The Great Hall was vast and bright, its enchanted ceiling shimmering softly above. As Sean stepped forward, every eye turned toward him. Wizards seated at the four long House tables craned their necks to get a better look, and at the professors' table, beside shining golden plates and goblets, Dumbledore watched with mild, thoughtful interest.
Sean did his best to look calm, as though nothing unusual were happening. Under Professor McGonagall's gentle guidance, he placed the Sorting Hat upon his head.
I shall teach many, and treat them all alike.
Sean silently recited the words of Helga Hufflepuff, hoping the Sorting Hat would understand his intention.
"A comforting young wizard," a faint voice murmured in his mind. "Few people remember the songs the old hat has sung. You wish to go to Hufflepuff? Of course… not."
Sean: "…"
Best not to respond.
"Why?" Sean asked quietly in his thoughts.
"Then let the old hat sing again—beautiful Ravenclaw, by the peaceful riverside…"
The Sorting Hat suddenly began to sing, twisting atop Sean's head.
"Mr. Sorting Hat?" Sean held his head, bewildered.
"Those wise and knowledgeable shall go to clever Ravenclaw…"
The hat continued to twist and sing, its voice growing more animated.
"I want to go to Hufflepuff," Sean insisted inwardly, beginning to realize something was wrong.
"Ravenclaw says: the students we teach must possess superior intelligence…"
The song went on and on.
"I want to go to Hufflepuff!" Sean made one final attempt.
"Stubborn young wizard, why must you go to Hufflepuff?"
"Mr. Sorting Hat," Sean replied, exhausted, "why must I go to Ravenclaw?"
"Hmmm… practicing spells thirteen hours a day until you can no longer move; unable to read English, yet memorizing every book you purchased within two months… Besides Rowena herself, the old hat has not seen a wizard so hungry for knowledge in a very long time.
"Slytherin can help you achieve your ambition. Gryffindor would admire your courage. Hufflepuff would gladly accept your kind heart."
The Sorting Hat's voice carried a trace of emotion.
"But only Ravenclaw can grant a wise wizard the ability to walk toward the truth."
"I want to go to Hufflepuff."
Sean felt his morale sink.
"All right," the Sorting Hat said suddenly.
Sean's emerald eyes lit up.
"Just kidding!"
The hat's voice boomed through the hall.
"RAVENCLAW!"
A crestfallen Sean pinched the brim of the Sorting Hat.
"Ouch, ouch, ouch…" the hat protested.
Hearing its indignant voice, Sean felt slightly better—though he did not hear what came next.
…So, I tricked Ravenclaw again. Truly a family trait. Rowena, you always pinched the old hat without a second thought… Twelve centuries have passed, and at last the hat has fulfilled its promise to Gryffindor, finding an heir for Ravenclaw. Just watch—within that scrawny little body lies great power. The old hat is never wrong.
Ravenclaw is fine too, Sean told himself.
At least it's not Slytherin.
Before Sean could hand the Sorting Hat back to Professor McGonagall, enthusiastic applause erupted from the Ravenclaw table. Even Gryffindor and Hufflepuff joined in, and Sean noticed that the most enthusiastic of all was Justin, who had actually stood up.
He led a group of Hufflepuffs in thunderous applause.
Seeing this only made Sean feel worse.
What a wonderful Hufflepuff.
What a hateful Sorting Hat.
At the center of the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall looked at Sean kindly. His worn, pilled clothes had been replaced with simple Hogwarts robes, and his ill-fitting shoes were now proper British leather boots. A quiet longing shone in his cautious emerald eyes.
She removed the hat.
"Are you ready, Mr. Green," she asked softly, "to embrace your new life?"
Sean paused for a moment, then Professor McGonagall gently guided him toward the Ravenclaw table.
"Welcome!"
A slightly chubby young wizard beside his seat waved cheerfully.
"I can't believe you're a Hatstall!"
Behind thick copper-rimmed glasses, a curious gaze examined Sean. After a small jolt, the boy extended his hand—only for his glasses to slip, forcing him to withdraw it to adjust them instead. Finally, flustered, he apologized repeatedly.
"Hatstall?" Sean asked, unbothered but confused.
"Oh! My goodness! You don't know?" The boy's mouth fell open.
"Terry, not everyone studies that tattered hat," a voice said from behind him.
A wizard with long black hair leaned forward, interrupting Terry before he could continue.
"Don't mind him. Terry likes researching strange questions. When I first sat down, he asked me how many windows Hogwarts has. Merlin knows why that matters—unless they all fall down and crush Terry while he's counting them from below."
"No, windows are important!" Terry protested, his face flushed.
"All right, all right," the long-haired wizard said soothingly, then turned to Sean with interest.
"Hatstall means the Sorting Hat had difficulty placing you. Any sorting that lasts more than five minutes counts. It's very rare—supposedly only once every fifty years or so. I'm Michael Corner. Welcome to Ravenclaw."
He extended his hand properly this time.
"Sean Green."
Their hands clasped briefly.
More than five minutes? Sean frowned. He clearly remembered the sorting as being quite short. It felt as though something had stolen time itself.
As the last new student was sorted into Slytherin, Dumbledore stood. He smiled broadly, arms open wide, as if nothing pleased him more than seeing his students gathered together.
"Welcome!" he declared. "Welcome to Hogwarts, all of you, for a new school year. Before the feast begins, I have a few words to say. They are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
As he spoke, Terry furiously took notes, while Michael wore an expression that clearly said, I knew it.
Sean paid little attention. Food appeared on the table before him as if by magic—piled high and steaming. Roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, steak, boiled potatoes, roasted potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, apple pie, treacle tart, chocolate éclairs, jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding… It was exactly as Sean remembered.
Time to begin, Sean told himself.
He activated what he privately called his "one-click sweep" mode.
"How does he manage to look so elegant while eating so fast?" Michael asked in disbelief, turning to the boy on his left.