1 The Sorting Ceremony

"Susan Bones...Hufflepuff!"

"Justin Finch-Fletchley...Hufflepuff!"

In the grandly decorated Great Hall, a crumpled hat was singing and twisting restlessly, its wide mouth opening from a slit at the brim. Occasionally, some daring young wizards would give its brim a tweak, eliciting bursts of odd laughter.

As names of students and their assigned houses were called out by the Sorting Hat, the assembled students clapped with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

At least for this welcoming event, even the traditionally rivalrous Gryffindors and Slytherins maintained a facade of harmony.

The young wizards waiting for their turn were a bundle of nerves and excitement, watching others don the Sorting Hat and then walk to their new house tables, guided by the hat's whimsical commentary.

However, among the sea of fresh faces, there stood a gaunt boy, his expression one of utter bewilderment as he took in the opulent, old-fashioned decor and the candles floating eerily mid-air, their flickering flames casting a bright glow over the hall. Translucent ghosts drifted past, and all of it was just too much for the boy, who mumbled to himself after a long pause.

"Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing?"

"Strange, wasn't I on my deathbed in a hospital?" As the boy found the surroundings both familiar and foreign, a clear female voice echoed through the hall.

"Evan Halse!"

Professor Minerva McGonagall stood in front of the four-legged table that held the Sorting Hat, peering at the parchment roll in her hand. Receiving no response, she frowned and called out again, louder this time.

"Evan Halse!"

The hall grew curious as the new student failed to appear. Even Dumbledore cast a puzzled glance, and the older students began to whisper among themselves.

"Who? Who is Evan? Such nerve, eh?"

"Could he have lost his way and missed the Sorting Ceremony?"

"This will be interesting..."

The remaining new students, under the watchful eyes of the professors and prefects, subtly shifted back, leaving the blond-haired, black-eyed boy who was still coming to terms with his situation conspicuously alone.

"Evan Halse, please come to the stage!" Professor McGonagall repeated.

"Me?" Evan, still bewildered, pointed to himself, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu with the scene.

"Yes, please make it quick. There are other children waiting to be sorted... you know." Perhaps attributing Evan's hesitation to first-day nerves, McGonagall's repeated summons carried no irritation, just a hint of impatience.

Before Evan could fully grasp the situation, he felt a gentle nudge from behind as the front row of new students, in an unexpected act of solidarity, pushed him towards the stage.

"Alright, child, come here..." McGonagall approached, guiding Evan by the shoulder to the chair and placing the Sorting Hat upon his head.

The Sorting Hat wriggled on Evan's head, speaking in a mischievous tone.

"Hey, lad, don't be shy. You're not the first to feel nervous in such a setting... Trust me, just close your eyes, and it'll be over... It won't hurt a bit!"

Evan rolled his eyes. Having observed the ceremony for a while, he had some inkling of what was happening, though he still found it hard to believe.

Is this really Hogwarts? The place of magical education? But that's only in...

As Evan's thoughts trailed on, the Sorting Hat's voice timely interrupted.

"Yes... of course, this is Hogwarts! You're not dreaming, I'm a hundred percent sure!"

"I bet you're from a Muggle family, aren't you? Every few years, there's a new wizard who doesn't believe in magic. They think it's all trickery, trying to pull rabbits out of me... I tell them there's nothing in the hat, but they just won't believe..."

The Sorting Hat rambled on with its dry jokes, its mouth almost reaching the brim.

Evan, wary of the hat's memory-reading ability, refocused his thoughts quickly.

Yet, perhaps influenced by the hat, his mind flashed through disjointed memories like a slideshow, unable to piece them together—images of a witch teaching him spells...

The witch in his memory was probably in her thirties, with beautiful golden hair, speaking words that suddenly filled Evan with an inexplicable dread...

The Sorting Hat also commented on how it had never seen a student with such a jumble of thoughts, and it was surprised to learn that Evan didn't come from a Muggle family. After all, which wizarding family's child wouldn't know about Hogwarts?

A bead of sweat formed on Evan's forehead. Though the thoughts and memories read by the hat belonged to its original owner, he was anxious about what secrets it might uncover next. Evan tried to force himself to think about inconsequential matters.

"Cough, cough..." Seeing that the hat seemed to be in no hurry, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, signaling it to get on with its task.

The Sorting Hat finally fell silent, and Evan breathed a sigh of relief, though he was curious about which house he'd be assigned to.

"Hmm... let's see, optimistic... intelligent and a dreamer..." The Sorting Hat drew out its words, then lowered its voice. "And a bit of a knack for Dark Arts..."

"Dark Arts?" Evan murmured, recalling the recent flash of memory.

"Oh yes, an ancient and rare... Dark Art," the hat whispered to Evan as if sharing a secret.

"Of course, to me, it's an interesting form of Dark Art, always showing things people don't want to see... Some have used it for pranks, maybe you could give it a try..."

"Though Dumbledore certainly wouldn't want anyone doing that again..." the hat quipped to itself.

"Where should I go then? Slytherin?" Evan was curious about his ability with Dark Arts, but his immediate concern was the Sorting.

Once sorted, he could finally remove this damned hat that read memories.

Among Hogwarts' four houses, Gryffindor required bravery, Ravenclaw prized wisdom or a thirst for knowledge.

Slytherin was known for cunning and outstanding magical talent.

As for Hufflepuff...

Evan felt Hufflepuff generally welcomed the rest...

The Sorting Hat's mention of learning Dark Arts seemed to fit Slytherin's profile, though his optimism and intelligence could also lead to Ravenclaw.

Evan thought somewhat vainly...

"No, no, none of that," the hat's tone suddenly took on a hint of humor. "Though it might disappoint you, Slytherin usually picks the more talented wizards, so..."

"Gryffindor!" The hat's voice boomed, changing from its whispery conversation with Evan to a proclamation that filled the hall.

"Gryffindor?" Evan lifted the Sorting Hat from his head, surprised and not even having the chance to scoff at its assessment of his talents.

"Yes... yes, that's where you belong!" the hat declared confidently. "I've never been wrong; you have the necessary qualities!"