Chapter 12: Opening Feast and the Sorting Hat
The Headmaster's Office.
"Ryan," Dumbledore began, his gaze serious, "I confess, I am curious. Why did you refuse the position of Ravenclaw Prefect?"
Ryan, who now held in his pocket a letter of recommendation for a personal alchemy apprenticeship with Nicolas Flamel, let his smile fade. His expression was earnest. "A Ravenclaw seeks knowledge, Headmaster, not power."
"And, in my view…" He hesitated for a moment, but Dumbledore's encouraging look prompted him to continue with startling honesty. "Though I despise Voldemort's ambition and his methods, the phrase 'Might is Right' does hold a certain truth."
"Ryan," Dumbledore said, his voice a quiet warning.
Ryan ignored the shift in Dumbledore's expression. "I have read many Muggle treatises on sociology. A Muggle Studies textbook, if you will," he said. "There is a saying: 'Political power grows out of the barrel of a gun.' A 'gun,' Headmaster, is a Muggle's wand."
"Tracing this concept to its root, one finds that a state's government is simply the most powerful violent entity within a given territory." Ryan's eyes locked with Dumbledore's. "For wizards, this could easily translate to the most powerful violent individual."
They both knew what that meant. Ever since Cornelius Fudge had become Minister for Magic last year, he had sent letters to Dumbledore nearly every day, seeking his opinion and, implicitly, his approval.
Ryan concluded his argument with a definitive statement. "So, I do not pursue power. I pursue knowledge. Power? It is merely a flower that blooms on the side of the road to knowledge. One can admire it, but one should never stop for it."
A long silence filled the office. Every portrait on the wall, now wide awake, was straining to hear the conversation.
"I see," Dumbledore finally said, breaking the heavy atmosphere with a nod.
Ryan understood that, for a fifth-year student, his arguments were rather pointed, perhaps more than an old wizard's heart could easily accept. He rose and politely excused himself.
After Ryan left, Dumbledore picked up the Sorting Hat from its shelf and placed it on the desk before him.
The brim of the hat twitched. "You remember his Sorting, don't you, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore nodded, as did the many portraits of past Headmasters. The memory of Ryan Welles's Sorting Ceremony was etched into the minds of every professor, portrait, and ghost who had witnessed it. It was the kind of story that would be told to young wizards for centuries to come.
It wasn't that the Sorting Hat had taken a long time to decide. That phenomenon, known as a "Hatstall," was rare but not unheard of, occurring once every few years. The great Minerva McGonagall herself had been a Hatstall, with the hat deliberating between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.
But Ryan's Sorting had not been a Hatstall.
When Professor McGonagall had called his name, he had walked calmly to the three-legged stool and, before even touching the hat, had announced in a clear voice, "Ryan Welles. Ravenclaw."
Then, under the gaze of the entire Great Hall, he had placed the hat on his head and proceeded to engage in such a fierce mental debate with it that the Hat, which was magically bound to respect a student's choice, had been forced to concede and place him in Ravenclaw.
"I still stand by my initial assessment, Headmaster," the Sorting Hat said now. "The place that best suits Ryan Welles is Azkaban. Or perhaps Nurmengard."
Dumbledore was amused. "Unfortunately, there is no wizarding law that permits us to send a student with no criminal record to Azkaban during their Sorting Ceremony."
"Oh, but Headmaster," the Hat protested, "I couldn't read an ounce of respect for wizarding law or the Statute of Secrecy in that eleven-year-old's mind!"
"A fearless spirit indeed…" Dumbledore sighed, then changed the subject. "Have you composed your song for this year?"
"Of course, Headmaster!" the Hat replied, delighted that Dumbledore had asked about its annual performance.
.....
That evening, at the Start-of-Term Feast, the Sorting Hat performed its masterpiece, a song it had been composing for an entire year. After a round of applause, the Sorting Ceremony officially began. Professor McGonagall unrolled a long scroll of parchment and began to call the names.
"Abbott, Hannah!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Boot, Terry!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
Harry, waiting in line with the other first-years, watched as Terry Boot made his way to the Ravenclaw table. He saw Ryan, seated at the head of the table, stand to greet the new student. Following his lead, the entire Ravenclaw house rose to their feet in welcome.
Terry Boot's face flushed crimson. To be welcomed with such an honor in front of the entire school was overwhelmingly exciting. The other first-years still waiting to be sorted looked on with envy, and the appeal of Ravenclaw rose significantly in their minds. As the ceremony continued, a considerable number of new students were sorted into Ravenclaw, each receiving the same standing ovation and a personal word of encouragement from Ryan.
The Hogwarts Headmaster's Growth and Development Plan, Rule #1, Ryan thought to himself. "Just as the Duke of Zhou feared rumors and Wang Mang acted humbly before usurping the throne, I must secure my base in Ravenclaw, expand my influence throughout Hogwarts, and strengthen my ties with all factions in the wizarding world." He had to keep the pressure on Dumbledore. On the outside, Ryan was a smiling, welcoming senior. On the inside, he was plotting a coup.
"Granger, Hermione!"
The Sorting Hat deliberated for a long time on this one. Finally, it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Penelope Clearwater, a newly minted fourth-year, leaned over to Ryan. "What did you see?"
"Just recalling this morning's prophecy," Ryan said casually. Early that morning, after pulling an all-nighter, he had received his daily intel: [After some external influence, a wise and resolute witch stands at a crossroads of fate. She will choose to follow her instinct. The courage in her heart has, for now, overcome her thirst for knowledge.] Below the text was an image of the very scene that had just unfolded.
"You prophesied about that little witch? What did it say?" Penelope asked.
Ryan repeated the intel, adding, "It's the start of term. The prophecies this time of year are often about the new students and their Houses."
Just then, Professor McGonagall called the next name. "Longbottom, Neville!"
Ryan spoke quietly, as if to himself. "A boy who narrowly missed his date with destiny now stands at the beginning of a story. Beneath his quiet exterior lies courage; within his hesitation, resilience. A lion cub without a pride will soon find its claws among lions." It was the intel he had received about Neville.
As if on cue, the Sorting Hat's voice rang out: "GRYFFINDOR!"
Enjoying the thrill of his public performance, Ryan raised a hand and pointed discreetly at a boy with pale blond hair who was about to put on the Hat. "Slytherin," he whispered.
The instant the brim of the Hat touched Draco Malfoy's hair, it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"
Penelope and the other students sitting near Ryan gasped in amazement. Ryan silently recalled the text that had accompanied Malfoy's image: [A proud and arrogant young wizard arrives at Hogwarts, a destined Slytherin. But cleverness and short-sightedness are inseparable twins. A kind, yet Malfoy-ordinary, young wizard is doomed to a life of conflict and regret.] It wasn't a very positive judgment, so unlike with Neville, he had only revealed the boy's House.
The line of waiting first-years dwindled, until finally, Professor McGonagall called out the last name.
"Potter, Harry!"
Countless heads in the Great Hall turned to look at Harry.
At the Ravenclaw table, however, everyone turned to look at Ryan Welles.