Minerva McGonagall.
The witch who greeted the new students stood at the front with a posture so straight it seemed carved from stone. Her square spectacles reflected the torches' glow as sharply as her expression. She was strict, composed, and unmistakably authoritative—qualities that tended to silence even the noisiest children.
More importantly, she was the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.
After offering a brief and efficient introduction, she spoke crisply:
"Next, all first-years, follow me."
Even her tone carried the weight of discipline, and the cluster of young witches and wizards quickly fell into line.Whether out of respect or fear—it was hard to tell.
Of course, her stern expression had its usual effect.
The excited chatter of the students shrank into anxious silence as they trailed behind her across the cool stone floor, their footsteps echoing in uneven rhythm.
The castle breathed around them—drafts whispering through ancient arches, flickering torches casting long shadows, and a hum of distant voices drifting from somewhere deeper within the castle.
Hundreds of students were already gathered in the Great Hall, judging from the vibrant buzzing heard nearby.But Professor McGonagall did not lead them toward that sound.
Instead, she guided them into a empty room. The walls here were bare stone, lit only by a handful of floating candles—clearly meant as an antechamber before something important.
Once the last student stepped inside, Professor McGonagall faced them with her typical unblinking gaze.
"Welcome to Hogwarts."
Her voice carried clearly, crisp as parchment.
"The opening banquet is about to begin. But before you enter the Great Hall and take your seats, you must first be assigned to your Houses."
She paused to let the nervous shifting settle.
"The four Houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."
A ripple of whispers traveled through the group—anticipation, fear, excitement.
"In a few minutes," she continued, "the Sorting Ceremony will be conducted in front of the entire school."
Several students paled.
"I suggest you compose yourselves and remain attentive while you wait."
With that, she turned sharply, robes swishing behind her as she opened the door.
"I will return when everything is ready."
Then, pausing in the doorway, she added one final instruction:
"And please—keep quiet."
The door clicked shut.
...…
Naturally, the moment she left, the quiet evaporated like mist in sunlight.
"Harry—Fred said the Sorting is some kind of test!"
"What? Another test!? We just got here!"
"Fred and George joke about everything, but they wouldn't lie about this, would they?"
Even the mention of the notoriously mischievous twins seemed to unsettle the crowd. A wave of anxious murmuring filled the room, bouncing off the walls with increasing intensity.
Even wizards feared exams, it seemed.
And as the old saying went—people's words were more frightening than the thing itself.
"What sort of test do you think it is?"
"What if I fail? Will they expel me? Can they even do that!?"
"What if we have to fight a fire dragon!?"
Draco breathed out slowly.
He had no idea what form the Sorting Ceremony would take—but even if there was a test, it surely wouldn't be something ridiculous.Defeating a fire dragon? Most of these children couldn't cast a basic spark.
Still, logic meant nothing to a room full of panicking eleven-year-olds.
Even Hermione, who had earlier displayed remarkable confidence, was now keeping her distance from Draco. The realization of his identity must have finally struck her.
She stood among a cluster of students, muttering rapidly to herself.At first, the words were too soft to decipher, but when Draco listened closer—
Yes, she was reciting knowledge from first-year textbooks.She was reviewing.
Typical of her.
Draco didn't bother correcting the growing pile of imaginative theories about the Sorting.He had seen the faint curve at the corner of Professor McGonagall's mouth as she exited the room.
It wasn't obvious—but it was definitely there.
So she did that on purpose.
It made sense.Even his mother had worn a strange expression at King's Cross, as though she wanted to warn him about something but decided against it.
Adults and their odd sense of humor…
He shook his head lightly. He had no intention of sifting through adult motives any further.
His attention instead drifted toward a familiar mop of red hair.
"Hm… A Weasley," Draco murmured.
"Then the boy beside him must be the Harry Potter that Goyle and Crabbe were going on about."
The red hair was unmistakable.Even without the surname, the freckles, hand-me-down robes, and flustered energy screamed Weasley.
As for Harry Potter, Draco examined him with a subtle curiosity.
He glanced toward the boy's forehead. Although Potter had tried to hide it beneath his fringe, the faint outline of the lightning-shaped scar was still visible.
Just like the rumors described.
Yet despite the curiosity, Draco had no intention of approaching.The hostile glances aimed his way made that impossible anyway.
Harry and Weasley were watching him with clear distrust—almost as though Draco were the villain of their story.
"You're not even trying to hide it," Draco said under his breath.
Whatever had happened between Crabbe, Goyle, and the two boys must have been unpleasant.He could imagine those two bungling something with predictable ease.
Draco's musings were cut short by a shriek.
A real one.
It pierced through the chamber like a sharp spell.
It wasn't because a dragon appeared.Nor was it because someone discovered a rare trading card in a chocolate frog.
Instead—
A ghost drifted cleanly out of the stone wall.
Pale, transparent, and shimmering faintly under the floating candlelight, the specter startled half the first-years into stumbling backward. A few nearly toppled over each other.
Draco remained still, though his eyes narrowed with interest.
Another ghost floated through the opposite wall moments later, and another followed, their translucent forms gliding as smoothly as drifting fog.
Several younger students whimpered.
One boy fainted.
The ghosts, however, paid no mind.
They were having a lively discussion about something entirely unrelated to the terrified children clutching their robes.
Draco imagined this was only the first of many strange sights they would see at Hogwarts.
And judging by Hermione's increasingly pale face, she was beginning to realize that too.