At Professor Edward's command, the children quickly formed into two neat lines. Their shoes clicked softly against the marble floor as they followed him through the towering golden doors, which swung open on their own with a low resonant hum.
The moment they stepped inside, a collective gasp escaped their lips.
The Great Hall, once a grand banquet chamber of the castle, had been transformed into the heart of student life. Thousands of floating candles hovered in midair, bathing the room in warm, golden light. Above them stretched a vast enchanted ceiling, a perfect reflection of the night sky outside. Stars glittered across the dark expanse, clouds drifted lazily, and the moon hung luminous and full, close enough to touch.
Below the vaulted dome stood four long tables, their polished surfaces gleaming like mirrors, reflecting both candlelight and starlight. Upon them lay fine golden cutlery, neatly arranged for the upcoming feast.
At the far end of the hall stood the professors' dais, where the faculty were already seated.
At the center sat Lord Sylas, the headmaster, upon a golden chair carved with runes of flame and storm. To his right sat Professor Arwen, his wife and the historian of magic, calm and radiant in a silver-grey gown.
To Arwen's right, shimmering with celestial grace, sat Lady Galadriel. Her very presence seemed to fill the hall with a soft, holy brilliance. The golden glow of the candles seemed pale beside her; even the stars above appeared to dim. The elven students gasped aloud, some whispering her name reverently.
Lady Galadriel, the Queen of the Elves, smiled gently in return. Her gaze swept over them, warm, tender, and luminous, and a murmur of awe rippled through the room.
To Sylas's left sat Gandalf the Grey, his expression kind and wise, eyes twinkling with mirth as he watched the young faces below.
Professor Edward led the first-years to the front, where a simple three-legged stool stood before the dais. Upon it rested a hat, new, magnificent, and faintly gleaming with magic.
As the children gathered around, the Sorting Hat stirred. Its brim twitched, its seams stretched, and a pair of eyes and a smiling mouth appeared. Then, in a clear and melodious voice, it began to sing:
"I was once but a common hat, Worn by the black-robed wizard, Sylas.
Yet he breathed thought and purpose into me. A voice, a mind, a mission: to discern your hearts.
Listen, young wizards, to the call within you:
If fearless fire burns bright in your soul,
If you chase dragons and dare the unknown,
Then you belong with the Phoenix bold.
If wisdom's stars gleam in your gaze,
If you find joy in secrets and song and scroll,
Then the Thunderbird calls you home.
Fear not, place me on your brow!
Wherever you come from, I shall find your belonging."
When the hat finished, it gave a courteous bow, its brim dipping to both sides.
The hall erupted in applause. Sylas was the first to clap, his golden-ringed hands striking together with quiet pride. The professors followed, and soon the entire hall joined in, the sound echoing through the vaulted chamber like thunder.
When the applause faded, Professor Edward unfurled a parchment scroll and stepped forward.
"The Sorting Ceremony will now begin," he announced. "When your name is called, please come forward, sit on the stool, and put on the Sorting Hat."
He glanced down the list and called the first name:
"Anlomir!"
The young Dúnedain boy froze for half a heartbeat as every gaze turned to him.
From the professors' table, Professor Aldamir, the astronomy instructor, also of Dúnedain descent, leaned forward, watching with keen interest.
Anlomir swallowed, straightened his shoulders, and stepped forward.
The moment Anlomir sat down, Professor Edward gently lowered the Sorting Hat onto his head.
For an instant, the hall seemed to fade away, the murmur of students, the flicker of candles, the starlight from above, all vanished into silence. Only the voice of the Hat remained, whispering directly into his mind.
"Ah… a young Dúnedain," the Hat murmured, its tone both curious and amused. "Welcome to Hogwarts, child of the North. Let's have a look inside that head of yours… hmm… what's this?"
A pause. Then a warm chuckle.
"Such lofty dreams! You wish to learn all forms of magic… to restore the lost glory of your people… and to face the darkness that threatens your homeland. Bold. Selfless. And yet, there's courage here, yes, but also a fierce heart that burns for hope."
The Hat's brim twitched thoughtfully.
"This will not be an easy road for you, little Dúnedain. You seek too much, and yet, perhaps that is precisely what this world needs."
There was another long pause. Anlomir's palms were sweating; his heart thudded in his ears.
Then, at last, the Hat spoke aloud, its voice clear and triumphant:
"I know where to place you… PHOENIX HOUSE!"
The Great Hall erupted into cheers.
Edward, the head of Phoenix House, smiled and pointed to the long table belonging to Phoenix House.
Anlomir got off his stool, quickly sat down at the table, and eagerly awaited the arrival of the next student.
He especially hoped that his new elf friend would also be sorted into his house.
"Ida Creamberry!"
A small girl with auburn curls approached the stool, nearly tripping over her robe in her nervousness. The Hat had barely touched her head before it cried out:
"Thunderbird House!"
Thunderous applause met her as she bounded off the stool, cheeks glowing pink, and ran to the table of blue and silver.
"Brandy!"
"Dragon House!"
"Beth!"
"Basilisk House!"
By the end, 107 new students had been sorted.
The majority, 65 students, came from the territory of Sylas, the heartland of the new magical order.
Next came the elves, numbering 33, radiant and graceful beneath the starlit ceiling.
And last, though proud and few, the Dúnedain, only nine this year.
Unlike the wizards, who were scattered fairly evenly among all four Houses, the Dúnedain were mostly drawn to Phoenix House, the home of courage, or Dragon House, the seat of loyalty and protection.
The elves, however, revealed clear distinctions.
Most gravitated toward Thunderbird House, devoted to wisdom and knowledge. Yet there were subtler divisions within their kin:
Those from the Valley of the Dead favored the keen intellect and calm spirit of Thunderbird House.
The elves of Lorien, graceful and proud, often aligned with the Dragon House, their hearts attuned to guardianship.
And the shadow-born elves of the Dark Forest, their souls mysterious and deep, tended to be drawn by the cunning brilliance of the Basilisk House.
The Noldor elves, known for their brilliance in craft and reason, were almost all drawn to Thunderbird House.
The Sindar, calm yet shrewd, often found themselves in Basilisk House.
And the Silvan elves, gentle and steadfast in spirit, gravitated naturally toward Dragon House.
Watching the ceremony, Professor Aldamir, the astronomy master seated near the center, couldn't help but lean forward, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.
"Headmaster Sylas," he began, "according to the Sorting Hat, the Phoenix represents courage, the Thunderbird represents wisdom, the Basilisk stands for cunning, and the Dragon for loyalty.The first three are clear enough… but dragons? Are they not creatures famed for their greed and guile? How can they stand for loyalty?"
Several professors murmured in agreement, glancing toward their Headmaster for explanation.
Sylas, however, merely chuckled.
"Ah, Aldamir," he said lightly, eyes glinting with humor. "At the very least, dragons are fiercely loyal to what they treasure most, are they not?"
Laughter rippled through the staff table. Even Gandalf smiled, his beard twitching with amusement, while Galadriel covered her mouth in quiet grace.
And yet, behind the laughter, there was wisdom in Sylas's jest. The Dragon House, in truth, embodied not blind devotion, but the deep loyalty that arises from cherishing something with one's entire being: kin, honor, or ideal.
The Sorting Ceremony soon came to an end. The final name was called, and the applause faded into the candlelit hush of the Great Hall.
Professor Edward stepped forward, lifting his wand. With a soft flick, the three-legged stool vanished, and the Sorting Hat floated gently into his hands.
He turned toward the dais and bowed slightly.
"Headmaster, the Sorting Ceremony is complete. The Hat is returned to your care."
Sylas accepted it with a faint smile.
"Thank you, Edward. And please, there's no need for such formality. You are a Head of House now. Call me Professor, as the others do."
Edward inclined his head.
"Yes, Professor."
He returned to his seat to Sylas's left, and with a calm flick of his spoon against his goblet, a clear clang rang across the Great Hall—sharp and resonant as a bell.
"Please quiet down," he called, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. "Listen to the Headmaster."
All the freshmen who were exchanging ideas fell silent, turning their gazes to the figure in the middle of the professor's seat.