“Is it *the* Harry Potter?”
Every eye—curious, searching, awestruck—snapped to the dark-haired boy wearing glasses, a lightning-shaped scar visible on his forehead.
Harry took a deep breath and stepped forward under the weight of countless gazes, sitting down on the four-legged stool.
Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on his head.
It slipped down, obscuring his glasses.
A pin-drop silence settled over the Great Hall.
The hat seemed to be engaged in a silent argument with Harry.
Alvin saw Harry’s lips moving faintly beneath the brim.
Nearly three minutes passed.
“Gryffindor!”
the hat shouted at long last.
The Gryffindor table erupted!
The deafening cheers threatened to blow off the starry ceiling.
Percy Weasley leapt to his feet, leading the applause, while the twins, Fred and George, chanted,
“We got Potter!
We got Potter!”
Harry removed the hat, his face flushed with relief and joy, and rushed over to the sea of red, pulled into the middle of the long table amid enthusiastic welcomes.
Ron looked thrilled for Harry, yet distinctly more nervous about his own impending turn.
Before long—
“Ron Weasley!”
was called.
Pale-faced, he walked forward, and the hat had barely touched his bright red hair before shouting:
“Gryffindor!”
Ron sprinted toward his brothers’ table, looking ready to collapse from relief.
The Sorting continued, moving from P to S…
At last, Professor McGonagall’s eyes rested near the bottom of the scroll, and she called out clearly:
“Alvin Selwyn!”
Alvin’s mind shifted slightly.
This was his mother’s family surname and his official name in the British magical world.
Stepping out of line with a steady pace, he approached the stool and the ancient, wise hat awaiting him.
He could feel the hall’s attention converging on him once more.
The Selwyn name was hardly unknown among British pure-blood families, despite its dwindling numbers, to say nothing of his striking, unique Taoist hair bun.
At the staff table, several professors cast curious glances his way—particularly the stern, greasy-haired Potions master, whose dark eyes lingered on him for a brief moment.
Alvin sat down on the four-legged stool.
It was cold to the touch.
Professor McGonagall lifted the Sorting Hat.
It felt light, carrying the dusty scent of aged fabric.
As the brim descended to block his vision, Alvin instinctively drew in his consciousness, keeping his Mind’s Eye in its usual state of pristine clarity, though he made no deliberate effort to erect defenses or conceal anything.
He was simply curious to see what this artifact spirit would perceive.
Darkness fell.
Immediately, a small, inquisitive voice resounded—not in his ears, but deep within his mind:
what a fascinating mixture…”
The hat’s voice drifted like a breeze blowing through ancient tomes, steeped in dust and wisdom.
“The Selwyn bloodline…
thin yet pure, like a silver thread under moonlight.
And…
the East.
Deep, orderly, self-contained…
What is this power flowing quietly within your soul?
It is not magic, yet it is so…
grounded.”
Alvin maintained his inner stillness, his spirit as tranquil as mirrored water, letting the probing tendrils sweep past.
He was eager to test how deep this spirit could probe.
“Let me see…
A thirst for knowledge so systematic and resolute, not for vanity, but to grasp the underlying fabric of the world…
Ravenclaw would treasure such a seed.”
“Firm principles, almost stubbornly following an inner ‘Dao’…
This devotion aligns closely with Hufflepuff’s true essence of loyalty.”
“A cool mind, quick to adapt in unfamiliar ground, weighing risks and gains, immediately entering a state of vigilance in the face of potential threats…
Slytherin’s resourcefulness and pragmatism seem second nature to you.”
“And courage?
Not reckless impulsiveness, but something far deeper…
A willingness to reveal your edge in a heartbeat to protect what you value and uphold the order in your heart, even against the unknown…
Gryffindor would surely recognize this core.”
The hat fell into a prolonged silence, as if savoring a complex cup of tea.
Alvin felt the spiritual consciousness wander cautiously over the surface of his memories, skimming past the mists of Mount Qingcheng, the morning bells of the temple, his father’s stern profile as he drew talismans, and his mother’s glowing eyes when telling stories of the magical world…
“Tricky, very tricky…” the hat muttered, almost to itself.
“You possess traits of all four houses, yet none in their absolute purest form.
Your wisdom serves practical application and protection; your principles transcend worldly loyalty; your cunning is used for insight and self-restraint; your courage is wrapped in deep discipline…
You have already chosen a path in your heart, child, and you have walked it for some time.”
Seconds ticked by.
The silence in the hall shifted from anticipation to curiosity, and then to a slight murmur.
Thirty seconds passed, a minute…
two minutes…
The hat remained silent, save for an occasional twitch atop Alvin’s head, as if shaking itself in deep thought.
“It’s taking longer than Potter…” an older Gryffindor student muttered under his breath.
“What’s so special about this new Selwyn kid?” Whispers broke out among the Ravenclaws as well.
At the Gryffindor table, Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched anxiously.
Ron’s mouth hung open, Hermione frowned in intense concentration, and Harry recalled his own agonizing debate inside the hat.
four minutes…
Professor McGonagall’s eyebrows knitted slightly.
At the staff table, Dumbledore observed calmly through his half-moon spectacles, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table.
Five minutes.
Whispers surged throughout the hall.
This was an almost unprecedentedly long Sorting—a Hatstall.
Every pair of eyes was glued to the tattered hat and the dark-haired boy sitting beneath it, only his chin visible.
Alvin himself was surprised; he could feel the spirit’s agonizing dilemma, its thoughts tangling like a knot of thread, bouncing endlessly among the four choices.
“Gryffindor?
No, its passionate atmosphere might draw out your hidden courage, but it could also drive you to guard your secrets even more fiercely…
Ravenclaw?
A sanctuary of knowledge suits you, but you seek not knowledge alone, but its application…
Hufflepuff?
Warm and inclusive, yet your detached resolve might make it hard to truly fit in…”
Just as the hat seemed trapped in an infinite loop of deliberation, a mundane, almost offhanded image quietly surfaced in Alvin’s mind during the quiet waiting—the memory of one of Mount Qingcheng’s guardians beside the deep pool behind the temple, which he had recalled while crossing the lake.
“Ah!”
The hat suddenly gave a sharp, almost delighted gasp inside his head.
The tangled threads seemed to instantly find an anchor.
“A serpent…
silver…
an ancient and formidable guardian serpent…”
The hat’s voice resonated with sudden enlightenment, tinged with relief.
“Images…
symbols…
sometimes strike closer to the truth than complex analysis ever could.
Salazar Slytherin himself shared an undeniable bond with serpents, revering composure, ambition, bloodline, and power hidden in the shadows…
This imagery resonates marvelously with a quality deep within your soul, and with the background from whence you come…”
The hat seemed disinclined to continue its endless deliberation.
It made a swift decision, driven by a resolute “so be it” attitude—or perhaps sheer resignation.
Taking a deep breath, it bellowed the name for the whole hall to hear:
“Slytherin!”
As the sound died away, a brief hush settled over the hall.
Then, polite applause broke out from the Slytherin table—not as wild or boisterous as the receptions from other houses, but distinct enough.
A few older students nodded approvingly, while the younger ones scrutinized the new student who had kept the Sorting Hat agonizing for over five minutes.
At the Gryffindor table, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all wore expressions of sheer shock.
Ron’s mouth opened wide enough to swallow a Chocolate Frog.
He instinctively glanced at Harry as if to say, *What happened?
How did Alvin get sorted into Slytherin?* Hermione was the picture of confusion and disapproval; in her eyes, with the intellect Alvin had displayed (and the sense of justice he had shown by helping Neville), he belonged in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, certainly not Slytherin.
Harry frowned, his eyes filled with perplexity and a trace of concern.
Alvin himself was slightly startled.