Wonder 1st year

Sorting

We followed Professor McGonagall into the Great Hall, and my breath caught in my throat. The ceiling was charmed to look like the night sky outside—dark, stormy clouds rolling across a sky full of stars. The room was vast, even more magnificent than I imagined. Floating candles hovered in mid-air, their soft light flickering, illuminating the four long tables where students sat, talking and laughing. The murmur of their voices filled the room until we entered, and suddenly all eyes turned toward us—the new first years.

We shuffled to the front, nervous and unsure. My heart pounded as Professor McGonagall, tall and severe, led us to where the staff sat at a long, grand table. The teachers watched us with different expressions—some looked curious, others indifferent. My eyes flicked to one man with a long silver beard and half-moon spectacles. He sat in the middle, radiating authority but also warmth. I recognized him immediately. Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"The Sorting will begin now," Professor McGonagall announced, her voice steady and commanding. "When your name is called, you will come forward, place the Sorting Hat on your head, and be sorted into your house. Once sorted, you will join your house at their table."

She gestured to an old, ragged hat that rested on a stool in front of us. It was patched and worn, and I wondered how something so shabby could decide our fates. But then, without warning, the hat twitched, and a rip near its brim opened wide like a mouth.

It began to sing.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me."

I glanced nervously at the others. Some seemed amused by the hat's song, while others, like me, were too anxious to laugh. The hat continued singing about the four houses—Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. I had heard of them, of course, but now, standing here, the reality of it all hit me.

Which house would I belong to? Would I be brave enough for Gryffindor? Loyal enough for Hufflepuff? Or perhaps clever enough for Ravenclaw? And then there was Slytherin. A part of me was drawn to it, though I wasn't entirely sure why. My parents had warned me about Slytherin—its reputation for cunning and ambition. But there was something about it that intrigued me.

The hat's song ended, and Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a roll of parchment. "When I call your name, come forward to be sorted," she instructed. Her eyes scanned the list.

"Hannah Abbott," she called.

A blonde girl walked hesitantly to the stool. She placed the hat on her head, and after a moment, it shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hufflepuff table cheered loudly as Hannah hurried to join them, relief visible on her face.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," Professor McGonagall called next. And so it continued. Each name was called, and one by one, students were sorted into their houses. Every time the hat made its decision, the respective house would cheer. My nerves grew as I watched the line get shorter.

I barely registered the names until—

"Lily Thorncroft."

I froze. That was my name. My heart raced as I stepped forward. Every eye in the room seemed to follow me as I sat on the stool and placed the hat on my head. It slipped down over my eyes, plunging me into darkness.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a voice spoke inside my head.

"Ah, interesting," it said softly. "Plenty of ambition, I see. And clever, very clever indeed. You've got talent, no doubt about that."

I swallowed. "Where do I belong?" I thought, though I wasn't sure if I was asking myself or the hat.

"Hmm," the hat mused. "You could do well in many places. You have courage, yes. You'd do well in Gryffindor... but I sense something else. You have a thirst to prove yourself. A hunger for more. Yes, that's it, isn't it? A desire to make your mark."

I shifted nervously. Was that true? Did I want that? But deep down, I knew the hat was right.

"Yes," the hat said, as if reading my thoughts. "You would do very well in SLYTHERIN!"

The last word was shouted to the hall, and I lifted the hat off my head, blinking in the sudden light. There was a brief, stunned silence, and then the Slytherin table erupted in cheers.

I felt a strange mix of emotions. Relief, curiosity, excitement—but also uncertainty. Slytherin? My parents would be shocked. But the moment I stepped toward the Slytherin table, I felt something shift inside me. It felt... right.

I sat down, and a boy with slicked-back blonde hair smirked at me. "Welcome to Slytherin," he said smoothly. "Draco Malfoy." He extended his hand, and I shook it, though I wasn't sure what to make of him yet. His eyes glinted with something that made me uneasy, but I forced a smile.

"Thanks," I said, trying to sound confident. I glanced back at the other tables. The Gryffindors were watching us, some of them whispering. I caught a boy with glasses—Harry Potter, I realized—staring for a moment before turning away.

The sorting continued. I barely paid attention as the last few names were called. I was still processing everything. Slytherin. What did that mean for me? The house was known for producing ambitious, cunning witches and wizards, but it had a darker reputation too. Some said it was the house of dark wizards. But that wasn't who I was... was it?

Professor Dumbledore stood once all the first years had been sorted. His presence commanded the room, but his expression was kind as he gazed over the hall.

"Now that we are all sorted," he said, his voice ringing clear, "let the feast begin!"

In an instant, the empty plates in front of us filled with food—roast chicken, potatoes, vegetables, and all sorts of dishes I had never seen before. The rich aromas filled the hall, and suddenly my anxiety was replaced by hunger.

Everyone around me started eating, and I followed suit. Draco and his friends chatted loudly, laughing about some joke I didn't quite catch. I stole a glance at the other house tables. The Gryffindors seemed lively, laughing and talking animatedly. The Hufflepuffs were warm and friendly, while the Ravenclaws sat more quietly, engaged in thoughtful conversation.

But I was a Slytherin now. I belonged here.

And as the feast went on, I realized something. Being in Slytherin didn't feel wrong. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I felt... excited. The Sorting Hat had seen something in me—potential, ambition. Perhaps this was my chance to prove myself, to make my mark.

As the night wore on, I felt a growing sense of confidence. Whatever the future held, I was ready for it.