As they stepped into the entrance hall, the new students could already hear the lively commotion coming from behind the large door to the right—returning students were already seated and eagerly awaiting the start-of-term feast.
"I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and Head of Gryffindor House."
Professor McGonagall introduced herself with a string of impressive titles, instantly commanding respect and awe from the young witches and wizards. Once she had their full attention, she continued:
"Now, let me explain what's about to happen. Before the feast begins, you will each go through the Sorting Ceremony. It will determine whether you belong in Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin. This is a very important ritual. For the next seven years, your house will be your home—you'll attend classes together, live together, and grow together."
"Also, your behavior will directly affect your house's standing. Breaking the rules will cost your house points."
Her gaze suddenly sharpened like the edge of a blade. "Let me make this very clear. Although I am the Head of Gryffindor House, I will show no favoritism. If I catch anyone breaking the rules, not only will I not go easy on you, I'll make sure the punishment is twice as severe."
The first-years froze like deer in headlights. Some of those who had been hoping to end up in Gryffindor were now silently reconsidering.
This House Head... is terrifying!
But for most of them, their biggest concern remained the mysterious Sorting Ceremony.
New students from wizarding families had been raised on tales about how frightening the ceremony was—likely exaggerated over generations. Meanwhile, Muggle-borns were completely clueless about what to expect, and the unknown alone was enough to terrify them.
Some had already started imagining themselves failing the test, standing alone in the hall as all four houses rejected them. One poor kid even felt his nose sting as he held back tears.
Tom happened to glance at Daphne, who was muttering something under her breath. Unfortunately, her voice was so quiet he couldn't make out a word.
Professor McGonagall noticed the growing fear on these young faces. Her usual stern expression softened slightly, a brief flicker of amusement in her eyes.
Still, as a responsible and fair professor who cared deeply for all her students, she chose to offer them some reassurance:
"There's no need to worry. From the moment you received your acceptance letters, you've been part of this school. The Sorting Ceremony only helps place you in the house that suits you best. You have nothing to be afraid of."
"Think of this school as your home. And what kind of home would ever abandon its children?"
Her gentle words had an immediate calming effect. The tension in the air eased, and many of the young witches and wizards began to breathe more steadily.
However, there's always one clever clogs in every group.
Not far from Tom, a blond-haired boy suddenly lit up as if he'd just had a revelation. "Professor McGonagall, did you say the school is our home?"
"Of course, young man," McGonagall confirmed with a nod.
The boy's expression changed in an instant, turning haughty and demanding. "Then what are we waiting for? I'm starving. Can't we eat first and sort after?"
McGonagall's face turned stony.
"You may think this is your home, but that does not mean the rules change just for you. After the Sorting, I'll be deducting five points from whatever house you end up in!"
"Wait—what?! Professor, you tricked me!"
Tom: "....."
...
"Hannah Abbott!"
The Sorting had officially begun. A rosy-cheeked girl with golden pigtails stepped nervously from the line and put on the Sorting Hat.
After a brief pause, the hat bellowed, "HUFFLEPUFF!"
The table on the far right erupted into cheers and applause. Some students waved to her, beckoning her over to sit beside them, while the Fat Friar—the Hufflepuff ghost—beamed and tipped his hat in welcome.
Tom smiled as he watched Hannah Abbott stumble toward her new house table.
"What a lovely girl..." Tom's sigh was barely audible, but someone nearby had been paying close attention to him.
Daphne: "???"
Is that really Tom's type?
The girl from the Abbott family? She looked like she came straight out of some countryside village!
Daphne glanced at Hannah, then back at Tom, who was watching the Sorting intently, and found herself momentarily dazed.
Truthfully, Tom was also zoning out, wondering which house he himself would be placed in.
Anything but Slytherin, he thought. Being Muggle-born, he never even considered it a possibility.
Of the remaining three, his only real wish was not to be sorted into Gryffindor.
Being too close to Harry would put him right under Dumbledore's watchful eye. Combined with his unfortunate name... he'd definitely attract more attention than he wanted.
He had no intention of becoming some grand villain, but neither did he enjoy being constantly monitored.
Besides, Daphne was right—Gryffindor was a magnet for chaos and trouble. And Tom? Tom wanted to be a quiet, overachieving bookworm. That sort of environment just didn't suit him.
Of the last two, Ravenclaw was his top choice. But Hufflepuff had its perks too.
After all, who could say no to living right next to the kitchen, with delicious food being prepared around the clock?
"Daphne Greengrass!"
Finally, the Sorting Hat called Daphne. The young witch was trembling with nerves as she ran up to Professor McGonagall and placed the hat on her head.
It took nearly a full minute before the Sorting Hat announced its decision—"SLYTHERIN!"
The Slytherin table burst into loud applause. This level of enthusiasm hadn't been shown for any of the earlier students.
The reason was simple—the Greengrass family was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood lineages. Only those from such families could command that kind of respect.
A few more students were sorted, and then it was finally his turn.
When the name "Harry Potter" was called, the entire hall seemed to hold its breath. Everyone waited to hear the result.
The Sorting Hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR," and the second table on the right exploded with joy. A pair of identical red-haired twins nearly leapt onto the table in celebration.
Meanwhile, the Slytherin table was deathly silent. A few students watched Potter with unreadable expressions, their lips moving as if whispering things only they could hear.
It was in this tense and strange atmosphere that Professor McGonagall read out the next name with a serious expression.
"Tom Riddle."
Perhaps among the students, only Hermione and Daphne were paying attention to Tom. To everyone else, the name sounded utterly ordinary—nothing worth noting.
But for the professors seated at the staff table... it was like a thunderclap in the middle of a quiet night.