"Welcome to Hogwarts."
A witch with dark hair stepped steadily from behind the oak doors, her deep green robes fluttering lightly in the night breeze.
Her slightly curly hair was neatly pinned into a high bun beneath her wizarding hat. Behind her square glasses, her gaze was calm but piercing as it swept over the nervous first-years standing before her.
The young witches and wizards instantly fell silent, their backs straightening instinctively. The witch's lips curved slightly, and she spoke in a warm, measured tone.
"Before you pass through these doors and take your seats in the Great Hall, you'll need to go through the Sorting Ceremony."
The first-years followed her into the castle, where the flickering torchlight on the stone walls cast their shadows, and the warm scent of pinewood enveloped them, chasing away the chill from their journey.
The children who had been shivering on the boats, battered by the cold wind, began to regain some color in their cheeks.
As they crossed the threshold into the Great Hall, they collectively held their breath.
The vast, magnificent hall stretched before them, its enchanted ceiling mirroring a dazzling starry sky. Thousands of crystal candelabras floated above, their silver flames swaying gently in the air.
The starlit ceiling cast a soft, glowing haze, as if the Milky Way itself had descended, shimmering across their robes.
Tall Greek-style columns rose high, adorned with intricate carvings, while torches lined the walls, illuminating the pale gray marble floor beneath their feet.
Four long tables stretched from the entrance to the raised platform at the far end, laden with golden plates and silver goblets that gleamed warmly in the candlelight. The savory aroma of roast beef mingled with the sweet scent of pumpkin pasties, teasing the empty stomachs of the first-years, who let out an occasional, embarrassed gurgle.
After passing through the entrance hall and glimpsing the Great Hall, they were led into a small, dimly lit room. Many stole excited glances back toward the hall, their hearts buzzing with anticipation.
"Hogwarts has four houses," the witch began. "Gryffindor, brave and bold; Hufflepuff, loyal and true; Ravenclaw, wise and learned; and Slytherin, ambitious and proud. Each house carries a legendary history that spans a thousand years."
"Countless remarkable witches and wizards have walked these halls, leaving their mark on the wizarding world with extraordinary achievements, etching their own immortal legends into magical history."
"And this," she continued, "is where your journey into the wizarding world begins. Every chapter of your life may one day trace back to this moment at Hogwarts."
Professor McGonagall stood before them, speaking deliberately about the Sorting, and every student listened intently, afraid to miss a single word.
But then, her sharp eyes caught a boy at the back of the group, suspiciously scanning the castle.
"Mr. Adam Morgan, may I ask what you're looking for?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly.
Adam snapped to attention, realizing all eyes were now on him.
Beside him, Shirley's ears turned bright red, and she looked like she wanted to disappear into her oversized robes.
"Sorry, Professor… you know my name?"
McGonagall's lips pressed into a tighter line. After a brief pause, she replied softly.
"Anyone who's paid attention to you would find it hard to forget you. But please, maintain the proper decorum and silence until the Sorting Ceremony begins."
As her robes swished out of sight behind the wooden door, a wave of stifled breaths filled the room. The previously silent first-years gathered in a huddle, whispering excitedly.
A boy wrapped in a wool scarf stared at Adam, his voice trembling like reeds in the wind.
"I've seen him! Two months ago, he was on the front page of The Daily Prophet! Riding a dragon! The headline called him 'The Once-in-a-Century Dragon Whisperer'!"
Before he could finish, he crouched down, shaking. "I'm doomed! My uncle said we'd have to tame a dragon before Sorting! He wasn't lying…"
"What?!" shrieked a girl with twin ponytails. "My mum told me we'd have to survive ten minutes in a troll's den!"
"No, no, that's not right," came a tearful voice from the corner. "My cousin wrote from Beauxbatons and said they make you solve a sphinx's riddle here. If you get it wrong, it bites your head off!"
"My parents are Muggles," another voice whimpered. "They never told me about any of this. Are those monsters in the books real?"
"Wait, isn't it supposed to be a test of talent in a Veela's chamber?" another asked.
Amid the rising chorus of sobs, the first-years looked at Adam with despair, as if he were a walking Dark Arts textbook.
Adam glanced at the round-faced boy who'd spoken last, his small face etched with disappointment.
Shirley's nails dug into her palms as she nervously tugged at Adam's sleeve.
"Are… are they telling the truth? Beauxbatons' Sorting is so elegant…"
Adam nodded solemnly, stepping back to a slightly raised spot. He raised a hand, signaling for the others to quiet down.
"Don't worry," he said. "Hogwarts doesn't judge you by your blood or measure you by your talents. No matter where you come from, you'll find your place in one of the four houses."
His words seemed to carry a soothing charm, calming the panicked crowd instantly.
Some of the Muggle-born students were inexplicably reminded of a speech they'd once heard in a pub.
The sniffling first-years, their noses red and eyes glistening with unshed tears, looked up at him, hope flickering in their gazes.
A small girl who'd been trailing Adam since they boarded the boats clutched her skirt tightly and stepped forward, her voice firm despite her nerves. "Adam… can I call you that? Do you know how the Sorting works?"
Adam's lips curved into a charming smile, and he spoke loudly enough for all to hear, drawing out the last syllable playfully.
"It's simple. You just let a Dementor take a little sip of your soul. If you can't handle it, they ship you off to Azkaban for some… extra training. Fair, right?"
The room fell deathly silent, breaths held in unison. The first-years stared at Adam, frozen, their eyes wide with horror.
More accurately, they were staring behind him.
The temperature in the room plummeted. The torch flames on the stone walls flickered and dimmed. Several pale, translucent figures emerged from the shadows behind Adam.
Their tattered robes barely concealed their cracked, ghostly forms. One figure even held its own severed head, its hollow eyes seeming to leer at the crowd.
Adam, as if only just noticing, turned and casually waved at the figures, his tone light. "Perfect timing. The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."
His words shattered the frozen silence. The first-years stood petrified, as if hit by a Full Body-Bind Curse, their backs pressed against the damp stone walls, fingers digging into their palms.
The terrifying creatures from their bedtime stories now grinned with rotting faces, their eerie smiles casting grotesque shadows in the torchlight.
"Mummy! I want to go back to Muggle school!" wailed the twin-ponytailed girl, her cries mingling with the creak of the wooden door swinging open, echoing through the air in fragments of fear.
When Professor McGonagall's slightly shocked face appeared in the doorway, she was greeted by a group of trembling, sobbing first-years curled up in the corners. Some buried their faces in their knees, others stared at the floor, their knuckles white from gripping too hard.
Their pale faces radiated despair, while Adam, standing with his back to them, waved cheerfully at the ghosts as if bidding them farewell.