The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face, Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross, but he noticed that she stared at Elian for an unusual amount of time, while Elian gave her a mock salute as he realized that the letters he sent definitely reached her. "The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid. "Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." She pulled the door wide. The Entrance Hall was really big. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase
facing them led to the upper floors.
They trailed after Professor McGonagall, their footsteps echoing against the flagged stone floor. She led them into a small, empty chamber just off the vast hall.
The first-years crowded inside, standing closer together than they normally would, their eyes darting about the room with a mix of curiosity and nerves.
Elian gave a low, casual whistle as he scanned the space, his posture as relaxed as ever. Still, even he couldn't quite hide the faint flicker of admiration in his eyes.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats
in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your
house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room." "The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history, and each has
produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours." "The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."
Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, on Ron's smudged nose, and a moment longer on Elian's evergreen smirk. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair.
"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."
She swept out of the chamber, leaving the group in a tense silence.
Harry swallowed. "How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked, glancing at Elian.
"Oh, nothing too bad," Elian said with mock seriousness. "They just burn us alive and sort us based on how we burn."
Several nearby students whipped their heads toward him, wide-eyed. Harry's face drained of color. Ron muttered something about Fred being right all along. Hermione gave Elian a look balanced somewhere between exasperation and horror, then immediately began whispering under her breath about every fire-protection charm she'd ever read.
As the commotion carried on, Elian looked positively entertained, his smirk deepening with each passing second. But then, a sharp scream from somewhere behind him cut through the chatter, freezing the room.
"What the—?" Harry gasped, and several others echoed him.
About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and faintly transparent, they drifted into the chamber, talking animatedly among themselves and barely acknowledging the first-years.
A rotund little monk was saying cheerfully, "Forgive and forget, I say! We ought to give him another chance—"
"My dear Friar," interrupted a tall ghost in a ruff and tights, "haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He's a menace, and not even a proper ghost. He gives us all a bad name—" The ghost's eyes swept the room and landed on the gathered students. "I say, what are you all doing here?"
Silence.
"New students!" the Fat Friar said warmly, beaming at them. "About to be sorted, I suppose?"
A few nodded hesitantly.
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" the Friar added. "My old house, you know."
"Move along now," came a crisp voice. Professor McGonagall had returned, her gaze flicking briefly over the group—and lingering for half a second on Elian before she turned away.
The ghosts glided out through the opposite wall, and Professor McGonagall said, "Form a line, please, and follow me. The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin."
Elian got into line in front of a boy with sandy hair, with Harry behind the boy and Ron behind Harry, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles, which were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first-years up here so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, as Harry was amazed by a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars, Elian was looking at the teachers' as if deciding who was worth his time .
Albus Dumbledore, seated at the center of the teachers' table, caught Elian's assessing gaze and, with the faintest glimmer of amusement, lifted his goblet in a subtle toast. No one else seemed to notice—except Elian, who answered with a small, knowing smirk and the barest nod.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward, setting a four-legged stool before the first-years. Upon it she placed a patched, frayed, and thoroughly battered wizard's hat. The thing looked as though it had been dragged through every corridor of Hogwarts for a century.
Murmurs rippled through the group. More than a few students—including Harry and Ron—cast uneasy glances at it, clearly wondering whether Elian's earlier "burning" comment might have had some truth. Harry half-expected flames to shoot from the brim.
For a long moment, there was only silence. Then the hat twitched. A tear near the brim split wide like a mouth—and it 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 folk 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!'
The whole Hall burst into applause as the hat had finished its song. It bowed each of the four tables and then became quite still again.
"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Harry, relief creeping into his voice,until his eyes flicked to Elian. The look he gave him was a mix of betrayal and simmering irritation, as if Ron had just realized he'd been the butt of a joke all along.
Elian, utterly unbothered, rolled one shoulder in an easy shrug, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward, unrolling a long parchment that curled toward the floor.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause—
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.
The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Elian saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.
"Bones, Susan!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.
"Boot, Terry!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.
"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry and Elian could see Ron's twin brothers catcalling.
"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin.
Elian was yawning the entire time, waiting for his turn, but then his eyes landed on one of the teachers wearing a turban, talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. Something felt off to Elian while he looked at the teacher with the turban, and as soon as that teacher turned his head around, the beaded bracelet on Elian's wrist tightened. Ron noticed Elian's glare at the teacher's table, so he nudged him and asked, "Everything alright, mate?" Elian shook his head. "Define alright, Weasley." He said. "Because if 'alright' means not dying from boredom while waiting for a speaking hat to decide your future, then no."
Ron groaned, but then he groaned again because the hat declared Hermione Granger a Gryffindor just now.
When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide on with Neville. When it finally shouted "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."
Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"
Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself. There weren't many people left now. "Moon" … "Nott" … "Parkinson" … then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil" … then "Perks, Sally-Anne" … and then, at last—
"Potter, Harry!"
As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.
"Potter, did she say?"
"The Harry Potter?"
"Already a symbol, huh?" Elian muttered to himself.
The hat took longer than anyone on Harry's head before eventually shouting, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously. Elian gave him a wink, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff he'd seen earlier. And now there were only four people left to be sorted. "Turpin, Lisa" became a Ravenclaw, and then it was Ron's turn. He looked positively green. Elian shot him a smirk that did absolutely nothing to reassure him. Harry crossed his fingers under the table, and a second later, the hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry clapped loudly with the rest as Ron dropped into the seat beside him.
"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley pompously from across the table, as "Zabini, Blaise" was sent to Slytherin.
Professor McGonagall sighed before announcing, "Elian Vale!" Her tone was noticeably stern.
Elian, as indifferent as ever, gave Percy a wink, spotting the prefect silently praying that the hat wouldn't declare him a Gryffindor. The ornaments Elian was wearing drew curious looks and hushed whispers. Seamus Finnigan, the sandy-haired boy already who already got sorted in Gryffindor, muttered something about a "show-off" to nearby Gryffindors.
Harry crossed his fingers again. Hermione leaned forward eagerly. Ron whispered, "I bet he'll confuse the hat with his sass."
Harry chuckled but kept his eyes fixed on Elian. When Elian reached the stool, he paused and looked at Professor McGonagall.
"You didn't respond to my letters, Professor?"
"We will talk about those letters later, Mr. Vale. Just wear the hat for now," she replied curtly.
"Aye, aye, captain," Elian said, before dropping the Sorting Hat onto his head.
"What!?" the Sorting Hat all but shouted.
The entire hall fell silent. Professor McGonagall instinctively stepped forward, but Dumbledore raised a hand, silently telling her to wait.
Harry glanced around in confusion, trying to ask Percy if this was normal. Percy the Prefect, however, looked as stunned as everyone else.
The Hat's voice dropped to a low, almost awed murmur inside Elian's mind.
"This… is not normal. Ravenclaw's wit and hunger for knowledge… Hufflepuff's patience and loyalty… Slytherin's cunning and ambition… Gryffindor's fearless heart, you carry them all. But you are not one person. Not many, either. You… exist everywhere."
It hesitated, as if turning something over that it didn't want to see.
"This should be impossible," it whispered. "Impossible… and yet… possible. Impossible…"
The word kept echoing, softer and softer, like the Hat was speaking to itself, spiraling deeper into confusion.
After what felt like an eternity, the Sorting Hat finally bellowed, "ALL OF THEM!"
The word slammed into the hall like a thunderclap. Murmurs rippled instantly, swelling into a low roar of confusion. Teachers and students alike were staring, wide-eyed.
Professor McGonagall turned sharply to Dumbledore, her expression silently demanding an explanation. Dumbledore, however, only steepled his fingers, his eyes glimmering with an unreadable light.
Harry blinked, not grasping the enormity of what had just happened. Ron looked as if he might be sick. Hermione was muttering at lightning speed, "That's not possible—never happened—must be some sort of unprecedented anomaly—"
Elian Vale sat there, unmoved by the chaos. His jaw tightened the slightest fraction.
"Here we go again," he muttered, just loud enough for the Hat to hear.
Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet. His eyes twinkled, but his voice carried the kind of authority that silenced a storm.
"Everyone, calm yourselves," he said, his words echoing through the hall. "Yes, I am well aware that this has never happened in the long history of Hogwarts."
A ripple of whispers swept the students, but Dumbledore's raised hand cut them short.
"Nonetheless," he continued, "Elian Albert Vale is a student of this school, and the Sorting Hat's verdict is final. He will be counted as belonging to all four Houses. Any points he earns...or loses...will be shared equally among them. This means, Mr. Vale…" His gaze fell on Elian, "…that your actions will carry four times the weight. Choose them wisely, for they will lift...or sink...not one House, but all."
Silence hit the hall like a sudden storm. Every gaze locked on Elian, curious, cautious, and maybe a little afraid, waiting to see where he would sit.
Elian ignored them all and made his way to the Gryffindor table, settling into a seat beside Ron, though he instinctively left some space between them.
It wasn't arrogance. It was habit.
At his Muggle school, Elian had grown used to being alone. Other students had labeled him a freak, too sharp-tongued with teachers, too quick to mock the petty cruelty of bullies. Senior students had targeted him for it, but Elian never backed down; he made a game of tearing their pride apart with words. To outsiders, it might have looked like he enjoyed being bullied. His classmates thought so, and kept their distance.
Albus Dumbledore let out a long breath, the tension in the hall easing with it. Spreading his arms wide, he beamed at the sea of young faces, first-years still awestruck, and one in particular now carrying a responsibility no eleven-year-old had ever been given.
"Welcome!" he said warmly. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
"Thank you!"
He sat back down, looking as though nothing could have pleased him more. The hall erupted into applause and cheers,still tinged with curiosity over Elian's sorting, but the unease began to fade. After all, if the headmaster himself was untroubled, why should anyone else be?
The platters before Elian groaned under the weight of a feast: roast beef and chicken, lamb chops, sausages, crisp potatoes, glistening gravy, and, for some reason, a bowl of mint humbugs nestled between the Yorkshire puddings. Yet he didn't take a single bite. Instead, he sat silently, absently turning the silver ring on his index finger. He didn't crack a joke when Nearly Headless Nick cheerfully revealed why he was "nearly" headless. He didn't join in when the others swapped stories about their families. He simply stayed quiet, a small space of stillness in the middle of the noisy Gryffindor table, as if stepping into their world might cause it to vanish before his eyes.
Harry looked like he wanted to say something to Elian, like something comforting, but before he could, "Ouch!" Harry clamped a hand to his head.
"What is it?" asked Percy.
"N-Nothing."
Elian offered a goblet of water to Harry across Ron, who was still munching treacle tarts. "Thanks," said Harry, accepting the water.
"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked Percy.
"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to, everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."
Harry watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look at him.
At last, the puddings too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The Hall fell silent.
"Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you."
"First-years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."
Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors."
"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. Oh—and due to… special circumstances, Mr. Elian Vale will not be permitted to take part in Quidditch."
That announcement drew a ripple of whispers across the tables, a few curious glances flicking toward Elian. He only leaned back in his chair and smirked faintly, as though Dumbledore had just spared him from a tedious chore.
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did; even Elian didn't give any witty comment on the last thing Professor Dumbledore said.
"He's not serious?" Harry muttered to Percy.
"Must be," said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we are not allowed to go somewhere—the forest's full of dangerous beasts; everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."
"Well, I guess some prefects are too loud for their own good, so even Professor Dumbledore can't trust them with a certain secrets." Elian muttered to Ron with sarcasm dripping from his voice. Ron coughed in a way that suspiciously sounded like a laugh, while Percy shot Elian a stern look, which Elian shrugged off with a wink.
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore.
Elian noticed that several teachers' smiles had become suspiciously fixed in place, as though they were bracing for impact.
With a casual flick of his wand—like shooing away a persistent fly—Dumbledore sent a long golden ribbon spiraling into the air. It rose high above the tables, twisting snake-like into shining words.
"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore cheerfully, "and off we go!"
And the school bellowed:
Hogwarts, Hogwarts,
Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling
With some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot.
Elian, lips twitching in amusement, sang the entire thing in a slow, dramatic ballad, making Ron nearly choke on a laugh.
Everyone finished at different times. Eventually, only the Weasley twins remained, dragging the last verses out in the style of a funeral march. Dumbledore, utterly unfazed, conducted their final notes with a flourish of his wand and clapped the loudest when they finished.
"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
The Gryffindor first-years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall and up the marble staircase.
Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet. Harry was just wondering how much further they had to go, while Elian was whistling around and winking at portraits when they came to a sudden halt.
A bundle of walking sticks was floating in mid-air ahead of them, and as Percy took a step towards them, they started throwing themselves at him.
"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first-years. 'A poltergeist.' He raised his voice, "Peeves—show yourself."
A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.
"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"
There was a pop, and a little man with wicked dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.
"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle firsties! What fun!"
He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked except Elian, who was smirking at him; Peeves for a second looked at him with intrigue.
"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron will hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy.
Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head, which Elian caught midair. "Thanks," Neville said. They heard Peeves zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed.
"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him; he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."
At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.
"Password?" she said.
"Caput Draconis," said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it—Neville needed a leg up—and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs. Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase—they were obviously in one of the towers—they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep-red velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed. Elian, staring at the canopy above him, twisted the ring on his finger once before closing his eyes.