, high walls they raised, To light the fires where knowledge blazed.
Brave Godric sought the bold at heart, Where Gryffindor’s hearth sparks courage’s start.
Wise Rowena held intellect bright, Where Ravenclaw’s crown shines truth’s pure light.
Kind Helga welcomed all to her fold, In Hufflepuff’s soil, justice and loyalty take hold.
And shrewd Salazar, with keen, deep sight, Sought ambition and cunning in Slytherin’s light.
Four hearts once beat as one, then drifted apart, Leaving me, this old hat, to guide every heart.
Though dirty and patched, my wisdom is deep, No secrets or thoughts from my vision can creep.
No weapons or force shall cause you distress, Just slip me right on and let your heart confess.
Perhaps you crave peril, where daring wings soar, Or seek ancient lore, delving deeper and more.
Perhaps you hold friendship as sacred and grand, Or plan out your future with foresighted hand.
So fear not, young ones, stand steady and tall, In Hogwarts’ four houses, there’s room for you all.
Now put me right on!
Let your wishes be clear!
I’ll find you the home where you truly belong!”
The song echoed through the hall, now soaring, now soft, carried by a strange, magnetic rhythm.
By the final lines, the hat wriggled merrily.
Thunderous applause and cheers erupted from the four house tables, the older students clearly enjoying the annual performance.
When the song ended, the hat bowed to each of the four tables in turn, then fell still upon the stool, reverting to an ordinary tattered hat—if one overlooked the fact that it had just sung a song.
Silence descended over the hall as every eye fixed on her and the list.
“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she announced clearly.
“Hannah Abbott!”
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of the line and sat nervously on the stool.
Professor McGonagall lowered the hat over her eyes.
A moment of silence passed—
“Hufflepuff!”
the hat shouted to the hall.
The second table from the right broke into cheers and applause.
Hannah Abbott took off the hat and scurried over to join the welcoming Hufflepuffs, who cleared a space for her.
Alvin watched in silence, his final doubts vanishing.
Just as he had thought.
This hat—a powerful spiritual treasure possessing an ancient artifact spirit—served to examine and guide.
Looking past external appearances, it sensed the wearer’s inner nature, latent desires, and soul inclinations directly, matching them against the house criteria left by the four founders.
It was far more sophisticated—and far more civilized—than any form of combat, test, or bloodletting.
After all, it probed one’s true essence rather than surface skill.
A complex emotion, a blend of admiration and vigilance, welled within him.
He admired the sublime skill and wisdom behind such magic, yet felt wary of its near-mind-reading capability.
He had more than a few secrets to protect.
Regardless of Alvin’s thoughts, the Sorting proceeded in an orderly fashion.
The list appeared to be arranged alphabetically by surname.
Alvin saw Neville Longbottom, the boy who had lost his toad, sit on the stool.
The hat deliberated over him for nearly a minute before calling out, “Gryffindor!”
Neville almost tripped on his way to the Gryffindor table, having forgotten to take off the hat.
“Hermione Granger!”
Hermione almost sprinted to the stool, sitting down eagerly.
The moment the hat brushed her bushy hair—
“Gryffindor!”
it shouted almost instantly.
Hermione beamed, hurrying toward the cheering Gryffindor table while Ron pulled an incredulous face behind her.
Name after name was called until, at last—
“Harry Potter!”
As the name echoed through the hall, whispers rippled through the crowd like wind rustling through a wheat field.
“Potter, did she say Potter?”