Hearing more screams from the front, Marcel stood on his tiptoes and peered ahead.
Suddenly, about twenty pearly-white, translucent figures emerged one after another from the wall on one side. Marcel looked closely; it was a group of ghosts.
They glided gracefully across the room, talking amongst themselves. Marcel faintly heard the name "Peeves."
"...I say, what are you all doing here?" a ghost in a ruff and tights asked, seemingly having just noticed the first-years below.
"New students!" said a fat little monk, smiling down at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"
A few students nodded silently. No one spoke.
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."
"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."
Professor McGonagall had returned. The ghosts floated one after another through the opposite wall, disappearing from sight.
"Now, form a single line," Professor McGonagall told the first-years, "and follow me."
Marcel was near the back of the line. It was a little while before he followed the students in front of him out of the chamber. There was nothing to be done about it; he had been at the back from the start.
This was the Hogwarts Great Hall. Students from the other years were already seated at four long tables. Thousands of candles floated in mid-air above them, illuminating the entire hall brightly.
The four tables were set with glittering golden plates and goblets. The older students watched the new first-years, whispering to each other about who might join their house and who might not.
At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were seated. Professor McGonagall led them there, lining them up to face the other students, with the teachers standing quietly behind them.
The candlelight flickered, casting a pale glow on the faces of the older students. The ghosts he had seen earlier also shimmered with a faint silvery light among them. All eyes were fixed on the first-years.
Bored, Marcel gazed up at the enchanted ceiling. Against a velvety black background, countless twinkling stars were scattered, appearing both real and illusory in the faint magical mist. He even found a few familiar constellations.
"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History," Marcel vaguely heard a soft voice say from nearby. It sounded like Hermione.
Professor McGonagall placed a four-legged stool in front of the first-years. Marcel pulled his gaze away from the ceiling and focused on what was in front of him. He saw her place a pointed wizard's hat on the stool. It was patched, frayed, and filthy. Honestly, the thought of putting that hat on his head in a few moments made him feel sick.
As the Sorting Hat was placed, the low murmur in the hall instantly fell silent. They all knew the main event was about to begin.
Sure enough, the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and it began to sing.
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, but don't judge on what you see, I'll eat myself if you can find a smarter hat than me."
Hearing this, the corner of Marcel's mouth twitched.
"You can keep your bowlers black, your top hats sleek and tall, for I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat and I can cap them all..."
The Sorting Hat continued its song in a dreadful tune, but Marcel had long since turned his gaze back to the ceiling. It was far more interesting.
It wasn't until everyone started clapping that Marcel came back to his senses and joined in. A few of the more outgoing first-years were already discussing it with the students next to them.
"Maybe I'll be in Gryffindor," a small boy with long black hair next to Marcel whispered to him. "My dad says I've always been brave. I swallowed a whole Flobberworm once when I was little!"
"Is your name Bear Grylls?" Marcel asked, swallowing hard.
"Who's that? My last name is Corner. Michael Corner. You can call me Mike," the little boy, Michael, said, tilting his head.
As they chatted idly, Professor McGonagall stepped forward and unrolled a long scroll of parchment.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which was clearly too big for her and fell right down over her eyes.
Marcel watched the clumsy little girl, finding her quite amusing.
She sat down, and a moment later, the hat shouted in a long drawl, "HUFFLEPUFF!"
The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down with them. The ghost of the Fat Friar waved happily at her.
"Bones, Susan!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat shouted again, in a different tone. Susan scurried over to sit next to Hannah.
The sorting continued. The hat skillfully switched between all sorts of strange tones and tunes, as if it spent every term thinking up these boring things to pass the time.
As expected, the Golden Trio was sorted into Gryffindor, the house of courage and chivalry. Anthony and Lisa, whom he'd met on the train, were sorted into Ravenclaw. And of course, Ernie went to Hufflepuff.
Michael, the Flobberworm-swallower next to Marcel, didn't go to Gryffindor as he'd hoped, but was also sorted into Ravenclaw. It was clear he was a little disappointed.
"Maclean, Marcel."
Finally, it was his turn. Marcel immediately walked forward, picked up the Sorting Hat, and after a moment's hesitation, placed it on his head with a sense of resignation.
"Hmm... you seem rather reluctant?" the Sorting Hat said discontentedly, giving a little squirm.
"Actually, I'd prefer it if you gave yourself a bath," Marcel didn't deny it. He figured the hat could roughly read his thoughts, so it was best to be honest.
"Well, I think so too, but I can't very well crawl to the bathroom myself, can I?" The hat squirmed again, its pointed tip drooping dejectedly. "But none of the headmasters ever think of it. They're too busy."
After a brief complaint, it regained its original energy and began to mutter to itself.
"Hmm, ah, this is difficult. Very difficult," the hat said. "Logically, you should go to Ravenclaw. The atmosphere there would allow you to fully absorb the essence of knowledge. But your cunning and strategic thinking would be more thoroughly cultivated in Slytherin..."
"What about Gryffindor and Hufflepuff?" Marcel asked curiously.
"Huh? Gryffindor! Do you think that's possible?" the hat retorted in a peculiar tone.
"Alright, I was thinking the same thing..." Marcel said with a helpless purse of his lips.
Just then, the Sorting Hat suddenly twisted around, rubbing its tip against its wide brim. It spoke thoughtfully, "Hmm, Hufflepuff. Yes, yes, that's right... You have to go there. This should be the most correct choice."
With that, without waiting for Marcel to speak, it shouted at the top of its voice, "HUFFLEPUFF!"
With a bewildered expression, Marcel placed the hat back on the stool and walked toward the Hufflepuff table, his mind full of questions. He took a seat amidst the applause of the older students.
"Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" Hearing this, Marcel stopped his conversation with a tall senior student and looked up at Dumbledore. "Thank you!"
Dumbledore sat back down, and everyone started clapping.
"What does that mean?" Marcel turned his head and asked the senior student next to him.
"I have no idea. The professor is probably just showing his sense of humor," the student shrugged, indicating he didn't understand either. "Just laugh along. Don't worry about it."
At that moment, the previously empty golden plates on the long tables suddenly filled with a vast amount of food. Roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and so much more appeared, a truly dazzling sight.
"What's this?" Marcel pulled a dish toward him. "Mint humbugs?"
"Professor Dumbledore has taken a liking to them recently," the senior student explained in a muffled voice while vigorously tearing meat off a lamb chop. "He always shares his favorite sweets and drinks with everyone."
Marcel shrugged and pushed the dish of mint humbugs far away.
"Marcel, aren't you hungry?" Ernie asked from nearby, watching curiously as Marcel took small bites of roast beef.
"Oh, I'm actually eating quite a bit," Marcel smiled. Clearly, while ensuring he didn't eat too sloppily, he was betting everything on speed.
"If you ask me, Ernie, he's just trying to maintain his gentlemanly composure!" a seemingly carefree senior girl joked, teasing Marcel.
"Aha! You've seen right through me, senior," Marcel wasn't annoyed at all. Instead, he played along. "Otherwise, how else could I get a beautiful senior like you to talk to me?"
The senior girl hadn't expected to be teased back by Marcel. Caught off guard, her cheeks turned bright red, but she still managed a retort. "Well now, that's not bad. I'm calling dibs on you as my little boyfriend, junior!"
"Whoa! Charlotte, are you finally getting ready to get married?" another girl next to her, likely a good friend, teased with a laugh.
Amidst the hooting from the surrounding students, Charlotte could no longer handle it. She quickly lowered her head, speared a piece of roast potato from her plate, and popped it into her mouth, her pretty face turning an even deeper shade of red.