Hearing screams again from the front, Maka rose onto his toes and tried to see.
Along one wall, twenty or so pearl-white, half-transparent human shapes began to appear one after another. Maka narrowed his eyes. They were ghosts—no question about it.
They drifted lightly through the air, conversing among themselves as they glided across the room. Maka caught a word here and there, and one name surfaced clearly:
"Peeves."
"…And what do you lot think you're doing here?" asked a ghost wearing a ruff collar and tight-fitting clothes, apparently only now noticing the first-years below.
"First-years!" another ghost—a plump friar—smiled warmly at them. "I imagine they're preparing to be tested, hm?"
Some students nodded silently. No one spoke.
"I do hope you'll be sorted into Hufflepuff," the friar said cheerfully. "That's the House I was in."
"Move along now," came a thin, sharp voice from beside him. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin."
Professor McGonagall returned. The ghosts drifted in a loose stream through the wall opposite, disappearing one by one.
"Now," Professor McGonagall said to the first-years, "line up. Single file. Follow me."
Maka was near the back of the line. It took a while before he was able to move out with the students ahead—there was no helping it; he'd been shoved into the back from the start.
They entered the Great Hall.
Older students were already seated along four long tables. Thousands of candles floated in midair above them, bright enough to flood the hall with warm, steady light.
The tables glittered with golden plates and tall goblets. The upper-years watched the first-years arrive, leaning in to whisper about who might end up in their House—and who definitely wouldn't.
At the far end of the hall stood another long table: the teachers' table. Professor McGonagall led the first-years to the front and lined them up facing the entire student body, while the professors stood quietly behind them.
Candlelight flickered overhead, making the older students' faces look pale. The ghosts Maka had seen earlier now drifted among them too, flashing faint silver through the air. Every gaze in the hall had fixed on the new arrivals.
Maka, bored, stared up at the enchanted ceiling instead. It was black as ink, scattered with countless stars, shimmering through a thin haze like a dream that couldn't quite decide whether it was real.
He even spotted a few constellations he recognized.
"They've bewitched it to look like the sky outside," Maka faintly heard someone say nearby—likely Hermione. "I read it in Hogwarts: A History."
Professor McGonagall set a four-legged stool down in front of the first-years.
Maka pulled his gaze from the ceiling. McGonagall placed a pointed wizard's hat on the stool—a patched, battered thing, old and filthy. Just imagining that hat on his own head made his skin crawl.
The murmuring in the Great Hall died into silence.
Everyone knew the main event had begun.
Sure enough, the hat twitched. A crease opened like a mouth, and it began to sing.
"You may think I'm not pretty, but do not judge by what you see. If you can find a prettier hat than me, I'll eat myself, happily—"
Maka's mouth twitched.
The Sorting Hat sang on in a dreadful tune without stopping, boasting about itself and declaring it far superior to ordinary hats. Maka had already stopped listening. He went back to staring at the ceiling; it was infinitely more entertaining.
Only when applause began did Maka return to himself and clap as well. A few overly friendly first-years had already started whispering excitedly to the classmates beside them.
"Maybe I'll be in Gryffindor," a boy with long black hair murmured to Maka. "My dad says I'm very brave. When I was little, I swallowed an entire flobberworm!"
Maka swallowed hard. "Are you… Bear Grylls?"
"Who's that?" The boy tilted his head. "My surname is Corner—Michael Corner. You can call me Mike."
They were still chatting idly when Professor McGonagall stepped forward and unrolled a long parchment.
"When I call your name," she said, "you will put on the hat, sit on the stool, and wait to be sorted."
"Hannah Abbott!"
A girl with flushed cheeks and two blond braids stumbled out of line. She put the hat on; it was far too large for her and promptly dropped over her eyes.
Maka watched, amused. She really was something.
She sat.
A moment later, the Sorting Hat drew out the word like a trumpet blast:
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Cheers and applause rose from the table on the right, and Hannah hurried to sit among them. The Fat Friar waved happily in her direction.
"Susan Bones!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat called again in a different tone. Susan hurried to sit beside Hannah.
And so it went.
The hat cycled through new voices and ridiculous flourishes, clearly having spent years entertaining itself with the sheer boredom of it all.
As expected, the trio—Harry and the others—went to Gryffindor, the House famed for boldness and nerve. Anthony and Lisa, whom Maka had met on the train, were placed in Ravenclaw. And Ernie was sorted into Hufflepuff.
The flobberworm-eating Michael Corner didn't get Gryffindor as he'd hoped—he, too, was sent to Ravenclaw.
He looked, quite plainly, unhappy about it.
"Maka McLean."
At last, it was his turn.
Maka stepped forward at once. He picked up the Sorting Hat, hesitated briefly, then accepted his fate and pulled it down over his head.
"Hmm…" the Sorting Hat shifted irritably. "You don't seem very willing."
"I'd prefer it if you took a bath," Maka replied honestly. He had a feeling the hat could read his thoughts, at least roughly, so lying seemed pointless.
"Yes," the hat said mournfully, its pointed tip drooping. "I would prefer that too. But I can't exactly crawl into the bathroom myself, can I? Every Headmaster forgets to think of these things. They're too busy."
After a moment of complaining, it perked up again and began muttering to itself.
"Hm—ah—this is difficult. Very difficult," the hat said. "By all rights you should go to Ravenclaw—its atmosphere would allow you to absorb knowledge to its fullest. But your cunning and your grasp of the bigger picture would be cultivated far more thoroughly in Slytherin…"
"What about Gryffindor and Hufflepuff?" Maka asked, curious.
"Huh? Gryffindor?" the hat answered in a strange tone, as if offended by the suggestion. "Do you think that's likely?"
"…Alright," Maka said with a resigned pout. "No. I suppose not."
Then, suddenly, the hat twisted itself sharply. Its pointed tip rubbed along the brim as if thinking hard.
"Hm… Hufflepuff. Yes, yes. That's right… you must go there. That is the most correct choice."
Before Maka could respond, it shouted at the top of its… mouth:
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Maka pulled the hat off with a baffled expression and set it back on the stool. Still confused, he walked toward the Hufflepuff table and sat down amid applause.
"Welcome! Welcome to Hogwarts, and the start of a new school year!" A voice rang out from the teachers' table. Maka stopped mid-conversation with a tall upper-year and looked up.
It was Dumbledore.
"Before we begin the feast, I have a few words to say. And those words are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
Dumbledore sat back down. The hall applauded.
"What does that mean?" Maka turned to ask the older student beside him.
"I have no idea," the student said with a shrug. "I think the Headmaster's just showing his sense of humor. Just laugh along. Don't worry about it."
At that moment, the previously empty golden plates filled with food—so much food it almost felt unreal. Roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, steaks, boiled potatoes, roasted potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, pea shoots, carrots, gravy, tomato soup—so many dishes that it was dizzying.
"What's this?" Maka reached for a plate and frowned. "Peppermint humbugs?"
"The Headmaster's been liking those lately," the older student explained through a mouthful of lamb. "He always shares the sweets and drinks he's fond of with everyone."
Maka shrugged and pushed the peppermint sweets far away.
"Maka, aren't you hungry?" Ernie asked from a short distance away, watching Maka eat his roast beef in small, careful bites.
"Oh, I've eaten plenty," Maka said with a smile. Clearly, he was betting everything on speed—while still trying not to look uncivilized.
"Look at him, Ernie," said a rather bold older girl with a grin, teasing Maka. "He's keeping up appearances."
"Aha—caught by an older sister," Maka said without the slightest embarrassment, leaning into it. "Otherwise, how would I ever get you to talk to me? I mean—someone as beautiful as you."
The girl hadn't expected Maka to turn the joke back on her. Caught off guard, her cheeks went red, but she still tried to act tough.
"Well then! Not bad at all. I'm reserving you as my little boyfriend!"
"Oho! Charlotte—so you're finally getting married?" another girl laughed, clearly her friend, chiming in to mock her.
With everyone around them egging the moment on, Charlotte finally cracked. She lowered her head quickly and stabbed a roasted potato with her fork, stuffing it into her mouth.
Her pretty face turned even redder.