Chapter 40: The Sorting Hat
The towering doors of the Great Hall creaked open with an almost theatrical groan, revealing the splendor inside. Thomas stepped in alongside the rest of the first-years, trying to suppress the gasp that built in his throat. The hall was massive—larger than any room he had ever seen—and lit by what seemed to be thousands of candles suspended in midair, their flames dancing gently without any visible support. Above them, the ceiling shimmered like the night sky, dotted with stars and a waxing moon. He had read about it briefly: a magical enchantment that reflected the weather outside, but seeing it in person felt more like witnessing a dream.
Four long tables stretched from the far end of the room to just in front of the doors. Each was filled with older students, their robes marked by different colored accents. To the left, students wore silver and green; to the right, black and yellow. Straight ahead were blue and bronze robes, and closest to the center-left sat those with red and gold embroidery. The house colors, Thomas realized. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.
Near the front of the hall sat a fifth, shorter table—this one occupied by adults. Professors, Thomas assumed. Some wore stern expressions, others seemed amused by the incoming students. At the center sat a man with long, silver hair and a beard that touched his chest. His robes were brilliant, embroidered with moons and stars, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement. That, Thomas guessed, had to be Professor Dumbledore.
The first-years stopped walking as they reached a small empty space at the front, between the four house tables and the staff table. Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a no-nonsense stride. In her hands, she carried an object that made Thomas blink.
It was an old hat—tattered, stained, with frayed edges and what looked like a rip near the brim. It was placed on a high stool with reverence. For a moment, Thomas wondered if this was a relic from some great witch or wizard. But then the hat twitched.
He jumped.
So did a few others.
A wide seam near the brim opened like a mouth, and the hat began to sing:
*"Oh you may not think I'm pretty, But don't judge on what you see. I'll eat myself if you can find A smarter hat than me.
There's nothing hidden in your head The Sorting Hat can't see, So try me on and I will tell you Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor, Where dwell the brave at heart, Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart.
You might belong in Hufflepuff, Where they are just and loyal, Those patient Hufflepuffs are true And unafraid of toil.
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, If you've a ready mind, Where those of wit and learning Will always find their kind.
Or perhaps in Slytherin You'll make your real friends, Those cunning folks use any means To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid! You're in safe hands—though slightly frayed!"*
When the hat fell silent, a thunderous applause filled the room. Thomas noticed that even some of the professors were clapping, and the students at each table seemed eager, eyes glinting as they examined the newcomers.
Fred leaned over to George. "Imagine if the hat suddenly screamed and ran off the stool," he whispered with a grin.
George snorted. "Would give Ron a heart attack, wouldn't it?"
Thomas smirked at their antics, the nerves in his chest easing just slightly. It helped to laugh. Or at least to be around those who did.
Professor McGonagall now held a long parchment.
"When I call your name, you will come forward, sit on the stool, and place the Sorting Hat on your head. The Sorting Hat will decide your house."
The hall quieted immediately.
"Lysandra Bloom."
A tall girl with braided black hair walked forward, visibly nervous. The hat barely touched her head.
"RAVENCLAW!" it shouted. Applause from the blue-and-bronze table.
"Corinna Blackwell."
She was pale and graceful, and as soon as the hat settled, it announced: "SLYTHERIN!"
"Brenda Collins."
A short girl with glasses walked hesitantly.
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
And so it went. Student after student walked up, sat down, and the hat declared its decision. Some were sorted in seconds. Others sat in silence for nearly a minute before their fate was declared.
Thomas zoned out for a moment, eyes roaming the enchanted ceiling, the flickering candles, the vastness of it all. This was magic. Real, undeniable, beautiful magic. For the first time, he wasn't just observing it from a distance—he was a part of it.
He snapped back to attention when McGonagall called out, "Jasper Flintley."
A sturdy boy with unruly blond hair stepped forward.
"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat roared.
Thunderous cheers erupted from the red-and-gold table.
After a few name, Thomas's heart skipped a beat. His name was coming soon.
"Thomas Space."
The world fell silent.
He walked forward, his shoes echoing slightly on the stone floor. As he approached the stool, his hands grew cold. He sat down, closed his eyes, and placed the hat on his head.
"Ah," a voice spoke in his mind. "Interesting... very interesting."
Thomas held his breath.
"Quite the mind you have," the Sorting Hat mused. "So much clarity... and something else. Strength, tempered with empathy. Loyalty to your core. Wisdom beyond your years. But also... a fire. A brave heart, unafraid to stand firm, even alone."
Thomas said nothing. What could he say?
"You'd do well in Ravenclaw. And Hufflepuff could shape you into someone noble indeed. But Gryffindor... yes, there's something there. Something bright."
The pause felt eternal.
"I could place you anywhere," the hat murmured. "But where will you flourish?"
Thomas exhaled slowly. I trust you, he thought.
The hat chuckled. "Then let it be... GRYFFINDOR!"
Cheers erupted again.
Thomas took the hat off, blinking in the light. He made his way to the Gryffindor table, where older students clapped him on the back and welcomed him warmly.
"Good choice," someone said.
"Wait till you try our pudding," added another.
Thomas grinned shyly.
Minutes later, he heard the name he was waiting for.
"Fred Weasley."
Fred bounded to the stool with exaggerated flair. The hat barely sat before it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"
George followed, giving a mock-bow before sitting. "GRYFFINDOR!"
They were met with roaring laughter and applause as they plopped down on either side of Thomas.
"We're together, mate," Fred whispered.
"Three Gryffindors on a mission," George added.
Thomas nodded, a small smile curving his lips. He didn't know what lay ahead, but whatever it was, he wasn't alone.
And as the Sorting continued, Thomas looked up at the enchanted ceiling again, letting the candles and starlight reflect in his eyes.
He had crossed into a new world—and the journey was only beginning.
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