Chapter 37: The Sorting Ceremony
Barrett stepped into the Great Hall of Hogwarts for the first time—and for once, he allowed himself to be impressed.
The massive chamber shimmered with enchantment, the floating candles dancing lazily under the enchanted ceiling that mirrored the star-dotted night sky. The four house tables stretched out in perfect symmetry, packed with students all dressed in black robes. At the far end, the staff table loomed slightly elevated, with aged but powerful figures watching over the sea of new faces.
And at the center of it all sat a battered old hat on a stool.
Barrett took it all in. The castle reeked of old magic—ancient, clever, and layered like the bark of a thousand-year-old tree. Nothing flashy like the sorcery of Heaven or even the warped energies of Hell, but it had depth. Familiar in the way a locked chest full of secrets feels familiar to a thief.
"I think I'll enjoy exploring every shadowy corridor of this place," Barrett mused, his lips twitching at the corners.
Around him, the other first-years were practically shaking in their boots. Literally, in one unfortunate boy's case, who had somehow managed to trip over his own robe and had to be helped up by a girl with sharp green eyes who clearly didn't appreciate the contact.
"Do you think it'll bite?" one boy whispered to another, staring at the Sorting Hat.
"I heard it screams if it doesn't like your thoughts," another muttered, eyes wide with fear.
Barrett blinked. "Screams? What sort of idiot started that rumor?" He followed the line of whispering students and spotted a smug redhead grinning like he'd won the lottery. "Ah, yes. Must be a Weasley. That tracks."
It seemed some pure-blood families had made it a rite of passage to scare the living daylights out of their younger siblings with horrific tales of the Sorting Ceremony. Barrett had overheard snippets on the train—stories of children being eaten alive by the Sorting Hat or turned into toads if they weren't "worthy."
The hat itself looked like it was held together by sheer stubbornness. A long tear near the brim served as its mouth. It gave off an odd aura—sentient, but not malicious. Curious, even. Barrett could tell it was alive, infused with a kind of awareness, almost like a puzzle box that tried to solve you.
Then the room quieted. The noise faded into hushed anticipation as a woman with strict features and square glasses approached the front with a long scroll in hand.
Professor McGonagall.
Barrett had done his research. She was the Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor House, and rumored to be capable of turning into a cat. He made a note to find out whether that rumor was true. It would be hilarious either way.
She set the scroll down, and then the Sorting Hat twitched. The tear yawned open, and to Barrett's mild surprise, 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.
You can keep your bowlers black, Your top hats sleek and tall, For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat And I can cap them all.
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! And don't get in a flap! You're in safe hands (though I have none) For I'm a Thinking Cap!"** 🎵
A beat of silence followed the song.
Then someone clapped. Then more did. Eventually, the whole hall burst into polite applause.
"Well," Barrett said under his breath, "that was more entertaining than I expected."
The sorting began.
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. "Abbott, Hannah."
A girl with blonde pigtails and nervous energy shuffled forward, tripping on her way up the steps. Barrett winced on her behalf.
The hat barely touched her head before it bellowed, "Hufflepuff!"
Cheers erupted from the Hufflepuff table, where the students waved her over with friendly smiles.
More names followed.
"Boot, Terry." "Ravenclaw!" "Bulstrode, Millicent." "Slytherin!"
The ceremony continued at a steady pace. Barrett paid half attention, storing names, watching reactions. He wasn't nervous—he already knew what house he wanted. The question was whether the hat would agree.
Then came the second, third names, until—
"Granger, Hermione."
Barrett's eyes snapped up.
Hermione stepped forward, composed and proud, her hair wild and her steps precise. She wasn't the same girl from the books or movies. There was an unmistakable aura about her—an odd thrumming in the magical field around her. Barrett blinked, briefly confused.
She was beautiful, yes, but there was something else—a strange pull. Like touching the edge of something chaotic and limitless. He didn't recognize it, but his instincts whispered danger. Power. Unpredictable power.
He watched more closely.
The Sorting Hat took its time.
"Hmm," it muttered aloud. "Very clever… ambitious too… but oh, what do we have here? This magic… ancient… and wild. My, my. Haven't felt this kind of chaos in a long time."
Hermione stiffened slightly.
"Better be… RAVENCLAW!"
Surprised murmurs rippled through the hall. Hermione turned smartly and walked to the Ravenclaw table, where students clapped—some with curiosity, others with cautious enthusiasm.
Barrett watched her sit.
"She's not the Hermione I remember," he thought. "And whatever that magic is… it's not from this world."
Then came the name that brought silence.
"Potter, Harry."
A skinny boy with messy black hair and round glasses stepped forward. Barrett narrowed his eyes.
Harry hesitated as he sat on the stool. The hat fell over his eyes and paused.
"Difficult," it said. "Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent… oh my goodness, yes—and a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?"
"Not Slytherin," Harry whispered.
"Not Slytherin, eh? You sure? You could be great, you know. It's all here in your head. And Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that."
"Not Slytherin."
"Well, if you're sure—better be GRYFFINDOR!"
The Gryffindor table burst into applause. Fred and George whooped. Ron clapped louder than necessary.
Barrett tilted his head. "So predictable. But he still might surprise us."
And then—
"Barrett, Wayne."
The name rang out strange and cold across the hall. Students squinted at him in curiosity.
Barrett strode forward calmly and sat on the stool.
The Sorting Hat dropped onto his head.
"Well now…" it said quietly in his mind. "You are certainly not like the others."
Barrett stayed silent.
"You're not human. Not fully. Fallen… celestial origin… a touch of something forbidden. You've got the power of a storm wrapped in silence."
Barrett responded dryly, "You're good at what you do. Keep going."
"Mysterious, too," the Hat chuckled. "But you're not evil. No… not at all. You've got questions. You hide from the light, but you're not made of darkness. You want understanding. Knowledge. Strategy."
The hat hesitated.
"There have been two very unusual minds this year… Miss Granger, and now you. Fascinating! Hogwarts hasn't seen a pair like this in decades."
Barrett's brows twitched slightly beneath the brim. "Just put me where I'll be least disturbed."
The Sorting Hat gave a thoughtful hum. "Then… better be… RAVENCLAW!"
The table clapped again, and Barrett rose calmly. He walked to the Ravenclaw bench and sat beside Hermione, who didn't look at him but clearly registered his presence.
He leaned back, expression unreadable.
"This year will be interesting after all," he thought.