Chapter 18: The Sorting Ceremony
"All first years here! All first years, this way!" called Hagrid in his booming voice.
After gathering all the first-year students, Hagrid greeted Harry with enthusiastic warmth and then led us toward the mysterious Black Lake.
The lake exuded a chilling, ominous aura that immediately cast an eerie atmosphere over the area. Yet, what unsettled me most wasn't its appearance—it was the strange, inexplicable discomfort I felt in its presence. Something about this place felt profoundly unnatural.
As we approached, I scanned the lake and its surroundings with a keen eye. What I discovered was both astonishing and deeply disturbing: the entire lake was shrouded in a subtle, yet pervasive, aura of death energy. It wasn't overpowering, but neither was it faint—it lingered in a balanced, unsettling stillness that made my skin crawl.
Then, a memory surfaced.
I recalled a legend about a battle between the great wizard Merlin and the Lady of the Lake—Viviane, also known as Death herself—fought beside a dark and mysterious lake. No one had ever identified the exact location of that legendary duel. Many dismissed it as nothing more than a myth.
But for me, someone who had heard the tale directly from Merlin himself, the truth was clear.
Piecing together the clues, I came to a startling conclusion: this might very well be the very lake from the ancient legends. Perhaps the founders of Hogwarts had stumbled upon it by chance... or perhaps they had chosen this place deliberately, recognizing the lake's extraordinary and sinister nature.
As these thoughts swirled in my mind, we were ushered into boats waiting at the lake's edge. As we drifted across the still, black water, I noticed a particular area where the death energy seemed to concentrate. It pulsed faintly in the distance, almost as if it were calling out to me.
I made a mental note to return and explore that spot. Something about it whispered of hidden truths and long-buried secrets.
As the boats glided forward, Hagrid's voice echoed, "Heads down, everyone!"
Yet, in the end, only Hagrid needed to duck as we passed through the stone tunnel beneath the cliff.
When we emerged, we were greeted with a breathtaking view—the enormous silhouette of Hogwarts Castle standing tall and proud against the night sky. Gasps of awe and wonder escaped from the first years around me. It was a sight to behold—grand, majestic, and unlike anything we had ever seen.
Upon reaching the castle gates, we halted in unison. Hagrid approached the massive doors and knocked three times. They creaked open slowly to reveal none other than Professor McGonagall, standing poised and dignified, awaiting our arrival.
As she stepped forward to greet us, a sudden blur rushed past—Neville, scrambling to retrieve his toad, which had nearly been crushed beneath the professor's feet. She glanced down at him with a cold, unreadable expression. Poor Neville looked terrified. He was timid by nature, and her stern demeanor only deepened his anxiety.
Without acknowledging him further, Professor McGonagall thanked Hagrid and began a brief explanation about the four houses of Hogwarts—their traditions, the importance of the point system, and the honor of winning the House Cup.
She then instructed us to wait quietly, promising to return shortly to escort us into the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony. Before turning away, she gave a subtle glance—not just at Harry, the famous Boy Who Lived—but at me as well.
I understood why she looked at Harry. But why me?
In those fleeting seconds, my mind raced with possible reasons. Did she sense something unusual about me? Was it my unique phoenix companion? Did Ollivander leak details about my wand? Or... was it my appearance?
Well, I suppose I do look rather handsome. I'm confident enough to say that most of the first years took notice. So no, it wasn't mere narcissism—I masked my vain thoughts behind a rational cover.
Tension lingered in the air. None of us truly knew what to expect from the Sorting Ceremony.
Just then, a blond-haired boy approached us, flanked by two large, brutish boys who looked more muscle than mind.
"So it's true, then. What they were saying on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts," he said smugly.
After introducing his companions—Crabbe and Goyle—he finally introduced himself: Draco Malfoy.
When Harry declined his offer of friendship, Draco quickly turned sour and began mocking the Weasley family. Then, his gaze shifted toward me.
Before he could say anything more, Professor McGonagall returned.
She led us into the magnificent Great Hall, its ceiling bewitched to mirror the night sky above. She explained the process: when our name was called, we would walk up to the front, sit on the stool, and place an old, tattered hat on our head. The Sorting Hat would then determine our house.
The Sorting Hat suddenly burst into song—a whimsical yet insightful tune it had seemingly composed on its own.
After the song ended, Professor McGonagall began calling names. The familiar sorting unfolded as expected: Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, and Draco Malfoy were all sorted into their respective houses, just as in the original tale.
When Harry was placed into Gryffindor, the table erupted in cheers and applause.
Eventually, only I remained standing.
Professor McGonagall called out, "Ashton A.D. Willson."
As the final student to be sorted, I found myself the center of attention. I walked toward the podium with composed elegance. Every eye in the room was on me. Even the professors seemed momentarily mesmerized by my poised demeanor.
I sat on the stool calmly. Before the Sorting Hat was placed on my head, I reached into my robe pocket and drew my wand.
I didn't want to reveal that I could use wandless magic, so I chose a subtler display. With a flick, I cast a silent spell to clean the Sorting Hat of its dust and grime.
Gasps of surprise rippled through the hall. Murmurs broke out among students and staff alike. Even Professor McGonagall, initially stunned, said nothing. She simply nodded, regaining her composure, and gently placed the hat on my head.
At once, I heard a voice inside my mind.
"Strange... very strange indeed. I haven't met you before, but there's something familiar about you," the hat murmured.
"You're a difficult one. You possess traits from all four houses. You're brave, but not reckless. You have ambition paired with cunning. You thirst for knowledge with an insatiable drive. And you're loyal—deeply so."
"Do you have a preference, my boy?" the hat asked.
Before I could answer, I felt something within the hat—something solid. Instinctively, I reached inside. My fingers closed around an object, and I pulled it out.
Gasps filled the hall once more as I drew a gleaming sword from the Sorting Hat.
It was none other than the Sword of Godric Gryffindor.
The hat remained on my head as its voice rang out for all to hear, "Yes... now I know where to place you—Gryffindor!"
But instead of cheers, the hall fell silent.
No one clapped.
They all simply stared at me—eyes wide, mouths agape—as I stood alone on the platform, the legendary sword shining in my grasp.
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