"Bones, Susan… HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Finch-Fletchley, Justin… HUFFLEPUFF!"
In the magnificently decorated Great Hall, a shabby, crumpled hat twisted restlessly, its wide mouth, a tear along its brim, singing out names. A few of the bolder students would occasionally tweak its brim, eliciting bizarre laughs from the hat.
As the Sorting Hat called out each student's name and their assigned House, the students seated at the long tables applauded, some with genuine enthusiasm, others with polite indifference. For tonight, at the Welcome Feast, even the perpetually rivalrous Gryffindors and Slytherins maintained a relative harmony.
Among the group of first-years waiting to be sorted, some watched nervously while others looked on with anticipation as each student donned the Sorting Hat, before walking to their new House table amidst the Hat's quirky commentary.
Yet, standing among them was an out-of-place, slender boy, staring blankly at the ornate, ancient decorations and the candles that floated magically in mid-air. Their countless points of light illuminated the Great Hall, and semi-transparent ghosts could be seen drifting through the air. It was all so overwhelming that the boy struggled to process it, muttering to himself after a long moment.
"Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing?"
*This is weird. Wasn't I on a hospital bed, about to die?* Just as a sense of familiarity mixed with strangeness washed over the boy, a crisp, female voice echoed through the Great Hall.
"Hals, Ivan!"
Professor Minerva McGonagall stood before the four-legged stool that held the Sorting Hat, looking down at the parchment scroll in her hand. She waited, but after a long pause, no new student had come forward. Her brow furrowed slightly as she called out again, her voice louder this time.
"Ivan Hals!"
When there was still no movement from the group of first-years, even Dumbledore glanced over with a questioning look. The older students at the House tables began to whisper amongst themselves.
"Who? Who's Ivan? So bold?"
"Did he get lost? Is he going to miss the Sorting Ceremony?"
"Well, this is interesting..."
...
Now under the watchful eyes of the many professors and older students, the remaining first-years all took a collective step back, leaving the black-haired, golden-eyed boy standing alone, looking utterly conspicuous as he tried to make sense of the situation.
"Mr. Ivan Hals, please come up to the front!" Professor McGonagall repeated.
"Me?" Ivan pointed at himself, completely bewildered. This scene felt strange, yet somehow, deeply familiar.
"Yes, could you please come up quickly? Just as the others have done... there are still other children waiting to be sorted." Perhaps because Ivan was a first-year, Professor McGonagall showed no hint of annoyance despite this being her fourth time calling his name. She simply assumed the new student was a little nervous.
Before Ivan could react, he felt a gentle push from behind. Then, as if by a silent, shared agreement, the students in front of him passed him along, one by one, until he was at the platform.
"Alright, child, come over here..." Professor McGonagall stepped forward, placing a hand on Ivan's shoulder and guiding him onto the stool. She picked up the Sorting Hat and placed it on his head.
The hat shifted restlessly on his head and spoke in a comical tone.
"Hey, kid, don't be shy. You're not the first one to get nervous in a place like this... Trust me, just close your eyes, and it'll be over before you know it... It doesn't hurt a bit!"
Ivan rolled his eyes. Having spent some time among the other first-years, he had started to piece together what was happening, though he still found it hard to believe.
*But, is this really Hogwarts? The magical school from the stories? But that's not...*
As Ivan's thoughts trailed off, the Sorting Hat's voice suddenly echoed in his ear.
"Yes... of course, this is Hogwarts! You're not dreaming, I'm one hundred percent sure of it!"
"I'm guessing you must be from a Muggle family, right? Every few years, we get a few little wizards who don't believe magic is real. They call it stage magic, always trying to pull a long-eared rabbit out of me... I tell them there's nothing in the hat, but they just won't believe it..." the Sorting Hat rambled on, telling its stale jokes, its wide mouth stretching nearly to its brim.
The Hat's ability to read his mind made Ivan's blood run cold, and he quickly tried to rein in his thoughts.
But perhaps due to the Hat's influence, unfamiliar memories flashed through his mind like a slideshow, too scattered for him to piece together. It seemed to be a woman teaching him magic...
The witch in the memory looked to be in her thirties, with beautiful long blonde hair. She was mouthing some words, and then a wave of pure terror washed over him...
The Sorting Hat grumbled that it had never encountered a little wizard with such chaotic thoughts. It was also surprised that Ivan wasn't Muggle-born—what wizarding family produced a child who didn't know about Hogwarts?
A cold sweat broke out on Ivan's forehead. Even though the thoughts and memories the Hat was sifting through belonged to the original owner of this body, he had no idea if the Hat might stumble upon one of his own crucial secrets. Ivan forced himself to think about anything and everything mundane.
"Ahem..." Seeing that the Sorting Hat seemed prepared to go on forever, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, a gentle reminder for it to get on with its job.
The Hat finally fell silent, and Ivan breathed a sigh of relief. He was, however, curious to see which House he would be sorted into.
"Hmm... let's see. Optimistic... clever and prone to daydreaming..." the Sorting Hat drew out its words, then suddenly lowered its voice. "And you know a little bit... of Dark Magic."
*I know Dark Magic?* Ivan thought hazily, recalling the fragmented memory from a moment ago.
"Oh, yes. An ancient and rare... Dark Magic," the Hat whispered to Ivan conspiratorially, as if sharing a secret.
"Of course, in my opinion, it's a rather interesting bit of magic. Always lets people see things they'd rather not... Someone once used it for pranks, maybe you could give that a try..."
"Although Dumbledore would certainly not want anyone else doing that..." the Hat added, correcting itself.
"So where should I go? Slytherin?" Ivan was curious about this supposed knowledge of Dark Magic, but the immediate issue was the Sorting.
Once he was sorted, he could finally take off this damned, mind-reading hat.
Of the four Hogwarts Houses, entry into Gryffindor required sufficient courage (or perhaps recklessness?). Ravenclaw sought wisdom, or rather, a thirst for knowledge.
Slytherin corresponded to a cunning and ambitious nature, along with outstanding magical talent.
As for Hufflepuff... it was the kindest, most inclusive House, particularly skilled in food-related charms, making it the top choice for foodies.
The fact that he had learned Dark Magic, as the Sorting Hat mentioned, seemed a perfect fit for Slytherin. Of course, it was also possible that his optimistic and clever nature could land him in Ravenclaw.
*Ivan thought with a touch of vanity...*
"No, no, no. None of those," the Sorting Hat's tone suddenly turned humorous. "This might hurt your feelings a little, but Slytherin usually only selects little wizards with exceptional talent, so..."
"GRYFFINDOR!" The Hat abandoned its whispered tone, and its voice boomed throughout the Great Hall.
"Gryffindor?" Ivan lifted the Sorting Hat from his head, surprised. He hadn't even had time to process the Hat's comment on his talent.
"Yes... yes, that's where you ought to go!" the Sorting Hat said with conviction. "I have never, ever made a mistake! You have the necessary qualities!"