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[HP] 28: The Sorting Ceremony
🕑 Added 2025-07-13 17:58:32 +0000 UTCWhat a splendid speech.
Such a blatant disregard for decorum was like a slap to Draco Malfoy’s proud, pure-blooded face, causing the smirk on his lips to vanish in an instant.
The blond, arrogant boy’s noble-style, middle-school-level social maneuver had failed spectacularly. The scene was like a dramatic showdown where the mistress insulted the wife to her face—only to be slapped in front of everyone by the male lead.
Alright, maybe that was a bit exaggerated. In reality, this was simply the very first meeting between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.
Harry, with his perpetually messy black hair and “Snape’s nemesis” green eyes, stood beside Ron, facing off against the immaculately combed blond Draco Malfoy.
Harry Potter, a born Gryffindor, had fundamentally different values from Draco. Coupled with a natural bias and the fact that he already regarded Ron as a friend, there was no way he would tolerate anyone insulting him.
Having grown up with barely any friends, Harry placed a great deal of importance on the very first one he made.
Though Draco Malfoy tried to act mature, he was still an eleven-year-old boy. Being so openly rebuked by Harry left him momentarily speechless and flustered.
Fortunately, a stern-looking professor stepped out from the Great Hall. Her hair was swept up into a tight bun, and she wore a deep green robe. With just a single glance, she silenced the chattering young witches and wizards.
Draco Malfoy gratefully seized the opportunity to step aside and save face.
“Good evening, first-years. Welcome to Hogwarts,” the elder professor addressed them. “I am the Deputy Headmistress of the school. You may call me Professor McGonagall.”
She noticed the group of damp, bedraggled children and gave a wave of her wand. In an instant, their wet clothes dried as if by magic—because it was.
“She’s Minerva McGonagall, the deputy headmistress who sent us the letter,” Hermione whispered in Louis’s ear. “She looks very strict… but she’s amazing. That spell was incredible.”
Louis nodded calmly, thinking to himself: You haven’t even seen her turn into a cat yet.
“In a moment, you will enter through the main doors and join the rest of the students in the Great Hall,” Professor McGonagall continued. “But before that, you will be sorted into your Houses.”
“There are four Houses: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff.”
She paused, scanning every young face seriously. “While you’re here, your House will be your family. Your behavior will reflect on your House—both your triumphs and your missteps.”
“Good behavior and achievements will earn your House points. Misbehavior or breaking school rules will cost your House points. At the end of the term, the House with the most points will be awarded the House Cup, and their banners will be displayed throughout the Hall.”
Once she confirmed everyone had understood, Professor McGonagall gave a nod. “Follow me. I’ll take you inside.”
The doors to the Great Hall swung open.
Four long tables stretched nearly the entire length of the hall, lined with students from each House. At the front sat the faculty, including the professors who taught their subjects.
Among them sat Quirinus Quirrell, easily recognized by the turban wrapped around his head.
Above them, hundreds of white candles floated in the air, flickering gently yet never burning out. The ceiling was enchanted to mirror the stormy skies outside, making it seem like there was no roof at all.
“That’s not the real sky,” Hermione explained to Louis. “It looks exactly the same, but it’s magical. Oh, but I suppose you already read about it in the book.”
“I did,” Louis replied with a smile, “but I’m always glad to hear a beautiful lady explain it to me.”
At the House tables, the older students eyed the newcomers with amused and mischievous looks. They whispered among themselves, their expressions full of smug satisfaction.
At Hogwarts, there was an unspoken tradition: no one ever described the Sorting Ceremony accurately.
Generation after generation of Hogwarts students had maintained this mysterious air, ensuring each new batch of first-years experienced a curious blend of wonder and anxiety. They lied to their younger siblings, their children, even wrote misleading descriptions in books.
Stories ranged from dueling dragons to complex magical tests—even exorcising undead creatures.
No one quite knew who started the tradition, but no one wanted to see it end either.
The logic was simple: If I had to fall for it, then so do you.
In truth, it was all nonsense. The Sorting Ceremony involved no dragons, no magical battles, no zombies—just a worn, dusty old hat placed on a stool that sang an off-key song.
Professor McGonagall approached the stool, gave the hat a firm pat as if to remind it to behave, and then lifted it up, turning to the anxious crowd of first-years.
“When I call your name, come forward and sit on the stool. The Sorting Hat will assign you to your House.”
“The first one—Hannah Abbott.”
A girl flinched as her name was called. Trembling slightly, she walked forward and climbed onto the stool.
When Professor McGonagall placed the hat on her head, her expression showed her nervousness.
“A kind-hearted soul,” the Sorting Hat murmured. “Hufflepuff!”
The Hufflepuff table erupted with cheers, welcoming the new student warmly.
“So that’s the Sorting Ceremony? Nothing like what the book said—no difficult magic tests at all,” Hermione grumbled in disappointment.
Louis nodded and said, “Look around at those older students. See how they’re watching us? I’d bet this is all part of their plan—and every Hogwarts generation before them—to watch us squirm.”
“That’s so mean,” Hermione muttered, clearly displeased.
“It’s tradition,” Louis replied. “They don’t mean to be unkind. Look—don’t they cheer every time a new student is sorted into their House?” He pointed toward the joyful House tables.
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