The Great Hall was ablaze with candlelight, the floating flames casting flickering shadows across ancient stone walls and four long tables packed with students in black robes. Above them, the enchanted ceiling mirrored the dusky sky outside, stars twinkling softly through an illusion of gathering night.
The first-year students stood huddled near the dais, where the Sorting Hat sat upon its stool—a battered, time-worn thing that twitched and wrinkled its mouth-like brim as if licking its lips in anticipation.
Professor McGonagall stood beside it with the ever-present roll of parchment in her hand.
"Abbott, Hannah," she called.
One by one, the students were called forward. The Sorting Hat muttered, hummed, or shouted its choice as the children placed it on their heads.
"Hufflepuff!"
"Ravenclaw!"
"Slytherin!"
"Gryffindor!"
Hermione Granger was placed quickly.
"Ah, an eager mind, bursting with knowledge and fire," the Sorting Hat said after barely a moment. "Better be… Gryffindor!"
She beamed and took her seat.
Neville Longbottom had nearly bolted before the hat had decided on Gryffindor as well.
Ron Weasley, a redhead fidgeting beside Inosuke, was called soon after.
"Another Weasley, eh?" the Hat muttered, before declaring, "Gryffindor!"
Inosuke stood with his arms crossed, metal rods slung across his back, bare-chested and entirely unimpressed.
"This is taking forever," he grumbled, voice echoing faintly.
"Where's the part where we battle each other for dominance?"
Finally, after nearly everyone had been sorted (Harry Potter as well), McGonagall hesitated.
She looked down at her list and sighed.
"Hashibira, Inosuke."
A collective whisper rippled across the Great Hall like a shiver down the spine of the castle.
"The shirtless boy?"
"The one who rode the train roof?!"
"He's got weapons!"
"He's not wearing anything under that boar mask?!"
At the Gryffindor table, Hermione Granger buried her face in her hands again. "Oh no. Not now. Not here."
Inosuke stomped forward through the stunned first years, chest puffed out, iron rods slung across his back, and the wild boar mask catching the glint of candlelight like some ancient war-god had wandered into the school of magic by accident.
He reached the stool, towering over it.
He looked at the Sorting Hat.
The Sorting Hat looked at him.
There was a moment of terrible silence.
Then, the Sorting Hat twitched violently and bellowed, "NO."
Every head turned in shock.
The Sorting Hat yelled, "I REFUSE! I REFUSE TO BE SORTED INTO ANYTHING THAT WEARS A DEAD BOAR ON ITS HEAD!"
Gasps erupted across the hall.
"What did it just say?!"
"He's never refused a student before!"
Professor McGonagall stepped forward quickly. "The Sorting Hat does not refuse students," she said firmly. "Inosuke, please sit down and—"
"HAH?! What did the rug just say to me?!" Inosuke snarled, fists clenching. "Did that wrinkly sock insult the KING OF THE MOUNTAINS?!"
The Sorting Hat flared its brim like a shield. "You're not even wearing proper robes! You're half-naked! You smell like wild mushrooms and... something that's fought a bear!"
Students across all four tables burst into laughter, and even Dumbledore raised a hand to hide a smile.
Without warning, Inosuke punched the Sorting Hat.
Gasps filled the Great Hall.
He didn't stop there.
He grabbed the Sorting Hat with both hands and began to wrestle it like it had personally insulted his ancestors.
The Hat flailed. "GET OFF ME, YOU RABID WALRUS!"
"I'LL TEACH YOU TO DEFY ME, YOU CLOTH DEMON!"
Inosuke twisted and suplexed the Sorting Hat onto the floor with a loud WHUMP, then dove after it as it tried to wiggle away like a terrified turtle.
McGonagall reacted instantly, wand out. "Petrificus Totalus!"
Inosuke flipped mid-roll, avoiding the binding charm with a wild cackle. He kicked off the ground, somersaulted over a group of terrified Hufflepuffs, and landed on the edge of the Slytherin table, sending cutlery and goblets clattering.
"HE'S LOST HIS MIND!"
"He's fighting the hat!"
"SOMEONE STOP HIM!"
Inosuke raised the squirming Sorting Hat high above his head. "YOU DARE INSULT ME IN FRONT OF MY NEW KINGDOM?!"
And then he smashed it down on the Slytherin table.
BAM!
Again.
BAM!
And again.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Slytherins scattered, shrieking and ducking under the table as mashed potatoes, pumpkin juice, and the magical hat's flailing brim flew in every direction.
Professor Flitwick leapt onto a bench, wand drawn. "Expelliarmus!"
Inosuke twirled, ducked the spell, and shouted, "YOU'LL HAVE TO PRY IT FROM MY COLD, SWEATY HANDS!"
Snape stood, fury etched into every line of his face. "Control your beast, Minerva!"
McGonagall strode forward, robes flapping, lips a thin line. "Inosuke Hashibira, CEASE THIS AT ONCE!"
"I AM THE STRONGEST FIRST-YEAR!" Inosuke howled, still bashing the hat into a bowl of treacle tart. "NONE SHALL TAME THE BOAR!"
The Sorting Hat flopped from his grip onto the Slytherin table, wheezing audibly.
"CHOOSE! OR I WILL SPLIT YOU INTO FOUR PIECES, ONE FOR EACH HOUSE!"
The Sorting Hat finally gave a ragged wheeze.
"Gryffindor!!" it screamed. "Fine! GRIFF-IN-BLOODY-DOR! You absolute psychopath! Just put me down!"
Inosuke paused.
Then stood slowly.
"Hah! I knew you'd see sense."
He raised the Hat in one hand and addressed the stunned hall.
"BEHOLD! I HAVE TAMED THE MIND-BEAST!"
With that, he flung the Sorting Hat like a discus. It spun through the air and landed limply in McGonagall's arms, slightly shaking.
She stared at it like someone had just handed her a screaming potato.
The hall was dead silent.
Then—
Fred Weasley stood up and began to clap.
George joined.
Then a few Hufflepuffs.
And finally—thunderous applause. Laughing, stunned, half-horrified, the students exploded into cheers.
Inosuke bowed deeply, then stomped toward the Gryffindor table, still bare-chested and triumphant.
As he sat down next to Hermione—who had aged about five years in ten minutes—he grinned.
"Mr. Hashibira," Dumbledore said, voice calm but firm, "while your enthusiasm is… admirable, I believe you've misunderstood the nature of the Sorting Ceremony."
Inosuke blinked beneath his mask, chest heaving. "What?"
"You are not meant to fight the hat."
"Oh." He scratched his head. "It provoked me."
McGonagall looked like she was about to faint.
Snape strode over, black robes flaring behind him like angry wings. "This is a disgrace! He attacked a priceless magical artifact, disrupted the ceremony, and assaulted my students' table with gravy!"
"Technically, he didn't hit any students," Flitwick offered meekly.
A Slytherin girl sniffled. "My mashed potatoes are… traumatized."
Professor McGonagall sat down heavily next to Dumbledore.
"I have no words," she said hoarsely.
"I do," Dumbledore murmured, still smiling. "That was possibly the most… vigorous Sorting I've ever witnessed."
Snape, frustrated and scowling, hissed, "We'll see how long he lasts, Albus."
"Oh, I imagine he'll last quite some time," Dumbledore replied. "It's Hogwarts, Severus. Strange has always been welcome."
As the feast finally began, and food magically filled the tables, Inosuke grabbed a whole roast chicken and tore into it with glee.
"GRYFFINDOR FEEDS THEIR WARRIORS WELL!"
Hermione just stared at her mashed potatoes.
What had she gotten herself into?
Whatever it was—it was going to be a very long year.