The Raven's Call

The Sorting Ceremony

There are about five of us to a boat, and by chance, I end up with the girl I met on the train earlier. Alongside us is a boy with a thick Irish accent, a red-haired girl, and another boy who proudly announces that he already knows he's going to be placed in Hufflepuff.

I barely register their conversation, too mesmerized by the towering silhouette of Hogwarts growing larger with every ripple of the lake. The castle's golden lights shimmer on the water, casting long reflections that seem to dance in the gentle waves.

My heart pounds with excitement. This is real. This is happening.

Hogwarts is just within reach.

***

We follow the flow of students into the castle, climbing the grand staircase towards the Great Hall. At the top, a woman in emerald-green robes and a pointed hat stands waiting for us, her sharp eyes scanning the group.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she announces. "In a few moments, you will pass through these doors and join your classmates. But before you take your seats, you must be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."

She pauses, letting the words settle before continuing. "While you're here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you points; any rule-breaking, and you will lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will be awarded the Hou—"

"TREVOR!"

A boy's voice suddenly cuts through the air. I turn just in time to see a round-faced boy—that must be Neville—scramble forward to scoop up a wayward toad.

The professor's lips press into a thin line. "The sorting ceremony will begin momentarily," she says before sweeping away.

A murmur spreads through the crowd, only growing louder when a blonde boy beside me speaks up.

"It's true, then," he says smugly. "What they were saying on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts."

The name sparks a reaction. Whispers ripple through the first years. Harry Potter? The Boy Who Lived? I had always thought it was just a story.

The blonde boy straightens, clearly enjoying the attention. "This is Crabbe and Goyle. My sister, Asteria... And I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Beside Harry, the same red-haired boy from earlier snickers.

Draco sneers, unimpressed. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask yours. Red hair and a hand-me-down robe? You must be a Weasley." His voice drips with disdain. "You'll soon find that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He extends a pale hand.

Harry barely hesitates before replying, "I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks."

Before Draco can respond, the professor returns, tapping him on the shoulder with a rolled-up scroll. He scowls but steps back beside me.

"We're ready for you now. Follow me."

With that, we step forward, our fate waiting beyond the doors of the Great Hall.