Professor McGonagall moved quickly and deftly, using a descaling charm and a drying charm. It took only a few minutes before it was Albert's turn.
She cast a slightly surprised look at Albert, then cast the spell on him as well. His clothes instantly became dry and warm, and the mud that had splashed onto his boots and trousers vanished.
"Now, please keep quiet," Professor McGonagall said loudly. "Once everything is ready over there, I will come back for you."
After Professor McGonagall left the room, everyone began whispering excitedly about the Sorting.
"How do they sort us?"
"How can they possibly sort everyone into the right house accurately?"
"Maybe there's some kind of test."
Mention of a test made everyone nervous.
Watching this, Albert couldn't help but smile. He began to understand why the others were so reluctant to tell the first-years how the Sorting was done.
What a bunch of pranksters!
"Aren't you nervous at all? I'm Alicia Spinnet." A girl came over to start a conversation. Albert had casually given her a hand earlier.
Of course, the girl was likely talking to him because of his calm demeanor; no matter how you looked at it, he seemed like someone who knew the secret of the Sorting.
As it turned out, she had guessed correctly.
"As long as it's not Slytherin, I'm fine with any house," Albert said with a shrug. He had no intention of spoiling the Sorting ceremony whatsoever; watching the first-years' nervous faces was actually quite entertaining.
Well, Albert admitted he did have a slightly mischievous streak.
Chapter 19: There Is a Spy Among Us
The first-years didn't have to wait long before Professor McGonagall returned. She lined them up in a single file and led them into the Great Hall.
The Great Hall was enormous, with four long tables filled with seated students. Hundreds upon hundreds of candles floated in mid-air above their heads, illuminating the entire hall.
The candle flames must have been some sort of magical fire; otherwise, the thought of all those candles dripping wax onto everyone's heads at once was a terrifying prospect.
Just as all sorts of bizarre thoughts were bubbling up in Albert's mind, the procession came to a stop before a stool, upon which sat a patched, frayed, and extremely dirty pointed hat.
Supposedly, this was Gryffindor's hat.
"I really wish they'd give the Sorting Hat a proper wash," Albert thought with mild disgust. The hat was simply too filthy—perhaps because it had been sitting around for a thousand years, or perhaps because no one had ever washed it at all.
It was almost too much to bear.
When Albert snapped back to attention, the Sorting Hat had just finished its customary opening song amid everyone's applause.
Professor McGonagall picked up a long roll of parchment and began calling names for the Sorting.
Naturally, Albert was called first. Who else could it be when his surname started with A?
Under the gaze of all present, Albert stepped forward, sat down on the stool, and let Professor McGonagall place the hat upon his head.
"Not Slytherin, not Slytherin."
Although he knew the chances of ending up in Slytherin were slim, he still muttered the words twice to himself just to avoid accidentally stepping into a trap.
"Hmm, difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, and a nice thirst to prove yourself," the Sorting Hat whispered in his ear. "Now, where shall I put you, other than Slytherin?"
Albert was momentarily speechless. Was the Sorting Hat implying that every house except Slytherin was a good fit for him?
"Oh, I think you've already made your choice. Then..."
"Gryffindor!"
When the Sorting Hat shouted out "Gryffindor," Albert instantly understood what choice it was referring to.
If he hadn't met the twins and Lee Jordan on the train, but rather students from two other houses instead, he probably would have ended up somewhere else.
Ultimately, the Sorting Hat helped him make his choice.
After all, Albert had to spend seven years at the school; he certainly didn't want to become the initial Hermione, with not a single friend to his name—how tragic that would be.
Not to mention night wanderings; the twins were undoubtedly the best partners for that.
As soon as the Sorting Hat shouted "Gryffindor," a roar of cheers erupted from the furthest table on the left.
However, the twins and Lee Jordan in the line all stared with wide-open jaws, never expecting Albert to be sorted into Gryffindor.
What happened to Ravenclaw?
After Professor McGonagall removed the hat, Albert walked toward the direction of the cheering. The front rows of the long table had been left empty, clearly reserved for the first-years.
As Albert approached, several people stood up to shake his hand. They wore badges on their chests, presumably prefects or the Head Boy and Head Girl.
He shook hands with each of them one by one, smiling and nodding in response.
The Sorting ceremony continued. After the Sorting Hat called out Slytherin, Albert turned his attention back to it. When Professor McGonagall read out "Cedric Diggory," he looked with curiosity at this minor character and cannon fodder from the stories.
The boy was quite handsome; no wonder he was described as a pretty boy. He just wondered if the fellow would still meet a tragic end, especially now that he, this little butterfly, was flapping his wings here.
As expected, the Weasley twins were indeed sorted into Gryffindor. A red-haired boy was delighted by this and waved at the twins. Albert looked over carefully—that should be the legendary Percy Weasley.
As a side note, the Weasley twins brought up the rear. Once they were sorted into Gryffindor, the Sorting ceremony concluded. Professor McGonagall rolled up her parchment, picked up the Sorting Hat, and departed, while the stool vanished along with her.
"Whoa! We thought for sure you'd be sorted into Ravenclaw." Both the twins and Lee Jordan stared at Albert with exaggerated expressions, as if looking at some rare and exotic beast.
Since this guy hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw, was there something wrong with the Sorting Hat?
"Is it really that strange?" Albert was unfazed by their reaction. "By the way, I just discovered a secret about the Sorting Hat."
"What secret?" Lee Jordan asked eagerly.
"If I tell you, it won't be a secret anymore," Albert said, having no intention of enlightening them. "And that's precisely why I was sorted into Gryffindor."
Albert swept his gaze across their faces and couldn't help shaking his head. "I gave such a clear hint, and yet not a single one of you guessed it? Should I say typical Gryffindor?"
However, the others soon lost interest in this so-called secret. With the Sorting over, it was time for Professor Dumbledore to give his speech, followed by the grand feast.
"Welcome..." Dumbledore said, looking at the students with a beaming smile, spreading his arms wide. "Welcome to Hogwarts for a new term! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
And just like that, a few words.
There was a gap—this was the real gap!
Compared to those windbags who went on and on with useless drivel, Dumbledore truly understood the minds of first-years, knowing full well that nobody had the patience to listen to nonsense.
"Do you know what those words mean?" Albert tilted his head to ask the prefect sitting near him.
The prefect questioned by Albert stiffened, clearly having no idea how to answer the question.
At that moment, the prefect suddenly felt that what that Weasley fellow had said earlier was right: this guy belonged in Ravenclaw, not Gryffindor.
"Looks like nobody knows. I suppose I'll just have to ask the man himself?" Albert muttered. Those words were practically an unsolved mystery in the Harry Potter stories.
The people nearby twitched at the corners of their mouths upon hearing this, entirely at a loss for words. Was this guy seriously planning to go and ask Dumbledore directly?
Even the students in Ravenclaw didn't have this level of insatiable curiosity!
This was definitely an eagle hiding in a pride of lions as a spy.
Hey, can someone hurry up and throw this fellow over to the next table already!
Ignoring the strange looks from the others, Albert fell into deep contemplation.
In his past life, there were several interpretations of those words circulating on the internet:
Rumor had it that the Latin meaning of those words was: May Merlin protect you.
Of course, some believed they represented the differing attitudes of the four houses toward people.
Ravenclaw students believed anyone who didn't enter Ravenclaw was a nitwit.
Gryffindor students believed others weren't as brave as they were.
Slytherin students believed half-bloods and Mudbloods were nothing more than useless blubber and oddments.
Hufflepuff students hoped students from other houses would tweak their ways of behaving.
As for what the actual truth was, Albert didn't know. Perhaps he would eventually get the chance to find out straight from Dumbledore himself.
Boom!
A bolt of lightning suddenly struck down through the castle roof, and the weather-simulation magic abruptly failed.
This sudden turn of events genuinely startled everyone in the hall.
Dumbledore drew his wand and cast a spell toward the ceiling. The lightning and thunder vanished, the torrential rain disappeared, and above their heads, the starry night sky was restored.
"Now, let the feast begin." Dumbledore tapped his goblet lightly with his spoon, and the moment he announced the start of the banquet, the plates on the tables instantly piled high with food as if by magic.
Chapter 20: At the Feast
The first-years were all marveling at Dumbledore's miraculous magic, but having already grown ravenously hungry, they cared far more about the delicious food right in front of them than studying how the Headmaster had pulled it off.
Albert actually knew how it was done: Dumbledore transported the food using magic left behind by Hufflepuff from the kitchens directly beneath the Great Hall, while Hufflepuff's Cup—which later served as one of Voldemort's Horcruxes—was the very first vessel in Hogwarts used to assist house-elves with magical food transport.
Naturally, Albert didn't miss the chance to quiz the prefect beside him on this matter, but the fellow's mouth was stuffed full of food, and he clearly had no intention of answering.
The dinner was lavish.
Though one couldn't exactly call it refined, it was certainly enough to fill everyone's stomachs.
Albert helped himself to a piece of steak and began slicing it leisurely. He wasn't particularly hungry; he had been snacking all the way along the journey.
Everyone else was eating with gusto. Sitting opposite him, Lee Jordan was gnawing on a chicken drumstick in each hand, looking quite comical.
Once the banquet began, the ghosts also made their entrances, popping out from various parts of the castle to greet the first-years and causing a brief stir.
Gryffindor's resident ghost was a male nobleman, presumably the legendary Nearly Headless Nick.
"Good evening, Mr. Ghost." Albert swallowed a piece of beef and greeted Nearly Headless Nick.
"I believe I prefer to be called Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington," the ghost said.
"Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington," Albert recited the long name in one breath. He was quite proud of his instant-memory skills for managing to retain Nick's name. "Can you take a picture? I mean, can you appear in photographs?"
"What? My boy, I haven't the foggiest what you're talking about." Sir Nicholas was quite pleased that someone had managed to pronounce his full name; he loathed newcomers calling him "Nearly Headless Nick."
"Photography," Albert said. "Please do take some time another day to pose for a picture with me."
"Very well, my boy. If you ever wish to... er, take a photograph, you may come find me." Sir Nicholas agreed, having taken quite a liking to this polite little fellow.
"May I ask one more question?"
"Ask away, my boy."
"What are ghosts? Are they souls left behind after death?"
"Wizards can leave an imprint of themselves upon the earth, to walk faintly where they once walked living, though very few wizards choose that path." Sir Nicholas did not directly answer Albert's question.
"A memory? But it doesn't quite look like it, so... truly a soul then?" Albert muttered to himself, knowing very well that souls did exist in the magical world.
After all, Voldemort had gone and chopped his soul into eight pieces.
When he finally snapped out of his musings, he noticed that the people nearby were all staring straight at him.
"Is something wrong?" Albert asked in confusion.
"Nothing at all." The others quickly retracted their gazes.
"I still think you should have been sorted into Ravenclaw," Fred mumbled with his mouth full.
"Swallow before you speak," Albert said, rolling his eyes.
"Why on earth are you so curious about ghosts?" a first-year asked.
"In the Muggle world, there's no such magical existence as a ghost," Albert said calmly. "Now that I have the chance to understand them, naturally I don't want to miss it. By the way, passing through a ghost feels freezing cold, so you'd best be careful in the future."
He had just secretly poked Nick with his finger and found it icy cold. Walking straight through them was probably the equivalent of getting doused in freezing water.
That certainly wouldn't be a pleasant experience during winter.
"Indeed, there are no ghosts in the Muggle world." A girl sitting two chairs away from Albert spoke up. Her name was Shanna Wilson.
"To be honest, when I got my letter, my family thought it was an elaborate prank at first. When Professor McGonagall paid a personal visit, they nearly chased her out of the house," Shanna Wilson said with a chuckle. "In fact, they weren't all that keen on letting me come here."
"My situation was much the same. My mother nearly called the police to have Professor McGonagall arrested," Albert laughed and said. "People living on the science side usually have terrible capabilities for accepting anomalies. They were hoping I'd go to Eton."
"Eton? You mean *that* Eton?" Shanna Wilson was astonished.
"What's that?" Lee Jordan asked, looking puzzled.
"It's one of the best schools in Britain," Shanna Wilson explained.
"Hogwarts is the best," George said, raising an eyebrow.
"I know that, of course, because Britain only has one magical school, so Hogwarts is naturally the best by default," Shanna Wilson couldn't help a look of disdain. "Ordinary people—or Muggles, as you call them—have tens of thousands of schools, and Eton ranks in the top three. I don't need to spell out what that means, do I?"
"Sounds impressive, I suppose." George remained unimpressed; truth be told, he really didn't understand.
"Don't just talk about us, tell us about yourselves too," Albert changed the subject, turning his attention to another girl.
"I'm a half-blood; my mother is a witch and my father is a Muggle," Angelina Johnson said. "They were open with each other from early on. Still, we've always lived in the Muggle world. I've been exposed to magic since I was little, so my family wasn't all that surprised when the invitation letter arrived."
Alicia Spinnet, sitting next to her, chimed in. "I was born into a wizarding family and grew up around magic, so there was nothing unusual about it. My family was quite happy when the letter arrived and bought me an owl."
Once everyone had eaten their fill, the remaining food on the plates vanished, replaced instantly by an assortment of desserts.
Albert helped himself to some pudding while listening to the first-years talk about interesting things.
When the feast ended, the plates on the tables were cleaned as pristine as if Tom had licked them.
Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet once more and announced to the assembly, "I am very pleased to welcome a new member to our staff. Professor Bard Brod has agreed to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
Scattering applause rippled through the Great Hall.
Professor Bard Brod was an elderly man.
"A few more notices to give you," Dumbledore said, looking out over all the students below. "First-years should note that the forest on the grounds is strictly forbidden to all students. Furthermore, our caretaker, Mr. Filch, has asked me to remind you not to cast magic in the corridors between classes. Finally, trials for the Quidditch teams will take place in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."
"Why aren't we allowed into the Forbidden Forest?"
"Probably because there's danger in there," Albert glanced at the eager-looking twins and said.
"If you dare go into the Forbidden Forest, I'm writing to Mom," Percy Weasley glared fiercely at his younger brothers; he knew their personalities far too well.
"We won't," the twins quickly promised.
Chapter 21: Roommates
"Now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore lifted his wand and gave it a light flick; a length of text formed from twisting gold ribbons floated out in front of everyone.
Members of the Hogwarts Choir stepped forward as well—the prefect sitting beside Albert happened to be one of them, and those in the very front row were holding large toads.
As Dumbledore waved his wand, the entire school began to belt out the school song, each person following their own individual tune.
Albert joined in, his mouth moving as he pretended to sing along.
There was no help for it; the song was hopelessly cheesy, and even the professors at the high table wore rather stiff expressions, clearly feeling less than enthusiastic.
Children were one thing, but a whole crowd of adults singing this sort of school song felt utterly mortifying.
"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts..." Right beside Albert, the eccentric Weasley brothers were singing to the tune of a funeral march, their tempo completely out of sync with everyone else. Several first-years nearby shot them sideways glances.
"...Teach us what we're worth, until we turn to dirt." Even after the song's final echoes faded, the pair kept singing at a laggardly pace. Albert suddenly felt a strong urge to cover his face, wishing he could pretend he didn't know them.
Once the last lingering notes died away, Dumbledore dismissed everyone to bed.
The welcome feast finally ended, and the crowd surged forward all at once, instantly causing a traffic jam.
Now Albert understood why the new arrivals were led out first.
If they had tried to follow the students from the other years, they almost certainly would have ended up going the wrong way. Just imagine a Gryffindor student accidentally trailing the wrong crowd and winding up in the Hufflepuff common room, only realizing they were in the wrong place at the very end—the sight would be magnificent.
"First-years, follow me." Guiding the Gryffindor newcomers was the prefect—the very same one who had performed on stage earlier.
He led them through the noisy throng, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase, parting ways with the first-years from the other houses.
The line of first-years walked through corridors, winding around the castle without taking the legendary moving staircases.
The corridors were hung with countless portraits whose subjects whispered among themselves as the first-years passed, and some even called out greetings to them.
The prefect led the first-years zig-zagging through the castle. You could never guess where the entrance was.
Right ahead of them might be a closed wooden wall panel, yet they would walk straight through a stone archway opposite; some doors required you to tap them in precisely the right spot for them to swing open, while others were hidden behind heavy tapestries or behind portraits.