Following Professor McGonagall, the first-years gathered in a small, empty room. They rubbed shoulders nervously, eyes darting around as excitement and anxiety mixed in the air.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall greeted them gently, introducing the four houses and the coveted House Cup.
Light sparkled in the eyes of all the little wizards—this was a new world for many of them.
"…I hope that no matter which house you are sorted into, you will bring honor to it."
"In a few minutes, the Sorting Ceremony will be held in front of the entire school. Please tidy your appearance and remain quiet while waiting. I will come for you shortly." With that, she left the room.
The young wizards soon began to whisper among themselves.
Harry asked Ron and Neville, who came from wizarding families, "How do they know exactly which house we belong to?"
Hermione perked up, eager for an answer.
"I think there's a test. Fred said it would hurt, but I think he was joking," Ron said with a nervous laugh.
Harry and Hermione shivered; a wave of panic spread through the group.
"Repairo" Hermione muttered the incantation she knew, her fingers twitching nervously.
Loren worried whether the Sorting Hat might see his past memories and mistake him for a dark wizard. Surely no one would be sent to Azkaban just for being sorted into the wrong house on the first day.
He hadn't thought about it before. He trusted Dumbledore and Snape wouldn't invade first-years' minds. But he'd forgotten about the Sorting Hat.
A group of friendly ghosts drifted out from the back wall, chatting quietly with the freshmen, comforting them and describing the virtues of their respective houses. Yet they did not reveal how the sorting actually worked, which made Hermione even more anxious.
Soon, Professor McGonagall returned and lined up the students. They filed through the entrance hall into the grand dining hall.
The enchanted ceiling reflected the starry night sky. Four long tables stretched across the hall, each filled with gleaming golden plates and goblets. The professors sat at a separate table at the front, all eyes fixed on the nervous first-years.
McGonagall placed a four-legged stool before them, atop which rested a battered, pointed wizard's hat.
The Sorting Hat's cracked mouth-like opening seemed to twitch as it began to sing:
*"Try it on and I will tell you
which house you should be sorted into.
You may belong to Gryffindor,
where there is courage buried in the heart.
Their courage, spirit and chivalry
make Gryffindor outstanding;
You may belong to Hufflepuff,
where people are upright and loyal.
Hufflepuff students are perseverant and honest,
and are not afraid of hard work;
If you are smart,
you may go to wise old Ravenclaw, where
those wise and knowledgeable people
will always meet their peers;
Maybe you will go to Slytherin,
maybe you will make sincere friends there,
but those cunning and insidious people will do whatever it takes
to achieve their goals.
Come and wear me! Don't be afraid!
Don't panic!…"*
The song eased the tension. The freshmen relaxed, understanding the process at last.
Except for Ron, still shaken by Fred's wild rumors, who shouted he'd "twist Fred's neck off" once he saw him.
The ceremony officially began as McGonagall called names:
"Hannah Abbott."
Loren spotted the new Hogwarts girl. With golden braids, she stumbled forward, sat down, and placed the Sorting Hat on her head.
"Hufflepuff!"
Warm applause erupted from the Hufflepuff table, welcoming her regardless of blood status.
When Hermione's name was called, she hurried up. Before the hat even touched her head, it whispered clearly:
"Gryffindor!"
She exhaled, heart and breath slowing, then glanced at Loren. In this unfamiliar place, people naturally sought comfort in familiar faces.
Finally, it was Loren's turn.
His heart pounded; his secret weighed heavily on his mind.
"Oh, strange boy… there is a fog in your mind, and you don't seem very clever," the Sorting Hat whispered.
Though he felt personally insulted, Loren was relieved—the hat hadn't glimpsed his past lives.
"Hufflepuff is a good choice," the hat continued, as if trying to curry favor with the badgers.
Loren relaxed and let his thoughts wander, Please, not Azkaban…
"What's in your head? Azkaban? Impossible!" the Sorting Hat asked sharply.
Loren shivered but said nothing.
"Okay, okay, then—" the hat dragged out the final word:
"Gryffindor!"
Loren found an empty seat at the Gryffindor table, his heart and rear both relieved.
As the sorting ended, the freshmen gazed at the professors on the stage.
Most striking was Albus Dumbledore, his silver hair shining brilliantly. Though old, he radiated energy.
"Idiot! Crybaby! Scum! Twist! Thank you all!" Dumbledore rose and spoke words that sounded eccentric, even mad.
But when Percy explained that Dumbledore was the greatest wizard in the world, those words took on a curious charm.
Food magically appeared on the tables—roast beef, chicken, pork and lamb chops, carrots, and the potatoes Loren remembered well.
The banquet's atmosphere soared as the freshmen chatted with ghosts.
One ghost introduced himself as "Sir Nicholas of Mimsy." Reluctant to talk about his head, he eventually obliged everyone's expectant gaze by shaking it off his neck and letting it slide away.
Loren admired the display. "If only he'd lived to see Louis XVI improve the guillotine, he wouldn't have this trouble."
They launched into a lively discussion about Louis XVI and his invention, ending with Sir Nicholas paying high respect to the monarch.
After the main course, various desserts appeared. Loren sampled several puddings slowly, savoring each spoonful. He even stashed some away for a midnight snack.
The conversation turned to their families.
Ron and Neville were pure-blood wizards, a minority among the students. Others like Seamus were half-blood, and a lucky few—Hermione and Loren among them—were from Muggle families.
Amid laughter, Loren caught shadows flickering on Professor Snape's arm and on Harry's scar—dazzling and ominous in the soft hall light.
The shadows faded quickly, but Professor Quirrell's turban glowed black again, lingering longer.
Prefect Percy introduced the professors: Quirrell, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, dressed in purple; Snape, Potions master with a hooked nose and a reputation for dark magic, in black robes.
Harry silently noted the Potions professor.
Snape noticed those gazes early and felt turbulent memories and complex emotions rising within.
The boy wasn't particularly likeable, but he had beautiful eyes.
"Now that everyone has finished eating, I have a few announcements…" Dumbledore began, warning them not to enter the Forbidden Forest or cast spells in the corridors. He emphasized the corridor on the fourth floor's right side with particular urgency.
Loren suspected there was more to this than met the eye.
Dinner ended with the school song—a somber, odd tune set to the melody of the "Funeral March." The singers seemed to enjoy it, and Loren listened with fascination. He planned to teach the twins Lost Rivers before graduation—it would be hilarious.
Afterward, the freshmen, exhausted but excited, followed their seniors back to the common room.
Loren, Harry, Ron, Neville, and Seamus were assigned to the same dormitory.
Though tired from the banquet, sleep did not come easily.
After greetings, the conversation grew lively. Harry and Ron already knew each other from the train; Loren and Neville had bonded; Seamus had met both on the boat.
They excitedly discussed courses—Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Potions.
Neville, shy and often stammering, mostly listened, while Ron dominated the chatter, clearly enjoying himself.
Harry worried about keeping up with classes. Loren and Neville took turns reassuring him, and soon he felt more at ease.
Before sleep, Loren noticed Harry sitting by the window, gazing at the moon.
"Harry?"
"Hmm?"
"Wish you a good dream."