Professor McGonagall led them out of the antechamber and straight towards the grand double doors she had ignored earlier. They swung open noiselessly at her approach, revealing the Great Hall.
Jake had thought the Entrance Hall was impressive, but this was on another level entirely. The chamber was cavernous, easily large enough to hold a football pitch. Four long tables, laden with gleaming golden plates and goblets, stretched from one end of the room to the other, each packed with hundreds of students whose faces were upturned, watching the new arrivals. The tables were lit by thousands upon thousands of candles that weren't resting on anything, but were floating in mid-air, their flames casting a warm, flickering glow over the scene.
But it was the ceiling that truly captivated him. It wasn't a ceiling at all. It was a perfect, seamless illusion of the night sky outside, a vast expanse of velvet black dotted with glittering stars. He'd read about it, of course, but seeing it was a different experience. It felt less like being indoors and more like sitting in an ancient, roofless cathedral open to the heavens.
He followed the others in a single-file line, his eyes wide as he took in the details. He saw the teachers' table at the far end of the Hall, a long line of wizards and witches observing them. In the centre, seated on a large, throne-like golden chair, was Albus Dumbledore, his silver beard and hair shining like spun moonlight in the candlelight.
Professor McGonagall led them to the front, where they stopped in a line facing the rest of the students, with the teachers at their backs. A simple, three-legged wooden stool was placed before them, and on top of it sat a wizard's hat. It was patched, frayed, and filthy.
A hush fell over the hall. For a long moment, everything was still. Then, a rip near the brim of the hat opened wide like a mouth, and it began to sing:
A thousand years or more ago,When I was newly sewn,There lived four wizards of renown,Whose names are widely known...
The hat sang of the school's founding, of the four great wizards and their differing virtues. Jake listened, fascinated. It was one thing to read about a magical singing hat, and another entirely to stand ten feet away from it as it belted out a surprisingly complex ballad. The song ended with a promise to sort each of them into their rightful place, and the hall erupted into applause.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted," Professor McGonagall announced, unrolling a long scroll of parchment. "Ackerley, Stewart!"
A boy with a slightly startled expression walked forward, put on the hat, and after a few seconds, it bellowed: "RAVENCLAW!"
The table second from the left cheered as the boy went to join them. The process continued, a steady rhythm of names and houses. "Baddock, Malcolm!" was sorted into Slytherin with a decisive shout. "Branstone, Eleanor!" became the first Hufflepuff of the evening, receiving a warm and enthusiastic welcome.
Jake watched each sorting, his analytical mind trying to find a pattern. He tried to guess where each student would go based on their appearance and demeanour, but he was wrong more often than not. A pair of twin girls, "Capper, Elowen and Capper, Gwenllian," were both sorted into Gryffindor, one after the other, much to their visible delight.
The crowd of first-years around him was thinning out, and his heart began to pound a frantic, heavy rhythm against his ribs. He was an anomaly. A twenty-something mind in the body of an eleven-year-old. What would the hat see inside his head? Would it see his real life, his university studies, the truth of his otherworldly origin? The thought sent a jolt of pure ice through his veins. This could be a disaster.
"Bloom, Jake!"
His name. Professor McGonagall was looking right at him. The entire hall was looking at him. For a second, he was frozen, his feet seemingly glued to the stone floor. He forced himself to move, his legs feeling stiff and disconnected. He walked towards the stool, the hundred-foot journey feeling like a mile. He picked up the old, dusty hat and, with trembling hands, placed it on his head.
It was too big, sliding down over his eyes and plunging him into darkness. And then, a voice spoke inside his head. It wasn't his own thoughts; it was something else, ancient and amused.
Well now, what have we here? This is a peculiar mind indeed.
Jake's internal monologue froze. The voice wasn't just speaking; it was rummaging, sifting through his memories with the casual ease of someone flipping through a book. He felt a dizzying rush as images flashed past his mind's eye: the fluorescent lights of a university library, the grainy picture on a television screen, the taste of cheap lager, the feeling of tarmac under his trainers.
My, my. Cars? And something called... psychology? You are far older than you appear, and not from this world at all. This is a first.
Panic, cold, and sharp seized him. He tried to clamp down on his thoughts, to build a wall around his identity, but it was like trying to dam a river with his bare hands. The hat was already there, already seeing it all.
No need for that, boy, the voice said, a hint of chiding in its tone. I am not here to betray your secrets. I am here to Sort. But your case... it is exceptionally difficult. I see the ambition of Slytherin in you. Oh yes, it burns brightly. You are here to gain power, to learn secrets you can take back with you. You have a goal, a drive that would make Salazar proud.
Jake's heart sank. Slytherin. The house of dark wizards. The last place he wanted to be.
But there is courage, too, the hat mused. It takes a Gryffindor's nerve to step willingly into a world you know to be dangerous, to face the unknown armed with little more than foreknowledge. A significant gamble.
The hat went quiet for a moment, and Jake held his breath. The silence on the outside must be deafening. How long had he been sitting here? A minute? Two?
Yet, beneath it all, the strongest trait... the one that defines you... is a thirst. Not for power, not for glory, but for understanding. You see this world as a system, a set of rules to be learned, analysed, and mastered. Your mind is your greatest weapon, and you value knowledge above all else. You wish to learn, to observe, to know. A classic Ravenclaw.
Ravenclaw, Jake thought, latching onto the word like a lifeline. Yes. I want to learn. That's why I'm here. He tried to project the thought, to focus all his mental energy on that one desire. Knowledge. Safety. The library.
Hmm, trying to influence the outcome? The hat sounded amused again. Clever. But you need not push so hard. Your nature is clear, even with all these… strange memories. The ambition is a tool, the bravery a necessity. But the mind… the mind is who you are. Yes, it had better be…
To the Great Hall, the hat, which had been silent for an almost unprecedented three minutes, bellowed its decision:
"RAVENCLAW!"
Jake felt a wave of relief so powerful it almost made him dizzy. He pulled the hat off his head and practically stumbled towards the table second from the left, which was erupting in applause. He handed the hat back to a slightly surprised-looking Professor McGonagall and hurried to an empty spot on the Ravenclaw bench.
A boy with a prefect's badge smiled at him. "Welcome to Ravenclaw," he said warmly. "Bit of a long one, that. We were starting to think we had a true Hatstall on our hands."
Jake just nodded, his throat too dry to speak. He had done it. He was in. He was a student at Hogwarts. He belonged to the house of the wise, and as he watched the last few students get sorted, a new feeling began to bubble up past the fear and anxiety: excitement. His journey had truly begun.
Once the final student, "Zeller, Rose," was sorted into Hufflepuff, Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away. Albus Dumbledore got to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide as if to embrace the entire hall.
"Welcome!" he said. "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. The hall clapped and cheered. Jake just stared, bewildered. He knew Dumbledore was eccentric, but hearing the bizarre words in person was another thing entirely.
"Is he… mad?" the first-year boy sitting opposite him whispered.
The prefect who had spoken to Jake chuckled. "Mad? No. Just Dumbledore. You get used to it. I'm Robert Hilliard, by the way. Fifth-year."
"Jake Bloom," Jake replied, shaking the offered hand.
Before he could say more, the empty golden plates in front of them suddenly, magically, filled with food. Jake's jaw dropped. Roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire puddings, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some reason, peppermint humbugs.
The sheer, glorious abundance of it all was staggering. The chatter in the hall immediately rose to a roar as everyone dug in. Jake, suddenly ravenous, piled his plate high. The food was incredible, better than any meal he could remember. As he ate, he listened to the conversations around him, a quiet observer in a sea of magic. He tentatively introduced himself to Stewart Ackerley, the nervous boy who'd been sorted just before him, and a girl a few seats down who was already deep in a conversation about a book on magical ethnography.
He was in Hogwarts. Actually in Hogwarts. The reality of it was finally beginning to sink in, and it was both terrifying and utterly, breathtakingly brilliant.
As the main course vanished, an equally impressive array of desserts appeared. Treacle tart, apple crumble, chocolate éclairs, jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding… Jake helped himself to a slice of treacle tart, savouring the sweet, sticky taste. Just as he was finishing, a shimmering, pearly-white figure drifted through the table. Jake jerked back in surprise, his spoon clattering against his plate. It was a ghost, a woman in fine robes with a sorrowful expression.
"That's the Grey Lady," Robert Hilliard explained calmly, not batting an eyelid. "Our house ghost. She doesn't say much."
The feast eventually drew to a close. The remains of the desserts vanished, and Dumbledore stood up once more. A hush fell over the hall.
"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 on 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 swept over the Gryffindor table. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used in the corridors between classes. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact their House Captain."
"And finally," he said, his tone becoming more serious, "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."
A few students laughed, but Jake felt a chill. He knew exactly what was in that corridor. Or at least, what would be there next year.
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. He gave his wand a little flick, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, twisting itself into words. "Everybody pick their favourite tune," he said, "and off we go!"
The result was chaos. Everyone bellowed the same words to a hundred different tunes. It was a cacophony that ended with Dumbledore himself conducting the last few lines with tears in his eyes.
"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
Robert Hilliard stood up. "Ravenclaw first-years, this way, please! Keep up!"
Jake scrambled to his feet and joined the small group of new Ravenclaws. They followed Robert out of the Great Hall, through a side door, and up a magnificent marble staircase. The castle was a labyrinth of moving staircases and corridors lined with portraits whose inhabitants whispered and pointed as they passed. It was disorienting and magical all at once.
Finally, they came to a halt at the top of a high, winding spiral staircase. At the end of the corridor was a plain, unadorned wooden door with a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle.
"This is the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room," Robert explained. "Unlike the other houses, we don't have a password. We have a riddle."
As he spoke, the eagle knocker opened its beak and spoke in a soft, musical voice. "I have cities, but no houses. I have mountains, but no trees. I have water, but no fish. What am I?"
The first-years looked at each other, stumped.
Robert smiled. "Think about it. It requires a different way of seeing things." He paused for a moment, then answered clearly, "A map."
"Well spoken," the eagle said, and the door swung open.
Jake stepped inside, and his breath caught in his throat. The common room was a wide, circular room, airy and elegant, with graceful arched windows that overlooked the Hogwarts grounds. The domed ceiling was painted with stars that twinkled just like the real ones. The room was filled with bookshelves, tables, and comfortable-looking blue and bronze armchairs. In an alcove opposite the door stood a tall, white marble statue of a beautiful, stern-faced witch: Rowena Ravenclaw.
"Girls' dormitories are on the left, boys' on the right," said Robert. "Your belongings have already been brought up. Welcome home."
Jake found the staircase for the boys and climbed up. He found a room with a plaque that read 'First Years'. Inside, five four-poster beds with sky-blue hangings were arranged in a circle. His trunk was at the foot of one of them. He had roommates, he realised. The other four first-year boys, including Stewart Ackerley, were already there, looking just as tired and overwhelmed as he felt.
They exchanged quiet greetings as they all changed into their pyjamas. Jake pulled back the covers of his bed and slid in. The mattress was soft, the sheets crisp. Outside the window, he could see the moon hanging over the dark expanse of the Forbidden Forest.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, he'd been in a loud, sticky pub in Bristol. Now, he was in a magical castle, a student of witchcraft and wizardry. It was insane. It was impossible. But as exhaustion finally claimed him, pulling him down into a deep, dreamless sleep, Jake Bloom's last conscious thought was simple and absolute: I'm home.