Contrary to its dark and ancient exterior, the interior of Hogwarts Castle was nothing short of magnificent—grand and breathtaking.
Most striking was the ceiling overhead, which appeared transparent, revealing a sky full of twinkling stars.
Noticing Sherlock's gaze, Hermione leaned in and whispered an explanation:
"It's enchanted. It reflects the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."
Sherlock gave a small nod.
Indeed, it was hard to believe there was a ceiling at all—it truly looked like the Hall was open to the heavens.
When Sherlock first saw the size of the castle from outside, he'd assumed life here over the next seven years would feel cramped.
But now he realized—this place was much larger than it appeared from the outside.
In other words… not scientifically possible.
When reason fails, magic explains.
By the time Professor McGonagall returned, the ghosts had drifted through the walls and disappeared.
The Great Hall was now filled with students and teachers alike, all eyes turned toward the group of first-years, waiting for the Sorting Ceremony to begin.
Under their collective gaze, Professor McGonagall stepped forward and gently placed a four-legged stool before the first-years. Upon it, she set a pointed, tattered old hat.
Even from a distance, Sherlock could see it was patched and frayed, with visible grime on the fabric.
And then, the hat stirred.
A wide tear near the brim opened like a mouth, and the hat 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."
To Sherlock, the little ditty sounded rather noisy and a touch obnoxious.
The hat certainly wasn't much of a singer—and compared to his violin playing, the tune was nowhere close in quality.
Still, the hat's song did provide useful information.
It gave a rather professional introduction to the four houses, even more thorough than McGonagall's earlier speech:
Gryffindor — Courage and daring; represented by the lion; aligned with the element of fire.
Hufflepuff — Loyalty and fairness; represented by the badger; aligned with earth.
Ravenclaw — Wisdom and learning; represented by the eagle; aligned with air.
Slytherin — Cunning and ambition; represented by the serpent; aligned with water.
With this, the first-years finally understood: all they had to do was wear the hat to be Sorted.
"I'm going to murder Fred!"
Ron hissed to Sherlock and Harry, "He made it sound like we'd have to wrestle a troll or something!"
Harry and Hermione both let out quiet sighs of relief—clearly, they'd been nervous too.
Sherlock, of course, wasn't nervous. He merely found the situation increasingly intriguing.
The ceremony began. McGonagall held a scroll of parchment, took a few steps forward, and read aloud the first name:
"Hannah Abbott!"
A small girl with two blonde plaits stumbled out from the line and nervously placed the hat on her head.
No one knew what happened inside, but moments later, the hat shouted: "Hufflepuff!"
One of the tables on the right erupted in cheers and applause, welcoming her warmly.
The Fat Friar—the same ghost who'd greeted Sherlock, waved happily to Hannah.
Then, one by one, more first-years were called up: hat on, house declared, hat off.
The process quickly became repetitive—mechanical, even.
Soon, someone from Sherlock's group was called.
"Hermione Granger!"
Hermione was so nervous she forgot to say goodbye. She practically ran to the stool and shoved the hat onto her head.
Eventually, the Sorting Hat called out: "Gryffindor!"
Ron snorted at the announcement, clearly less than thrilled about the possibility of being in the same house as her.
Sherlock, on the other hand, watched with interest.
He wasn't concerned about Ron's little grudge—what intrigued him was the time it took for the hat to make its decision.
Sometimes, the hat shouted the house instantly. Other times, it paused and pondered.
Hermione had taken nearly four full minutes.
She was the longest so far, giving the impression that the hat had genuinely hesitated.
Which raised a new question:
When it was his turn, how long would it take? And which house would he be Sorted into?
In truth, Sherlock had already considered this while the hat was singing.
And the conclusion he reached… was that all outcomes were possible.
Courage? He never lacked it. His very reason for coming to Hogwarts was a desire to explore the unknown. He wasn't afraid to risk life and limb—if anything, danger only thrilled him.
Loyalty and fairness? One of his greatest passions was fighting crime. His methods weren't always "lawful good," but he certainly wasn't evil. His outcomes always leaned toward justice.
Wisdom? That went without saying. Though his upbringing once led him to believe he might be mentally lacking, compared to other children, he'd proven otherwise.
Cunning and ambition? No doubt he possessed both. Judging by the Sorting Hat's song, his disdain for rules and self-assured nature matched Slytherin's traits quite well.
Even for someone as analytical as Sherlock, it was impossible to predict where he'd be placed.
If only he could ask Hermione what it felt like under the hat—she'd probably be happy to explain.
Unfortunately, that wasn't an option.
Once a student was Sorted, they left the group and joined their house's table—where older students from that house waited to welcome them.
At that moment, McGonagall saw that Hermione had taken her seat at Gryffindor and turned her eyes back to the scroll.
She paused slightly before announcing the next name:
"Sherlock Holmes!"
At the sound of his name, Sherlock remained calm, but Harry and Ron immediately tensed.
"Please not Slytherin!"
"Gryffindor, come on!"
They weren't the only ones watching.
Word of Sherlock standing up to Malfoy and his cronies on the train had spread. Those in the know couldn't help but pay attention when his name was called.
Not to mention—Sherlock's striking appearance had already made him stand out.
And beyond that, McGonagall had privately informed Dumbledore of the boy's sharp mind and keen powers of observation.
Yet, when Sherlock approached the stool, he didn't put the hat on right away like everyone else.
Instead, he picked it up, turning it over in his hands, examining it closely.
The entire Great Hall was stunned.
Even McGonagall looked taken aback.
What was he doing—shopping?
She couldn't help but glance toward the Head Table and lock eyes with Headmaster Dumbledore.
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