As soon as Professor McGonagall called the name, a stir swept through the students. Almost immediately, all eyes turned toward Marius Cloud.
After all, he had already made quite the splash upon arrival.
"Who's that student? Why does it seem like most of the first-years already know who he is?"
Even Dumbledore tilted his head slightly in curiosity. The first-years had only just arrived at Hogwarts less than half an hour ago, and already one of them was the talk of the crowd? That was highly unusual.
Even Harry Potter, despite being a household name, wasn't immediately recognized by most of the students—at least not until they'd seen his infamous lightning scar. Not to mention, many of the Muggle-borns had never even heard of his story.
"Obviously," Snape sneered, never one to let go of a grudge, "that's the Cloud boy—blowing smoke and stirring up attention with arrogant antics right from the start."
"He's a Cloud child, Headmaster," Flitwick chimed in to correct Snape's disdain. "Very bright, both of his parents were in Ravenclaw." He said this with an unmistakable air of pride, as though he had already mentally claimed Marius for his house.
"Ah… a pure-blood Ravenclaw, quite rare. I recall now—it must be Alaric and Elara Cloud's son," Dumbledore said with a note of realization. "They invited me to their son's birthday recently. Pity I had to decline—I was out of the country and could only send my best wishes."
"So this is the child they spoke of…" Dumbledore mused aloud, his eyes drifting to Marius now basking under a dozen intense gazes.
"Ahem, apologies, Professor McGonagall," came a raspy, unexpected voice. "Before we begin—have I not yet performed my song?"
A collective gasp rose from the crowd of first-years. They hadn't expected the old, tattered Sorting Hat to suddenly speak, let alone do so with what sounded like a fully autonomous personality.
"My dad always said—never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain," Ron whispered uneasily to Harry.
"Oh, I think he's got a point," Harry muttered back.
Professor McGonagall blinked in mild surprise, then nodded for the Sorting Hat to do its thing. Marius, who had already stepped forward, was politely asked to wait.
It was like stepping onto the stage only to find someone else had stolen your spotlight—understandably, Marius wasn't too pleased. What made it worse was that the Sorting Hat's singing was… atrocious.
Its voice sounded like someone trying to play broken bagpipes through a clogged sink drain, and the lyrics were nothing more than shameless self-aggrandizement—bragging about how noble the four Houses were, and how essential the Hat itself was. In short: complete nonsense.
"I've got a pair of noise-canceling earplugs. Want a set?" Marius asked Hermione as he casually stuffed them into his own ears.
"Uh… no, thanks. I actually think it's kind of nice to hear it sing."
Hermione, ever the curious soul, declined the offer—after all, this was her first time witnessing magic like this up close. Even if it was dreadful, it was still fascinating.
Marius just rolled his eyes and drifted a few rows back, where he found Pansy Parkinson and tried his sales pitch again.
This time it worked. The little pure-blood girl fumbled a bit putting in the earplugs but managed. Clearly, she wasn't all that thrilled with the Sorting Hat's vocal performance either.
After what felt like the longest and most nasal concert in history, the song finally ended. The students collectively sighed, most of them now filled with nervous anticipation. Which House would they belong to?
Hermione, buoyed by Marius's earlier encouragement, looked more composed than before. Harry, on the other hand, was spiraling. His miserable upbringing with the Dursleys had left him sorely lacking in self-confidence.
His thoughts drifted back to Marius—that confident, magnetic boy he'd met at the station. Ever since their first encounter, Marius had moved with the kind of natural presence that demanded admiration.
"If only I had even half his confidence…" Harry sighed aloud without realizing.
"Huh? What'd you say?" Ron muttered, practically vibrating with nerves.
"Nothing."
Among the most self-assured in the crowd were the pure-blood students, most of whom assumed—without a doubt—they'd end up in Slytherin.
"First up—Marius Cloud!" McGonagall repeated.
Marius stepped forward, every eye following him.
Even the four Heads of House—McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, and Sprout—were now watching intently.
After all, this was the student who had stirred up so much drama right out of the gate. What House would claim him?
"His parents were both Ravenclaws, of course he'll be in our House," Flitwick said, unable to contain his anticipation. It was clear Alaric and Elara Cloud had left quite the impression.
"Come on then. Put me on," said the Sorting Hat, turning toward Marius.
But Marius didn't move.
Even Dumbledore now looked intrigued. What was the boy hesitating about?
"Professor McGonagall," Marius said with a curious tone. "May I ask you something first?"
McGonagall blinked. "Of course."
"This hat… how long has it been since it was last cleaned?"
She paused, caught off guard by the question. Years of teaching experience kicked in. "Well… I imagine it hasn't been cleaned since it was first created. So… nearly a thousand years, I'd say."
Marius made a face like he'd just bitten into a lemon. "So you're saying… this hat hasn't been washed in a thousand years? Sorry—I have a bit of a cleanliness issue. Would you mind if I sanitized it first?"
The Sorting Hat was scandalized. "Young man! The Sorting Ceremony is a sacred tradition! I have remained untouched by any external interference for a millennium—that's what gives me such weight and gravitas!"
"Ohhh, I get it now," Marius nodded gravely. "What you're saying is… after being rubbed against hundreds of oily teenage scalps every year for a thousand years… all that accumulated gunk has physically thickened your fabric, giving you literal weight."
"BLARGH!"
The reaction was immediate.
Dozens of upper-year students spat out pumpkin juice in synchronized horror. Several professors clamped hands over their mouths as their faces went pale.
Meanwhile, the new first-years turned to stare at each other with varying shades of green, each one reflecting the same revolted expression.
And Marius just stood there, as calm as ever, watching the chaos unfold.
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