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Chapter 50: The Belated Sorting!
🕑 Added 2025-03-10 04:15:09 +0000 UTCAt the front of the Great Hall, the professors sat in their designated seats, each one displaying varying degrees of anticipation.
Seated at the very center was Albus Dumbledore, clad in his signature deep purple robes. His long silver-white hair and beard were impeccably groomed, and his eyes, twinkling with warmth behind his half-moon spectacles, swept over the gathered students.
Ian met his gaze—and to his surprise, Dumbledore winked at him.
"This is always my favorite part of the year," came a voice from the faculty table.
Filius Flitwick, the Charms professor and Head of Ravenclaw House, was as small as a goblin but commanded a mastery of magic that far surpassed many wizards. His keen eyes scanned the new students with interest.
"So many bright young minds. I wonder how many will join our House this year."
Professor Pomona Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff, had the warm and welcoming air of a motherly gardener. She smiled expectantly, watching the nervous first-years shuffle into the hall.
"The Sorting Hat will decide for them," came the matter-of-fact response from Professor Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House.
She was the sternest-looking of all the professors, her lips often pressed into a thin line that radiated the no-nonsense authority of a Deputy Headmistress. Yet those who truly knew her understood that beneath her strict exterior lay a heart of deep care for her students.
And then there was Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House. Unlike McGonagall's strict yet fair demeanor, his presence carried a sharp, almost oppressive air. With his long black robes billowing like a shadow, he surveyed the first-years with an unreadable expression.
"Move to the center and line up," he ordered, his voice clipped and precise, allowing no room for argument.
The first-years, already anxious, quickly did as they were told, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.
"Professor Snape, thank you for your assistance," McGonagall said formally as Snape returned to his seat. She then stepped forward, stopping beside the ancient Sorting Hat resting atop its stool.
All eyes fell on the hat.
"Do we have to fight a troll?" someone whispered nervously.
"I heard we have to catch a Thunderbird," another student suggested.
"Nonsense! My father told me the real test is being locked in a room with a Veela," said a particularly excited boy.
Freed from Snape's intimidating presence, the new students started murmuring among themselves, exchanging theories about what the Sorting Ceremony might entail.
Meanwhile, the Great Hall was filled with the glow of floating candles, their flames steady in the enchanted air beneath the starry, enchanted ceiling.
Aurora, standing beside Ian, tilted her head back, watching the candles intently.
"What are you looking at?" Ian asked, his heart pounding with excitement.
"Why doesn't the wax drip down?" she mused, sounding a little disappointed.
Ian blinked. Good question.
"Maybe when they enchanted them, they forgot to add a realistic effect," he speculated.
Aurora nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense."
"Don't worry. Once I master alchemy, I'll fix this minor flaw for them," Ian said with a grin, already picturing the chaos he could cause.
Aurora gave him a long, incredulous look. "Were you always this much of a troublemaker?"
Ian smirked. "That's an excellent question."
Before Aurora could respond, McGonagall's voice rang out, loud and commanding.
"Silence!"
The Sorting Hat twitched on its stool, its seams stretching into a wide, jagged mouth. As gasps rippled through the younger students, it began to sing in a deep, resonant voice:
In this grand and ancient hall,
I sing once more, I heed the call.
For wisdom and courage, stand side by side,
Guiding young hearts, where futures reside.
Oh, youthful minds, so full of dreams,
Shall you burn with Gryffindor's gleam?
Or shall Slytherin's cunning and might
Shape your path with secrets and sight?
Hufflepuff's warmth, steadfast and true,
Offers kindness in golden hue.
While Ravenclaw's boundless sky,
Awaits the ones who dare to fly.
Come forth, let fate unfold,
I shall judge, both brave and bold!
It was loud.
Yes. Loud was the only word Ian could use to describe the Sorting Hat's singing.
He wasn't sure if it was meant to be poetic or dramatic, but he was fairly certain Gryffindor himself must have had some artistic flaws if this was his legacy.
For some reason, Dumbledore looked absolutely delighted, clapping along enthusiastically.
"Clap, clap, clap!"
Many students joined in, though some looked more amused than impressed.
Once the applause faded, McGonagall took out a roll of parchment and stepped beside the stool, ready to begin.
"Grace Allison!"
A freckled girl blinked in confusion, hesitating until a nearby student nudged her forward. Stumbling slightly, she hurried to the stool, glancing nervously at McGonagall.
"What do I do?" she asked in a small voice.
"Just sit down," McGonagall instructed gently.
The girl obeyed, and as soon as the Sorting Hat was placed on her head, it spoke.
"Hufflepuff!"
A wave of relieved cheers erupted from the Hufflepuff table. Seeing how simple the process was, many first-years exhaled in relief—except for a certain boy who had been hoping for the Veela test.
One by one, the students were called. Each walked up, sat on the stool, and left for their assigned House.
Until—
"Aurora Grindelwald!"
Silence.
The joyful atmosphere collapsed in an instant. The Great Hall, which had been filled with cheerful conversations, fell into an eerie hush.
Expressions of shock and disbelief spread across the students. Some gasped audibly. Others turned pale as whispers rushed through the hall.
Those unfamiliar with the name leaned toward their neighbors, whispering inquiries. And as they received hushed explanations, their faces drained of color.
"What…?"
Among the students who reacted the most strongly was Daphne Greengrass.
Just a moment ago, she had been chatting casually, but now her face had gone stark white. She watched in horror as the quiet, composed German girl beside Ian walked toward the Sorting Hat as if nothing was unusual.
Daphne could no longer hear the surrounding voices.
Her ears rang. Her vision blurred.
Her mind, however, had never been clearer.
"I am dead."
As memories of her previous snide remarks on the boat came rushing back, a cold dread settled in her stomach.
"No—my entire family is dead."
Yes.
Her thoughts had never been clearer.
