"The Summoning Charm!" Hermione blurted out, eager as ever. "Didn't I already tell you? When you wanted to turn your rat—Scabbers—yellow, remember?"
"That spell's trouble, I'm telling you…" Ron muttered, looking thoroughly deflated. "Can we please not talk about that?"
Harry had been about to say something, but when he caught sight of Ron's discomfort, he clammed up as well.
Hermione lowered her head, suddenly quiet and downcast.
Meanwhile, Wyzett was the picture of calm, perfectly at ease. He maintained his Custodis Meditatio (Guardian's Meditation), letting his mind become clear and tranquil as he soaked in every moment of the Black Lake crossing.
A cool breeze swept across the water, setting the lake's surface rippling.
Above, the crescent moon hung like a silver scythe, its light spilling across the lake and gilding the waves in shimmering silver. The ripples sparkled like brushstrokes in a living painting.
Beneath the surface, curious creatures of the Black Lake occasionally broke through, peering up at the passing boats with bright, inquisitive eyes.
Before long, the little boats glided through a curtain of ivy and bumped softly against the shore.
Hagrid led the way, lantern held high, guiding the first years through a pitch-black tunnel to a dock-like landing.
Here, at last, they saw the marks of human hands—stonework, pathways, the signs of ancient magic and effort.
They followed a pebble-strewn path upward, climbed a long flight of stone steps, crossed a broad courtyard, and finally stood before the mighty doors of Hogwarts Castle.
There was a brief pause for breath. The children, though winded, couldn't help but chatter and laugh, nerves and excitement mingling in the cool night air.
THUD, THUD, THUD!
Hagrid raised a fist the size of a small boulder and knocked hard on the oak doors.
Slowly, the great doors creaked open. Professor McGonagall stood framed in the entryway, tall and severe—her very presence enough to hush the children's laughter in an instant.
Hagrid stepped forward. "Professor McGonagall, I've brought the first years!"
"Thank you, Hagrid." Professor McGonagall nodded crisply, her gaze sweeping over the group. "Follow me. The Start-of-Term Feast is about to begin."
The entrance hall was vast, with a grand marble staircase rising at its center.
They climbed the stairs, turned down a side corridor, and entered a small chamber warmed by a roaring fireplace.
The fire chased away the chill clinging to the new arrivals. At the far end of the room was another door, and from beyond it came the muffled roar of hundreds of voices.
"Welcome to Hogwarts." Professor McGonagall stood before the door, her tone both formal and kind. "Before you enter the Great Hall, you must take part in a ceremony—the Sorting Ceremony."
"Your House will be your family at Hogwarts. You'll study together, share dormitories, and spend your free time in the same common room."
"That's why this ceremony is so important—it determines which House you'll join. Afterward, you'll become a member of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin."
"Every House has a proud history and has produced countless exceptional witches and wizards. Your daily performance will contribute to the House Cup, awarded at the end of the year."
"It's the highest honor a student can achieve at Hogwarts. No matter which House you join, I hope you'll bring pride to it…"
She straightened, her presence commanding instant respect. "Wait here for a few minutes—the Sorting Ceremony will begin shortly."
"All the staff and students will be there to watch. Take this time to compose yourselves and show your very best!"
She turned to go, then paused, glancing back. "When the stage is ready, I'll come to fetch you. Please keep quiet and prepare yourselves!"
There was no doubt—Professor McGonagall's stern words and forbidding demeanor sent a wave of nerves through the room. The children glanced at each other, but all they saw was shared anxiety. The easy laughter from before had vanished.
"We might have to fight giants! Or dragons!" Ron insisted, his voice trembling with conviction. "I didn't believe Fred and the others before, but now… maybe they were telling the truth!"
"Wyzett, aren't you nervous?" Harry asked, breathing on his glasses and fumbling with the cloth. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start…"
"Not at all," Wyzett replied, shaking his head with a gentle smile. "Just keep calm. That's the best way to face anything."
Maybe it was the effect of Custodis Meditatio, but he could sense a flicker of suppressed amusement beneath Professor McGonagall's sternness. And remembering what Cho Chang had told him, he felt no trace of fear about the ceremony to come.
There was something soothing about Wyzett's calm; those who heard him found their own nerves settling, if only a little.
Making use of the short break, Wyzett strolled around the room, taking in every detail.
A sudden clarity dawned.
He activated his Oculus Magicae, drawing in the ancient magical energy that lingered in the chamber.
The power flowed into his notebook, pooling as silvery-blue ink.
It wasn't much—just enough to light a small patch on the magical map, but not enough to open a new page or strengthen his Eye of Magic. Still, Wyzett understood: only by exploring more of Hogwarts could he gather the ancient magic he sought.
"Ghosts! There are ghosts by the wall! The place is haunted!"
A shriek drew everyone's attention to the far wall.
The ghosts, however, seemed more interested in their own conversation than the living children. It wasn't until a ghostly friar floated down from above that a new wave of excitement swept the room.
"You may call me the Fat Friar," the jolly ghost announced. "The Sorting Ceremony… oh, I do hope you'll come to Hufflepuff. That's my House, you know."
His words sent a fresh wave of nerves rippling through the group.
Just then, Professor McGonagall returned, her voice ringing out. "Single file, please! The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin!"
The Great Hall was alive with magic. Its soaring ceiling shimmered like glass, revealing a sky ablaze with stars.
Thousands of candles floated in midair, shedding a gentle golden light—no wax dripped, no smoke curled upward. It was all pure wizardry.
Hermione, ever the scholar, had her own way of coping with nerves: she recited passages from memory about the enchanted ceiling.
"The ceiling's been enchanted… you can see the sky outside… it can even change the weather… it's all in Hogwarts: A History…"
Professor McGonagall brought forth a four-legged stool and set a battered, patchwork, pointed hat on top.
The hat looked filthy and ancient, drooping over the stool like a tired old dog. Yet it drew every eye in the hall.
Wyzett joked quietly, "What if we're supposed to use a Repairing Charm to fix the hat first?"
"I haven't practiced that spell!" Hermione squeaked, sounding on the verge of tears. "What should I do?"
At that moment, the hat suddenly split open at the brim, and from the rip came a rasping, saw-like "singing" voice.
The melody was dreadful, but Wyzett still caught the gist: the hat itself would decide which House each student belonged to. Gryffindor for the brave, Hufflepuff for the loyal and true, Ravenclaw for the clever, Slytherin for those who'd do anything to achieve their ends.
When the song ended, Professor McGonagall unrolled a long parchment scroll.
"When I call your name, step forward, sit on the stool, and put on The Sorting Hat. Hannah Abbott!"
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
Explore More Amazing Fanfiction on My Patreon!
Unlock 30+ Advance Chapters and Enjoy Exclusive Stories Early!
��patreon.com/GoldenLong