A long line of utterly nervous young wizards followed the severe, commanding figure of Professor McGonagall into the Great Hall, one by one.
The space was truly magical, magnificent, and opulent beyond anything Harry or Fogg could have imagined. Students from the upper years were already seated at four ridiculously long, worn wooden tables. Floating impossibly high above them, thousands of candles illuminated the massive dining space. Allen couldn't help but look up, instinctively worried that he would be splattered by dripping wax, but he quickly realized the foolishness of his fear; not a single drop fell.
The tables were set with gleaming gold trays and goblets. A separate, long table stood elevated at the head of the Hall, reserved for the staff.
But the most surprising and magical element was the ceiling. It was a velvety, midnight black, dotted with a thousand twinkling stars, perfectly mirroring the serene night sky outside. Silver, hazy ghosts drifted amongst the seated students. Harry leaned closer to Allen when he heard a small girl with bushy hair and noticeably large front teeth explain rather haughtily to her girlfriend, "There's a powerful charm cast on the ceiling. It's made to look exactly like the sky outside, you know. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."
Professor McGonagall gently placed a simple, four-legged stool in front of the assembled first-years, then placed a crested wizard's hat upon it. The hat was visibly patched, profoundly worn, and extremely dirty.
Suddenly, the hat jerked to life and began to sing, sending a ripple of sheer amazement through the first-years.
When the ancient artifact finished its lengthy, lyrical description of the four founders and the qualities they sought, the entire Hall erupted in enthusiastic applause. The Hat gracefully bowed to all four House tables and then remained motionless.
Professor McGonagall, holding a long roll of parchment, then began calling out names. One by one, the named child would step forward and sit on the stool. The Hat would pause—sometimes briefly, sometimes agonizingly long—before shouting the assigned House. Applause would rise from the appropriate long table, and magically, the new wizard's uniform and robes would instantly change, adjusting their lining and trim to reflect the House colors and crest.
Before the official sorting began, Allen had intentionally tuned out the name of the girl with the rosy cheeks and golden braids who was the first to be sorted into Hufflepuff.
Fogg Brown was sorted into Gryffindor, which came as absolutely no surprise to Allen. Fogg was many things—talkative, food-obsessed, and loyal—but he certainly lacked neither courage nor a keen, if often misplaced, sense of justice.
"Harris, Allen!"
Shortly after Hermione Granger was sorted into Gryffindor, Allen strode purposefully toward the square stool. His mind was already a fortress, intent on fooling the ancient consciousness calling itself the Sorting Hat.
When the dirty Hat descended upon Allen's soft, light-blonde hair, Allen shifted uncomfortably, maneuvering his head slightly to keep the brim from touching his face.
"Hmm, immensely talented, you are. I can feel the magic swelling within you, a growth rate extremely rare for a young wizard of this age. You are calm, unhurried… neither eager to know your House nor quick to show your true thoughts. Where to place you? Wait! You have taught your mind to block intrusion before even starting school… no, wait! There is a powerful, almost desperate drive to amass knowledge, to seek wisdom, and to explore the unknown world, plunging yourself into the ocean of the arcane. For this, your place is here—"
"RAVENCLAW!"
Polite, appreciative applause rippled through the Hall. The Ravenclaw table, however, applauded with particular enthusiasm; at least a conventionally handsome boy had joined their frequently all-female cohort.
Allen walked toward the Ravenclaw table, feeling utterly drained and slightly pale. He had managed to obscure the secret of his rebirth and the System from the Sorting Hat—a monumental relief. But the Hat's suspicion regarding his advanced Occlumency concerned him. While he believed in the old man's generally good intentions, Dumbledore often manipulated others without regard for their personal autonomy.
Harry Potter's name echoed through the Great Hall!
A profound, buzzing wave of whispers swept the room. Crowds craned their necks, all desperate to catch a glimpse of the legendary boy who had miraculously defeated the Dark Lord and survived.
Harry looked agonizingly nervous. He sat on the stool, eyes clamped shut, his hands gripping the edges tightly, muttering furiously to himself. He remained on the stool for an exceptionally long time until the Hat finally screamed: "GRYFFINDOR!"
"WE GOT POTTER! WE GOT POTTER!"
A wild, deafening cheer erupted from the Gryffindor table. Students rushed to shake Harry's hand, a gesture of profound, collective pride.
Ron, called second to last, was also Sorted into Gryffindor, his older brothers applauding with exaggerated enthusiasm, bringing immense relief to Ron's pale, freckled face.
Allen glanced at the table across the Hall. Harry and Fogg were looking at him with expressions of regret. Allen felt a strong surge of satisfaction. This was ideal. Even though he had preemptively befriended Harry as his father wished, as long as he maintained a healthy distance at school, keeping their interactions strictly social, Dumbledore was less likely to view him as an influence on the prophecy and would refrain from interfering too much with his personal future.
After all, Allen planned to live his own life now. He had no intention of obscuring his talents in class. He could only gain the necessary advantage by performing exceptionally well. Teachers, after all, always favor those who excel, don't they?
"You know Harry Potter over there, then?" A lazy, inquisitive voice suddenly sounded next to him.
"Yes," Allen replied simply, turning away from the excited Gryffindor crowd to look at his new companion.
The voice belonged to a boy with light brown hair, fair skin, a scattering of freckles, and pronounced dark circles under his eyes.
"Didn't you sleep well last night?" Allen couldn't help but ask. It was jarring to see such deep exhaustion on an otherwise energetic-looking young boy.
"Yeah, I'm perpetually sleep-deprived," the boy admitted honestly, his brown eyes filled with sincere exhaustion.
"My name is Allen Harris. It's good to meet you." Allen extended his hand.
"My name is Edward, Edward Fox." Edward's voice sounded weak, as if he desperately needed a bed immediately.
Just then, Albus Dumbledore stood up. He smiled broadly at the students, opening his arms as if nothing brought him more joy than seeing them all together. "Welcome!" he boomed. "Welcome to Hogwarts for a new year! Before we begin the feast, I have just a few words to say. And they are: Fool! Crybaby! Trash! Bend! Thank you!" He sat down again.
The students applauded and cheered, though with some confusion. Contrary to the general confusion from other Houses, a Ravenclaw student, who was likely fluent in Latin, leaned over to explain its likely meaning to a nearby student: "It's Latin for some kind of protective blessing, like 'Merlin's Blessing' or 'May the Founders guide us'."
However, a beautiful Prefect named Penelope Clearwater clearly disagreed with the general sentiment. "Dumps: We Ravenclaw witches and wizards are generally considered the smartest, and as Rowena's students, we often view anyone not in Ravenclaw as simply stupid or a fool; Weepies: That word is often used to mean 'fat,' and unkind children use it to insult and belittle their larger, less physically fit peers. Gryffindors often see themselves as the brave ones, thinking other Houses are lesser in courage; Pieces: This word also refers to useless scraps of cloth, not material used for anything worthwhile.
He continued, "Slytherins, who champion pure-blood heritage, value absolute purity and unity. In their eyes, anyone not in Slytherin is useless scrap, not true wizarding stock; Warps: The Hufflepuff students fall into none of the prior three categories. They are neither exceptionally bright nor remarkably brave, and their ranks contain many half-bloods and Muggle-borns, but they always manage to glue everyone together."
After listening to Penelope's rather cynical analysis, Allen glanced at the senior several times. Based on her interpretation, he mused: "Dumbledore's true goal was likely to remind the Houses to drop their petty prejudices and unite… but even the Old Bee can't overcome generations of house rivalry. Thank Merlin I wasn't sorted into Slytherin."
At that moment, Allen noticed Edward's eyes widen in genuine delight. The long table before them was instantly laden with an impossible array of food: roast beef, fried chicken, huge pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, steaks, boiled potatoes, baked potatoes, crisps, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, thick gravy, ketchup, and, inexplicably, even bowls of mint humbugs.
The sheer abundance of delicious food immediately lifted the atmosphere, and everyone began clinking glasses and enjoying themselves. Perhaps the sudden relaxation following the intense tension of the Sorting had sharpened their appetites, for the students ate with gusto. But Allen quietly lamented, "It looks like even the occasional German meal will be hard to find now."
Finally, after the last of the creamy desserts were finished, Professor Dumbledore rose again. The Hall fell silent once more. "Ah, now that we are all fed and watered, I have a few closing words. At the start of the term, I have several points to make…"
"Attention first years: The forest on the campus grounds is strictly forbidden to all students. Some of our teaching staff should also remember this," Dumbledore added, his bright eyes twinkling mischievously as they flickered toward the Weasley twins.
"Furthermore, our caretaker, Mr. Filch, has asked me to remind you that no magic is to be performed in the corridors between classes."
The Quidditch team selection process will be held during the second week of the term. Those interested in trying out for their House team should contact Madam Hooch.
"Finally, I must tell you all that no one is permitted to enter the corridor on the third floor on the right-hand side unless they wish to suffer a particularly painful death."
The silence in the Hall broke into nervous laughter, even Harry joining in heartily. At first, the young wizards thought their Headmaster was making a bizarre joke, but they quickly realized that the majority of the older students weren't laughing at all.
"Now, let us all sing the school song before heading off to bed!" Dumbledore cried out, and the expressions on the faces of the teachers and most older students stiffened considerably.
Dumbledore flicked his wand, and a long, golden ribbon snaked over the High Table, magically weaving lines of text like a serpent.
"Each of you, choose your favorite tune," Dumbledore instructed. "Off we go!"
...
Finally, after the Weasley twins—the very ones Dumbledore had just warned—managed to further derail the already chaotic melody by singing it to the tune of a funeral march, everyone finished the school song in a disorganized, embarrassing muddle and began to file out of the Hall.
Allen, who had found the food acceptable but the school song utterly painful, pinned his final hopes for comfort on the accommodation. He hoped the Ravenclaw common room and dormitories would offer a much-needed haven of peace and style.