The group exited the room, passed through the entry hall, and through a set of double doors into a grand, luxurious dining hall.
Students from the other years were already seated at four long tables, with thousands of candles floating in midair, lighting the room. The four tables were set with gleaming golden plates and goblets, and at the front of the hall stood an additional long table reserved for the teachers.
At the center of this table sat Dumbledore, clad in a deep blue robe adorned with intricate patterns of X's and O's, exuding an aura of pure wizardry.
His long, flowing silver hair and meticulously groomed beard drew attention, though the most striking feature was his long, crooked nose, which looked as if it had been broken several times.
He wore half-moon glasses, and behind them were two bright, penetrating blue eyes that seemed to see through everything, almost like an X-ray.
Next to Dumbledore was an empty seat, likely reserved for Professor McGonagall. Beside that sat a man with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.
William quickly matched him to the description given by the Weasley twins. After all, the professors all had... distinct characteristics.
Or, more precisely, odd, quirky, and somewhat grotesque appearances.
This man had to be the infamous "old bat," the greasy middle-aged man known as Professor Snape, as described by the twins.
William shook his head. Those two could be outrageous, but their descriptions were spot-on, well-crafted, and cuttingly accurate.
Professor McGonagall led the first-years to the center of the hall, lining them up to face the rest of the older students, with the teachers behind them.
The candlelight flickered, casting pale glows across the hundreds of faces staring back at them, resembling a sea of ghostly lanterns. Ghosts floated amongst the students, casting a faint, silvery light of their own.
Professor McGonagall placed a small, four-legged stool in front of the first-years and then set a pointed wizard's hat on top of it.
The hat was patched, frayed, and filthy, as though it had never been washed.
William thought to himself that this hat didn't belong on a stool—it belonged in a sink filled with detergent.
Was the Sorting Ceremony really a race to see who could clean the hat the fastest?
Suddenly, the hat twitched, as if it were doing a shoulder shimmy.
A wide tear appeared near its brim, like a mouth—and the hat began to sing in an odd, offbeat tune:
"You might think I'm charming, but don't fall for me,
For love with me will leave you in misery.
I'm the enchanting, yet untouchable, Sorting Hat,
And I never feel bad for breaking a heart."
William noticed that Professor McGonagall's lips tightened further. It seemed she was on the verge of pulling out her wand and casting a Silencing Charm on the hat.
But to William's disappointment, she didn't. After taking a few deep breaths, her face returned to its usual calm demeanor.
William suspected that she had silently cast a nonverbal charm on herself to block out the sound.
The hat continued its dreadful song:
"In Gryffindor, brave hearts find their way;
In Ravenclaw, the wise choose to stay.
In Hufflepuff, loyalty will shine;
In Slytherin, ambition leads to the divine.
Hogwarts, the home for all four,
Will be where your heart soars."
The hat wiggled even more vigorously, as though it were a rock star at a concert, but in reality, it was more like an over-enthusiastic aunt at a dance class.
William sighed in relief—at least the hat didn't know how to rap, or else they'd be suffering through some cheesy, old-school rhymes.
After what felt like ten excruciating minutes, the hat finally finished its once-a-year performance. The hall erupted in applause.
The Weasley twins even stood on their chairs, cheering, as if they were about to rush the stage and demand autographs.
The Sorting Hat bowed to each of the four tables in turn before falling silent, though its mouth still twitched, as if mumbling something under its breath.
As William stared at the hat's mouth, a bold idea flashed through his mind.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward, holding a roll of parchment in her hands.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said.
"Artois!"
A black-haired boy hurried forward.
The hat barely touched his head before it shouted, "Slytherin!"
The boy beamed with satisfaction and bowed slightly toward the Slytherin table, where applause thundered in response.
"Katie Bell!"
A rosy-cheeked girl with messy blonde hair hurried out of the line and placed the hat on her head. It fell over her eyes as she sat down.
After a brief pause...
"Gryffindor!" the hat cried.
The farthest table on the left erupted in cheers. The Weasley twins pulled out a megaphone from somewhere, amplifying the noise to deafening levels.
Percy shot them a stern look, though his own cheering was quite loud as well.
"Gavin Campbell!"
A curly-haired boy rushed up.
"Hufflepuff!"
The rightmost table clapped enthusiastically as Gavin was welcomed to sit with them. The Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff ghost, waved joyfully in greeting.
Soon, it was Cho's turn.
She walked slowly to the hat and placed it on her head. This time, the hat hesitated for a long while before finally announcing: "Ravenclaw!"
"Oh, no!" Cedric buried his face in his hands, devastated. He hadn't expected his second year to start off so bleakly.
Cho went to sit beside Marietta Edgecombe, who had also been sorted into Ravenclaw.
"William Stark!" Professor McGonagall called.
William strode confidently to the Sorting Hat. The hat was even dirtier up close, with patches all over it. The fabric had begun to pill, and cobwebs adorned one side. A tiny spider was staring at him.
Thank Merlin it wasn't a cockroach, or William would've seriously doubted Hogwarts' hygiene standards.
He picked up the hat, shook off some dust, and reluctantly placed it on his head.
"Hey, kid, what's with that attitude?" a tiny voice whispered in William's ear.
"Don't bother denying it," the hat's voice grew sharper, "I can see right into your thoughts!"
"Hmm, let me take a look at that brain of yours and decide where you belong..."
William scratched his head of dark brown hair, feeling an uncomfortable itch spreading over his scalp. The sensation quickly crept over his entire body.
The Sorting Hat seemed deeply offended, and its pride was clearly wounded. Its voice grew louder in indignation: "NEVER think such vile thoughts about me! I'm a hat with standards! Do you know how many times I've been washed? Over a thousand!"
For the hat, being washed a thousand times seemed like a lot—until you considered the fact that it had been around for centuries, averaging just one wash per year!
The Sorting Hat clearly knew what William was thinking and grumbled angrily, quickly changing the subject.
Dumbledore coughed twice, a subtle reminder for the hat to hurry up. Even if he wasn't hungry, surely the students were!