As the new students stepped into the entrance hall, they could already hear the buzz of conversation and laughter coming from the doors to their right—the returning students were already seated, waiting eagerly for the Start-of-Term Feast to begin.
"I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and Head of Gryffindor House," came a crisp, authoritative voice.
Professor McGonagall stood before them, introducing herself with an impressive string of titles that immediately made the young witches and wizards straighten up a little taller.
Once she was sure she had their full attention, she continued:
"Before we begin the feast, we’ll be holding the Sorting Ceremony. This will determine which of the four Houses—Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin—you will join."
"It’s an important tradition. For the next seven years, you’ll be learning, living, and growing alongside your Housemates."
"Your actions will also affect your House’s standing. If you break school rules, points will be deducted."
Her gaze sharpened suddenly, the temperature in the hall seeming to drop a few degrees.
"And let me be perfectly clear—though I am Head of Gryffindor House, I will not go easy on anyone who breaks the rules. In fact, I’ll make sure your punishment is twice as severe."
A collective shiver ran through the group of first-years. Some of those who’d been hoping to join Gryffindor were now nervously reconsidering.
But fear of McGonagall wasn’t the only thing weighing on their minds. The mysterious "Sorting Ceremony" had many of them on edge.
Those from wizarding families had been warned in ominous tones—some even told scary stories about it.
As for the Muggle-borns, they didn’t even have those mysterious legends to fall back on. The fear of the unknown was far worse.
A few students were already imagining the worst—what if none of the Houses wanted them? One girl was so overwhelmed she nearly burst into tears.
Tom noticed that Daphne beside him was muttering something under her breath, though her voice was too quiet to make out.
Seeing how pale and jittery the kids looked, Professor McGonagall allowed herself the faintest smile. Her strict demeanor softened just a little as she added in a gentler tone:
"There’s no need to worry. From the moment you received your acceptance letter, you were officially students of this school. The Sorting Ceremony is simply a way to find the House that suits you best. That’s all."
"Think of Hogwarts as your home. And what kind of home would ever throw you out?"
Her words had a soothing effect. The tension in the room eased. Nervous frowns gave way to tentative smiles.
But not everyone took her words at face value.
Not far from Tom, a blond boy perked up with a flash of inspiration. "Professor McGonagall, did you say the school is our home?"
"Indeed I did, young man," she replied, nodding solemnly.
The boy’s eyes lit up as he dramatically clutched his stomach. "Then what are we waiting for?! I’m starving! Can’t we eat before the Sorting?"
McGonagall’s expression darkened in an instant.
"Do you think this is your house? The rules apply to everyone, and we are not making exceptions just because you’re hungry. Once you’ve been Sorted, your House will lose five points—for insolence."
The boy gasped. "Professor! You lied to me!"
The Sorting had begun. A rosy-cheeked girl with two neat blond braids stepped forward nervously and placed the Sorting Hat on her head.
After only a brief pause, the Hat bellowed out: "HUFFLEPUFF!"
The table on the far right erupted in applause and cheers. Students waved her over, and even the Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff ghost, floated up gleefully and doffed his hat in welcome.
Tom smiled, watching Hannah stumble a little on her way to the table.
The world hadn’t gone too far off course. That meant his knowledge of what was supposed to happen still had value.
"Good girl..." Tom murmured under his breath, almost to himself.
But someone did hear him.
Wait a second. That’s his type? Hannah Abbott?! She looks like she just wandered in from a potato farm!
She stole a glance at Hannah, then looked back at Tom, who seemed lost in thought, eyes fixed on the Sorting Hat. Daphne was speechless.
Truth be told, Tom was zoning out. He couldn’t help wondering where he would be Sorted.
Slytherin was off the table. With his completely Muggle background, Tom didn’t think it was even an option.
That left three Houses—and the one he most wanted to avoid was Gryffindor.
If he ended up there, he’d be too close to Harry, which would basically put him under Dumbledore’s microscope 24/7. And given his name... well, that was attention he really didn’t want.
Tom wasn’t trying to be a villain or anything, but he sure didn’t want to be watched like a ticking time bomb.
And Daphne had a point—Gryffindor was chaos incarnate. Trouble seemed to follow them like a curse. He had no intention of being caught up in all that nonsense.
He wanted peace. Quiet. Top grades. Gryffindor was not the place for a future academic legend.
Of the remaining two, Ravenclaw was easily his first choice. But Hufflepuff wasn’t bad either.
After all, who could say no to a House with a kitchen right there, and house-elves serving hot meals all day?
Finally, the Hat called Daphne. The young witch was so nervous she practically sprinted up to the stool. She placed the Sorting Hat on her head—and after a tense minute of silence, it shouted:
The Slytherin table burst into applause—far louder than they had for any student before her. A few kids earlier had received only polite clapping.
Daphne wasn’t just any student. The Greengrass family was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight—pure-blood royalty. The big-name families weren’t shy about showing their approval.
A few more names were called in quick succession. Then came the one that silenced the entire hall.
The moment his name was read, every single student fell still, holding their breath.
When the Sorting Hat finally announced "GRYFFINDOR!", the table second from the right exploded.
Students whooped, clapped, and cheered louder than ever before. A pair of red-haired twins were so excited they nearly jumped onto the table.
Meanwhile, the Slytherin table went ice cold. Whispers started up immediately. Some students were staring at Harry with unreadable expressions. Others were mouthing things too quietly to hear.
In the midst of this heavy, electric atmosphere, Professor McGonagall read out the next name—her voice low and steady.
To most of the students, it was just another name. Only Hermione and Daphne were paying close attention to him.
But up at the staff table, the effect was like a thunderclap. Several teachers stiffened, their faces pale. For the faculty, that name meant only one thing.