Once again, it was the familiar Sorting Hat's traditional singing ceremony that opened every new school year—a ritual as old as Hogwarts itself, performed without fail for a thousand years.
The patched hat began its annual song. The melody was the same wheezing, slightly off-key tune it always used, cracked with age but sounded oddly charming.
However, besides the normal, expected description of Hogwarts' four houses—praising Gryffindor's bravery, Ravenclaw's wisdom, Hufflepuff's loyalty, and Slytherin's ambition in the usual poetic verses, the Sorting Hat added something distinctly unexpected this year.
Something that made the listening students and staff exchange worried glances.
In times of old, when I was new,
And Hogwarts barely started,
The founders of our noble school
Thought never to be parted.
United by a common goal,
They had the selfsame yearning
To make the world's best magic school
And pass along their learning.
"Together we will build and teach"
The four good friends decided.
And never did they dream that they
Might some day be divided.
For were there such friends anywhere
AsSlytherinand Gryffindor?
Unless it was the second pair
Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw,
So how could it have gone so wrong?
How could such friendships fail?
Why, I was there, so I can tell
The whole sad, sorry tale.
Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those
Whose ancestry's purest."
Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose
Intelligence is surest."
Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those
With brave deeds to their name."
Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot
And treat them just the same."
These differences caused little strife
When first they came to light.
For each of the four founders had
A house in which they might
Take only those they wanted, so,
For instance, Slytherin
Took only pure-blood wizards
Of great cunning just like him.
And only those of sharpest mind
Were taught by Ravenclaw
While the bravest and the boldest
Went to daring Gryffindor.
Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest
and taught them all she knew,
Thus, the houses and their founders
Maintained friendships firm and true.
So Hogwarts worked in harmony
For several happy years,
But then discord crept among us
Feeding on our faults and fears.
The Houses that, like pillars four
Had once held up our school
Now turned upon each other and
Divided, sought to rule.
And for a while it seemed the school
Must meet an early end.
What with duelling and with fighting
And the clash of friend on friend.
And at last there came a morning
When old Slytherin departed
And though the fighting then died out
He left us quite downhearted.
And never since the founders four
Were whittled down to three
Have the Houses been united
As they once were meant to be.
And now the Sorting Hat is here
And you all know the score:
I sort you into Houses
Because that is what I'm for.
But this year I'll go further,
Listen closely to my song:
Though condemned I am to split you
Still I worry that it's wrong,
Though I must fulfil my duty
And must quarter every year
Still I wonder whether sorting
May not bring the end I fear.
Oh, know the perils, read the signs,
The warning history shows,
For our Hogwarts is in danger
From external, deadly foes.
And we must unite inside her
Or we'll crumble from within
I have told you, I have warned you…
Let the Sorting now begin.
The verses were ominous, and completely unprecedented in tone.
Setting aside whether the Hat sang well or not and frankly, its musical ability had never been its strong point—such explicitly warning lyrics, such directly dire messaging had never appeared in its songs before in their memory.
As the song ended with a final, wavering note that seemed to hang in the air with uncomfortable weight, the entire Great Hall was immediately engulfed in whispered, worried conversations.
Adrian turned slightly in his seat at the staff table and asked Professor Flitwick beside him in a low voice, "Was this messaging at Dumbledore's instruction?"
Professor Flitwick shook his head slowly, his small face showing worry and confusion. His generally cheerful expression had been replaced by something more troubled.
"I'm honestly not sure about that, Adrian, but at least in my memory and I've been teaching here for decades, seen many Sorting ceremonies—the Sorting Hat has never said anything remotely like this before. It's always stuck to house descriptions and welcoming sentiments."
He stroked his beard anxiously.
"The Sorting Hat is far more wise and perceptive than you might imagine," a small, resonant voice suddenly came from behind Adrian's chair, making him jolt slightly.
Both Adrian and Professor Flitwick turned around simultaneously in their seats to see the Gryffindor house ghost—Nearly Headless Nick, properly known as Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington floating peacefully behind their positions at the table.
"The Hat possesses genuine wisdom inherited from Godric Gryffindor himself," Nick explained in his slightly pompous, ancient manner of speaking. He rotated slowly in the air, floating upside down now with his head hanging at an even more disturbing angle.
"This ancient artifact has witnessed and absorbed a full thousand years of Hogwarts history—every triumph, every tragedy, every crisis and celebration. It can sense, in ways we living beings cannot, every significant threat and challenge this school faces. When it feels the danger is great enough, it issues its concerns in its own unique way through song."
Professor Flitwick nodded thoughtfully at this explanation, his expression becoming graver and more pensive. "That's actually rather frightening when you think about it. If the Hat felt compelled to warn us so directly..."
"Oh, but I'm only joking!" Nearly Headless Nick suddenly interrupted with a high, ghostly laugh that echoed oddly. His entire form shook with amusement, making his head wobble even more precariously.
"I'm completely making that up! Nobody actually knows what an enchanted hat is really thinking, do they? Perhaps it's just gotten more melodramatic with age! Perhaps it's developing a flair for the theatrics! Who can say?"
He chuckled at his own humor, clearly pleased with the joke.
"That's not funny at all, Nicholas," Professor Flitwick said with genuine irritation, glaring up at the ghost with as much severity as his cheerful face could manage. "Don't make light of serious warnings. This is exactly the kind of thing that causes unnecessary panic among students."
Nearly Headless Nick simply floated away still chuckling to himself, drifting up toward the enchanted ceiling where he could observe the scene from above.
Whether he'd been serious initially or joking the entire time remained unclear.
After this unsettling opening, the actual Sorting Ceremony officially began the business of assigning nervous first-years to their houses.
"Euan Abercrombie," Professor McGonagall's voice called out the first name from her parchment list.
A small, sandy-haired boy with prominent ears stumbled forward from the line of first-years. His new robes were slightly too long and he nearly tripped over them in his nervousness.
Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat carefully on his head, and the brim slipped down to cover his eyes.
The hat had barely settled, had barely touched the crown of Euan's head before it shrieked with certainty, "GRYFFINDOR!"
The Gryffindor table erupted in enthusiastic applause and cheers of welcome.
Accompanied by the approving noise and with evident relief flooding his face, Euan pulled off the Hat and ran toward the Gryffindor table as fast as his short legs could carry him. He nearly tripped over his too-long robes again in his excitement, but caught himself just before falling flat on his face.
His housemates welcomed him with pats on the back and friendly greetings as he found a seat.
The queue of nervous first-years waiting their turn gradually shortened as Professor McGonagall worked through her list with efficiency.
Most children were assigned to their houses almost instantly, with barely a moment's hesitation from the ancient Hat. Occasionally it would pause for just a second or two, considering, before announcing its decision.
Only a very few students took the Sorting Hat more than a handful of seconds to properly place.
Adrian's gaze swept casually over the decreasing first-year queue, examining faces out of interest and general curiosity. His eyes found and focused on John Selwyn again, picking him out of the cluster of waiting children.
The boy stood somewhere in the middle of the remaining line; his position determined by alphabetical order. His expression remained remarkably calm and composed, that same uncommon quietness Adrian had noticed on the train.
John formed a noticeable contrast with the nervous, fidgeting first-years surrounding him. While other children shifted from one foot to their other, twisted their hands, whispered anxiously to neighbors, or stared at the Hat with fear, John simply stood peacefully.
Again, Adrian felt that faint sense of something different about the boy—that rare composure.
When his gaze briefly met Adrian's, he only nodded slightly.
Clearly, he still remembered and recognized Adrian from their encounter on the train earlier.
Adrian returned the look with an encouraging expression.
"John Selwyn!" Professor McGonagall's voice rang out, calling the next name.
When this particular name was announced, quite a few upper-year students—especially those at the Slytherin table in their section of the hall immediately turned their attention toward the first-years with interest.
The name Selwyn carried significance in certain circles, and students from old pure-blood families would have been trained to recognize it immediately.
But clearly, they would be disappointed because John wasn't from that Selwyn family they were thinking of.
John walked forward steadily and put on the Sorting Hat.
The Hat gave its verdict almost the very instant it touched John's hair, barely needing a fraction of a second to reach its conclusion.
"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat's voice rang out crisply and decisively, without any hesitation or doubt.
The Slytherin table erupted in enthusiastic applause and cheers, welcoming their newest housemate.
Harry, sitting at the Gryffindor table with Ron and Hermione, followed the sound of Slytherin's applause across the hall. His eyes scanned the celebrating table, taking in the scene.
He happened to spot Draco Malfoy among the crowd of welcoming Slytherins.
Malfoy sat among a group of upper-year Slytherins, clapping mechanically, with no expression on his face.
"Look at Malfoy," Harry said softly to Ron. He kept his eyes on the Slytherin table, observing Malfoy's face. "Over there, with the older students. See him?"
Ron glanced in Malfoy's direction, following Harry's gaze across the hall. "What about the git? Did he do something?"
"He looks somewhat off," Harry said, frowning with confusion. His gaze remained fixed on Malfoy's distant figure, trying to identify what exactly was wrong.
"Off how?" Ron asked, looking more carefully now. He squinted across the distance.
After a moment, he shrugged. "Doesn't he still look as annoying and punchable as always? Pale Pointed face, that permanent sneer— Oh, wait. He didn't slick his hair back all shiny with gel today. That's different. Maybe his dad forgot to send him hair products."
Ron snorted at his own joke.
Harry fell silent for a moment, continuing to observe Malfoy as the Sorting ceremony continued around them and more names were called.
In fact, Malfoy was still the same Malfoy. But now, after spending the summer at Hogwarts, he gave Harry a strange feeling.
Soon, after the last first-year had been sorted and welcomed to their table, the Sorting Ceremony officially ended.
The Hat was removed from the stool. Professor McGonagall rolled up her parchment list with satisfaction. The stool was carried away.
Dumbledore rose to his feet at the center of the staff table; his tall figure instantly drew every eye in the hall. The buzz of conversation immediately died down to silence.
He smiled broadly, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles, and spread his arms in a welcoming gesture.
His very first words, delivered in his warm, grandfatherly voice, were: "Welcome, welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I'll save all the annoying administrative nonsense and tedious announcements for later—let's eat first!"
He clapped his hands together once.
Instantly, as if his words had been a magical command which they probably were—sumptuous food appeared on all the house tables throughout the hall.
Golden plates that had been empty moments before suddenly overflowed with roasted meats, steaming vegetables, fresh breads, rich gravies, exotic fruits, sumptuous desserts, and every variety of dish imaginable.
The appearance was so sudden that several first-years actually gasped in amazement.
The delicious aromas immediately filled the Great Hall, making stomachs rumble and mouths water.
Students eagerly began serving themselves, passing dishes back and forth, filling plates to overflowing, talking and laughing as the feast properly began.
At the staff table, Adrian chatted amiably with Professor Flitwick while enjoying the excellent feast laid before them. They discussed curriculum plans, recent magical discoveries, and shared amusing anecdotes from their summers.
The food was, as always, absolutely excellent—the Hogwarts house-elves were unparalleled in their culinary skills.
As for Umbridge on his other side?
Adrian naturally wouldn't initiate conversation with her. That would be asking for trouble, inviting unpleasantness, and he had absolutely no desire to engage with her false sweetness and malice.
Of course, Umbridge probably didn't have time or attention to spare for Adrian anyway at the moment. She was too busy with what she clearly considered more important targets.
She had twisted in her seat to face Dumbledore directly, and was talking on and on about something in her high, girlish voice. Her mouth moved constantly, words flowing in an unending stream.
Headmaster Dumbledore maintained a polite, courteous smile throughout her monologue. He nodded occasionally at what seemed like appropriate moments, made small encouraging sounds of acknowledgment.
But anyone watching closely as Adrian was from the corner of his eye could see it was totally perfunctory. Dumbledore's attention was clearly elsewhere.
He was giving her exactly nothing of substance while appearing to listen attentively.
However, Umbridge either didn't notice this clear lack of genuine engagement, or she simply didn't care as long as she had his apparent attention and the appearance of his ear.
Actually, she seemed to become more energetic and enthusiastic as she continued speaking, as if Dumbledore's nodding encouraged her further.
At one point, she became so energized by whatever point she was making that she actually pulled out a thick file tied with pink ribbon from her small, impractical handbag.
She tried to show it to Dumbledore, opening it on the table before him, pointing to specific passages with one finger.
Dumbledore simply smiled politely and waved his hand in a gentle but firm gesture of refusal. He indicated with his body language that he didn't want to discuss such dry, bureaucratic matters during mealtime.
After being politely but definitively refused by Dumbledore, the sickeningly sweet smile on Umbridge's toad-like face froze completely for just an instant.
Then the smile quickly, artificially recovered, plastered back on like a mask being repositioned.
She closed the pink folder. Then she pulled out a different item from her handbag—a small notebook with a pink leather cover and a quill. She opened to a blank page and began recording something rapidly.
The scratching sound of quill on parchment was almost inaudible in the lively, noisy hall filled with hundreds of students eating and talking.
But to those sitting close enough to hear it, to Adrian just a few seats away, it was quite audible.
And somehow deeply eerie.
Soon enough, as students began finishing their main courses and moving on to desserts, mealtime gradually went toward its natural conclusion.
Plates began to empty and stay empty. Students leaned back in their seats, comfortably full.
Dumbledore stood up once more, and the Great Hall immediately quieted down again in response to his movement.
"Well then," Dumbledore began in his warm voice, "according to custom and tradition, let me say a few words before I send you off to your dormitories. First is the perpetual matter of the Forbidden Forest—I emphasize this warning every single year without fail, yet students continue to ignore it with remarkable consistency."
A ripple of guilty laughter ran through portions of the hall.
"The forest remains, as always, strictly forbidden to all students. The name rather gives it away, doesn't it? Forbidden. Not 'Forbidden Except When Curious' or 'Forbidden But Not Really.' Simply forbidden. The creatures within are genuinely dangerous, and I'd prefer not to have to write to parents explaining that their children were eaten by acromantulas or trampled by centaurs."
Hearing Dumbledore's familiar warning about the Forbidden Forest, Hermione instinctively glanced sideways at Harry with a knowing expression.
To be honest, Harry had practically made the Forbidden Forest his second home over the past few years. He spent more time among those supposedly dangerous trees than most students spent in the library.
Harry caught her look and shrugged unrepentantly.
This was all with Professor Westeros's permission and supervision, so it absolutely couldn't count as breaking school rules. He had authorization. So, that made it fine technically.
"Additionally," Dumbledore continued, "Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has earnestly and rather desperately requested that I remind everyone not to cast spells in the corridors between classes.
As for other specific prohibitions regarding banned items and forbidden activities, please consult Mr. Filch's latest list, which is posted on his office door for your review. I'm told this year's list is approximately four inches longer than last year's version, which was itself considerably longer than the year before. At this rate of growth, we'll need to dedicate an entire wall to it by the time you graduate."
A ripple of suppressed laughter and amused whispers echoed through the hall at this announcement.
Clearly, absolutely nobody actually intended to pay attention to that list or take it seriously. It was treated as more of a suggestion guide for creative mischief than actual rules.
As long as you didn't get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, it was perfectly compliant!
"Finally—" Dumbledore's tone shifted, becoming slightly more serious. "Quidditch team tryouts for all houses will be held on—"
"Ahem."
Before he could finish the sentence and announce the actual date, Umbridge suddenly cleared her throat loudly from her seat beside him.
"Oh," Dumbledore said smoothly, turning toward her as if suddenly remembering something he'd overlooked. His expression remained pleasant, showing no irritation at the interruption. "How forgetful of me. I nearly forgot the important introduction of the evening."
He gestured toward Umbridge with one hand.
"This year our teaching staff welcomes a new member. Please join me in welcoming Professor Dolores Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I'm sure she'll prove to be a valuable addition to our faculty."
Polite, slightly unenthusiastic applause rang out through the hall from students and staff.
Most students looked just curious about the pinky figure, waiting to judge her based on actual teaching rather than appearance.
"Very well, then—" Dumbledore began to continue his previous thought about Quidditch tryouts, clearly intending to finish his announcements properly.
But before he could speak another word, Umbridge had already stood up from her seat, rising smoothly to her feet.
She didn't ask permission or wait to be invited. She simply stood, claiming the floor through sheer presumption.
"Ah," Dumbledore said after the briefest pause. "It seems our new professor has some important matters she wishes to address to the students."
He made a gracious gesture of invitation with both hands then sat down in his chair and folded his hands peacefully.
Umbridge's toad-like face immediately showed undisguised satisfaction and triumph at having successfully claimed the spotlight. Her smile widened grotesquely, showing small pointed teeth.
She straightened her garish pink cardigan with its excessive bows and frills, smoothing it down over her body with both hands. Then she cleared her throat again, more delicately this time.
When she spoke, her voice was that same sickly-sweet, high-pitched, girlish tone that seemed so utterly at odds with her appearance and age.
"Thank you, Headmaster," She simpered, her voice dripping with false gratitude and equally false humility.
"I must say," she continued in that nauseating voice, "it's just so lovely to be back at Hogwarts after all these years away. And just look at all these happy little faces..."
She gestured vaguely at the students as if they were adorable pets or small children.
Harry heard Umbridge's sickly sweet voice, completely at odds with her appearance, and couldn't help but get goosebumps.
What she was saying was clearly not the "important matters" Dumbledore had mentioned.
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