Another scream echoed from up ahead. Maca stood on tiptoe and craned his neck to look.
From the side wall, about twenty pearl-white, semi-transparent human figures began emerging one by one. After squinting a bit, Maca realized they were ghosts.
They were chattering amongst themselves as they floated effortlessly across the room. Maca vaguely caught the name "Peeves" among their murmurs.
"What are you lot doing here?" asked a ghost wearing a ruffled collar and tight-fitting clothes, as if he had just noticed the group of first-years below.
"Ah, new students!" said a plump monk-like ghost with a warm smile. "I suppose they're here for the sorting, yes?"
Some students nodded quietly, but no one said a word.
"Hope you end up in Hufflepuff!" the monk added. "That was my house when I was alive."
"Now move along, move along," came a high-pitched voice from beside him. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin."
Professor McGonagall had returned. The ghosts drifted away in a line, phasing smoothly through the opposite wall until none remained.
"Now, form a single line," Professor McGonagall said to the first-years. "Follow me."
Maca, who had been near the back of the group, followed slowly as they exited the room—he didn't have much choice, given where he had started.
They entered the Hogwarts Great Hall. Students from other years were already seated around four long tables. Thousands of candles floated magically in midair, illuminating the room in a warm, golden light.
The tables gleamed with polished golden plates and tall goblets. The upperclassmen watched the first-years with quiet curiosity, whispering predictions about which students might join their house—and which probably wouldn't.
At the head of the hall was a raised platform with a long staff table where the teachers sat. Professor McGonagall led the first-years there and had them line up, facing the older students while the faculty stood silently behind them.
Candlelight flickered faintly in the air, casting a pale glow over the students' faces. Among them, the ghosts shimmered faintly with silver light, their translucent forms drifting silently between the tables.
All eyes were now fixed on the line of newcomers.
Bored, Maca glanced up at the enchanted ceiling. It mimicked the sky outside: inky black with a scattering of stars twinkling faintly through the haze of light magical mist. He even managed to spot a few familiar constellations.
"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read it in Hogwarts: A History," came a soft whisper from nearby. Sounded like Hermione.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward and gently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first-years. Maca's gaze dropped from the ceiling just in time to see her put a very old, battered wizard's hat on it—patched, frayed, and filthy. The thought of putting that thing on his head made Maca's skin crawl.
As soon as the hat was set down, the quiet murmur in the hall fell into complete silence. Everyone knew what was coming next.
Sure enough, the hat twitched, and then a tear near the brim opened like a mouth—it began to sing.
> "You may not find me much to look at,
But don't judge a hat by its cover.
If you think you've got a fancier one,
I'll eat myself—hat and all, no bother!"
Maca's mouth twitched slightly at that line.
> "You can shine your top hats sleek and black,
Or press your stovepipes tall,
But I'm the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts,
The finest magic hat of all…"
The Sorting Hat went on and on in its raspy voice. Maca, already uninterested, let his eyes drift back up to the ceiling—it was far more entertaining than the screechy song.
Only when the students around him began clapping did he snap back to attention and give a few obligatory claps of his own. Some more sociable first-years had already started chatting among themselves.
"I bet I'll be in Gryffindor," said a long-haired boy beside Maca in a low voice. "My dad says I've always been brave. I even ate a whole Flobberworm when I was little!"
"Are you Bear Grylls?" Maca blinked, struggling to swallow a laugh.
"Who?" The boy tilted his head. "My name's Michael Corner. You can call me Mike."
As they exchanged small talk, Professor McGonagall stepped forward, unrolling a parchment scroll in her hands.
"I'll call your name now—when I do, put on the hat, sit on the stool, and wait to be sorted," she said. "Hannah Abbott!"
A rosy-cheeked girl with two golden braids stumbled out of the line. She picked up the Sorting Hat and put it on. The hat was clearly too big for her, slipping down and covering her eyes.
Watching this clumsy little girl, Maca couldn't help but find it rather amusing.
She had barely sat down before the Sorting Hat bellowed in a drawn-out tone, "Hufflepuff!"
Cheers and applause erupted from the table on the right. Hannah was warmly welcomed to their table, and the plump friar ghost waved at her enthusiastically.
"Susan Bones."
"Hufflepuff!" the hat shouted again, this time in a different, quirky tone. Susan quickly ran to sit beside Hannah.
The Sorting continued. The hat switched between strange, theatrical voices, as though it spent each term inventing new ways to entertain itself. As expected, the famous trio—Harry, Ron, and Hermione—were sorted into Gryffindor, the house of courage and daring. Anthony and Lisa, who they'd met on the train, were sorted into Ravenclaw, and of course, Ernie ended up in Hufflepuff.
Michael, the boy who had eaten a Flobberworm whole, had hoped for Gryffindor but was instead sorted into Ravenclaw. It was obvious he wasn't too happy about it.
"Maca McLean."
At last, it was his turn. Maca stepped forward as his name was called, picked up the Sorting Hat, hesitated for a moment, then resignedly placed it on his head.
"Hmm... not too thrilled to be here, are you?" the Sorting Hat grumbled, squirming slightly.
"Honestly, I'd prefer it if you'd give yourself a wash," Maca replied truthfully. He figured the hat could read his thoughts anyway, so he might as well be honest.
"Yes, I think so too—but I can't exactly crawl into a bath on my own, can I?" the hat said, sounding somewhat exasperated. Its pointed tip drooped. "And none of the headmasters ever think of that. They're always too busy."
After a bit of grumbling, the hat perked back up and began muttering to itself.
"Ah... this is difficult, very difficult," it said. "By rights, you ought to be in Ravenclaw. You'd thrive in an environment focused on the pursuit of knowledge. But your cleverness and broader vision could be honed best in Slytherin..."
"What about Gryffindor and Hufflepuff?" Maca asked, curious.
"Gryffindor? Really?" the hat replied in an incredulous tone.
"Yeah... I figured as much," Maca muttered, lips twitching in resignation.
The Sorting Hat twisted itself again, rubbing its wide brim with its pointed tip. After a moment of thought, it said, "Hufflepuff, yes, yes... that's it... the right choice for you." Without waiting for Maca's response, it suddenly bellowed, "Hufflepuff!"
Baffled, Maca placed the hat back on the stool and made his way to the Hufflepuff table, still full of questions. He sat down amidst applause from the older students.
"Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts!" Dumbledore's voice rang out.
Just as Maca had begun chatting with a tall prefect, Dumbledore's words took a bizarre turn:
"Before we begin our banquet, I'd like to say just a few words. And they are—Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
"Thank you!"
He sat down again as the hall erupted in applause.
"What did that mean?" Maca turned to the prefect beside him.
"No idea. Probably just the headmaster's sense of humor," the older student shrugged. "Just go with it. You'll get used to it."
At that moment, the previously empty golden plates on the tables suddenly filled with food—roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, pea shoots, carrots, gravy, and tomato soup. It was a dazzling spread.
"What's this?" Maca asked, pulling a small dish toward him. "Peppermint candies?"
"Professor Dumbledore's current favorite," the prefect said while tearing into a lamb chop. "He likes to share his favorite treats with the students."
Maca shrugged and pushed the dish of candies far away.
"Aren't you hungry, Maca?" Ernie asked from nearby, watching Maca nibble at his roast beef.
"Oh, I've eaten plenty," Maca said with a smile. In truth, he was just eating quickly and neatly, trying not to make a mess.
"I think he's just trying to look refined," joked a senior student—a girl with a bold, easygoing air and a cheeky smile.
"Aha! Caught red-handed," Maca chuckled. "Otherwise, how would a beautiful senior like you notice me?"
Caught off guard by his smooth comeback, the girl blushed but tried to keep her composure. "Well then, I'm reserving you as my little boyfriend!" she teased.
"Whoa, Charlotte! Ready to get hitched already?" another girl beside her teased, clearly a close friend.
Laughter and cheers broke out around them. Charlotte could no longer keep up her act and quickly ducked her head, spearing a roast potato from her plate to hide her face, now bright red.