"Hambo Aina!"
Professor McGonagall unfurled the parchment and called out the first name.
A round-faced boy with yellow hair and freckles dashed nervously toward the four-legged stool. He plopped the tattered Sorting Hat onto his head and sat, anxiously awaiting his fate.
Soon enough, the Sorting Hat announced the first new student's house for the year:
"Hufflepuff!"
The students at the table second from the right erupted in cheers, clapping wildly to welcome their new housemate. Leon, scanning the group with their distinctive yellow-and-black ties, searched intently.
Sure enough, he spotted a girl with golden braids and a freckled face. If he wasn't mistaken, that was the real Iron Hat Queen, Hannah Abbott.
Meanwhile, Hambo Aina—the faux Iron Hat King—had just scampered over to the Hufflepuff table and plunked down next to Hannah. Leon watched the two chatting animatedly, a peculiar expression flickering across his face.
The Sorting continued without pause. The next name called was:
"Colin Creevey!"
A scrawny, gray-haired boy who looked like he hadn't eaten a proper meal in weeks shuffled forward, head down. He sat on the stool and slipped on the Sorting Hat.
This time, the Hat took its sweet time, twisting and turning on Colin's head as if it couldn't quite make up its mind. Leon noticed Colin's fingers gripping the edge of the stool, white-knuckled with nerves.
Thankfully, after a few agonizing minutes, the Sorting Hat finally declared:
"Gryffindor!"
The leftmost table—Gryffindor's—exploded with cheers and applause, someone even letting out a whistle. As Colin made his way to the Gryffindor table, Leon's eyes followed, taking in the faces of the students there:
Percy, enthusiastically waving Colin over to sit beside him; the Weasley twins, Fred and George, sandwiching Ron and interrogating him with gleeful menace; Harry, looking guilty as he tried to explain something to a frowning Hermione; Dean, the West Ham United fan Leon had met once before; and Seamus, the Irish lad Leon had heard about from their hometown.
As the famous bestselling series Harry Potter from a certain parallel world once said:
"Being dragged into the arena to face a fight to the death is not the same as walking in with your head held high… it's the difference between everything in the world."
In this magical world, choices are everywhere.
A wand chooses its wizard. The Sorting Hat chooses a house.
Fools fear death and chase immortality, while the wise embrace freedom and choose death.
Some choose the Hallows and lose the Horcruxes; others choose the Horcruxes and gain the Hallows.
And Leon chose…
"Leon Green!"
Leon turned, his gaze meeting Professor McGonagall's complex, unreadable expression. His eyes then fell on a blonde girl named Astoria Greengrass, who was setting down the Sorting Hat and heading toward the far-right Slytherin table.
Leon smiled. It was his turn to take the stage.
The walk to the four-legged stool felt like it stretched on forever. The bustling Great Hall seemed to hush for a moment before erupting into a wave of whispers—likely about "Hogwarts' newest heartthrob," "the monstrous rookie climbing the school's hot list," or "which house will claim the face of a genius?"
Leon's polite smile faltered for half a second when he saw the dirty, ragged pointed hat. Fine. I'll endure it for now—bigger picture and all that.
Stiffly, he placed the Sorting Hat on his head.
Less than a second later, it started, "Sly—mmph!"
The Sorting Hat's "mouth" was silenced.
In its thousand years of existence, this was the first time its mouth had been metaphorically clamped shut. Not physically, mind you—the Hat didn't have a mouth. That slit everyone saw was just a decorative touch, meant to make the Hat seem friendlier, more approachable.
This was a magical silencing.
And that's why the Sorting Hat was both shocked and terrified. This was Godric Gryffindor's hat, not some trinket to be toyed with by any old Tom, Dick, or Harry.
Yet here it was, temporarily muted, forced to listen as Leon laid down the law.
"Hey, mate, do me a solid, yeah? My last name's Green—starts with a 'G,' just like Gryffindor. We're practically family! It'd be downright wrong not to sort me there."
The Sorting Hat bristled. "Well, your name's got 'lin' in it too, just like Slytherin! Why not call that family?"
"Pipe down, I'm not done." Leon flicked the brim of the Hat, subtly casting a Scourgify charm so tiny it only affected a patch the size of a fingernail.
A piercing screech exploded in his mind. The Sorting Hat leaped three centimeters off his head.
"AHHH! I'm not clean anymore! You—you—you! How dare you! Who gave you the right—NO! How am I supposed to explain this to Godric?!"
"Just tell him you found someone else…"
"Shut it! I've walked on eggshells my whole hat-life…"
"Alright, enough with the theatrics." Leon cut off the Hat's performance.
Time was dragging on, and he wasn't about to earn the nickname "Hat-Staller"—not even the handsomest Hat-Staller.
"Let's be real. I know the Sorting Hat's supposed to respect the wearer's wishes. And I choose to bring my talents to Gryffindor!"
The Hat tried to argue. "But…"
"No buts." Leon was ruthless. "If you don't sort me into Gryffindor, I'll chuck you into the Black Lake for a three-day bath."
"No, no, no! I'm sorry!" The Sorting Hat was practically sobbing.
"How about Ravenclaw, then? That's fair, right?"
It tried to pull a fast one, shouting, "Rav—mmph!"
"Don't play games with me. I've got plenty of tricks to deal with you." Leon smirked, firing off three more Scourgify charms in a row. The Hat's grimy fabric visibly lightened by a shade.
The Sorting Hat let out a wail. "Waaaah! Godric, come back! Someone's bullying your poor lonely hat! Take him away!"
Leon's forehead creased with three black lines. This Hat was getting its references all muddled up.
Mid-wail, the Hat tried another sneak attack: "Huff—mmph!"
The Great Hall buzzed with shock. Three times now, the Hat had started to announce a house and stopped. Even the densest students could tell something was up.
Was the Sorting Hat second-guessing itself? Or was some mysterious force—like, say, a meddling Headmaster—pulling strings behind the scenes?
Leon finally got it. The Sorting Hat was being cunning. It had pegged him as a troublemaker, a future headache, and didn't want him in its precious Gryffindor. After three failed attempts, it was throwing a tantrum, practically daring him to Scourgify it bald.
Threats weren't working, so Leon switched tactics.
"Alright, let's make a deal. Sort me into Gryffindor, and I'll record an exclusive Sorting Hat album."
"No…" The Hat started to refuse but caught a glimpse of Leon's mental image: a full production process for its very own record, complete with playback.
It wavered, shamefully tempted.
"That's… that's bribery, isn't it? I'm not that kind of hat!" it said, feigning modesty.
"Bribery? Nah, not at all," Leon said, flipping to flattery faster than a page in a book. "It's just me, a fan of your golden pipes, wanting to collect your annual hits. You'd just be granting a student's wish—makes you the people's hat, a real legend."
The Sorting Hat's nonexistent face practically glowed. "Heh, you've got an eye for quality! Alright, don't forget your promise."
"A—mmph! Just kidding, mate!" it chuckled.
"Gryffindor!"