When Skyl looked up and saw Professor McGonagall, she had already turned her eyes away.
The great doors of the castle stood wide open; Professor McGonagall led the first-years into the entrance hall. Off in the side chamber, the Start-of-Term Feast was already in full swing. The young witches and wizards were all starving, and all of them were full of anxious anticipation.
She explained what would happen next and some of the school rules. The Sorting Ceremony would begin shortly; at this point she made special mention of Skyl. As a transfer student he would be going straight into fifth year, but he would still be taking part in the Sorting along with everyone else.
When Draco Malfoy heard where Skyl had come from, he gave a soft, derisive snort. Before Skyl could turn his head, the pale-faced boy had already ducked behind his cronies.
"All right, wait here for a moment. I'll come back for you when everything is ready," Professor McGonagall said.
As soon as she left, the first-years began chattering at once.
Harry tugged on Skyl's robes.
"What is it?"
"What's the Sorting Ceremony like?"
"Just a little test."
Skyl noticed how anxious Harry looked, but he didn't say anything to reassure him. Better to let the boy steep in his nerves; all that unease and fear would turn into sharp joy once he succeeded.
The moment our star pupil Hermione heard the word "test", she immediately began muttering spells from the textbook under her breath. She had no idea how traumatic this behaviour was for the classmates around her. Harry's face went from pale to the colour of chalk dust; his eyes went blank. He was probably already imagining the miserable scene of being sent down from school because he failed.
This was also the classic early mindset of our protagonist Harry: on one hand reckless to the point of boldness, on the other panicking the instant he thought he'd done something wrong. Later, when he had lived through more and grown stronger and more confident, Harry would turn into someone who wasn't scared of boiling water even if he was the pig in the pot.
Skyl couldn't help thinking wryly that everyone had their younger days.
The young witches and wizards traded rumours about the Sorting, each one more earnest than the last: students had died during the Ceremony; it caused terrible pain; those who failed would be turned into rabbits or toads and forgotten by their families forever…
Just then a group of ghosts drifted straight through the wall and glided over the first-years' heads.
The first to scream was a Black girl with her hair done in lots of plaits, and then more boys and girls joined in.
The ghosts' bodies were transparent, shining with a pearly white light, chatting easily among themselves as if they were still alive.
Skyl was very curious about the way they existed. He half thought he ought to find the time to invite one into the Tower of Tomes for a bit of research.
"Who are they?"
"Ghosts, obviously."
A clergyman—Merlin knew why a wizarding castle had a priest's ghost in it—waved cheerfully to the children. "Hufflepuff would be a good choice," he advised. "Fine house, Hufflepuff."
Professor McGonagall returned and led them into the Great Hall. Skyl was a head taller than the children around him and stood out at once. His four little tagalongs trotted in step behind him; together they were almost at the head of the line. As they passed the long tables they could hear the older students' conversations. Skyl raised his eyes to the staff table at the far end of the hall. Professor Quirrell was talking quietly with Professor Snape, and when Professor Dumbledore caught Skyl's gaze he inclined his head from afar. A rush of joy rose in Skyl's chest, like the feeling of meeting an old friend again after ages apart.
Even a single hall in Hogwarts was almost as large as the main chamber of the Hall of the Elements in Winterhold, and it was magnificently laid out and decorated with taste. Luxury and the splendour of magic showed in every detail. Skyl had the odd feeling of being a country vocational student going abroad to do graduate work at a famous university—as if his life path were looping over itself, only this time everything was different.
The ugly Sorting Hat sat on its high stool and sang its song. Skyl freely admitted it wasn't a good song at all, but everyone still gave it warm applause.
Skyl thought to himself that if his roommate could be here to see all this firsthand, he would be over the moon. That roommate had always wanted to take care of the children from the books, never tiring of telling him, "Ah, if only I were so-and-so's brother, I'd look after him in every possible way."
Perhaps Skyl was the only one who could fulfil that wish now.
Then the Sorting began. Professor McGonagall took out a roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool. Hannah Abbott!"
A blonde girl with pigtails stumbled out of the crowd; she bumped into Skyl on the way and murmured an apology.
The Hat sat on her head for a moment, then shouted, "Hufflepuff!"
One of the long tables erupted in applause.
Skyl heard Harry let out a long breath of relief. It seemed he had finally realised it had all been a false alarm.
A little later it was Hermione's turn. She went up, and the hat yelled, "Gryffindor!"
Grinning, she lifted off the hat and ran to the Gryffindor table, waving enthusiastically as she passed Skyl and the others.
Ron grumbled twice under his breath, and when he saw Malfoy sorted into Slytherin he let out a smug, "Knew it," with a snort.
Next came Neville—Gryffindor as well. Then Harry Potter—Gryffindor. The little lions roared, "We've got Potter!"
"Skyl!"
Skyl walked up with a light step and put on the Sorting Hat.
He had long since mastered Occlumency, so he sealed away the story of his origins, leaving only a few sparks of thought in his mind.
"A very cautious student," the Hat murmured in his ear. "But I only need a little. Let me soak in the sea of your thoughts, let me glimpse your fate. Oh. Oh! Excellent, astonishing—so much magical learning, deep and wide, Ravenclaw would suit you well. No, wait… your fate is not that of a seeker of knowledge, more like that of a schemer. In that case Slytherin… But—Merlin's beard! You still keep your kindness and your honesty. Though rather than honesty, it's more like a proud disdain for lies. Yes, that's it—pride. Your pride is like the rising sun, climbing higher and higher!"
Skyl hadn't expected the Sorting Hat to do more than read minds; that it could feel fate itself delighted him. "Mr Hat, you've made me very interested in you. My place is quite big—you should come and visit sometime."
"No, I don't think that would be wise," the Hat said stiffly.
"Oh, come on. It's great fun. And if you get tired, you can just sleep," Skyl said gently.
The Hat shrieked, "Gryffindor!"
Amid the cheers and applause, Skyl regretfully lifted off the Hat and stood up, seeing Harry, Hermione, and Neville all waving wildly at him.
Lastly, and unsurprisingly, Ron went into Gryffindor as well. The little group was reunited, delighted. Compared with Winterhold, the students here were much friendlier.
The feast that followed was even more lavish. In his heart Skyl felt that Hogwarts' cooks weren't as good as he was, nor as good as his house-elf Gally, but it was still worlds better than gnawing on bread and washing it down with ale in Winterhold.
Skyl sat beside Harry, with Neville on his other side; Hermione and Ron were opposite. Skyl started to amuse himself again. He speared a roast chicken from a silver platter and dropped it on Harry's plate. "As a wizard, you ought to eat more meat and exercise a lot. Get your body strong. At my old school, the mages' favourite extracurricular was boxing! We even held a Winterhold Boxing Championship every year."
He clapped Harry on the shoulder. "You're too skinny. You'd be knocked out in the first round. How are you going to study properly like that? Eat up." He turned and squeezed Neville's cheek. "You, on the other hand, are a bit plump—but strong. That's good. And you, Ron—be a man. Starting tomorrow, we're getting up early to work out, and we'll rally Gryffindor for a passion-fuelled boxing tournament!"
Neville was so startled that half a sausage fell out of his mouth. Harry nodded silently, while Ron's happy eater's grin vanished the instant he heard the words "get up early".
Hermione blinked and, unusually, stayed silent, hiding her face in her pudding. Skyl's words travelled up and down the length of the table. The Weasley twins thought he was hilarious and raised their goblets to him from afar, while model student Percy looked distinctly displeased, filing Skyl away as a troublemaker to be watched. Just listen to him—not even term had started yet and he was already talking about organising mass brawls. What kind of good person thought of that?
But this was Gryffindor. Everyone just laughed and thought it was fun.
After the meal, Dumbledore announced a few rules: don't go into the Forbidden Forest, don't visit the corridor on the right-hand side of the fourth floor, don't do magic in the corridors between classes, don't wander the halls at night, and so on.
Before bed, all the students and teachers had to sing the school song—the final part of the welcome. Skyl had no faith at all in his singing voice, so he mumbled his way through it. Harry, beside him, sang quietly to the tune of a lullaby.
"You like lullabies?" Skyl asked.
Harry pressed his lips together, then explained softly, "It's the only tune I remember. A music teacher taught it to me."
Skyl nodded and ruffled the little brat's hair. "Don't be sad."