Amapola Potter and The Wizarding World

The Sorting Ceremony

As their boat glided silently across the lake, the enormity of the castle grew with every stroke. Amapola's heart pounded with anticipation, her mind racing with thoughts of what lay ahead. The Sorting Ceremony, an age-old tradition that determined the fate of every Hogwarts student, loomed large in her thoughts. 'What house will I be in?' she wondered, her gaze fixed on the distant spires.
"Look at it, Harry," Amapola whispered, squeezing his hand. "We're really here."
Harry nodded, his gaze fixed on the castle, a soft smile slowly spreading across his delicately handsome face. "It's more amazing than I ever imagined," he breathed out. The earlier nervousness in his voice was replaced by a burgeoning excitement. "Feels like it's welcoming us home," he added in a quieter, more introspective tone.
Lily, ever the inquisitive one, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the castle's towering silhouette. "I wonder where the Sorting Ceremony takes place," she mused aloud, her thoughts already on her potential sorting. "I begged and begged my parents to tell me how it happened, and they wouldn't spill their secrets to me!" she exclaimed with a touch of playful indignation.
As their boat joined the others making their way to the castle, the first years were greeted by the enchanting sight of Hogwarts' reflection mirrored perfectly in the lake—a spectacle so magical it seemed lifted from the pages of a dream. It was here that Amapola remembered a tale from her readings, a tragic love story between Lyra Black and Edmund Weasley, that led to the transformation of Lumina Lake into the somber Black Lake. She shared this story in hushed tones with Harry and Lily, who listened with rapt attention, drawn together by the shared lore of their new home.

Upon reaching the shore, the group disembarked, setting foot on the solid ground of Hogwarts for the first time. They were led up a winding path toward the grand entrance of the castle, the great oak doors swinging open as if by magic to welcome them.

Inside, Amapola, Harry, and Lily, along with the rest of the first years, were ushered into a smaller antechamber to wait for the ceremony to begin. The chatter among the students grew quieter, the weight of the upcoming moment pressing down on each of them. They were about to be sorted into their houses, a decision that would shape their lives at Hogwarts.

Amapola took a deep breath, trying to quell the fluttering in her stomach. She glanced at Harry and Lily, offering them an encouraging smile. "No matter what happens," she echoed the promise they had made on the train, "we're in this together." The solidarity in their returned nods was a small comfort in the vastness of their new world.

In the antechamber, anxious whispers filled the air, weaving a tapestry of hopes and fears. Amapola caught snippets of conversation, absorbing the palpable excitement and trepidation of her fellow first years. When Harry squeezed her hand, a silent gesture of gratitude, she felt a flicker of courage ignite within her. Beside them, Lily's dramatic flair had been replaced by a quiet, focused intensity; she was ready to face whatever came next.

A tall, stern-looking woman, whom Amapola recognized as Professor McGonagall from the descriptions in her books, entered the room. Her presence commanded immediate silence, her gaze sweeping over them with an inscrutable expression. "The Sorting Ceremony will begin momentarily," she announced, her voice firm but not unkind. "Soon I shall collect you all for the sorting. Until then, please tidy up." Her eyes briefly lingered on Harry, whose hair was as unruly as ever, and then on Neville, whose tie hung askew—small signs of the imperfections that made them uniquely themselves. With a cat-like sniff, she turned and left the chamber, leaving behind a trail of nervous anticipation.

Amapola couldn't help but run her fingers through her hair, wondering if it was as unkempt as Harry seemed in Professor McGonagall's discerning eyes. Beside her, Lily straightened her robes with a nervous giggle, whispering, "Do you think they sort us based on how tidy we look?"

Trying to push away the butterflies in her stomach, Amapola chuckled, whispering back, "If that were the case, I think we'd all end up being sorted into a new house called 'Messywarts'." Her attempt at humor seemed to ease some tension, as Harry let out a small laugh, briefly forgetting the enormity of the night.