The Sorting Hat stirred, the folds of its brim creasing into what could only be called a grin. Then, in a clear and rather jaunty voice, it began to sing:
🎵
Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see.
I'll eat your head? No—never that—
Just take a seat and talk to me.
For I can see inside your mind,
Your hopes and fears and dreams.
I'll sort you true—I always do—
Or so the record deems.
Will you be brave in Gryffindor,
Where daring hearts run free?
Or wise in Ravenclaw's high tower,
Where minds are sharp as sea?
Perhaps you'll bloom in Hufflepuff,
Where loyalty is gold,
Or find ambition's fire alive
In Slytherin's stronghold.
So come and try me, don't be shy,
I've sorted more than you.
Just sit right here, I'll take a peek,
And tell you what is true!
🎵
As the final note echoed through the Great Hall, applause broke out—polite from the older years, enthusiastic from the younger ones who still remembered their own turns under the brim. When the clapping faded, Professor McGonagall stepped forward, a long scroll unfurling in her hand.
"When I call your name," she announced, "please step forward, sit on the stool, and I will place the Sorting Hat upon your head."
The first name was called. A nervous-looking boy with trembling knees approached the stool, barely seated before the hat barked, "Hufflepuff!"
Cheers erupted from the Hufflepuff table.
And so the Sorting began. One by one, students stepped up—some sorted in seconds, others left squirming awkwardly while the hat debated aloud, often revealing secrets that caused giggles, groans, or outright laughter.
In the middle of this ceremonial parade, a voice echoed inside Cael's head—his system.
SYSTEM: So, what do you think? Which house are you expecting to land in?
Cael folded his arms, whispering under his breath, "I don't know… but I think I'll be in Hufflepuff."
SYSTEM: And why's that?
Cael's lips twitched in amusement. "Well, first of all, I'm Muggle-born. Second, I'm an honest student. And third…" He flipped an imaginary lock of hair. "I'm very, very handsome. And surely most of the handsome boys end up in Hufflepuff."
SYSTEM: The amount of confidence you have is sickening. Have you considered therapy? I can introduce you to one.
Cael rolled his eyes. "Go on then, introduce me."
SYSTEM: Go to China. Become an apprentice under the Immortal Dao. Seek inner peace.
Cael snorted. "Ha ha. Very funny. Useless."
With that, he turned his attention back to the Sorting, just as a name rang out:
"Vole, Cassandra."
A girl with striking golden hair and vivid green eyes rose from the line. She moved with effortless grace, neither hurried nor shy, and settled on the stool with poise. The Sorting Hat dropped over her head.
For a moment, nothing moved.
Hmm… interesting, the Hat murmured into her thoughts. So sharp. So guarded. A brilliant mind, yes… but also the steel to use it. Loyal to a rare few. Ambitious in your quiet way. You'd do well in Slytherin… but thrive in Ravenclaw, too.
Cassandra frowned beneath the brim. I'm not here to thrive. I'm here to grow. Choose wisely.
The hat chuckled. Oh, you'll be a challenge. Very well, then—let it be…
"Slytherin!"
The Slytherin table clapped politely as Cassandra rose, as composed as ever. She walked toward her new housemates without so much as a backward glance.
More students followed. Cael's heart ticked steadily higher.
Then—
"Vale, Cael."
He blinked. That was his cue.
Cael stepped forward, back straight, chin high, and eyes unwavering. Whispering spread like smoke across the hall, but he ignored it. He sat down. The Sorting Hat was placed over his head—and instantly, a voice ancient and velvet spoke in his mind.
Ah… well now.
Another curious one. You've seen more than most, haven't you? Clever. Wounded. Wry. But that's not all… you're a very spirited ham.
Where to put you? Loyalty to none, yet care buried deep. You crave knowledge—not for glory. You seek safety—not for yourself. You could fit anywhere… but you belong in only one.
Cael's breath caught. Which one?
The one where wit and will meet.
The one where truth has teeth.
Better be…
"Gryffindor!"
A strange blend of relief and detachment washed over him. He rose, nodded politely, and walked to the Gryffindor table, sliding into a seat beside a pair of redheaded twins already eyeing him with mischievous glee.
"Nice entrance," said one twin.
"Going to be fun having you around," added the other.
From the staff table, Professor McGonagall gave a subtle sigh. He has every sign of a Gryffindor, she admitted to herself—sharp, bold, and entirely too confident for her comfort.
She glanced once more at Cael and the twins already laughing together, and a chill went down her spine.
"Please… just don't blow up the castle," she whispered under her breath, then continued the Sorting.
More students were sorted, the four house tables filling steadily. Anticipation hummed in the air—not for magic, but for food.
Finally, the last name was called, and the Sorting Hat removed.
Dumbledore stood, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles.
"Now that we are all sorted and settled," he announced, arms wide, "let the feast… begin!"
With a shimmering flash, golden platters appeared on every table, heaped high with roast chicken, shepherd's pie, buttered carrots, trout, Yorkshire pudding, and far too many things to name. Jugs of pumpkin juice and silver goblets of water glistened under the candlelight.
Cael's eyes sparkled as he reached for a slice of pie.
"Now this is a welcome ceremony," he said cheerfully.
SYSTEM: Be careful not to explode from overeating. At least let the others eat. Just wait until breakfast, glutton.
Cael rolled his eyes and took another bite anyway, already feeling the warmth of the Gryffindor table settle into his chest.
The castle might be vast, strange, and filled with unknowns—but tonight, at least, he felt like he belonged.